Part 22 (2/2)
”Don't worry any,” she a.s.sured him. ”If Sara gets too... too... close, I'll deck her for you.”
”You?”
”I preach nonviolence, and I believe in it. But I'll still deck her,” she a.s.sured him.
”I think I can manage.”
”Hey, you like to protect me at a bar!”
”Right, and you get mad when I do.”
”Because drunks can be handled.”
”They can be handled better when they see a six-foot-something bigger guy at your side.”
”And Sara will be handled if I deck her-only if she wants to get too close.”
”If she's smart, she'll keep her distance,” he said gravely.
Megan smiled, but was startled to feel a moment's sheer possessiveness. It wasn't like her. Maybe it was the banter, which was dangerous, because the trust was so important between them now. And maybe it was just the light, quick conversation as well, but she also felt...
Like crawling over her husband, then and there. Doing what Sara wasn't at all allowed to do.
”You know what?” she said, whispering close to his ear. ”It's early. Actually, for people with a nighttime work schedule, it's very early. The afternoon and early evening stretch ahead.”
”You're in the mood for some drooling, are you?”
”Perhaps I could be convinced.”
He stood, stretching out his hand. She curled her fingers into his.
A pleasant smell of coffee filled the air around them. Children were laughing at one of the nearby tables. A waitress impatiently called out an order.
Her husband was grinning, the curl of his lips a bit wicked.
Good wicked.
She felt a surge of longing kick in as if she were being touched already, intimately.
The world was right.
He came around the table and pulled her against him. ”I think you are a bit of a witch yourself,” he whispered softly.
She felt the oddest desire to protest.
Instead, she stroked his cheek, came on her toes, and murmured suggestively against his earlobe. ”Let's go fool around. I'm just dying to see how well, how deeply and completely, you can apologize.”
”Watch that tone of voice,” he murmured, ”or I'll be apologizing far too deeply and completely right here, right now.”
Laughing, she caught his hand and hurried ahead of him.
As they left the coffee shop, a little s.h.i.+ver shot through her. She paused for a minute, that odd feeling of being watched searing into her. She paused, turning, looking for the eyes that were surely boring into her back.
Finn was directly behind her, his hands on her shoulders. They warmed her. They seemed to give her a certain strength against whatever tugged at her. Insanity maybe, because the streets were busy, filled with activity, and if someone was standing somewhere, staring at her, she sure as h.e.l.l couldn't see him-or her.
”Let's-” she began, looking up at Finn, and breaking off. He, too, was searching out the crowd.
”What's wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head, as if shaking off a feeling as well. His eyes touched down on hers. ”I love you. I really love you, you know. And I would die before I ever let anyone hurt you.”
She smiled.
The breeze was gentle. The sun was still visible in an autumn sky that was still somehow soft blue, and wonderfully gentle, almost bright.
”I love you... so come on, please, let's hurry. I do hate to drool in the street.” Chapter 10
Darkness came so quickly in October in New England.
Of course, as Megan explained, while they lay curled together, watching the daylight fade through the crack in the curtains, it was even worse in December.
It was the best time they'd had together since they had come here. No dreams had plagued either of them. Megan had been playful, sensual; there had been moments of barely breathing urgency, muscle-knotted soaring, and mind-shattering climax. Intimacy so complete that it seemed no outside force could be noticed, much less intrusive. Their bond, combining hearts and senses, had never seemed so solid, and Finn was loathe for the afternoon to wane, and so, even as the darkness came, they lay together, spent, disheveled, limbs entangled, just watching as that darkness came.
Still entangled, though, the mundane had come into what at first was idle conversation, choices of music for the night, what they didn't want to do again, and what, though they'd done it already, was signature and popular, and therefore, good for the agenda once again. Megan turned to him suddenly, smiling, skimming a damp lock of hair from his forehead, and murmured, ”It's almost like being back home again, isn't it?”
He smiled, catching her fingers, languidly teasing them with the tip of his tongue.
”Finn, for real, there's something special this afternoon... and you owe it all to Mike.”
He had just been feeling the slow, simmering rise of a renewed erection. Her words deflated him like a popped balloon.
”Mike? Wow. Was he in bed with us?”
She kicked his calf. ”No, and if you're going to act like a jealous a.s.s again, I'm going to get up.”
”You might want to explain what you're talking about, then.”
”He's just so wonderfully logical and pragmatic. I was really starting to worry about the dreams. I confess, when you said you wanted to leave, I wanted to run away from here more than anything in the world. But he was talking about his psychology cla.s.ses, about the power of suggestion... and I realized, I was having nightmares because I was allowing myself to have them. Listening to old loons like Andy Markham, and whatever else. And, though you don't want to admit it, Mr. Tough Guy, you are subject to the same force of suggestion. So... before going to sleep from now on, we're going to watch game shows. Or old sitcom reruns. Like Gilligan's Island. Or The Cosby Show. Or Lucy!”
”I see,” he murmured.
”You're going to insist that you haven't had weird dreams? I'm the one who might have awakened screaming, but the other night...
you don't even remember making love.”
Finn stared at the ceiling. ”At least I didn't imagine you as some kind of wicked beast or awful, hideous creature.”
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