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His weight pressed her into the cushions, a delicious anchoring as his mouth traced the sensitive curve where her neck met shoulder. Kaitlin arched beneath him, slid her hands beneath his shirt to explore the taut muscle of his back, the ridge of his spine, the surprising softness of skin over strength.

Caution fell away, replaced by the pure immediacy of sensation—the rasp of stubble against tender skin, the catch of breath when fingers found particularly sensitive places, the weight of another body expressing desire without words. Time lost meaning, measured only in escalating pleasure and the gradual shedding of barriers between them.

Eventually they stilled, breathless and disheveled, the passion banked but not extinguished. Matt’s forehead rested against hers, as their breathing slowed.

Outside, darkness had fallen completely, the cottage windows reflected their entwined figures against the night beyond.

“This is…” Matt began, trailing off as words proved inadequate.

“Unexpected?” Kaitlin supplied, her fingers traced idle patterns against his shoulder.

“Inevitable,” he corrected, changing position to lie beside her in the narrow space the sofa allowed. “I think I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you in the town records room.”

The memory—from their first contentious meeting—startled a laugh from her. “You looked like you wanted to arrest me, not kiss me.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive reactions.” Matt’s smile was visible even in the dimly lit room. But his eyes sobered as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Kaitlin, I’m not sure where this is headed, but I’d like to find out. I want you to trust me, I want you to share yourself with me. Not just as the sheriff, but as someone who…” He hesitated. “As someone who cares what happens to you.”

The declaration, tentative as it was, touched something vulnerable within her.

The harsh electronic buzz of Matt’s phone shattered the moment. He reached for it with reluctance. A grimace formed on his face as he read the screen.

“It’s the station,” he said. He sat up and straightened his rumpled clothing. “Alice wouldn’t call unless it was important.”

Kaitlin nodded, though she felt a pang of disappointment. “Go. It’s okay.”

Matt answered the call, his voice professional as he listened to his deputy’s report. “Fighting again? Tell McConnell to stay out of it this time—last thing we need is him putting someone through a wall. I’ll be there in ten.”

He ended the call with visible regret. “I have to go. A Friday night fight at the harbor bar rarely ends well.”

“I understand.” Kaitlin sat up, pulling her sweater back into place, suddenly conscious of the rapid transition from intimacy back to everyday reality. “We’ll talk tomorrow?”

Matt hesitated, then leaned in to kiss her once more, briefly but with unmistakable intent. “Tomorrow.”

With a final reluctant glance, Matt left. The sound of the cruiser’s engine faded into the night as he headed toward the harbor. Kaitlin remained on the sofa, her body still warm from his touch.

Chapter 14

Darkness had settled over the island by the time Kaitlin made her decision. The cottage felt too empty, her thoughts too crowded with the memory of Matt’s touch—incomplete, interrupted. She’d spent an hour pacing, telling herself to be sensible, to let the evening’s unexpected connection breathe before pursuing it further. But sensibility had fled hours ago, somewhere between their first kiss and his reluctant departure.

She drove through the quiet island streets, headlights cutting through mist that rolled in from the ocean, transforming familiar landmarks into ghostly suggestions of themselves. Matt’s house stood on the north side of the island—a modest Cape Cod set back from the road, its windows glowing with welcoming light against the night.

Kaitlin sat in her rental car for several minutes after parking. This wasn’t like her, showing up unannounced, pursuing desire with single-minded determination. Yet nothing about her time on Widow’s Point had followed her usual patterns. Perhaps that was the island’s effect, or perhaps it was simply Matt himself, the unexpected complexity of a man she’d initially dismissed as an obstacle.

The gravel crunched beneath her boots as she approached the front door. Wind rustled through pines that bordered the property, carrying the clean scent of evergreen and salt. Her knock echoed decisively in the quiet night.

When the door opened, Matt stood framed in warm light, surprise evident in his widened eyes. He’d clearly been home long enough to shower because his hair was damp and his feet were bare beneath worn jeans. A faded Henley clung to his muscled chest. Kaitlin licked her lips.

“Kaitlin?” Her name emerged as a question.

“I should have called first.” The practiced apology fell flat against her true purpose.

“Probably,” Matt agreed, but he was already stepping back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Inside, bookcases were filled with history and mystery novels, photographs of island landscapes he’d presumably taken himself, furniture chosen for comfort rather than style. A fire burned low in a stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across polished hardwood floors.

“Would you like something to drink?” Matt offered, the politeness at odds with the intensity of his gaze.

Kaitlin shook her head, shedding her coat and dropping it over a nearby chair. “I didn’t come here for drinks.”