Page 195 of Override

And for the first time in longer than I can remember, my head is completely quiet.

No numbers. No patterns. No calculations. No part of me running through what comes next or what could go wrong. Just the soft pressure of Maeve's mouth against mine. Her fingers gripping my shirt. The faint scent of whatever soap she'd found in Bullet's bathroom.

Peace.

That's the only word I have for it. I don't know what to do with that realization.

Thankfully, my brain has stopped requiring me to do anything at all.

I finally kiss her back. Gently. Carefully.

Because this is Maeve, and she's been through too much in the last twenty-four hours. Because less than ten minutes ago, she thought I was going to take her back to Ronan. Because I don't know why she kissed me or what this means, and the last thing I want is for her to feel like she started something she can't stop.

So I let her lead. Her lips move hesitantly against mine, and I follow, keeping my hands exactly where they are against her face. It's the least complicated thing I've ever done. Which should concern me. It doesn't.

Her fingers loosen slightly against my shirt. Then I feel it. A tiny change. So small I might miss it with anyone else.

Maeve tenses. Just for a fraction of a second. Her weight shifts back onto her heels, and the warmth of her mouth begins to disappear from mine.

No. The thought arrives instantly. Decisively. Possibly irrationally.

I'm not done yet.

My left hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck, my fingers threading gently into the soft hair at her nape.

I pause. Just long enough. Long enough for her to pull away if she wants to. Long enough for her to tell me no.

She doesn't. Her eyes open. Mine are already on hers. For one suspended moment, neither of us moves. I can feel her pulse fluttering beneath my thumb.

Fast. Mine isn't doing much better. I should probably say something. Ask a question. Clarify parameters.

Determine whether—Maeve's gaze drops to my mouth.

That's enough data for me.

I tighten my hand gently at the back of her neck and lower my mouth to hers again.

This time, I kiss her. Really kiss her. The surprised breath she takes disappears between us as I tilt her head and take over the kiss, all the careful restraint I'd been holding onto slipping loose at once.

My other arm wraps around her waist and pulls her closer. Not because she needs help staying on her toes. Because I want her there. Against me. Close enough that I can feel the rise and fall of her breathing.

Close enough that, for once, there is no screen between us.

No camera. No locked gate. No message thread. Just Maeve.

Her fingers tighten in my shirt again, and something deep inside my chest settles into place. I don't understand any of this. I don't know what happens next. I don't know why kissing her feels like the first time my mind has been quiet in years.

For once, I don't need to. I tighten my hold around the back of her neck and kiss her deeper. Because Maeve kissed me. And I'm nowhere near done kissing her back.

The edge of the counter hits the back of Maeve’s thighs, and the small *thud* of her hitting against the wood sends a physical jolt straight down my spine. I don't stop kissing her. My hands slide down her T-shirt to her hips, lifting her just enough to guide her backward onto the cool granite counter.

Her legs part for me naturally, wrapping around my waist, and the contrast is immediate. The soft, yielding stretch of her black leggings presses right against the heavy, rigid fabric of my tactical cargo pants.

I pull back an inch, my breath ragged. Maeve’s lips are flushed and her chest is heaving. Her eyes are dark, fixed entirely on mine through the lenses of my glasses.

"Keaton," she whispers.

"Maeve." My voice is thicker than usual, low and gravelly.