He’d been smiling when my eyes came back to him, but after I spoke, his smile faded. He cupped the side of my face with his hand, thumb sweeping my cheek then my lips before he said quietly, “My reward.”

I let that slide through me as I turned my face and kissed the palm of his hand.

After I kissed his palm, I said there, “I love it that you think that.”

“Know it,” he corrected and I looked back at him.

“Sorry?”

“Don’t think it, Hanna. Know it.”

That slid through me, too, and I melted (more) underneath him.

“One more thing before we tear each other up,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

Then, even with all that had happened that day, and especially all that had gone on the last twenty minutes, as usual, Raiden Miller still managed to rock my world.

He did this by saying straight out, with feeling, “Thank you, baby, for forgiving me.”

Slowly, I closed my eyes.

I opened them, planted a foot in the bed, rolled him and straddled him, closed them again and kissed him.

Raid kissed me back.

Chapter Fifteen

Big Dick

Six weeks later …

I was carrying Spot out of the vet to my bike, or more like struggling to keep upright under the burden of his weight, when my phone rang. I put him in the basket. He sat on his ample behind, said, “Meow” and faced forward, telling me he was ready to roll.

You could have colored me stunned when Grams and I (well, mostly me, Grams just sat there offering suggestions) grappled for a half an hour trying to get Spot in his kitty carrier. This didn’t work and ended with Spot desperately shoving his kitty face into the corner of the latched screen door and pushing it open enough to force his fat cat body through it. As I chased after him, he heaved his big body onto a porch chair then the porch railing where he jumped into the basket of my bike, making the bike sway precariously. By a miracle, it held. Spot sat down, turned his head and stared at me.

We’d already learned the hard way through earlier tussles pre-visit to the vet that, for reasons only known to Spot, he only accepted rides in Grams’s Buick. So even though Grams never drove it anymore, it was Spot’s checkup day. Therefore I rode to Grams’s house and was going to take the Buick and Spot into town.

Shockingly, Spot seemed absolutely fine in my basket. I tested this theory, rode around in Grams’s driveway awhile, then into town. He rode with me, happy as a clam, kitty nose pointed to the wind rushing through his fur. The vet receptionist wasn’t pleased we showed with no carrier, but she was no stranger to Spot and had learned herself prior to kitty claw laser therapy it was best just to let him have his way, so she didn’t say a word.

Spot behaved himself the entire time.

Seemed the cat liked bicycles.

Go figure.

“Crazy cat,” I muttered, grinning.

I pulled my phone out of the back pocket of my shorts and saw the display.

My grin turned into a huge smile, I took the call and put it to my ear.

“Hey, honey,” I greeted Raid.

“Baby, where are you?” he replied.

“In town outside the vet. Spot’s annual checkup.”

Silence then, “Drop him off and get home. I’m five minutes out of town. I’ll meet you at your place.”

A happy thrill raced through me followed by an excited one.

“No. I’m jumping on my bike now and I’ll meet you at yours,” I told him.

“Hanna—”

“Raiden,” I cut him off. “I’ll meet you at your place, but you have to promise me you’ll go there but won’t go inside. Wait for me.”

More silence then, softer, “Hanna.”

Then nothing but that soft “Hanna” sent another thrill racing through me.

“I’ll pedal fast and me and Spot will be there in ten minutes,” I said.

“You and Spot?”

“He’s in my basket.”

Another period of silence then, shaking with hilarity, “All right.”

“No going inside,” I warned.

“No going inside, baby.”

I mounted my bike. “Right. See you soon. Missed you, honey.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Another thrill.

“‘Bye.”

“Ten, babe.”

He hung up.

I tossed my phone in the basket with Spot.

He looked down at it, turned his kitty face to me and said, “Meow.”

“You can share with the phone, buddy,” I told him.

“Meow.” He didn’t agree.

“Suck it up,” I ordered.

He glared at me then turned to face forward.

I threw back the kickstand, put my feet to the pedals and motored.

* * * * *

The last six weeks, Raid was out of town on jobs for three.

This didn’t stink as much as I thought it would (though it still stunk) because he did what he said he would do.

He touched base with me. Frequently.

This included him calling during the day at random times. It also included him calling every night right before he went to sleep.

The first time he’d woken me when he did this, which was the third time he called me at night.

He’d been upset he’d woken me and murmured, “I’ll call earlier next time.”

“No,” I’d replied sleepily. “I want to know you made it through the day and you’re going to sleep so you’ll wake to face another day. Don’t worry about waking me.”

He’d hesitated and his deep voice was warm and sweet when he agreed, “All right, honey.”

Then he did as I asked, calling every night before he went to sleep.

But when I said he touched base, I meant we talked as in talked.

Surprisingly, even though we’d been through a lot, but still were relatively new thus didn’t know each other all that well and he was a man, he was also a man who could have conversations on the phone. It helped we knew a lot of the same people and he cared about what was happening.

He asked me about my day, my business, what was going on in Willow, what I had planned for the next day and he shared about his. Where he was. What he ate. When he thought he’d be home. Nothing deep about his work but he didn’t keep things from me, including if he was frustrated, leads had dried up, informants were jacking him around or things were taking longer than he thought.