“Kiss me.”
Vincent did not.
Not immediately.
Khloe frowned.
“You’re thinking again.”
“Yes.”
“I dislike it.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By whom?”
“Mostly people I ignored.”
She almost smiled.
Vincent’s gaze remained on hers.
“Certain?”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
Khloe blinked.
“What?”
“If you wake tomorrow and wish this hadn’t happened?”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know.”
She stared at him.
Then something in her expression changed.
Understanding.
“You really are afraid.”
Vincent smiled without humor.
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
“Of becoming one more man who decided what you owed him.”
Khloe’s eyes filled unexpectedly.
She looked down.
Vincent lowered his hand.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
She wiped one eye.
“That was not a bad thing.”
He waited.
Khloe stepped closer again.
Then placed both hands against his chest.
“You asked what I want.”
“Yes.”
“I want one kiss.”
Vincent smiled faintly.
“One?”
“Start there.”
“That sounds like accounting.”
“Incremental exposure.”
He laughed.
Then kissed her.
Slowly.
No urgency.
No claim.
Khloe’s hands tightened against his shirt.
His hand rested lightly at her waist.
She leaned into him.
That was permission enough to hold more firmly.
The kiss deepened only slightly.
Then Khloe pulled back.
Vincent released her immediately.
She noticed.
Her face softened.
“One,” he said.
Khloe’s lips curved.
“Poor accounting.”
“Why?”
“I want another.”
This one lasted longer.
Still nothing beyond what she gave.
The world outside could collapse later.
For ten seconds, maybe fifteen, there was only warmth.
Then a knock sounded downstairs.
Both froze.
Another knock.
Hard.
Vincent looked toward the window.
Still dark.
Khloe whispered:
“Who comes at four?”
Vincent stepped away.
“People who don’t bring good news.”
He reached for his revolver.
Khloe’s face changed.
The romance vanished.
Reality returned.
Vincent opened the bedroom door.
Then stopped.
Looked back.
“Lock this behind me.”
Khloe shook her head.
“No.”
“Khloe.”
“You’re not going downstairs alone if Paulie is involved.”
“This is my house.”
“And your money is disappearing from under your nose.”
He stared.
Khloe folded her arms beneath the blanket.
“Still want to tell me how to handle information?”
Vincent almost smiled.
“Stay behind me.”
She grabbed her damp skirt.
“Give me thirty seconds.”
The visitor was not Paulie.
It was Samuel Reed.
The missing accounts clerk.
Vincent barely recognized him.
Samuel stood beneath the porch light soaked through, beard grown long, left eye bruised yellow at the edges.
He looked like a man who had spent six months avoiding every road leading home.
Vincent opened the door.
Samuel raised both hands.
“No gun.”
Vincent kept his revolver low.
“Where have you been?”
Samuel looked past him.
Khloe appeared at the hallway entrance wearing her skirt over the thick nightgown and Vincent’s coat buttoned around herself.
Samuel’s face changed.
“Miss Evans.”
Khloe stepped forward.
“You’re alive.”
“Barely.”
Vincent lowered the gun slightly.
“Inside.”
Samuel entered.
Mrs. Bell appeared from the servants’ corridor carrying a lamp.