Page 71 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer

She tilts her chin up, meeting my eyes. Waiting.

“The last two years without you were hell. I never want to do that again. I’m back to prove I’m not the man who walked away. To show you I’m still the one who loves you. That I never stopped. That I don’t want this life unless you and the kids are in it.”

She parts her lips to speak, but I touch a finger to them—just lightly. Her lips brush my skin. My pulse jumps.

“Don’t say anything yet,” I murmur. “Just… let it sit. Let it marinate.”

Her breath catches. Her mouth closes over my finger in the subtlest of grazes, and I feel it like a full-body jolt. The air between us turns electric.

She’s warm. Close. Her eyes flick to my mouth, then back to my gaze. Then away.

“Can you do that for me?” I ask, low.

She nods, eyes not quite meeting mine.

The moment stretches.

Then she draws a deep breath—deep enough that her nipples brush my chest, and I almost forget how to breathe. “Why’d you let me in, baby?”

She doesn’t answer. She looks conflicted as her eyes flicker between mine.

I let my own travel her face. “So beautiful.” I push her hair back from her face on one side, she leans her cheek into my touch. I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it.

I lean in, wanting to taste her again, take it further this time.

She steps back and shakes her head, pushing at my chest.

“The bathroom’s still upstairs,” she says, voice too steady. “Third door on the right.”

“I remember.”

“Then don’t forget to lock the door when you leave.”

As I pass her, I glance back. “Why’d you let me in?”

She doesn’t answer.

But just as I reach the stairs, I hear her voice float behind me—soft, vulnerable, maybe even a little dangerous. The kind that makes my heart race.

“Maybe I wanted to see you too.”

thirty-five

. . .

Elle

The secondhe disappears up the stairs, I turn and lean against the wall like it might hold me up.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

What the hell was that?

I press a hand to my chest. My heart’s hammering so loud it’s probably echoing up the stairwell. I don’t know if it’s from the near miss with the construction site, or the fact that Noah just touched my hip like it was still his to touch. Like he still knows how to make my bones melt and my knees question their function.

And don’t even get me started on the finger-to-the-lip move.

Who does that?