"I can feel you staring," she says without turning around, a smile in her voice.
"Can't help it." I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my chest. "Like looking at what's mine."
She laughs softly, tilting her head to give me better access as I press my lips to her neck. "Possessive much?"
"Always." I nip at her earlobe, enjoying her little shiver. "Got news."
"Oh?" She turns in my arms, looking up at me with those big hazel eyes that have haunted my dreams for months now.
"Paperwork's filed. Should be official in three, four days max."
Her eyes widen. "Really? It's over?"
"Almost." I cup her face, studying her reaction. "You'll be free to go wherever you want."
Something flashes across her face—uncertainty, maybe. Fear. "Where would I go?"
"Nowhere." I growl the word, pulling her tighter against me. "You're staying right here. With me. Where you belong."
Relief softens her features. "That's what I want too." She rises on tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. "I told you last night. I'm falling for you, Gray. I want to stay."
Satisfaction rumbles through my chest. "Good."
She turns back to the sandwiches she was making, her body still nestled against mine. "You know, I'm kind of going to miss the diner," she muses. "Not the work so much, but some of the people. There's this one regular, Joe, who always tells the funniest stories about his grandkids?—"
My body tenses before I can stop it. "Joe?"
She nods, oblivious to the change in my posture. "Sweet older man. Always orders the same thing—BLT, extra mayo. He was telling me the other day about how his grandson caught a frog and?—"
"You went back to the diner?" My voice drops dangerously low. "After what happened with that bounty hunter?"
She stills, suddenly aware of my mood shift. "You drove me, remember? Two days ago? You waited in the truck while I finished my shift. Said it was safe enough with you watching."
I remember now. Had been watching the parking lot so intently, scanning for threats, that I hadn't paid attention to who was inside. Who was talking to her. Looking at her. An old man, sure, but still a man. Still someone with eyes on what's mine.
"Did he touch you?" The question comes out harsher than intended.
Beck turns, confusion wrinkling her brow. "What? No! He's like seventy, Gray. He just likes to chat."
The rational part of my brain knows she's telling the truth. Knows this is ridiculous. But that part isn't in control right now. All I can think is that another man made her smile. Made her remember him. Made her mention him to me.
"Don't go back there," I say, my hands tightening on her hips.
"Gray, don't be ridiculous. He's harmless?—"
"I don't care if he's a hundred years old and wheelchair-bound." I back her against the counter, caging her in with my arms. "No one gets to look at you. Talk to you. Make you smile except me."
Her breath catches, pupils dilating despite the exasperation on her face. "You can't possibly be jealous of a grandfather who just wants someone to talk to about his grandkids."
But I am. I'm jealous of anyone who gets a moment of her attention. Anyone who exists in her world that isn't me. It's irrational. Possessive. Obsessive. I know this. I just don't care.
"Mine," I growl, lifting her onto the counter, forcing her thighs apart so I can stand between them. "Say it."
"Gray—"
"Say. It." I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze.
Her resistance crumbles visibly, her body softening against mine. "Yours," she whispers. "I'm yours, Gray."
