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“You don’t need to do this alone.”
“I’m not.” She touched his face again. “You’re right there. If I need you, you’re right there.”
“Have you talked to Mira?”
“Not yet, not really. I will,” she promised. “I know I have to. I’m not ready, just not ready. I feel … good. Strong, normal. I know I need to talk to her, go through the process, and that during the process I won’t feel good, strong, I won’t feel normal. I’m not ready for that yet.”
“All right.”
She smiled again. “Still being careful.”
“Maybe, but I believe you’ll know when you’re ready. And that I’ll know. You’re not.” He laid his lips on her brow. “But you will be.”
She leaned into him, laid her head on his shoulder. “Thanks for the magic coat.”
“You’re welcome.”
She shifted, wrapped her arms around him for the kiss. Then sighed. “Okay, we’ll have to do this now.”
“What would that be?”
She stepped back. “As usual, you’re wearing too many clothes. Start fixing that.”
She stepped past him to take the coat and box off the bed.
“Is this a seduction?” he asked. “I’m all aquiver.”
“Here’s how it is.” She set the box and coat on the sofa, unhooked her weapon harness. “One of the things I have to do is watch Matthew and Marlo have sex—all the way through this time since Feeney and I aren’t reviewing it together and suffering the mortification from hell. After doing that having sex with you is just going to be weird. So we’ll do it now, before it gets weird.”
“Maybe I’m not in the mood.”
She let out a snort. “Yeah. As if.” She sat to pull off her boots, eyed him. “I’d buy you dinner first, but we already ate.”
“We didn’t have dessert.”
She sent him a wicked grin. “That’s what I’m saying.”
He laughed, then sat on the side of the bed and took off his shoes. “Well, since you’re so determined.”
“Oh.” She stood, took off her shirt, her pants. “I can take no for an answer.”
“Who said no?”
She crossed to him, long and lithe, and sat on his lap, facing him. Grabbing his hair, she crushed her mouth to his, drawing the kiss down, down, coloring it dark and dangerous. She slid her hand down between them, gave him one hard stroke. “Yeah, you seem to be in the mood now.”
She angled away, slithered onto the bed, then rolled, lifted her eyebrows at him. “About those clothes.”
It took him roughly ten seconds to get rid of them. “What clothes?” he asked, and tumbled down to her.
She was laughing when they rolled. The cat, who’d assumed it was nap time, leaped off the bed to stalk away in disgust.
She needed to play, Roarke thought, to offset the brief journey into bad dreams and hard memories. He played his fingertips down her ribs, made her squirm and gasp out what was close to a giggle.
“Foul!” She grabbed his ass in a hard squeeze.
“What, this?” He tickled her ribs again until she bucked, choking on a laugh.
“Keep that up, you won’t get laid.”
