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I hadn’t told him much more than that before we went over to Gerard’s, and that had only been to make sure he showed the Judge some respect. But some sort of affiliate police?
“No,” I answered. “We don’t have that. If we don’t trust you guys, why would we have any of our own?”
“Then—”
“He’s our judge. He’s elected. He will stay that way until he fucks up, steps down, or dies. That makes himaleader, nottheleader.” I raised my plate again and continued eating while he mulled this information over in his head. We didn’t talk much for the rest of the meal, and for once it wasn’t too uncomfortable. Afterwards, when we sat nipping at the hot tea I thanked him for the food.
He looked at me with obvious skepticism.
“What? I can’t be thankful now?” I smiled behind my teacup.
“You don’t cook much food, do you?” he said instead, not buying my being polite. Or trying to be at least.
“What gave you that idea, Sherlock?”
“I mean…you’re one of those people who only cook because you need nutrition. Tell me, do you makeanything?”
I shook my head. No time in my life to sit still long enough. “It’s like some meditation for you?” I asked him, shifting my position a little, noting his eyes looking down at our thighs touching. I knew what he was trying desperately hard not to think about. He’d eased up on me a little after discovering the world I lived in. After realizing he had been wrong. That didn’t mean he was happy with the new truths, though.
He shrugged. “It’s relaxing, I guess.”
I put my cup down on the table as he drained his. I turned toward him as much as possible in the tight space on the couch. I knew what I wanted to know. Knew how to agitate him, to try and get at the truth.
“Soo…” I said, drumming my fingers on the top of the couch as he leaned forward to put down his cup. The dark polished wood created a hard tapping sound under my fingertips. “What is it about me that makes you hate me so much, only to turn around and want me in your bed the next moment?”
He lost his grip on the cup, making it slam down on the table. It barely managed not to break.
“Damn it, Evans,” he snapped. Any good mood he’d built up over the last hour looked like it drained from his face.
“What?” I asked. “It’s interesting.”
“No, it’s not.” He straightened up but was not relaxed in the least. “I told you. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“That was when you thought I was a criminal—”
“You still are.”
“Gray areas,” I said, waving it off.
“What?” he almost shouted, then composed himself a little. I watched him with interest. His handsome face softening as he drew breath, trying to remain calm. “It shouldn’t have happened at all. I’m sorry. Really, I am.”
I looked at him with curiosity. Not responding straight away. He really was trying to apologize. Like he’d done the morning after our night in the safe house. Still, it struck me as odd, since it contrasted so much with what I had learned about him that day at Rob’s.
“If you regret it so much,” I asked, “why do you want to do it again? We both know you do.” I had heard his thoughts. How could he deny it?
My words sparked something I hadn’t quite expected, though. There was fury in his eyes at the reminder of me reading him, the same dark look he’d had when we slept together. The sight suddenly made me aware of that night on a physical level rather than a theoretical one. I could feel my pulse quickening, saw his pupils dilating. Knew I was right. Knew in the same instant that it wasn’t only him this time, either. Gingerly, I reached a hand out to him but never had time to touch him as he grabbed me first, pushing me back on the couch.
“How dare you use that against me?” he growled, his face inches from mine. His breath smelled pleasantly of peppermint tea. “You might be able to read minds, but that doesn’t mean you understand everything you hear.”
“No it doesn’t,” I said, “it’s not your mind telling me this…it’s your body.”
Confusion flickered across his eyes a moment as he looked at our current position. Pressed together on the little couch, close together, my legs around him for lack of space. I could feel the warmth of his body, heavy, yet reassuring as he pushed me back into the armrest. He smelled so good. I saw the anger returning to his face, anger at himself, I thought, more than me this time. I didn’t want him to change his mind. I wanted him. I realized that without bothering to deny it anymore. The thought of the safe house not doing anything to diminish that want. I could already feel the pleasant sensations that would build and build.
I arched my neck, and kissed him. Light pressure against his lips first, my tongue searching his. He wouldn’t back off then, and I sighed in contentment, relaxing a bit. Or trying to at least.
I broke free of the kiss, feeling him move on to my neck, lips both tender and fiery against my skin.
“Okay,” I gasped, “this can’t happen here.”
