Sterling's Reasons (14 page)
She ran her fingertips along her arm and winced. “We’re both going to be sore later. We ought to think about going back.”
“I am thinking about it. That movie you wanted me to see the other night…?”
“That stupid romantic one?”
He nodded. “We’ll watch it tonight. It’s supposed to cool off later, so we’ll have a fire and pop some corn and just be lazy.”
“That sounds wonderful.” And it did. “It’s supposed to storm off and on for the next few days. Maybe we should stock up on films and food and dig in for the duration.”
He winked at her, and Sterling felt her blood pulse forward. “I think you’ve changed your strategy. You’re going to kill me with kindness in hope that I confess to being a nasty reporter who’s decided not to do a story, or a spy for 108
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IAD who’s decided to turn in a very favorable report on you. I could do with some kindness.” She moved closer to him and rubbed his mouth with hers. He had used more complete sentences with her today than in the days they had known each other. She sensed he was beginning to concentrate on other things besides Red. He was beginning to remember that he was a living, breathing member of the human race, like it or not.
“How will you do with aggression?” he asked, lazily, amused.
“Test me,” she challenged with a smile on her lips.
He cupped the back of her head with his hand and brought their mouths together. It was as she remembered. Tropical. Sultry. He tasted of salt and sun with a trace of wine. Blazing. Fiery. Those hard, unsmiling lips played with hers.
Tasting, teasing. She returned the pleasure. The almost-naked play of his body against hers sent a liquid heat pouring through her entire body. They were alone in a world of their own creation. She wanted it to stay that way for a while, just a little while. The waves beat around them, gulls swooped through the sky.
All she knew was the feel of him, the taste of him, the sound of his moan mingling with hers. How had she lived her life for so long without this man?
This stranger that she hadn’t even known existed until now. Until now.
He could lose himself with her. He felt it. She made him forget—when she was near him, babbling, or when she was touching him, softly. He knew only her. Was he holding onto her because of the relief she gave him, or was it
more?
How could he know? Was it possible that he had never really been in love before? He knew he didn’t believe in love at first sight and all that romantic rhetoric. He knew himself well enough to understand he’d never looked for love.
He never thought it was what made the world go round or what started wars and all the other hype he had heard. But he wondered what it would be like…to have someone…
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But now, here she was. He had looked around often enough and seen couples. Everyone was part of a pair. Riding in cars, having dinner in a sidewalk café, strolling along, fishing, shopping, bowling. Where was his other half?
Where was the woman who would share his life with him…the one he knew had to be somewhere. He had laughed at himself and dismissed the thoughts as not worthy of the time it took to think about it. And he had opened his black book and called a phone number. One that would provide good dinner company or that would enjoy a night of drinking and dancing in a country-western bar. And any other thing that might happen.
He didn’t want to involve her with his life if he was only using her as a diversion from his pain. It wasn’t his style. It wasn’t him, but then he hadn’t been himself since that day…
Reluctantly, he broke the kiss. She still had her eyes closed. She rested her cheek on her arm before she opened her eyes and smiled at him trustingly.
“How’d I do?”
“You can handle aggression,” he answered huskily. There was a sweetness in her, a gentleness that mixed with the zaniness, and a free-spirited facade that she wanted the world to see. She had opened a window to her soul just for him. Dare he take a long look? Could he risk wanting what he saw? Wanting it to the point of forgetting all else?
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. She curled her arms around his neck, and with that movement, lost their balance on the boogie board. It flipped out from under them and they both fell under the water.
Later that evening, both sunburned and tired, they sat in the middle of the living room on the soft multicolored braided rug and watched
Key Largo.
Flames crackled from the old fireplace casting the room in contented peace.
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Stiffening, Sterling got up to stretch out on the sofa. He remained on the floor with his back against it. She studied him. This was all so domestic. They had known each other for such a short time and yet it was as if they were old friends.
Their souls had seemed to intertwine from the beginning, despite what went on on the surface.
Was she ready for this? she asked herself as she fought to keep from reaching out and running her hand through his hair, down his neck to his shoulder. The answer came effortlessly. Oh, yes, she’d been alone too long and hadn’t even noticed.
She glanced at the TV and back to Joe again. Sterling realized she had been on a mission for the last five years. Two missions actually. One was for Ramsburg. The other was for Sterling Powell.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop long enough to
realize how much you miss your husband and son. Don’t stop long enough to let the
blame you placed on yourself surface again.
Because she couldn’t live with it. The guilt of not stopping them. The charge for not acting upon her instincts to save her family.
It would have to be a very special man to bring her back to life. It had to be Joe MacDaniels who would tap that part of her that she’d kept hidden. And now that it was tapped, she couldn’t stop the flow. No matter what she did.
She watched the flames dance and cast shadows against the walls. She listened to the crackle over the sound of the movie. Sterling felt so comfortable.
His rich voice brought her abruptly out of her reverie.
Slightly bored and a little annoyed, Joe commented, “Good special effects for such an old film.”
Frustrated, Sterling groaned, “Must you always be so logical? Can’t you feel the love and the growing passion between Bogart and Bacall? The fury of the
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storm only adds to the depiction of it. Are you just checking for authenticity of the plot or how good the actors are playing the part? What about the story?”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “Not real life, but it’s okay.”
She did ruffle his hair then. “You pretend you haven’t got a soul or a heart, but I know it’s there. So don’t try to be the tough guy all the time. Yeah, sometimes life stinks. Sometimes it’s wonderful.”
When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he pulled her from the sofa to his lap. Her simple gesture moved him. One of possession. He held her tightly against his chest while he pretended to watch the movie. Contented, she could feel the steady thump of his heart against hers. She took this time to study the lines of his face. The contour of a nose that had been broken before. The way his lips came together in a line under his mustache. His jaw was square and determined looking. His chin was strong and stubborn. It was a handsome face, etched with life. There was honesty and integrity in his eyes along with the kindness, the gentleness, the vulnerability that he fought so hard to disguise.
He felt her eyes on him, just as he felt the fragility of her otherwise strong body melt against him. Her skin was soft, smooth under his rough, calloused hands. He could sense rather than see that she was smiling up at him. He felt safe. Odd that only a smile could make him feel safe. Warm. Invincible.
She wouldn’t hurt him. He knew that now. No matter what job she had been sent to do, she wouldn’t hurt him.
Wouldn’t she?
the voice niggled inside of him again.
How can you be sure?
Joe shook off the doubts. He wanted to give her a chance. Maybe he needed to. Maybe he was in love with her.
Doubts flooded back, nagging.
And maybe,
the voice said, smugly,
maybe you
just think you are. It’s safer here than out there without her.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked drowsily.
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“I’m wondering how this is going to end…and if it ever will.”
She punched him. “It’s a good movie. You just have no taste at all.” Because she was beginning to want him a little too much, she jumped up. “Go ahead, put your stupid Monty Python movie on. I’ll fix the popcorn.”
“No salt or butter.” Aching a little, he watched her bounce to the kitchen area. “And don’t wake those hungry cats.”
“Lots of salt and tons of butter. The babies are already awake, but they’re not hungry yet.” She looked down at them crawling around and over each other in the box.
She watched over her shoulder as he changed video cassettes, then settled himself back on the floor. The ashtray that had sat beside him all night was full.
Idly, he stuffed the paper from a newly opened pack of cigarettes into it. He stretched his arm across the seat of the sofa and blew smoke rings toward the TV.
The ludicrous sounds that always accompanied Python movies filled the room.
He
filled the room. The very maleness of him, the power and the aura that surrounded him at all times floated around her. Sterling let it fill her, strengthen her, encourage her.
When she came back to him, she had two beers and a huge bowl of greasy, slightly scorched popcorn in her hands. He took the cans from her and patted a place on the floor for her to sit. She handed him the bowl and took his ashtray to the kitchen to dump it. Returning with two napkins and the empty ashtray, she sat down beside him. It was as if they had been sharing life like this for years. It all felt so normal and so good.
Later, she took the empty cans and the empty bowl to the kitchen and brought the box of kittens to him. “I’ll fix the bottles. They’ll eat now or not at all.
I’m getting sleepy.”
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When she returned with the trio of miniature bottles, she stopped a distance behind the couch and watched. He had taken all the kittens out and placed them in his lap. One had fallen off his knee and was inching its way toward his foot.
Another was nestled in the crook of his elbow. Still another, Elliott, was contentedly licking butter from his hand. Gentleness prevailed in the hands she loved to watch. They were so soothing. With one squeeze he could break the kittens that fit in his palm. Hands that could kill, that
had
killed, calmly nurtured these little lives.
An overwhelming wave of love surged through her. A feeling so strong it terrified her. Drawing a deep breath, she put a smile on her face and joined them.
“You’ll make them sick,” she protested teasingly.
“It’ll make them tough. And fatten them up a little.”
She laughed, looking at the three kittens with their decidedly little round tummies. “You’re the one who has to stay up with them all night if they get a stomachache.”
He glared at her then, again with the look. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
Long after the kittens were asleep in their box, snuggled into the folds of their blanket, Joe listened to Sterling’s breathing. Sometime during the movie, her head had nodded against his shoulder. He’d lifted his arm and pulled her into the crook of it. The water and the sun had taken their toll, and soon she slept. It was midnight and a cold breeze came through the open glass door. The fire had burned to embers.
If he moved he might wake her. If he didn’t, he thought grimly, he might wake her and keep her awake. Pushing the kitten box slowly to the side, he got to his knees and cradled her in his arms. Without jarring her, he stood up and carried her to the bedroom. She stirred, but only to hold tighter around his neck.
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He scooted the bedspread down with his bare foot before placing her on the cool sheet. As he arranged one of her arms across her stomach and the other down her side, he noticed the pulse in her wrist. It was slow and rhythmic. It was life.
She
was life. Living, breathing reasons for wanting to live. For wanting to be able to feel good again. For wanting to get up every morning as long as she was there. How had all this happened? He wondered if he could handle admitting he was dependent on someone else. He stood there and looked at her for a long moment. Her dark lashes fanned across very red cheeks. Her hair, disheveled from a full day of not bothering with it, spread across the pillow, soft and curling.
A tight knot formed in his gut. He wasn’t free—might never be—to give a lady like her the love she deserved. The emotion she drew from him was still crimped, still reserved. If it was ever let loose…He turned and left the room and missed the small hand that came up to reach for him.
Rousing momentarily from sleep, she heard him in the kitchen. He was actually straightening things up. He snapped the lights off and slid the door closed. The empty house grew quiet. Still. She pictured Joe walking back to his cottage carrying the box of sleeping kittens in it. He might even be muttering to them as she had caught him doing once in a while. She smiled and turned to snuggle into the pillow and dream.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
He opened his eyes to slits to see her standing at the foot of his bed. “I’m going to town and I thought I would help you feed the babies before I left. And see if you wanted anything.”
He hadn’t slept until sometime near dawn. He knew for sure because he’d seen the faintest gleam of light sneak in through the curtains. Now he was
