Page 51 of Speak of the Devil

“I’m so happy to see you.” I look up, not caring about the tears streaking my face.

“You definitely look happy to see me,” he teases, kissing my cheeks and wiping the apples with his thumbs.

“I’ve had a long day, but you’ve made it so much better.” I lift on my toes and kiss his mouth, missing those lips so much. Missing him. Missing his embrace so much, too.

Pushing his fingers into my hair, he holds the back of my head as our lips part for each other, and our tongues caress, deepening the kiss.

“Hey?” A stranger’s voice has us jumping apart like we were just caught making out by our parents. Carrying a pizza in one hand, he asks, “Aren’t you?—”

“Nope,” Shane replies, tightening his lips and shaking his head. Taking my hand, he moves closer, a slight posturing has his body protecting me.

He snaps his fingers and points. “You look so much like?—”

“I get that all the time. I think it’s the hair.” Shane ruffles his hair as if it will somehow make him look less like himself . . . or maybe more. I’m not sure what he’s trying to do, but it seems to be working.

The guy eyes his hair. “I can see that.” He takes the stairs by two and disappears. “Have a good one.”

“You, too,” Shane replies.

I say, “We should get inside.”

“Probably best. We’ve overstayed our welcome outside where the public has access.” Access to him.I’m not the draw here.He is, and he’s well aware.

After I retrieve my stuff and lock the car, Shane returns to the stairs to grab a huge bouquet that I hadn’t even noticed. “You brought me flowers?”

“You deserve more, but this is all I could get on short notice.”

My heart pitters faster as I take them in my arms. “Thank you.” I dip to smell the pretty scent. “They’re beautiful.” Once we’re settled in the apartment, I grab a vase from above my fridge and fill it with water. “I must say, for someone who doesn’t do relationships, you sure are a romantic, Shane Faris.”

“What can I say? I’m a multifaceted guy.” He comes into the kitchen, making my ceilings feel lower because of how tall he is. I knew my apartment was small in square footage, but italways fit me. With Shane spending time in this place, maybe I’ll eventually look for somewhere new and bigger. Just to rent. I’m not quite ready to jump into the real estate game again. And I can’t without that divorce financially separating me from him.

Is it the flowers? Him surprising me, again? The hard day? I’m not sure, but I feel tender and raw from the heavy emotions. Dreaming of a future with him is a welcome escape. I start arranging the flowers, glancing at him leaning against the counter. “You are. Tell me how you’re here. Pocket of time? I thought I wouldn’t see you until Tuesday after that schedule change. Did the concert get canceled?”

“No,” he says, coming around behind me to hold my hips and kiss my neck. I tilt to the side, giving him easier access. He hums, his tongue dipping out and tasting me. When his breath blows across my skin, the gentle foreplay is already making me want him. He replies, “We go on at nine. If I land by seven tomorrow night, I’m golden. They’ll kick my ass for missing sound check, but we have a crew who can test the equipment.”

I tuck the last flower, a pale pink ranunculus, into the vase, then turn in his arms. Wrapping mine around his neck. “Wait, you . . .” I can’t seem to get a read on the situation. “You flew back for one night just to see me?”

“Yes.” Kissing my temple, he says, “Trust me, it was self-serving.” I feel what he means against my leg.

Tonight is the night, and I’m not prepared.

No new lingerie to wear for him.

No dinner waiting for us or even ordered, and it’s almost nine o’clock.

I don’t remember if I even made my bed.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t because he wants me as I am. I still plan to take that bath and wash the day away so we can enjoy tonight together.

My heart beats faster, but I’m pretty sure it never stopped racing from the moment we met back in high school. “You say the sweetest things,” I joke, needing the laugh after the earlier sadness.

Chuckling, he says, “I try.” His tone turns when his grin levels. “Cat?”

“Hmm?”

“You make me feel.”

I wait patiently, knowing he isn’t used to sharing his emotions. When he doesn’t say anything else, I ask, “I make you feel what, babe?”

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