Page 26 of Secret Paths

Her chandelier earrings catch the light from the kitchen doorway, throwing small prismatic fragments across the wall as she turns.

I step closer. My hand slides from her elbow to her wrist, and I wrap my fingers around it, feeling the delicate architecture of bone and tendon. Her pulse is quick. I can feel it against my fingertips, a steady kick that contradicts the composure of her face.

"You're sure about this?" I ask.

"Don't ruin it."

"Mandy."

"Yes, I'm sure. I was sure when I sent the message. I was sure when I opened the door. I was sure when you made that terrible joke about customer service, which I am choosing to find charming rather than mortifying." She sets the wine glass in her hand on the kitchen counter without looking, her fingers finding the surface by memory. "So yes, Peter. I am sure."

I pull her towards me by the wrist, gently, and she comes. Her body meets mine, the firm press of her hips against me making me acutely aware of how close she is. At five foot eight, she is hardly tiny, but I still have to look down as she tips her chin up towards me. Her eyes hold mine. I can count the adorable faint lines at their corners, the ones that deepen when she smiles.

I kiss her.

Not hard. Not yet.

I kiss her slowly, tasting the red wine still on her lips. Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt and I pull her closer, one hand at her waist.

She opens her mouth beneath mine, and whatever intention I had of taking my time becomes significantly harder to maintain.

Her hand slides into my hair.

“Bedroom,” she says.

“Say please.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

I grin against her mouth.

She gives me a small shove, picks up her wine and heads for the stairs without looking back.

Apparently, please is not happening.

I follow.

Her bare feet make almost no sound on the stairs. Mine do, because the cottage seems determined to announce my movements to anyone within a three-house radius.

At the top, Mandy pushes open her bedroom door.

The bedside lamp is on. The bed is made.

I stop in the doorway.

She turns. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re smiling with your whole face. It’s very distracting.”

“You made the bed.”

“I usually make the bed.”