Page 27

"There is." I reach past her and put my thumb on it. It's still turned back from when I came out to her. "While you're on this place, it stays open. The magnet holds this door better than that bolt ever did."

"Why do you have a lock like this on a ranch house?"

"Because my daddy made a lot of enemies in this house." I keep my voice flat. "Some of them outlived him. After Bo was dead, I put this in. I wanted to know nobody was coming through that door unless I let them."

Her eyes follow the wire from the box over the door into the wall.

I tell her the code. She says it back to me without a mistake.

"Who else knows it?"

"Beckett. Jesse." I look at her. "Now you."

She takes that in. She doesn't say thank you, and I'm glad. She shouldn't have to thank anybody for a door she can open herself.

"Any night that bolt gets to you, you come here," I tell her. "You punch the code in out here, and the door lets you in. When it shuts behind you, it locks again by itself, without a sound. There's a release button inside by the frame when you want out. Nobody comes through after you but Beckett and Jesse, and they'll knock first. My kitchen. My couch. The light stays on."

"And you?"

"I'll be in the house, walking heavy, so you always know where I am."

Standing this close, I can see the healing bruise along her cheekbone and the ragged ends of her hair. Under the coat, she's still shaking with the cold.

She turns from the door and tips her face up to mine.

I know what's coming before she moves. Her gaze has dropped to my mouth.

Last night in my bed, she turned her face into the pillow the second my mouth came near hers. She stood in my kitchen and told me not to kiss her. Not on the mouth. Not once. I've kept that rule since the minute she gave it to me.

She rises onto her toes.

I stay right where I am. My hands hang open at my sides, and I keep them there.

Her mouth touches mine. Her lips are soft and cold from the night air, and they tremble against mine for a second before she presses harder.

It's not a careful kiss. She pushes up into me with her whole body, and her good hand fists in the front of my T-shirt to keep her balance. Her lips part. When I open for her, the tip of her tongue slides along my bottom lip, slow, testing me.

I kiss her back with my mouth and nothing else. I let her set the pace and follow every move she makes. Inside, her mouth is hot, a shock after the cold of her lips.

She makes a low sound in her throat and pulls my shirt tighter, dragging me down to her. Through the canvas coat, her breasts press against my chest, and I can feel her heart pounding.

Heat pours down my spine and settles hard in my groin. My cock swells against my zipper, and I'm glad that coat hangs between us. My hands ache to take her waist and lift her against me. I hold them where they are. If I touch her, I'm the one running it, and this kiss is hers.

She catches my bottom lip between her teeth, lets it go, and pulls back first, but not far. Her fist is still knotted in my shirt. Her lips are wet and swollen from mine. She's breathing fast, and nobody's telling her when. She stares at my mouth, stunned at herself.

"You didn't move," she says.

"You didn't ask me to."

"Don't get any ideas, Hollister." Her voice wobbles, but she means every word. "That was mine."

"I know whose it was."

She scowls. She's mad at herself for liking it.

She lets go of my shirt. With one slow pass of her palm, she smooths out the wrinkles she left. Then she steps back.

She took that kiss because she wanted it, and I stayed out of her way. The next time she comes to me because she wants to, my hands won't be hanging at my sides. I mean to keep her, and I want her choosing it every time. I can be a patient man about that.