“Just until your security upgrade. Even then,” I push my hands into my suit pockets, “it would be safer if you err on the side of caution.”
“I will.”
“Do you have an alarm?” I’ve already swept the corners by the door, the window frames, the underside of the sideboard. I don’t see a panel anywhere. No motion sensors. There’s nothing to indicate that she has one, but I ask anyway.
“Nope. There hasn’t been a need until now.”
“We’ll fix that.”
Something tightens around her eyes.
“I’ve always felt safe on this island,” she says. “Things change.”
“They certainly do,” I agree. “I’ll have my team sort it. There’ll be new locks on the front door and the sliding door. I want a glass-break sensor in this room and a motion sensor in the hall. I want a panic button in your bedroom. We’ll talk about cameras at the front door. You can choose what you’re comfortable with.”
She just nods.
Neither of us says anything for a beat.
“I need to see your bedroom.”
She nods, looking away, but not before I see her cheeks suffuse with pink.
I leave her in the kitchen and walk down the short hallway to her bedroom. I tell myself I’m looking at the window. I’m checking the sash. I’m noting the screen, the latch, and the angle of the fire escape from this side. I reassure myself that I’m doing my job.
And I am.
But the second I cross the threshold, the rest of it lands on me anyway, because the bed she had me in is right there, and there’s a paperback open face-down with a different couple on the cover this time. The throw is twisted at the foot of the mattress. The sheets are pulled halfway off and tangled at one corner. A pair of pajama bottoms is crumpled near the bathroom door, and a small pair of black panties is on the rug right next to them.
I stop inside the doorway and stare at the floor for too long.
I remember the taste of her.
I remember the way she sounded when she came the first time, that strangled little gasp followed by every shaky breath after.
I remember the feel of her hands fisted in my hair.
The taste. The feel. All of it.
She comes up behind me and makes a small, mortified noise. “Oh god. Sorry. I was running late this morning.” She moves past me, scoops up the panties and pajamas, and balls them in her fist. “I never leave it like this.”
“It’s fine.”
“Two seconds.” She tosses everything into the bathroom hamper and pulls the bathroom door closed behind her. She comes back to the bed and starts dragging the sheet up.
Her scent is everywhere in here. Whatever shampoo she uses. Her skin. Soap from the bathroom. Fuck, but she smells good. Like candy and fresh flowers.
I lock that particular line of thinking down.
Then I cross the room, give the window a tug, check the screen, and mark the latch in my head as adequate but not great. Then I’m turning back around to look at the room as a whole.
She’s smoothing the throw at the bottom of the bed. Her cheeks are pink.
I clear my throat.
“Hmm?” She doesn’t look up.
“I don’t want to leave you here alone tonight. You’re not safe. Anyone with half a brain could break in here in a second.”
