The storm in his eyes softens, telling me he understands immediately. He drops his hands to my hips and pulls them flush to his, then lowers his mouth to kiss me. His lips move urgently, his tongue swirling with mine until I’m dizzy and grasping at his shoulder blades to keep my balance.
He doesn’t stop kissing me, even as Maren clears her throat and starts to cough. I break away, still holding on, and twist my head to find her with her arms crossed, gloating.
“Can you drive?” he rumbles in my ear.
“Yes, why?”
“The wine.”
“I only had a glass,” I assure him.
“Let’s go. Where’s your purse?”
“Here it is.” Maren hands it to him.
“Wait, I need my phone.”
“You have my number?” he questions her, ignoring me.
“Sure do.”
“Call me if you need us.” He drags me behind him, digging through my purse until he finds my keys, and unlocks my car.
Silently, he sets me inside, puts the key fob in my cup holder, and leans in until he’s trapped me between his arms.
“Walker—”
“Quiet, Emerson. I’ll follow you to my house. There are things we need to discuss.”
“No, we don’t. There’s nothing to discuss—” I try again.
His lips hover over mine, and when he speaks, his warm breath coats my lips. “My house, your sweet ass, and no more sass.” He doesn’t kiss me before shoving away and slamming my door.
I watch him get into his truck and gesture for me to drive. My hands tremble a little the whole way with nervous anticipation. Is he mad at me for being foolish?
You don’t kiss someone like that if you’re mad, do you?
He came for me when I didn’t call. That’s a good sign, right?
Why did I have to act irrational? When he called last night to say he’d be working late, I let my imagination run wild. I automatically assumed he was avoiding me.
He’s a detective, you asshole, not an accountant. I tell myself, getting closer to his house. Crime doesn’t happen only during the day.
I knew leaving that damn note would cause problems, but I was too embarrassed to think straight. It was a coward’s way out. I thought if I could avoid him for the imminent future, he’d forget I said anything. And if I truly didn’t chase him away, we could go back to the way things were.
All night, I laid in bed and wondered if I made a mistake, but now, I understand clearly. The image of his face when he saw me yesterday morning in my parents’ living room fills my head.
Maren’s right; he’s an action man, and he does care about me in some deep way. If this is how he shows his love, I’ll live with it. I don’t have to hear the words.
I park and take several deep breaths, ready to explain that my lack of judgment was immature at best.
My feet never touch the ground before Walker is at my door and throwing me over his shoulder. I’m momentarily stunned by the action, so the only thing that I do is yelp and clutch his hips. We pass his foyer, living room, and bedroom before he finally places me on my feet.
He twists, spinning me at the same time so my back is to his front. His hands slide into mine as he crosses his forearms across my chest, caging me into his body.
“What do you see?” My stomach clenches at the roughness in his tone.
My eyes roam around the closet, taking in the mostly empty space. All of his clothes are arranged on the right side, and the shelves are stacked with his sweaters and sweatshirts. The shoe rack is crammed with his boots, dress shoes, and tennis shoes he alternates depending on his workout.