“Reid—”
“I know,” he said, voice rough.
His hands slid down her sides, over her waist and hips, pulling her against him as if he couldn’t get her close enough. She tugged his shirt free from his belt, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, and he made a low sound in his throat that nearly undid her.
He kissed her again—slower this time, deeper—and she stumbled backward onto the mattress, laughing breathlessly as he came down over her, bracing himself with one arm beside her head.
For a second, he just looked at her. Hair mussed. Camisole slipping off one shoulder. Lips pink and swollen from his mouth.
“You have any idea,” he said softly, “what you do to me?”
Heat flooded her again.
“Probably,” she said, because she couldn’t help herself, “roughly the same thing you do to me.”
He gave a short, helpless laugh and buried his face against her neck, kissing his way down the sensitive line of her throat while his hand slid along her thigh, pushing slowly beneath the denim of her jeans.
“Eleanor,” he said, like her name itself was pushing him past the edge of his control.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, already arching toward him, and his hand found the button of her jeans?—
The doorbell rang.
They both froze.
The bell chimed again. Longer this time. More insistent.
Reid dropped his forehead to her shoulder with a groan that sounded like actual pain.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
Eleanor stared blindly at the wall for a beat, her brain trying to reboot.
“Ignore it,” she said, already reaching for him again.
And then—horrifyingly—came the unmistakable rattle of a key in her front door lock.
Her blood went ice cold.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “No, no, no?—”
Reid lifted his head. “Do you give your neighbors keys?”
“Worse,” she said faintly.
The door opened.
Voices floated down the hall. Familiar ones.
“Eleanor? Honey?”
She closed her eyes.
“Mom,” she whispered. “Dad.”
Reid blinked. “Right now?”
“Apparently,” she hissed. “They must’ve come up from Charleston.”
