Page 197 of A Matter of Time

I glared at him.

“Is that supposed to be doing something?”

“Samuel Thomas Kage,” I yelled at him.

“You middle-named me there, but you’re still coming with me.”

“But—”

“I’m gonna pack up your stuff, then I’m gonna call it in. Sit down while I do that.”

“Sam—”

“There.” He pointed at the love seat. “Sit down and look pretty.”

“Sam—”

“It’s a furnished apartment, J. What do you even have here that you’d need to move?”

“That’s not the point. I⁠—”

“I can put you in the seat if you’d prefer.”

I went and sat down as he walked back to my bedroom. “Lucky you picked me up at the pier, huh?” I asked the empty room, raising my voice so he could hear me. “What if I’d been home?”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t,” he called from the other room.

“Yeah, but what if I was?” I yelled back.

“But you weren’t!” he shouted, and I could hear that he was verging on a roar. I understood where the anger came from. He was terrified of losing me.

I was content even as I sat in the middle of my gutted apartment. He loved me. I was good.

He took me to get a steak because he said I needed the iron. I looked pale, he told me, and so I was fed a filet and a loaded baked potato with a Greek salad on the side. I had key lime pie for dessert and a cappuccino and was promised all sorts of carnal pleasures when he got home later.

The “later” was due to the fact that he had to go back to my place to supervise the crime scene and explain to the techs why my clothes had been removed, along with my laptop and books. When he left me at his place, I was tucked into bed with the remote for the TV and a hot cup of chamomile tea. No amount of whining or cajoling or begging was going to keep him from being there while the crime scene unit techs went through my place. I wanted him home with me and he wanted to know who had been in my apartment. He changed the subject by telling me that he didn’t think I should put my bed in storage. It was time to get rid of the mattress, and I could leave the frame with Dane. I told him how much I loved the couch and he said his was better. That was true. Sam’s leather couch was perfection. I didn’t realize until I had all my things back at Sam’s that I’d never put any money into the apartment. It was a place to live, and as much as I loved it, as happy as I had been to be there, it was still just a stop on the tour. My place was with Sam and his apartment felt like going home. He was right—I belonged there.

Before he left, I got a long, hot kiss and he propped up my ankle and hooked me back up to the ice machine. He showed me how to turn it off, and explained that I shouldn’t leave it on for more than an hour. It was easy to unwrap, and he said he’d wrap my ankle back up in the Ace bandage when he got home. I argued that he should stay with me and he ordered me not to open the door for anybody. Period.

“What about your mom?”

“What?” He stopped at the door to look at me, clearly annoyed.

“Can I open the door for your mom?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, turning to go.

“How about Dane?”

“Oh for crissakes, Jory, you know what the fuck I mean!”

I chuckled and he shot me a look before he stalked down the hall.

“Bye!” I called out to him.

He came charging back moments later, bent over and kissed me again, this time tenderly, slowly, breathing me in. When he pulled back, I leaned with him as far as I could.

“Just sit here and rest. Stop bein’ a brat.”