Behind Closed Doors (Rochester Trilogy 3.50)

“You could make a whole book about how this place looks through the seasons,” Sam says. But he’s not looking at the ocean, which captures everyone’s attention. “I’d read a book like that if you kept it on the front desk.”

“Really? Wouldn’t you want to feel like the inn… I don’t know. Came into being just for you and disappeared as soon as you left? Your own secret place?”

He shakes his head. “I’d want to know it was here all the time. I’d want to know how it looked in the early spring and the dead of winter and on those days in August where it’s too hot to breathe.”

My heart races. He could have all those things if he stayed. I wouldn’t throw him out. It’s a dangerous thought to have. I know that. But isn’t that the point of being an innkeeper? Offering people a temporary home?

“It would be hard to take a picture if it was that hot.” As hot as I feel now, even with the cold air coming in off the ocean. “I’d spend all my time in the water.”

Sam smiles. “I’d like to see that, too.”

Chapter Ten

Sam

I didn’t know I needed a picnic.

How would I have known that? No woman has ever stood in the kitchen with light in her eyes and quick hands, putting together a basket of food. No woman has ever put a blanket on the ground and offered me a fucking sandwich, and then talked to me like…

Like it was a date.

A real date. Not an interrogation. Two people spending time with each other like they were comfortable. Like they were at home.

Marjorie’s cheeks are pink from the cold by the time I help her pack up the remains of the meal and carry the basket down the beach with her. My chest aches with how much I liked that. It was simple. It was domestic and sweet and all the things I’ve never even hoped for.

This life—that’s what I need. How could I not have seen that before? Small, easy comforts and love. Somebody packing a fucking picnic basket. I need it so much it hurts.

More than that, I feel close to her. Marjorie puts her hand on my arm as we make our way across the yard behind the inn. It feels right to steady her. It feels right to be the one she’s touching.

Which is why we need distance.

I can’t feel this close to her. I get attached, and that’s it. That’s my whole damn career, up in flames. An agent goes soft and he’s not an agent anymore. He can try to hide it, but it’ll all fall apart eventually. An agent with a heart can’t withstand interrogation. They struggle to do what’s necessary for the assignment.

I separate myself from her for hours. Through the early afternoon. Marjorie moves around the inn. She tidies. She brings me coffee. She spends a quiet stretch in her workroom.

Every move she makes shifts the space around us. It pulls my heart toward her. I’ve never wanted to scare Marjorie, but as the minutes pass, my resolve weakens. I need her, and I need her to understand that I’m not good for her. I’m not the man she should pack a picnic for.

I wait until I can hear her packing up. Quicker, more precise movements. A drawer opening and shutting. At the door to the workroom, I stand in the frame and watch her until she notices me with a startle.

Marjorie’s hand flies to her chest. “Sam. You scared me.”

“You shouldn’t have let me in.”

She blinks, a nervous laugh escaping her. “What do you mean? You’re a guest.”

“I’m not a guest, and you know it. I’m a dangerous man. And now I’m inside with you.”

“I—” Her eyes move up and down my body, but she doesn’t take a step back. The pretty little innkeeper doesn’t try to run. Her cheeks flush. “I hope you won’t hurt me.”

I haven’t hurt her. I’m trying to tell her that I could. I’m capable of it. I’ve hurt so many people before.

“What will you trade?”

Marjorie Dunn is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I’m struck by the color of her eyes in the lamplight from her worktable. “Trade?”

“For your safety. You’ll have to buy it from me.”

“I don’t—I don’t—” She’s never played a game like this before. That much is clear. “I don’t have very much money. I don’t have anything to offer.”

“Money is nothing to me.” Two quick steps and I have her wrist in my hand. She gasps. “Come upstairs and show me how much you want to live.”

She barely resists on the trip up the stairs, but her eyes are wide when I back her into my bedroom. “Please. You don’t have to do this.”

“This is what I do. Take off your clothes.”