Page 35 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer (Summers in Seaside)

thirty-four

. . .

Noah

It’s just past ten when I pull up to Elle’s house.

The porch light’s glowing, and the living rooms lit up like a diorama—too bright for this late, too staged to be real.

Beyond that, it’s quiet. No night joggers.

No stoned teens with skateboards. Just cicadas droning and the breeze rustling through the trees like a whisper you can’t quite make out.

I sit for a second with my hand on the door handle. Despite my efforts to make sure she stays safe, there’s a small part of me, the part that was born suspicious of everything and never got past it, that wonders if I really know her at all.

If that kiss earlier could be her playing me.

Part of that goes back to my undercover work and the number of people I’ve so convincingly deceived. Fuck, if I can do it, anyone can.

But would they?

Would she?

The mother of my children. The woman I’ve been in love with almost half my life.

Still, there’s no official reason for me to be here. I’ve not only ignored but am actively hiding the heavy shadow of evidence suggesting she’s tangled up in this. My heart may wrestle with my badge, but not very hard and not for long. It’s all personal. And probably will be from here on out.

Not that she needs to know that. Yet.

It’s because it’s personal that’s the goddamn problem.

It’s why I step out of the car; I’m driven by something primal that transcends the oath I took. I walk up the steps and knock—three quick, determined raps. Nothing.

I press the doorbell, the sound echoing like a fierce declaration. Just as I’m about to knock again, I hear her footsteps, muffled yet determined, and the shuffle of the deadbolt shifting. Then the door swings open?—

And there she is.

Elle.

Fresh from the shower or doing a damn good impression of it. Her hair’s damp around her face and her tank top is thin enough to make a priest reassess his vows. The shorts are barely hanging on. It’s a look that says I wasn’t expecting company, but also, you’re welcome, big guy.

She blinks when she sees me. Panic flickers, fast and sharp. Then it’s gone, replaced by a half-cocked, suspicious calm.

“Noah,” she says, voice pitched an octave too high. “It’s late.”

“You’re awake,” I say, letting my eyes do a slow sweep—top to bottom, bottom to top—just to make a point.

Her arms cross automatically, which only draws more attention to the way the fabric clings to her chest. My restraint dies a little.

I start to step forward. Shameless, at this point.

She blocks the doorway, lips twitching like she wants to smile but doesn’t trust herself. “What do you want, Noah?”

“To come in.”

“Why?”

“Talk. Or something.”

“‘Or something,’” she repeats, arching an eyebrow. “You know how that sounds, right?”

I flash a cocky grin. "Do you?'

She squints at me unsure how to react.

“Is Amy here?” I ask.

“Nope.” She says it too fast. “She left hours ago.” I know she’s lying. I don’t really care.

“Kids at their sleepover?”

She nods, but she still doesn’t move.

“Let me in, beautiful.”

She looks like she wants to cave.

“I do want to look at their bathroom still. After all, it’s your fault I didn’t get a chance to check it earlier.”

That gets her attention. “My fault?”

I smirk, and the air between us thickens.

She exhales, the sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh, and steps back. “Fine. But quick. No tools. No actual repairs tonight.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I slide past her and shut the door.

Kiki V-T zooms over, inspects my presence, and then dismisses me with a flick of her tail.

Elle turns and walks ahead of me through the living room. Her bare feet make no sound, but her scent lingers—vanilla, clean skin, and something else I can’t quite place.

I step up behind her pressing my front to her back. “You smell amazing.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere.”

“I’m already in the house, aren’t I?”

Her body heat hits me like a slow burn. I turn her in my arms and close the distance between us, tightening my grip on her hips.

“What are we doing, Noah?” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper her hands coming up to rest on my chest.

“I’m here because I wanted to see you. And we didn’t get a chance to talk earlier. And—full disclosure?”

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.”