Page 125 of Beyond Protection
I looked at him. His gray-green eyes were steady.
"Okay."
We stood with our fingers still intertwined.
We climbed together—third step, seventh, tenth.
At the end of the hallway, the guest room door stood open, and we entered together.
The perfume had faded. The room felt more like itself.
"Better?" Eamon asked.
"Getting there."
He released my hand. Checked the window—locked. Checked the closet—empty. Checked under the bed.
"Clear," he said.
He sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped. Springs creaked.
"Come here," he said.
I crossed the room and stood before him.
"Sit," he said.
I sat beside him. "I need—" I started. Stopped. "I need something that's ours. Something she didn't touch. Something separate from all this."
"Okay."
"I don't know what that looks like. I—I can't keep living in the countdown. I need—"
Eamon reached out and gripped my chin. "I know what you need."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He leaned in and kissed me.
It wasn't like the first time under the Christmas lights. It wasn't tentative.
He was claiming me. This kiss said:You're mine and I'm yours, and everything else can wait.
I made a sound—half relief and half surrender. I wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer.
He pulled back just enough to speak. "Lie down."
"Eamon—"
"Lie down."
I shifted backward. The pillows that had held Vanessa's envelope now held my head. Eamon moved beside me, propped on one elbow, looking down.
"What are you—"
"Shh." He traced my jaw with his index finger and then down my throat. It drifted across my collarbone where the wire had sat. "You've been performing for everyone all day. Now you're done."
