Forty-Two | "The feeling is mutual."

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Liza chewed unapologetically on her fingernails as she watched Elijah pack up his duffel. They were in his condo, in his bedroom, and he was preparing to leave on a week-long flight with Austin. It wasn't the first time he'd been gone for a week, obviously, but it was the first time he'd been gone for more than a few days since the incident, and she knew their last reunion was on his mind just as much as it was on hers.

"You'll text?" she asked, unsure if she'd already questioned him about that. Had she? She couldn't remember. The whole day was a blur in her memory, even though it was only three in the afternoon.

Elijah stopped what he was doing, his brow furrowed with concern when he looked up at her. Standing, he approached her slowly, bringing up gentle fingers to tug her own away from her mouth. He kissed the back of her hand before cradling it between his, his eyes imploring as he gazed at her. "Liza, I won't make the same mistake twice. I'll text, and I'll even call if I get the chance, gorgeous—you can trust me on that one. I don't want you stressing too much, okay?" He moved her hand, pressing it against his cheek. "It's not good for you to stress." Not good for her anxiety, he meant, and although he wasn't wrong, she couldn't control it.

She told him as much, and he sighed sadly. "I know, babe, but I hate to cause you problems. I don't want you losing sleep over me." He traced careful fingertips over the skin of her cheek and lips. "Jesus, you're so pretty, doll, it's almost unfair." Shaking his head as though to clear it, he continued, "I hate seeing you so sad."

Liza quirked a grin, if only because, "It's kind of expected, don't you think?" Even when he was only gone for a day or two, she grew sad before he left. She was pretty certain it was an unspoken part of caring for someone; when they left, you grew sad.

"Maybe so, but my heart doesn't like it. How can I cheer you up?"

"Come home safely."

He smiled sweetly, dipping his head forward to kiss her cheek. "Anything for you, babe, you know that." With his chin, he gestured over his shoulder, to where the stairs leading to the first floor were located. "I left some meals in the fridge, and the freezer, okay? I even made those pork quesadillas you like so much."

She eyed him skeptically. "Do you mean to say that you don't like them?" He'd told her once that he made them so often because they'd been one of his favorite meals since childhood. That statement was fully supported by the fact that, when he made them, he usually ate four or five of them in one sitting.

"Ah, caught! You never let me get away with anything, do you, Nancy? Ever the observant one." She only caught a glimpse of his teasing grin before he was claiming her lips with his. She shuffled closer, until he was able to lay his hands on her thighs and rub them encouragingly when she returned his kiss. She was still hesitant, if only because it had been so long since she'd been intimate with someone, but Elijah was nothing if not patient with her.

Feeling especially brave, she nibbled carefully on his lower lip, and he grunted, surging forward until he had cornered her against the wall, his hands now on the wall beside her head. He broke the kiss, leaving them both gasping for air, but he didn't go far, his lips landing by her ear as he murmured, "You make me so damn crazy, you know that? God, you're a siren if there ever was one."

She didn't have a chance to respond before he was kissing her again, their tongues tangling as he moved his hands once more, grabbing her hips with greedy fingers and hoisting her up, where she wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed.

"Jesus, shit," he hissed hotly, grinding against her in response, his voice dark and primal. She whimpered at the movement, shutting her eyes, drunk on feelings and hormones that she hadn't experienced in years, her fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders as he began pressing sloppy kisses down the column of her neck. "God, I want you. I want you," he confessed in between kisses.

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