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“Valid point.” The corners of her mouth curled up. “So…how’d you get un-scared?” She tugged teeth at one of those delectable corners. “Asking for a friend, of course.”
“Sure.” He smirked. “For a ‘friend’.” He held her gaze despite her deepening blush, determined to soak up as much of its double meaning as he could. The good girl in her, still unwilling to accept all she’d let him do, fought for a peace accord with the filthy woman who wanted to let him do more.
He could only hope.
“Okay.” She smacked his shoulder. “Stop gloating.”
“I’m not gloating.”
She huffed. “Sure. Because you just look like the Dom who ate the sub’s lunch all the time?”
He pushed in closer over her. Palmed the side of her face. “Your lunch isn’t what I’m hungry for, kitten.”
Her breath caught. Her lips parted. Only as he inhaled, scenting the honey of her arousal even through the covers, did he reconsider the pass on the gloat. The need got worse as she swallowed, clearly pushing her mind back to rational thought again. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Trying to change the subject.”
Franz cocked his head. Tried to go ahead on the gloat but instead, muttered with total sincerity, “What was the subject?”
Funnily, his bafflement seemed to soothe her anxiety. Maybe she just needed to take back some control of the discussion. Rebalance things.
Or maybe…
This communication stuff was as just much an ordeal for her.
A thought not bringing half the shock he expected.
A conclusion actually making a lot of sense.
The same way Franz had been insulated in his world, she’d been cushioned in hers. Yeah, she’d only been at it for a few years as opposed to eleven, but everyone knew Capitol Hill time was like dog years. Out of whack and mysterious to explain. Maybe he really wasn’t the only one trying to hike unfamiliar territory here.
“We were talking about you,” she finally prompted. “And being…scared.” She paused to insert a puzzled pout before the last word. “And I still can’t believe I just did that.”
“Did what?”
“Mashed you and scared into the same sentence.”
He let out a snort. “I’m scared all the time, woman.”
“The hell you are.”
“We all are.” He shifted his hold, gliding his thumb up to her brow line, giving him an excuse to lock his gaze with hers again. “Fear is part of the human experience. What turns the experience into triumph is what a person does with their fear…how they channel it.” Sure enough, as her eyes glittered with comprehension, he turned his hand over to stroke the side of her cheek. “Like everything you did after your husband was killed.”
A tiny sound clucked up her throat. Tracy shook her head, looking as bored as a socialite as a charity ball. “Ohhhh no, no, no. We’re not making this about me.”
Franzen hummed. “Right. It’s about the ‘friend’ you’re asking for.”
“The friend who wants to know more about Dominance and submission, not listen to the violins backing my damn life story—again.”
“Because she already knows it as if she’s lived it?”
“Because she’s as sick of it as me.” Her hands twisted into the top of the blanket. “In another time or another world, it would all be a bad Sunday afternoon TV movie, anyway.” She jabbed two fingers into air quotes. “‘Widow of slain engineer becomes activist for foreign aid workers; ends up getting appointed vice president. Tune in at two for all the excitement.’”
“I see what you mean.”
“Right?” If she saw or heard his irony, she wasn’t admitting to it. “All that’s missing are the stalker ex-boyfriend and the secret baby.”
