Until Proven Guilty - J. A. Jance [75]
I let her cry. There was no point in my saying anything or in attempting to stop her tears before the pent-up emotion had run its course.
At last the sobs subsided and she pulled herself away from me. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I never can talk about it without that happening.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not necessary.”
She leaned her head back against my arm and closed her eyes. “I wanted to tell you this morning, but I couldn’t. It took me all afternoon to work up to it.”
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it. I looked at her as she lay with her head thrown back, the strain of the last few hours and moments still painfully etched on her face. She had opened the door a crack and let me see what was inside. It helped me understand her complexity a little and her reticence. I leaned down and kissed away a smudge of tear-stained mascara from her cheek. “Stick with me, kid. We’ll make it.”
She lifted her head and looked at me. “What makes you say that?”
“I love you, Anne. That’s what makes me say it.”
The kiss I gave her then was not a brotherly, comforting kind of kiss. I felt the exhilaration you feel after you step off a roller coaster and know you haven’t died of it. I wanted to affirm our loving and our living. I wanted to put the ghosts from her past to rest once and for all, and she did too. She responded willingly, hungrily.
The gown was fastened by a single tie. She was naked beneath it, naked, supple, and ready. I slipped out of my own clothes and fell to my knees before her, letting my hands roam freely across her body, letting my tongue pleasure her with promise and torment her with denial. I reveled in the power of control, the feel of her body’s aching need awakened at my touch. Several times I brought her to the brink, only to back off, pulling away before she crossed the edge, leaving her writhing, pleading for satisfaction.
“Please, Beau,” she begged. “Please.”
I drew her to the floor and onto me, my own need no longer held at bay. Her body folded around me and I was home. She gave a muffled moan of pleasure and release. I was complete and so was she.
Chapter 21
We napped. There on the floor. Much later, nearly ten, she stirred and awakened me. She snuggled close to me for warmth.
“Hungry?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Where would you like to go?” I asked. “I have Peters’ car parked downstairs. For a change, wheels come with the invitation.”
She laughed. “Uptown, huh?”
“Not exactly, it’s a Datsun.” She laughed again and got up, picking up the gown from where it had fallen on the couch and tying it deftly around her. It was lovely, but I preferred her without it. I too scrambled to my feet. She stood looking up at me, her eyes momentarily uncertain. I held her close, hoping to stifle all doubt. “Don’t worry,” I told her. “It’ll be all right.”
That seemed to give her the reassurance she needed. I followed her into the bedroom. A set of suitcases sat in one corner. She lifted one onto the bed and opened it. “I didn’t know if I was moving in or moving out.”
The suitcase was filled with clothes on hangers. I picked them up, all of them, and swept them into one end of the closet.
“Moving in,” I said.
She unpacked quickly with the practiced hand of one who has done it many times. I had never learned to use all the drawers in the obligatory six-drawer dresser, so there was room for her to unpack without my having to shove things around. It seemed as though I had been saving a place for her in my life.
While she showered, I took a lesson from the lady and called for a dinner reservation. Most people who live in Seattle regard the Space Needle as a place visited only by tourists. Not me. It’s special enough for a meal there to be an occasion, and it has the