The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [167]
His grin was knowing and amiably evil. Don’t you need to have a little faith about things like that? You know, take a leap and all that?
“Not if you know someone with surefire answers. So, how will I know?”
This feels like giving you the answers to the final exam but I guess I owe you a hint at least.
“ At the very least.”
He came closer and closer, clearly intent on whispering the answer in her ear, so close she closed her eyes to focus her hearing.
It’s . . .
Her eyes popped open, her gaze darted. Ceiling, open bathroom door, plump, peach-colored comforter, big male body, Craig watching her wake up . . . She growled and battered the bedding until she came to a sitting position. “I hate your brother! If I ever get my hands on—” She glared at Craig. “What’s so funny?”
He slipped his hands under his head and gave her the same knowing, amiably evil grin she’d seen in her dream. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Did you hear the answer? Did you hear him?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” He wasn’t her brother, but she knew what to do with a male who thought he had a secret—possibly the most important secret of her life. “Maybe?” She was on her knees and had him by the ribs before he could blink. “Maybe?” With his legs still trapped beneath the sheets she took full advantage—straddling his waist and grabbing his arms when he freed his hands from behind his head. “Maybe?” She pinned one forearm under her knee and held the other over his head leaving one entire set of ribs exposed to her. She never learned how to spell mercy. “Maybe?”
“Yes! Yes. All right. I heard.”
“And you’ll tell me?”
“Yes! Yes, I promise.” She stopped but she didn’t let up. Not that it mattered. With barely any effort at all—certainly a great deal less than poor Jay had had to muster during most of his formative years—he flipped her onto her back and under his body between heartbeats, clamping both wrists in one hand on the pillow and using the other to tenderly rearrange stray wisps of hair around her face. “However, first you have to tell me what you asked him.”
She groaned her disinclination.
“Come on. Have a little faith. Leap. I won’t let you down.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “That’s what he said. You heard my question, too.”
“I didn’t. I swear.”
She could see in his eyes that he wasn’t lying. But she didn’t need to see or hear or taste or touch him to know that he not only knew the answer, he was the answer. She didn’t need to ask anymore, but she was curious. “I asked him how we’d know if what we’re feeling is real love.”
He laughed softly and repeated Oliver’s words. “It’s in the kiss.”
And it was . . . dreamy.