Behind Closed Doors (Rochester Trilogy 3.50)

“Look,” he said as I came close, sliding a hand over his shoulder. I’ll take any excuse to touch him after that month he was away. Sam turned toward me, opening his palms to show me something small and polished.

A Christmas ornament.

“It reminds me of the inn,” he said. “Someone else must have loved bed and breakfasts, too.”

“You’ll have to wait quite a while to hang it on the tree,” I pointed out. Months and months. It was a long time until Christmas.

“Good. I want to spend every minute between now and then in your bed.”

“I love you,” I told him. It still felt new.

“I love you,” he said.

Is it embarrassing to lock your legs around a man’s waist in an antique shop? I suppose it could be, but I don’t care. That’s what I did.

I’ve chosen four photos from that day. One I took with the self-timer on the camera. All four of us outside the shop. One Sam took of me during lunch afterward. One I took of him from the next aisle over, his head bowed over a shelf of old books. And one of the two of us walking on the sidewalk, my hand slung around his back and his arm over my shoulder. That’s my favorite one. It’s tangible evidence that we were there together.

I lay them out on the page and write down the story of that day. We went to the antique shop with our friends. We had lunch. We came home. It’s both simple and priceless. The kind of thing I wish I had for all my favorite memories. We’re making up for lost time with this book.

It doesn’t take long to create the page. I’ve had it laid out in my head since we got home from the antique store and Sam put the Christmas ornament on the dresser in our bedroom.

When I’m done, I close the book and go to find him.

He’s out in the yard chopping wood, the summer sun beating down on his golden skin and hard muscles. He’s the opposite of the man who walked into the inn months ago. He was dark then. Haunted. Now he’s light.

Sam swings the axe one more time, embedding it into the stump he uses to split the wood. He stalks toward me, a heart-skipping grin on his face, and pushes me into the side of the inn. He kisses as hard as he split that wood. Passionate. Sharp.

“What are you doing out here? Were you getting ready to run?”

“No.” I can’t get enough of him. I want him with me always. I push myself into him. He’s hard and strong, but he’s not dangerous. Not to me. “I just came to find you.”

“How long are you going to do that for?”

“How long will you let me?”

His hand runs down over my waist. My hip. “'Til the end of time, Marjorie. You come looking, and I’ll be here.”

“Chopping wood?” I kiss him back. It’s hard to stop. I’ll have things to do around the inn soon enough. There’s a whole summer day to get back to. A whole summer night. “Even in the winter?”

“Hell, no. I want to be between your thighs. Here, where it’s warm.”

He nudges my thighs apart with his knee. “Sam. We’re outside. Anyone could see us.”

“I don’t care.” He pulls me closer and bends down to kiss the side of my neck. “I want you. You’re beautiful out here.”

“So are you.” Sweat shines on his skin from swinging the axe. He’s always hot, though. I’m always on fire from looking at him. From touching him. It’s never going to end. “But we can’t.”

“But you feel so goddamn good.” He pushes me down onto his leg. It’s so filthy it makes me gasp. “You taste as good as you feel. Even better.”

“How do I taste?” I’m going to let him take me upstairs. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll be quiet. I won’t cause a scene with the guests.

“Sweet,” he murmurs into my ear. “Like home.”

Epilogue

Sam

I’m patient for my pretty little innkeeper.

She spends her days making all the guests so damn happy that they scramble for bookings next year. It’s like that every weekend. They all want their time at the Lighthouse Inn. They all want to come back to her.

So do I.

It doesn’t matter if we’re apart for twenty minutes. I miss her like I’ve been gone for months on the other side of the world.

This twenty minutes is worth it.

Marjorie’s already in bed. I make one more tour of the Lighthouse Inn, locking up for the night. I installed better locks than the ones she had when I came back home. The real security is lying in bed next to her every night.

It’s calm in the inn when I finish my round. Quiet. Ocean waves roll on the shore outside. Parents always marvel at how fast their kids fall asleep at the inn. The ocean is the best white noise machine. It’ll cover up the sounds Marjorie’s about to make for me.