"Yes," she said and unlatched the door.
He stepped inside the room and gripped her shoulders. Night air and animal and maleness flooded her senses. She gasped all of it in, then her breath was cut off by his lips. He kissed her, hard, and snapped his head away. "Matthew. When?"
"He won't be back until tomorrow."
"Good."
"Yes." She looked past his shoulder, outside the doors, and began to cry softly.
He frowned and pulled her down beside him on the bed. "Greta, what is it?" He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs.
"I've been so upset and confused by everything. This is so hard for me." She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead against his shoulder. Her mind flashed with images of the first time he had kissed her, in the horse stall.
"You mustn't cry." He kissed her again. His hands touched just inside her soft robe. Lightly, down to her belly. Gooseflesh prickled her forearms, spread to her stomach, her loins. Her nipples felt pinched and hard, needed pinching.
"Wait," she said, squeezing his strong forearms. "I've been in bed for two days. I really must take a shower."
"Mmm," he hummed. "Never mind that." In one quick motion he slid the robe from her shoulders and undid the belt, parting the garment at her waist. Pushing her down, he crouched over her, facing her, supporting his weight on either side with his knees. His jeans-clad thighs rubbed lightly against her own. She had imagined and wanted this moment for so long. However she could not be with him here like this until she had a quick shower.