The bluntness stole my breath.
“Where?”
He guided my hand between us.
“Here.”
I searched his face.
“Color?”
“Bright green.”
“Pain level?”
“One.”
“Any dizziness?”
“None.”
“Are you frightened?”
His gaze did not waver.
“Not of you.”
I kissed him once more, then turned and locked the office door.
Caleb and Owen had left, but privacy was not only about the possibility of interruption. It was about allowing Noah to feel contained without being trapped.
The apartment waited one flight above us.
I still did not hurry him there.
He took my hand and led me through the inner door into the sail loft, where the padded worktable stood empty after the ferry project. He sat on its edge, the height allowing his injured hip to remain supported and his left foot to stay firmly on the floor.
“Better than trying anything on concrete,” he said.
“Was this part of Maeve’s medical advice?”
“She recommended support and proper alignment.”
“I doubt she specifically endorsed the workshop loft.”
“She left room for interpretation.”
I moved between his knees.
He unbuttoned my work shirt while I kissed him, concentrating so fiercely that he skipped one button and cursed against my mouth.
I laughed.
He answered by grazing my lower lip with his teeth.
Desire tightened through me.
His hands spread over my chest, learning and remembering at once. When they moved lower, I caught his wrist gently.
