The front door lock clicks and I find myself freezing, my hands stilling from the pastry I am currently making. The tread on the stairs tells me everything I need to know; today has not been a good one for Taylor. I quickly wipe the flour off my hands using my apron and then pull it off over my head before leaving it on the countertop. My pie can wait.
I have just rounded the kitchen island when Taylor emerges for the stairwell. His expression is a carefully-set expressionless mask that means something is definitely wrong. I barely have a chance to greet him before I am wrapped up in his embrace, his arms pulling me into his taut frame while his lips plunder mine in an aggressive kiss that I know is going to leave my lips bruised and sore.
Taylor’s hands are like pythons winding their wa
