Page 44 of Reckless

“You don’t have to be anything but what you are. I promise.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You’re a really lovely person,” I told him.

He stiffened a little, then exhaled again, letting that tension out. “And you’re really…”

“Nice?” I supplied, recalling how affronted I’d been by the descriptor when he’d first used it.

He snorted. “Mostly.”

I smiled into his hair. “Mostly?”

“Not when you spanked me. That hurt.”

“Too much?”

He shook his head, his hair tickling my nose.

We stayed that way a long while. “So will you still come over sometimes?” I asked finally. “So we can get to know each other better?”

He raised his head. “Get to know each other?”

“Yeah. I figure I ought to know something about you if we’re going to keep meeting the way we do.”

“You’ve already asked me more questions than I’ve ever been asked in my life.”

“Well, I ought to know something about you besides how you take your tea and whether you like restraints.”

He stared at me, his expression hard to read. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do I get to learn stuff about you?”

“Anything you want to know,” I promised. “I’m an open book.”

That made him grin. “No you’re not.” He settled his head on my chest again and toyed absently with the bottom button of my shirt. My dick stirred, with his hand right there. But more urgent was the feeling in my chest—a tautness and warmth, a desire that wasn’t even sexual, just a longing for him to keep being here.

He sighed again. “Can I…ask a favour?”

“Of course.”

“Kat…might be having company more often. And I don’t like to be there when she might want, um—privacy. Could I come over here when she has a visitor?”

“I think that’s a great idea. Does her visitor ever stay the night at the farm?”

“I think he’d like to.”

“Then why don’t you bring a few things you can leave here. That way, you can overnight at mine whenever Kat needs privacy.” I caught myself this time: avoiding honesty, coming up with a pretext. I needed to stop that. “Or any night you want to. I’d be so happy to have you stay.”

“I’d have to be up really early in the mornings. To get back to the farm.”

“That’s alright. I have to rise with the sun myself, to get ready for my endless stream of patients.” A pang went through me, my joke hollow before I reached the end. Robbie seemed to sense the shift.

“Anna was your friend,” he said. “And maybe not a lot of people knew that.”

I didn’t answer right away. “She was very practical about everything. But I think no matter how practical we try to be about death, it just…” I let out an odd, helpless sigh, and was surprised when my next breath was a sob. I froze, thinking I could still get my feelings under control before he noticed. But then I was pressed tight against Robbie once more, and he just held me. I didn’t have to stay in control, so I didn’t. I cried for the loss of my friend, for the family that would have to bear her absence. And, selfishly, for a past I couldn’t fix. For a marriage I’d let collapse. For a loss that hadn’t felt like mine, because Neal hadn’t felt like mine. What a fraud I’d been, claiming that pain; I shouldn’t ever have been allowed it. It ought to belong to a better man, a kinder person. I’d carried it with me all this time, as though I might find its rightful owner.