Page 71 of Beyond Protection
His other hand found my hip, pulled me closer. I went willingly—no, eagerly—pressing against him until there was no space left between us.
His beard was rough against my jaw, exactly like I'd imagined and better. I made a sound—desperate, needy—and gripped his jacket, held on like he might disappear if I let go.
He backed me against the porch railing. I stopped thinking entirely.
His weight was solid against me. His fingers gripped my hair. He made a quiet noise when I bit his bottom lip, testing, wanting. His hand slid to my lower back, pressing us closer.
I wasn't pretending. Wasn't calculating angles, managing responses, or thinking about what we looked like from the outside.
I was present. Real. Wanting him with an intensity that scared me, and feeling him want me back.
His phone buzzed between us.
We broke apart—both breathing hard, both flushed.
The phone buzzed again. Insistent.
"Fuck," Eamon breathed against my mouth. "Security alert."
He pulled back enough to check his phone. I watched his face shift into professional mode—walls sliding back up, distance returning.
"Probably nothing," he said. "Motion sensor on the back gate. I need to check."
I laughed shakily. Reached up to touch my mouth, still feeling the ghost of his kiss. "Don't."
"Don't check?"
"Don't tell me it was a mistake. Don't apologize. Don't—" I stopped. Met his eyes. "Don't make this less than it was."
His expression softened. He stepped close again, long enough to cup my jaw with one hand, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
"It wasn't a mistake," he said quietly.
"Good."
"I still need to check the alert."
"I know." I caught his hand before he could pull away. Brought it to my mouth. Kissed his knuckles.
He left to check the gate.
I stood there on the porch, touching my lips, grinning despite everything—the cold, the stalker, the complexity we'd just added to an already impossible situation.
He'd kissed me back.
He'd said it wasn't a mistake.
He'd wanted it—wanted me enough to let his control slip.
The camera blinked its red light above me. Recording everything and watching me stand there like an idiot, touching my mouth like a teenager.
I didn't care who saw.
For once in my life, I wasn't performing.
I was living.
Eamon returned a few minutes later. "Possum. Big one. Knocked over the recycling bin."
