“You sure about that, baby? You sure you don’t need me?”
“Shut up and carry me to bed.”
Shane didn't need to be told twice.
He stood in one smooth motion and April's legs locked around his waist, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. She was lighter than he expected—or maybe his adrenaline made everything feel weightless. Her mouth found his again, hungry and demanding, and Shane had to tear himself away long enough to see where the hell he was going.
Down the hall. Past the guest room where Kevin slept. Past Pete, who lifted his head but didn't budge from his post.
Shane's bedroom door was at the end of the hall, standing open like an invitation. Dark inside except for the faint glow from the bedside cut glass lamp reflecting off the walls.
April's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan. Her hips rolled against him and Shane's visionwent hazy for a second. He'd imagined this—God, he'd imagined this so many times over the years—but reality was burning him alive in the best possible way.
"Shane," she breathed against his mouth. "Please?—"
"I've got you." His voice came out rough, barely controlled. "I've got you, baby."
He carried her across the threshold and closed the door behind them. His bed—king-sized, navy sheets, the same military corners he'd been making since boot camp—waited in the soft light.
Shane set April down on the edge of the mattress, but she didn't let go. She pulled him down with her, until both of them tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and desperate hands.
"Wait," Shane managed, bracing himself above her. "April, wait?—"
She looked up at him, eyes dark and dilated, lips swollen from kissing. Her hair spread across his bed like a deep, dark river. God, she belonged there. She'dalwaysbelonged there.
"What?" Her voice was breathy, impatient. "Don't you dare change your mind?—"
"Not changing my mind." Shane cupped her face, forcing himself to slow down when every instinct screamed at him to take, claim, possess. "Just need to see you. Need to know you're really here. That this is real."
April's expression softened. Her hand came up to cover his, turning her face to press a kiss to his palm.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm really here, Shane. And I'm not going anywhere."
Something in his chest cracked wide open at that—at the promise in her voice, the certainty. April Taylor, who'd spent years running, who'd built walls so high even she couldn't see over them sometimes, was choosing to stay.
Was choosinghim.
Shane bent his head, kissed her slowly, taking his time. Tasting her. Memorizing every sound she made, every place his touch made her shiver.
"I love you," he said against her mouth. "Always have. Always will."
"I love you, too." April's fingers found the hem of his shirt, started pulling it up. "Now stop talking and show me."
Shane's laugh was low and rough. "Yes, ma'am."
He reached back, grabbed his shirt, and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion. April's hands were immediately on his chest, her touch burning him everywhere her fingers landed.
So sexy how she was wearing his flannel—but it needed to go. He’d been a fool to put that shirt on her. It wrecked him in a way he hadn’t prepared for—just like the sight of her in his space had locked something into place in him that wasn’t ever going to unlock.
Shane's hands went to the buttons, but April batted them away.
"I've got it," she said with an impish grin. She sat up slightly, holding his gaze as she slowly undid each button. One. Two. Three. Taking her time. Driving him absolutely insane.
When the flannel finally fell open, Shane's breath stopped. She was perfect. Every curve, every line, every inch of skin he'd been dreaming about.
"You're staring," April said, but there was no self-consciousness in her voice. Just heat.
"Yeah." Shane's voice was barely above a growl. "I am."
