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"Real life isn't perfect," she said. "Perfect is boring." They'd taken away perfect, made it death and dreams and the draug. He had to understand that. He had to reject that.
"Watch my lips," she said. "I love you. And you're not perfect."
He laughed. It still sounded raw, and painful, but more him, somehow. Then he kissed her, but this time it wasn't a fast and furious kind of thing .... If anything, he seemed tentative in the way he touched her, as if she might vanish if he pushed too fast, too hard. She stretched out next to him and let the kisses carry them away into that thoughtless, warm, golden place where nothing else mattered, nothing beyond the need to touch and be touched.
He didn't say it back to her, not yet, but she felt it with every kiss, every slow and gentle caress. He was holding himself back, and it was some sort of test, a goal he'd set himself. Mostly, she thought he just needed to ... feel. To get real sensations in his head again.
To know the difference.
"You know what?" she said after a long, sweet few moments. "You seriously stink, Shane."
This time, she got a real laugh from him, and the look in his eyes was utterly surprised, and totally in the moment with her. "You really know how to turn a guy on, Claire."
"Not perfect, is it?"
His smile faded, and what was left in his face, his eyes, the tension in his body-it was very different. She knew that look. That hunger. "Not perfect at all," he said. "Then help me out here. No showers. What am I supposed to do about this problem?"
"Lie still," she said. She went across the room, locked the door, and picked up a bottle of water, a basin, and a cloth. "No fair tickling me, because I will spill this all over you." She straddled him and helped him pull the shirt off over his head. He collapsed back to the mattress and watched as she wet the cloth, then pressed it to his chest.
He twitched and yelped. "Cold!"
This time, she grinned. "Any doubts about reality now?"
"Not so much," he said, but kept his gaze fastened on hers, wide and hungry, as she moved the washcloth over his skin, gliding it under his arms, down his sides. Over his stomach. "You're not asking me to strip all the way, are you?"
"Maybe not yet," she said. "My turn."
She hadn't had a chance to take off the stupid plastic jumpsuit, which was so not sexy; she reached for the zipper, but in one of those startlingly fast, strong moves that always took her breath away, he flipped her over so her back was against the mattress, and he was the one straddling her. He considered the zipper.
Then he took hold of the thin plastic and ripped it all the way down. She had on her bra underneath, but somehow it felt like she was naked to his eyes.
And ... crazily hot.
"Oh," she breathed, and shut her eyes as the cool air hit her skin. "So, this is getting a little on the adult channel side and that's not exactly what I-"
"Shh," he said, and pressed his lips to hers before he straightened again. "I'm working here."
He reached out, as if in a dream, and the cool cloth touched her skin and glided damply over it. She shivered from both the delicious chill and the feel of his fingers following it, warming her up again. He turned her over and stripped the rest of the jumpsuit away, washed her back, skipping past her bra strap, then moving down the line of her spine, all the way down to the waistband of her jeans. Next, her arms-left, then right.
And then she turned to face him, and he looked into her eyes and put the washcloth on the floor.
"Not fair," she said softly. "Stopping in the middle."
He leaned forward and kissed her again-not as urgently this time, more sweetness, turning stronger and more passionate as he leaned into her. This time he was the one in charge. It took a sweet, breathless eternity for him to slide her jeans off, and reach for the clasp of her bra, and then ...
Creepy organ music played, muffled by her fallen pants.
Her cell phone.
"No," she moaned, and beat uselessly at the pillow. It wasn't quite the worst possible moment, but it was close. Really, really close. "No, no, no!"
"You'd better answer it," Shane said. He sank down on the other side of the bed, and his skin was lightly flushed and damp with sweat. His voice was half an octave lower than normal, and his pupils wide and dark, and she knew, knew it was unfair to him to do it ...
... But she answered the phone after all.
"Put your clothes on," Myrnin said, clipped and cold. "We have work to do. Now."
He hung up on her. She screamed inarticulately at the phone and thought about flinging it at the wall, but it wouldn't help, not at all, and besides, he was right. That was part of why she was so angry.
Because it wasn't the time. Not here. Not now.
"Claire," Shane said. He was still lying down, watching her, and there was a small, quiet smile on his lips. "Hey. Thank you."
"For what?"
"For making it ... not perfect."
She laughed. "What a romantic."
"Trust me," he said. "I am. That was the whole reason they could get to me, Claire. Because of how much I wanted ... all that perfection. That life I never got to have when I was ... growing up."
She kissed him again, slow and warm and sweet. "I know. But don't worry. We're in Morganville. Nothing's ever going to be perfect."
The stroke of his tongue over her lips made her want to throw the phone away and crawl back into bed. "Hmm. Imperfection tastes pretty fantastic, actually. I'm getting really fond of it."
Her phone rang again. "What?" she snapped as she answered it.
Myrnin, of course. "Are you on your way?"
"No!"
"Claire, there are things to do."
"Here, too," she said. "And I'm staying here, believe me."
Myrnin was silent for a beat, and then he said, "Bob would be very disappointed in you."
"Bob the spider?"
"He looks at you like a mother, you know. I'm surprised at your lack of work ethic. Think of the example you set for-"
She hung up on him and turned the phone on vibrate and relaxed in Shane's arms.
"You're not leaving," he said. He sounded surprised. "You always leave when he calls."
"Not now," she said. And kissed him again, sweetly and gently.
Because they had all the time in the world.
Shane fell asleep, peacefully, spooned against her in the bed; they hadn't actually done anything, after all. It had been enough to just lie there together, skin to skin, feeling safe, and relaxed and ... quiet.
It might have been almost a normal day. Almost.
Just before he drifted off, he'd sighed on the back of her neck, and whispered, "You're here." That had been enough to make tears form in her eyes, and they spilled over when he said, after a few more seconds, "I love you, Claire."
She'd been lying still now for half an hour, probably, just ... savoring that. The relief. The feeling of having him back, real, alive.
Present.
Reality wasn't something she could lock out for long, though; the phone continued to buzz, and buzz. Myrnin, the idiot, was going to run down the battery soon. She considered breaking it, but finally picked it up, thumbed it on, and whispered, "What?"
"Claire," Myrnin said. "Claire, please. It's important, very important. Oliver wants to talk to you as soon as possible. I'm sorry if I upset you, but-"
Oh, great. Oliver. He probably wanted a full report of everything; Claire twisted a little to look at Shane, but he was deeply asleep, completely relaxed. So vulnerable.
"Be there in a minute," she whispered.
"Just you," he said. "Please."
"No problem." She shut the phone off and carefully, slowly, slid out of bed. Shane moved a little, groaned, and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. But he didn't wake up.
Dressing didn't take long; she found her jeans, a T-shirt, and her kicks easily enough, and she'd never actually taken off the underwear. She paused to look in a mirror on the way out of the room; there was a happy flush in her cheeks, and even though there hadn't been anything she couldn't have told her mom about, it still felt intimate. Very. And she looked like someone with a secret.
Screw it. Myrnin and Oliver were just going to have to get over it. She ran fingers through her hair and ordered it as best she could, unlocked the door, and slipped out.
