“How does it feel?” she asked when theyd stepped outside. “When someone asks you to sign a book?”
“A hell of a lot better than it does if they dont give a damn.”
“No, seriously. Dont brush the question off. Whats it like?”
“Satisfying.” Absently, he smoothed down the collar of her coat. “Flattering. Surprising. Unless theyve got a crazed look in their eye and an unpublished manuscript under their arm.”
“Does that happen?”
“Often enough. But mostly it just feels good. Hey, heres somebody whos read my stuff, or is about to. And they think itd be cool if I signed it.” He shrugged. “Whats not good about that?” “Thats not very temperamental of you.”
“Im not a temperamental guy.”
She snorted. “You always used to be.”
“You used to be argumentative and pigheaded.” He smiled broadly when she scowled at him. “See how weve changed?”
“Im just going to let that go, because Ive had a really good time.” She breathed deep as they wandered a bricked path, and looked up at the thick slice of waxing moon. “Into week two,” she murmured.
“Youre doing fine, Stretch.”
She shook her head. “I dont feel like Im getting to the meat of it. Not yet. The days are going by really fast. Im not panicked or anything,” she added quickly, “but Ive got serious concerns. So much is depending on me. People I care about. Im afraid Ill let them down. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes. Youre not alone in this. The brunt may be on you, but youre not carrying all the weight.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, drew her toward him a little, until her body rested against his. “I want to help you, Dana.”
She fit well with him. She always had. And her realization of that made little warning bells sound in some dim part of her brain. “We already know youre connected, somehow or other.”
“I want more.” He bent his head to brush his lips over her shoulder. “And I want you.”
“Ive got enough to worry about right now.”
“Whether it worries you or not isnt going to change a thing.” He turned her to face him. “Im still going to want you. Youre still going to know it.” His lips curved as he ran his hands up and down her arms. “Ive always liked that look.”
“What look?”
“That mildly irritated look you get when somebody gives you a problem to work out. The one that puts this little crease right here.” He touched his lips to her forehead, just between her eyebrows.
“I thought we were taking a walk.”
“We did. Now Id say this evening calls for one more thing.” He loved the way her lips curled just as much as he loved the flicker of surprise over her face when instead of kissing her, he slid her into a slow, swaying dance.
“Pretty clever,” she murmured, but she was moved.
“I always liked dancing with you. The way everything lines up. The way I can smell your hair, your skin. The way, if I get close enough, look close enough, I can see myself in your eyes. Your eyes always did me in. I never told you that, did I?”
“No.” She felt herself tremble, and the warning bells were lost under the thunder of her own heart.
“They did. Still do. Sometimes, when we managed to spend the night together, Id wake up early to watch you sleep. Just so I could see you open your eyes.”
“Its not fair.” Her voice shook. “Its not fair to tell me something like that now.”
“I know. I shouldve told you then. But nows all Ive got.”
He touched his lips to hers, rubbed softly. Nipped gently. He felt her body slide toward surrender, and fought the urge to plunder.
He went slowly, for both of them, savoring what theyd once devoured, lingering where once theyd rushed. In the starlight, with her arms lifting to come around him, he wouldnt allow himself to demand. Instead, he seduced.
He was still circling her in a dance. Or was it just that her head was spinning? His lips were warm, and patient, all the more arousing with the hints of heat and urgency she sensed strapped down inside him.