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Taking his hand feels like the riskiest thing I’ve done in years and somehow also the safest.
“This is going to be a one-night stand on a technicality, just so you know. If you weren’t leaving tomorrow, I’d keep you until you got sick of me.”
I’m so used to thinking of the word careful in how it relates to the way I view the world, historically—with caution, aware of every angle of risk. I never thought of it the way Connor means right now: to literally be full of care. To be thoughtful and attentive. Diligent.
“Why’d it take you so long to get to me, Claire Ashford?” he murmurs, pushing a strand of damp hair off my cheek. My heart soars into my throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“And holy shit am I glad I got to be the last few pages in your Portland chapter.”
His mouth on mine is the period at the end of that sentence, but it also feels the beginning of some sort of promise.
