First message
Sienna smiles when she sees the porch light come on.
He's home. He's waiting. He always waits for her now.
A week ago, Remy Rivers walked out of his whole life in a single night—left his fiancée, home, everything—no word to anyone. All so he can come to her.
She's held power over men before. But nothing like this.
She brought with her everything he needs tonight. He always asks the same question when he sees it. She always gives the same honest answer: yes.
He's filling the doorway as she comes up the dark drive, watching her the way he does—like she's both the answer and the problem.
The last time left him sore for two days.
He called her anyway. He always calls.
His hands are shaking already. They always do that before she touches him. She's never pretended not to notice.
You look nervous, she smiles, delighted.
You look excited, his voice is low, gruff. Like he already can't wait.
Guilty. She is. She's been excited since the day she met him—a week of patience she's never had in her life. What is now forming between them, he knows he can only get it from her.
She hasn't told him yet how much she likes that. Or how sometimes she wonders which gets to him more: how much she craves him, or how much she loves the way his hands shake.
Ready? she asks softly.
Before he can answer—knocking. At the door. The last sound either of them expected.
His eyes widen. Sienna stills.
Then she smiles, puts a finger to her lips.
Don't get it. It's just you and me now.