Page 65 of Shadow Justice

Reid’s chest squeezed.

She unfolded her arms. “Roni tries. She does. She’s been trying for twenty years, and I know she loves me, but she’s also Roni. Her version of taking care of me involves dog foster failures, matchmaking schemes, and showing up with dinner when she thinks I’m too deep in my head. Which is wonderful.” Holly’s voice caught slightly on the word, and she pressed her lips together for a second. “But it’s still her version. I still came home every night to myself.”

“Holly—”

“I’m not asking for pity. I’m just saying.” She let her hands drop. “When you came back, I told myself I was angry—and I was. But underneath that, the part I didn’t want to admit is that I’ve missed having someone around who knows me. Not just the Holly who runs the coffee shop. The other one.”

He crossed to her, and she didn’t move away. She stood against the refrigerator and her chin lifted slightly as if deciding whether to hold any ground at all.

“I know her,” he said. “I’ve always known her.”

“You left her.”

He stopped a foot in front of her, close enough that he could see the lines at the corners of her eyes and the faint tremble in her jaw she was working to control. “I was an idiot. A kid who had a long road ahead of him and didn’t know what would happen. I’m not going to leave you again. I should have told you what you meant to me that night. I should’ve asked you what you wanted instead of assuming I already knew. I don’t get to do that over.” He held her gaze and kept his voice steady. “But I can do this differently, and I’m asking you to let me.”

She didn’t answer right away, and he didn’t push. Holly studied his face the way she’d studied the jury list on the laptop—as if she was looking for something that would tell her whether to trust the evidence in front of her.

Then she reached for him.

Her hands found the front of his shirt, catching the fabric gently, as if she were making a decision she wanted to be careful about. She looked up at him, and her eyes were still bright from crying, but her face had gone still in a different way—not closed off but open, the way she’d looked that morning in the dog park when she’d admitted he was under her skin.

“Take care of me,” she said quietly.

Reid lowered his forehead to hers. He felt her exhale against his mouth—careful, slow—and everything he’d been holding tightly let go at once.

He kissed her cautiously. Not the way she’d kissed him the night before, which had been urgent and raw and searingly honest. His hand came up and cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek, and he kissed her with the gentleness she deserved.

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat and tilted toward him, her hands loosening in his shirt and wrapping around his neck.

Then his gentle kiss turned just as urgent and raw as hers the previous night had been.

It had always been Holly filling his world with comfort and kindness. She’d always been there, watching and waiting. The single night they’d had together before he’d left for the Navy had been a culmination of all the years he’d watched his sister’s best friend grow up before his eyes and turn into a woman who stole his breath every time she smiled.

She kept her hand on the back of his neck, not allowing him to come up for air. He didn’t want to. He did manage to move her hair over her shoulder and pressed his mouth to the spot under her ear. She shivered.

“Okay?” he murmured.

“Very.”

He smiled against her skin. Her hands fell to his waist, resting there as if she were still testing whether this was real.

He slid his lips down the slim column of her neck. She arched against him, raising one leg to wrap around his. She felt too damn good, and the sounds she was making in the back of her throat were driving him out of his mind.

He’d replayed their previous night together over and over again in his mind. He’d thought if he ever got to touch her again, kiss her again, he might die from the sheer pleasure of it.

He might’ve been right.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured as he traced his mouth along her jawline. “I regret every day I haven’t told you that.”

Her hand slid under his shirt, splaying across his stomach, her fingers warm now and possessive. His thighs pressed against hers, pinning her to the refrigerator. It rocked slightly from the intensity.

He lifted her up, her legs automatically going around his hips. He pivoted and set her on the breakfast island. Her hands worked his shirt up off over his head, and then she pulled hers off, dropping both of them on the floor.

She was wearing a tiny lace bra, the tops of her generous breasts mounding over the swashes of pale pink that were barely able to contain them. Through the fabric, he thumbed her nipples, and she sucked in a breath and started undoing his belt buckle.

He nipped at the sensitive spot on her neck where it met her shoulder. This time she gasped, her fingers moving more quickly to free him from his pants. He chuckled softly, finding the clasp of her bra and freeing her breasts.

She had the belt undone and was lowering his zipper when he bent to capture a nipple in his mouth. Her fingers stilled, her back arched, and she swore softly under her breath.