Linda Howard - Kiss Me While I Sleep

She gave him an innocent look and lifted one shoulder in a gesture that said, “So?” He was the one who had taken the issue down the sexual path; if he didn’t like where he’d ended up, it was his own fault.

She was amazed that she could be so entertained, considering what they were up against, but it was as if by tacit agreement they had decided to have today just for themselves, because today might be 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.”

He scratched the side of his nose. “You wouldn’t have been tempted by my charm?”

She made a rude sound. “You wouldn’t have got close enough for me to know you were charming.”

“This may sound callous, but if that’s the case, I’m glad you were getting shot at the other day. If you believe in fate, then it was meant to be that I’d be sitting there, at loose ends, just when you were on the losing side of a gun battle.”

“Or it was sheer chance. It remains to be seen whether that was good luck or bad luck—for you, I mean.” And perhaps for her, as well, though she thought she should count her blessings, that even if events went drastically sour, at least she’d had laughter in her life again for a short while.

“I can tell you that,” he said lazily. “It was the best luck I’ve had in a long time.”

She watched his face and wondered what it was like to live inside his skin, to be so optimistic and at peace with one’s self. She couldn’t remember feeling that way since she was a teenager, though she’d been happy while she had Zia.

After Zia’s death, peace and happiness had been totally alien. She had been so focused; all she’d thought about was vengeance for her friends, for Zia. Now Swain was in her life, and her goal had been transformed from something personal to something so hugely important that she had to struggle to grasp the scope of it. Her personal feelings had been made insignificant, and reality had swept her to a different perspective. She knew that although a person never stopped grieving for lost loved ones, the quality of grief changed from gut-gnawing agony to dull pain, to acceptance, to remembering the good times—and sometimes all of those things were felt within a very short time, in no particular order. Her focus had been shifted from herself, her loss, to something outside herself, and with that shift the pain had changed, become less immediate and all-consuming.

She didn’t know how long the surcease would endure, but she was grateful for every moment of it. Swain was responsible, she knew, for a lot of her shift in mood just by being his brash, very American self. Of course, he could lift a woman’s mood just by walking down the street with that lazy, loose-hipped gait of his. She knew because she had seen women watching him, and she knew the effect he had on her.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Stop worrying so much. Everything will be okay.”

She gave a rueful laugh. “You mean: my mystery caller will turn out not to be Rodrigo; he can tell us everything we need to know about the lab’s security; we get in without any trouble, totally destroy the virus, kill Dr. Giordano so he can’t do this again, and get away without anyone the wiser?”

He thought about it. “Maybe not everything; that’s a big laundry list. But you have to have faith things will work out for the better one way or the other. We can’t fail, therefore we won’t.”

“The power of positive thinking?”

“Don’t knock it. It’s worked for me so far. For instance, I was positive I’d get in your pants from the minute I saw you, and look at us now.”