“You go,” he said, again speaking over her.
Their lips both twitched, but his arms banded more tightly around her. When she didn’t speak, he said, “The shower is going to run cold, you have a meeting you can’t be late for, and we need to talk.”
“I know,” she said, unable to look away.
He didn’t let her budge. “I know it, too.” He sighed heavily, then pressed his head to hers. “And yet I can’t let you go,” he said, the words hardly more than a rasp.
Her fingers dug into his back of their own volition, so clearly did her heart mirror that sentiment.
“I know how complicated this is. I know it’s not easy. Fuck—” he said as the moment spun out. “We will talk more…I want more…”
She told herself that the fact he’d wanted more at all, wanted anything near what she found herself yearning for, was gift enough. It told her she hadn’t tossed her heart into the ring completely selfishly or foolishly. That would have to be enough.
“This is fast and furious, and we haven’t known each other long, or have the kind of knowledge you’re supposed to have about someone in order to know for certain what your feelings are for them.”
She stilled then, even as her heart began racing.
“It’s supposed to be something built upon, slowly, over time, so you know, for sure, what it is, what it can be, and what it isn’t or will never be.”
She lifted her head then, looked into his eyes, and her heart lifted to her throat at the stark vulnerability she saw there, the fear.
“Kelly….”
“So explain this to me,” he said, his voice almost gone now, the rasp was so deep. “Explain how I know it’s you. How it’s always been you.” He paused, looking almost helpless. “How it will always be you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and her attempts to coerce herself into being smart and responsible came to an abrupt and permanent end.
“Because you just do,” she said, her throat tight with the threat of those unshed tears.
“I have no perspective left where you’re concerned. There’s nothing rational about this, Blair, and I don’t know what to?—”
She covered his mouth with her fingers. “Not everything is rational, babe. Not everything has to be.”
He pulled the pad of one of her fingers between his lips, gently pressed his teeth down, making her shudder in instantly renewed need. Her heart was all the way out there, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying to think his might be, too. What did it mean? What would it change? She didn’t want to think about any of that. She just wanted to be right where she was, in that particular moment, exulting in the intensity of the connection they seemed to be sharing. Knowing she wasn’t in it alone made giving in to it unbearably seductive.
She pressed her finger against his tongue and felt his body jerk against hers.
“Come on,” he murmured around her finger, not letting it go. “It’s something to solve later.” He stuck his hand under the spray, then tugged them both carefully into the shower. The water wasn’t scalding, but it was still hot enough. There was enough steam in the room to keep them both comfortable under the spray. There was no further conversation.
As if by silent agreement, Blair reached for the body soap and sponge and took her sweet time lathering his entire body. She missed nothing, and he was growing hard again, and bracing his weight against the wall by the time she was done. Then he tugged her directly under the spray with him so the water cascaded over them both, rinsing the foamy soap off as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Slow and deep, she fell completely into it, feeling him growing harder, nudging between her thighs. For the first time in her regimented life, she decided they could just wait.
Later, after the shower, she piled the eggs onto the toast, cut it in half, and handed him a portion. He took a bite, leaning against the counter, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “So, you got your cake, and you’re eating it, too?”
“Yes,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee, a playful challenge in her eyes. “Marie Antoinette can eat her heart out.”
“I feel so used,” he said with mock outrage, a grin tugging at his lips, but the serious conversation they had still in his eyes.
“Aw, poor thing.” She leaned in and kissed him, quick and hard. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
“Isn’t that how I got in this mess in the first place?”
“Yeah.” She smirked. “See how well that worked out.”
The air in Darrow’s office was thick with the scent of stale coffee and quiet desperation. Superintendent Lucas Dejardins stood by the window, a man whose calm presence seemed to suck the toxicity out of the room. Darrow himself sat behind his desk, a rigid knot of a man in clothes that were suddenly too tight for him. He’d summoned her here, expecting to put her on the defensive, to chip away at her success with bureaucratic pettiness. Instead, he looked like a man who’d just been told his house was on fire.
Blair stood at attention, feeling the weight of the moment, but not understanding its source.
“Staff Sergeant Brown,” Dejardins began, his voice a low, steady rumble that carried an unshakable authority. “Thank you for coming in. I’ll be brief.”
