“What is it?” I ask.
He glances toward the door, then back to me. “Is Bea home? If she is, I just want to know what to say when we walk in together.”
I frown. “Would we have to say anything? Couldn’t we just walk in and that’s that?”
“Possibly. Or it might be obvious what we’ve been up to.”
I search his eyes, looking for some clue as to how he feels about that. And then I remind myself that I have a mouth, so I ask him, “And would that be all right, if it was?”
He smiles, slow and satisfied. “Very all right with me.”
I’m nearly dizzy with relief.
“What about you?” he asks, searching my eyes, too.
I nod. “Very all right.”
His smile grows. “Good.”
“We can tell the friends, too,” I blurt.
Christopher smiles his widest yet, eyes sparkling, warm and proud. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” I turn toward the door, focused on the lock, then stop, turning back. “Bea’s actually at work now, so we have the place to ourselves for a bit.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Is that why you were hustling me out the door, so you could sneak in here and avoid the walk of shame with me?”
“I was hustling you out the door because I wasn’t sure if you’d want them to know. I wanted to give you an out and not have them be here when we were.”
He glares at me, folding his arms across his chest. “Kate, I’d shout from the tallest skyscraper in this city what you mean to me, if you’d let me.”
Oh God, my blush. “Well, now I know. But I didn’t then. That was why I was nagging you about needing to go and to stop beautifying in front of the mirror—”
“I was shaving.”
“I liked the scruff,” I blurt. “A lot.”
He tips his head, his gaze warm. “You did?”
I nod. “I liked how it made you look different and also . . . the same. I can’t explain it.”
Except that’s how this feels. Like it’s you. Like it’s nothing like you. Like it’s better than I could have ever imagined.
“And I like how it feels,” I admit, my cheeks heating.
One of those slow, wicked grins lifts his mouth. He leans against the wall beside the door and crosses his feet at the ankles, oozing sensual self-satisfaction. “And where exactly do you like how it feels?”
I slug his arm. “Stop it. You know exactly where.”
“Mm-hmm, but I like hearing it.”
“Good grief.” I turn my back on him, fumbling with the key as I try to unlock the door before I do something silly like tackle him in the hallway and kiss him to death.
“Kate,” he says, stepping behind me, dropping his chin on my shoulder. He nuzzles into my hair.
“Yes, Christopher.”
“When we tell everyone. I want to tell them . . . that you’re mine and I’m yours. That we’re together exclusively.”
My heart pinwheels in my chest, joy spinning it fast and faster.
“Do you . . .” He clears his throat softly, then breathes me in, his nose buried in my hair. “Do you want that, too?”
I smile so wide my cheeks hurt, then glance over my shoulder, making our noses brush. “Yes. So much.”
His smile is dazzling as he leans in and kisses me.
When I pull away and refocus on the door, about to cross this threshold, bringing my first-ever lover and partner inside, it hits me. The reality of all this, its immense, overwhelming, terrifying wonderfulness, brings me to a standstill.
“Kate?” Christopher rubs my back gently. “What’s up?”
I shake my head. “I’m okay.”
“Hey.” He wraps his arm around my waist. “Don’t do that. Say what you feel. This is what we do now, Kate. We talk.”
“Is that what we do?” I tease, struggling with the key. “Talk?”
I feel his grin against my neck as he kisses me there, his hands wandering higher up my waist, toward my breasts. “Well, that and other things.”
“？‘Other things’ is right, like me cussing at this goddamn door whose lock is my villain origin story.”
Christopher sighs, abandoning his seduction, and wraps his hand around mine, helping me jiggle the key once, then flip it to unlock. Pushing open the door, he holds it for me.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
As I toss the keys onto the kitchen counter, Christopher shuts the door behind me, then strolls down the hall straight toward my room.