Page 54 of Sins of Innocence

"Must have been some extra special training," I tease awkwardly, forcing words past a suddenly tight throat.

My libido has been all but dead for the past six years. But now? It's like I'm amped up on pregnancy hormones. My pregnancies were hard, but the one benefit to all those hormones rampaging through my body was a constant desire to make love and stronger than normal reaction to being touched.

I came more during one month of my pregnancies than all the nonpregnant years of my marriage combined. Which is to say, I came at all.

Yeah, I bought into the whole it's-the-closeness-not-the-climax that matters during sex idea when I was with Troy. Knowing what I do now about how much my dead husband withheld from me, I can't help but question if the closeness I felt was all in my imagination.

"It was."

At first, my brain goes sproing, thinking he's answering my internal thoughts. Did I say that out loud? No. Definitely not.

Oh, that's right. "Can you tell me where you learned that kind of situational awareness, or would you have to kill me if you did?" I'm on a lame joke roll.

He reaches across the small dinette table and wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb. "Army Rangers. CIA. High intensity situations did the rest."

Kieran licks the smear of foam he wiped from the corner of my mouth off the pad of his thumb.

You've got some cream between your legs he could taste.

Does everyone's inner hussy make them blush scarlet? Asking for a friend.

"You worked for the CIA? Are you supposed to tell me that?" And why does knowing he worked for a spy agency turn me on even more?

He takes a sip of what I just know is straight black coffee. "I trust you to keep my secrets."

"How can you?" There's no humor in my voice now, just honest bewilderment.

"I'm good at reading people."

"Did they teach that to you in the Army too?"

He shakes his head and then repeats his earlier question, only this time it's a statement. "You didn't check the peephole."

"Um, I've lived in New York my entire life, Kieran. I learned not to open the door to strangers a long time ago." Okay, that's a total prevarication.

Not a lie, but not the truth.

Of course I didn't look in the peephole. I knew it was him, didn't I?

"Kenneth isn't a stranger and it could have been him at the door."

"You don't honestly think I'd let him into my apartment, do you?" Not even before all the stuff that went down yesterday.

Not that he'd ever come by, but there's no way I would have invited him inside. In fact, if Kenneth has my address, it's not because I gave it to him.

My address of record for employment and a lot of other things is a P.O. Box. Troy always insisted on using one and I kept doing it, even after he died.

After seeing some truly disturbing true crime documentaries, I wonder why more people don't.

"Once you open the door, how would you keep him out?" Kieran asks.

"Uh…tell him he can't come in." Which would work for most people, but not someone intent on doing me harm. Ugh. "I should have checked the peephole. I get it."

"Yes. Don't do it again." He brushes the backs of his fingers down my cheek. "So soft," he says so low I barely hear him. Then he says, "I want you safe."

"But why is that so important to you?" I ask again.

How many times had I asked him yesterday, or something similar to it and his answer had been because I do, because it is, or some variant of that.