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all they had. She had known some contract agents who, because of the nature of their work, lived totally in the moment. She never had, but today she saw the appeal of not worrying about tomorrow. There was a poignancy that hit home as she watched his expressions, an acknowledgment of what could be between them if she had the chance to let it grow. He made her feel soft inside, and warm with an affection that held so much promise it was almost frightening. She could love him, she thought. She might already, just a little bit, for his sense of humor and sheer joie de vivre that lifted her own spirits from the depths. She had needed to laugh, and he’d given her that.
“Let’s renegotiate,” he said. “If I can get it up, as a reward I get to pick out a different car tomorrow.”
“And if you can’t, you have to drive this one for the duration?”
He snorted and said smugly, “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.”
“Then where’s the negotiation?” She stroked the seat. “I like this car. I’m becoming very fond of it. Unlike you, my sexuality isn’t linked to a machine.”
“Guys can’t help it. We’re born with a stick shift, and it’s our favorite toy from the time our arms are long enough to reach it.”
“This car has a stick shift,” she pointed out.
“Don’t get technical. There’s no testosterone here.” He made the high-pitched whining sound again. “See? It’s a soprano. A four-cylinder soprano.”
“It’s a great car for city driving. It’s highly maneuverable, economical, reliable.”
He gave up. “All right. You win. I’ll drive it, but I’ll need therapy afterwards for the emotional damage you’re inflicting on me.”
She stared straight ahead through the windshield. “Massage therapy?”
“H’mmm.” He considered it. “Yeah, that’ll do it. But I’ll need a lot of it.”
“I think I can handle that.”
He grinned and winked at her, and abruptly she wondered if she hadn’t outsmarted herself and let him talk her into something she hadn’t one hundred percent decided to do. Ninety-eight percent, yes, but not a hundred percent. That old sense of caution still nagged at her.
In that uncanny way he had of picking up on her wavelength, he turned totally serious. “Don’t let me pressure you into anything you don’t want to do,” he said quietly. “If you don’t want to sleep with me, all you have to do is say no.”
She looked out the window. “Have you ever wanted anything and been afraid of it at the same time?”
“You mean like getting on a roller coaster, when you really want the ride but your stomach’s already in your throat thinking about that first big drop?”
Even his anxieties were fun-related, she thought, and smiled a little. “The last time I was involved with someone, he tried to kill me.” She said it casually, but the sorrow and tension that still gripped her to this day were anything but casual.
He whistled between his teeth. “That would ruin your day, all right. Was he crazy jealous or something?”
“No, he’d been hired to do it.”
“Ah, honey,” he said, with real sadness in his tone, as if he grieved for her. “I’m sorry. I can see where that would make you cautious.”
“That’s an understatement,” she muttered.
“Gun-shy?”
“In a big way.”
He hesitated, as if he wasn’t certain he wanted to know. “How big?”
She shrugged and said, “That was six years ago.”
The steering wheel jerked in his hands and the car swerved, prompting the driver beside them to blow his horn in warning. “Six—years?” He sounded incredulous. “You haven’t been involved with anyone for six years? Holy shit. That’s—that’s taking caution to the extreme.”
He might think so, but then he hadn’t almost been killed by someone he loved. She hadn’t thought anything could hurt worse than Dmitri’s betrayal, until Zia’s death.
He thought about it another minute, then said, “I’m honored.”
“Don’t be. I wouldn’t be this involved with you if circumstance hadn’t thrown us together,” she pointed out. “If we’d met socially, I’d have blown you off like yesterday’s news.”
