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I sighed. “Yeah.” We got into his car and sat in silence for a moment.
“What now?” he broke the quiet.
“I need to ask the ME for an update, but also if there’s any chance we can get any trace of narcotics or reason for death. I need to check in on the office. Then home.”
“Okay.”
“Will you be waiting at my place?” I asked.
He turned to face me. “I’ll be there.”
I reached into my pocket and held out a key, which he took and gripped in his fist. “No more breaking in.”
“Not even for fun?” he asked.
We met in the middle for a kiss. I’d never given anyone a key to my place, and it was clear that he hadn’t expected it.
“Nope, not even for fun.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
CONNOR
When Neil arrived home,just after nine in the evening, he looked as if he’d been put through the wringer. Exhaustion was etched into every line of his face, his usual confident stride reduced to something slower, more deliberate. Still, he managed to eat some of the lasagna I’d made from scratch—well, from bottles and dried pasta, at least. It wasn’t gourmet, but it filled the gap.
“What did the ME say?” I asked after a pause where I let him eat.
“That detecting any traces of medication after all this time was statistically unlikely.”
Fuck.
I made him drink water and sit on the sofa with his notebook, already thick with the notes he’d been jotting down throughout the day. They weren’t the same fancy journals as his dad’s, not by a long shot, but they clearly served a similar purpose. I couldn’t help but wonder how often my name appeared in them.
While he sat there, scribbling away, I cleared up the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counters. When I stepped into the living room, I found him dozing, the notebook resting on his chest, the pen loose in his left hand.
He looked peaceful like that, the tension from the day slipping away in sleep. His hair was tousled, a few strands falling over his forehead, and there was light stubble on his jaw, a shadow that only made him more rugged.
Mine.
The soft light from the lamp cast a warm glow on his face, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, and the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply.
God, he was so beautiful.
I leaned over to kiss his forehead, pressing my lips to his skin. He let out a sleepy noise, somewhere between a sigh and a hum, and it was the most adorable sound I’d ever heard—not that I’d ever tell him that. Those pesky feelings I’d caught were bigger and better now, but I wanted him more awake when I told him how I felt and what I wanted for our future.
“Time for bed,” I murmured, not wanting to startle him.
“‘M comfy,” he mumbled, eyes still closed, his voice thick with sleep.
“Bed,” I insisted, my tone firm.
He grumbled something unintelligible but relented, sitting up and stretching. We went through the usual routine, brushing our teeth in the bathroom. It was a quiet, comfortable moment, the kind of routine that feltlike home. When we climbed into bed, naked, how I curled around him was instinctive, natural, fitting perfectly as the big spoon.
“Wyatt found a permanent position,” he murmured, “had to write references.”
“Will you replace him?”
He sighed and then turned in my arms. “I need to, even if I have my own personal superhero to hand.” He chuckled against my skin and then pressed a kiss close to my nipple before kissing me again, closer and closer, until he tugged the nipple with his teeth, and then suckled it, rubbing at the other with his fingers. Blood rushed south—I thought he’d fall asleep, not end up starting something that I knew I’d finish—worse when he sprawled on top of me and kissed me deeply.
