Page 137 of Dying to Meet You
“Oh, Ro. Ro. Hey.”
My eyes are suddenly fountains. I guess there’s only so much stress you can take before the dam bursts.
“Hey, hey. Shh.” Harrison scoots closer and pulls me in.
My forehead clunks against his shoulder, and I can’t help it. I just sort of slide onto his chest and push my face into his Docksiders T-shirt. He smells like fry oil and sunshine and my carefree youth.
He wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on top of my head. “It’s okay. It will all be okay.”
“You don’t know that,” I mumble wetly.
“No, it will.” He kisses the top of my head. “They’ll find a print on that wallet. Or something. And this will all be over.”
I lift my face and almost beg.Promise me. But I stop myself just in time. I’m too old to ask for promises.
Although now I’m gazing up at him at point-blank range. Close enough to see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Close enough to discern darker flecks in his gray irises.
And it’s odd how familiar this feels. It used to be normal for us to be so close that I could feel his breath on my face. This was us. And some part of my consciousness still remembers.
Which is probably why I kiss him. It’s just too easy—he’srightthere. All I have to do is tilt forward and lift my chin to find the firm warmth of his mouth.
For a split second, he goes completely still. Before I even have time to panic, his broad hands gather me in, and his mouth invites mine closer.
His kiss is like sliding underwater. All the noise in my head is suddenly muffled. The peace is just what I need. So when the kiss ends, another begins, and then another. I lose myself, and I want to be lost. I want to grip his biceps with both hands and feel his heartbeat against my chest.
He’s strong and solid when I slide my hands down his chest and then up under his T-shirt. I need more of his warmth.
He catches my hands in one of his rough ones. “Rowan,” he breathes. “Hey.”
I blink up at him, my mind full of static fuzz.
“Honey.” His eyes get sad. “You’re upset and not thinking clearly. And I have to go back to work. I was only on my break, and Natalie is there.”
“Oh. Shit. Of c-course,” I stammer, my sluggish mind playing catch-up. “God, I’m sorry.”
“Probably not as sorry as I am,” he says, sliding me off his lap andonto the couch. He stands up with a sigh, then leans over to place another kiss on the top of my head. “You’ll text me if you hear anything, right?”
“Yes,” I say, dropping my face into my hands. I can’t believe I just pawed him like a cat in heat. Hell, hisactualcat is much more polite.
One broad hand lands on the back of my neck and squeezes. “Hang in there, baby. Just a little longer. I’m locking the door behind me.”
“Thank you.” It comes out muffled.
I don’t even watch him leave. I listen for the sound of the deadbolt sliding back into place before I lift my head. I need to get a grip. I need to get my life back on track. Yet my heart is still racing, and my lips still chafing from beard burn.
People say you never forget your first love, but those people are liars. I’d forgotten all about how I turn into a drooling hormone whenever Harrison gets close to me.
And I’dlungedat him. Who does that? Someone whose house has just been broken into by a killer.
This has to stop. I need to figure out who’s so angry at me. Hank? Hank’s family?
Jules Kovak?
I grab my phone off the coffee table and scroll to my message thread with Jules. Where wasshewhen all this went down? I tap on her avatar and initiate a call. No—that’s not good enough. I stop and initiate a video call instead.
She actually answers, her face winking onto my screen a moment later. “Rowan? Hi. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Where are you?” I demand. All I can see behind her is a dim room. A home office, maybe.
