The Administration Series (71 page)

She looked at him calmly, any emotion now hidden and absolutely unreadable. "It was all a long time ago."

He nodded. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll try to keep out of Tarin's way."

"That would be a big help with the peacekeeping."

Since the conversation seemed to be over, he opened the door. "After you."

Warrick sat on the bed, running the belt through his hands, the rough back of the leather rubbing against his fingertips. The present was one good part of a not particularly enjoyable day, although after all this time he ought to know better than to let Tarin get to him.

Someone knocked on the door. While he debated whether to say anything, the knock was repeated.

"Keir, it's me," Dillian said.

"Come in."

She put her head around the door.

"Sulking?" she asked brightly.

He smiled. "'Looking for a bit of peace and quiet', I would have said. But you may have a point."

She shut the door behind her and came over to sit next to him on the bed. He coiled up the belt and put it down.

"Do you know where Toreth is?" he asked.

"Still out with Aunt Jen somewhere."

He didn't say anything, but he must've looked alarmed, because she laughed. "He'll be fine. What do you think she's going to do to him? Even Jen. Mind you, I was surprised that you got him here at all. New Year and family. I don't think he knows how to cope with it."

A slightly surprising comment, because recently Dillian had been pursuing a strict policy of no comment regarding Toreth. "You might be right."

She looked straight ahead, apparently studying the view through the darkening window with great concentration. "I wanted to talk to you about him."

"Well, I can't stop you."

"Please, don't be. . . . I don't understand why you're with him at all, Keir. Sara told me about him — about what he does."

Warrick felt a prickle of something that wasn't exactly fear. Not yet. "She told you he does what?" he asked, managing to keep his voice level.

"That he's been — being — unfaithful. She didn't tell me as such, she just let it slip. But when I cornered her about it, she said you knew."

"Yes, I do." It could have been so much worse than that. "And we are now definitely entering 'nothing to do with you' territory."

"Don't you
mind
?"

It didn't help that he wasn't sure of the answer. No, and yes. Sometimes. "Please, just drop it."

She seemed to take that as a yes. "Then why are you still with him?"

"He's an incredibly good fuck?" he said, without much hope that it would actually shut her up.

It did at least produce a slight smile. "I guessed that part. I'm in the room next to yours, remember? And I've stayed at the flat."

Now he wished he hadn't said it. "Oh, God."

"That's why I suggested to Mother that she should put you at the end of the corridor. It was loud, but not
that
loud. I just put my fingers in my ears." The smile turned into a grin. "Actually, I thought you were quite restrained by —"

"Dilly," he said in a strangled voice.

"You're the one who brought it up." There was a silence for a while. Finally she looked away from the window, her gaze uncomfortably direct. "But is a good fuck
all
he is?"

He thought about all the tangled consequences of the investigation at SimTech. Things he couldn't explain and things which were too dangerous to explain. "Why the sudden inquisition?"

"Because if that is all there is to it, I think that . . . maybe you shouldn't have brought him here."

Just what he needed to brighten his day. "Oh, you as well."

"Me as well what?"

"I've already listened to Tarin expressing his views on my choice of guest and, frankly, once was more than enough."

She sat up straight, looking at him closely. "Oh, God. I'm sorry — I didn't know. You didn't hit him, did you?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, there was the time —"

"Dilly, for God's sake. I punched him
once
, at
one
New Year. I don't make a habit of it." The problem with families was that nothing was ever forgotten. "In fact, I was inhumanly restrained, although I don't think I could have kept it up much longer. I just told him to mind his own business."

"And I should do the same?"

"Mm. From you it sounds so much better. Or at least so much less self-righteous. And I'm beginning to think you're both right, anyway."

"No!"

The emphatic reply made him smile. "Because then you'd be agreeing with Tar?"

She grinned sheepishly in response. "Well, yes. Basic rule of life."

"And what about Mother?"

"She can cope with Tarin sulking. She wouldn't have invited Toreth if she didn't mean it. You know that. And Tarin knows it, too. He's just scoring points — I doubt he really cares."

"No, he does care." He grimaced. "Too much, about some things. He'll really get himself into trouble one of these days. Not," he added, "that Toreth will say anything to anyone." And, damn it, he didn't want to feel the need to defend him, especially to Dilly. He was so used to having her as an ally that her dislike of Toreth left him feeling lost.

She didn't seem to be listening, though. She sat, fiddling with the seam of her sleeve, then said, "Can I ask you something?"

Automatically, because they were at home, he said what Jen would have said when they were children. "I don't know, can you?"

She didn't smile. "I do
know
he really isn't any of my business."

"I hear a 'but'."

"But . . ." She frowned. "I'm worried about you, and he's the reason why I'm worried."

"Didn't we have this conversation before? There's nothing for you to worry about, I promise."

"I wish I could . . . Keir, when you came in to say goodnight, I saw a bruise. Here." She touched his shoulder, just above his collarbone. "And I've noticed other bruises before — on your face. More than once."

For a fleeting moment, he thought about Marian Tanit. On his list of conversations he never wanted to have, this one was very near the top.

When he didn't say anything, she asked, "Does he . . . did he do that?"

He took a breath and looked her in the eye, because he wanted her to believe him the first time, so they could get this over with. And because he had to know what her reaction would be. Her first reaction.

"Yes. But not in the way that you mean. It was . . . he did it because I wanted him to do it. I asked him to." 'When we were having sex', but he couldn't make himself say that to her. "When we were in bed."

It took a long few seconds for comprehension to dawn. Then the bewilderment was washed away by relief, and then overwhelming embarrassment. Nothing worse than that.

"Oh, God." She laughed, and put her hand up to her mouth. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, it's not that it's funny. Not at all. It's just that I'd got myself all worked up for this — for
weeks
— waiting for the right time, and I was going to be so . . . but I just never thought there might be . . . oh, dear."

He didn't recall ever seeing her blush quite so much before. He felt an unsporting stab of satisfaction at the unexpected payback for all the times she'd embarrassed him. Which, oddly enough, didn't include now.

"I feel like such an idiot, Keir. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for prying."

"It doesn't matter," he said, trying to sound magnanimous rather then amused. "Don't worry about it. It was good of you to be concerned."

"Good of me." She looked away and, doing so, caught sight of the belt on the bed beside him and her eyes went wider. Now she really did have the giggles, doubled over, her face buried in her hands. He could see her ears, though, still bright red. "Oh, dear . . . oh, no. I mean . . . I'm sorry."

Eventually the fit and the blushing subsided, and she leaned back against the wall and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, dear, I
am
sorry. Thanks for not being cross with me. It was an awful thing to think, I know. About Toreth. You won't tell him what I said, will you?"

"Of course not. Although," he added, "I doubt he'd care."

"No?" She shook her head slightly. "No, I expect he wouldn't. That's part of it, you know. He can be so strange. And he's difficult to talk to. No, that's not right. Easy to talk to, but hard to reach. It's as if there's something missing."

He didn't comment.

"I don't believe . . . I still can't see why
him
."

Warrick shrugged the shoulder she wasn't occupying. "I can't explain it either, I'm afraid." Which, in a way, was true. There were lots of reasons, but none of them answered that fundamental question.

He felt her smile. "Except for the incredibly good fuck part?"

"Except for that."

"Is it really good enough to make up for all the other things?"

"Yes, it really is." And he realised he felt relieved that she knew now. It made one less secret between them.

"Keir?"

"Mm?"

"Do you love him?"

Coming out of the blue, the question shocked him. "Do I
what
?"

She looked as though the idea had occurred to her only that moment. "Because it's been a while now. You're seeing a lot of him. You brought him here to meet everyone. So . . . do you love him?"

Oddly, he'd never even thought about the word before. It was such an impossible concept to connect to Toreth in any way. Nor was it something he wanted to think about now, here. So he pretended to consider it, looking at their dim reflections in the window, mirror images inside a mirror. He tilted his head, resting his cheek against the top of her head to improve the composition.

Finally he said, "Well, now, that would be an incredibly stupid thing to do, wouldn't it?"

She nudged him away and sat up. "Yes. Yes, I think it probably would."

She sounded serious, but he hadn't said yes or no, and she didn't ask the question again. Instead she got off the bed.

"Mother said to let you know she's starting supper soon," she said. "If you want to help."

"Tell her I'll be down."

She stopped by the door. "Keir?"

"Yes?" What would it be this time?

"You are . . . when you and he . . . oh, dear. What I mean is, it is
safe
, isn't it?"

He'd wondered how long it would take her to start worrying about him again, once the idea had sunk in. "Yes, perfectly."

She looked at him doubtfully.

"I promise."

He hated lying to her, because she was always so good at spotting it. But in this case she merely hesitated for a moment longer, nodded, and left.

He picked the belt up again and fastened it into a loop. Then he slipped it over his hands and closed his eyes, tensing his arms against the strap. Thinking about Toreth: cold voice, strong hands holding him so easily, mouth bearing down bruisingly hard on his, chains, blindfolds and sharp-edged pain. He had no idea why he needed it so much, only that he did.

The honest answer to Dilly's question would have been: yes, I trust him, but it can never be entirely safe. If it was, I wouldn't want it.

As long as he knew that, and remembered it, and remembered what Toreth was, it would be as safe as it could be. But Dilly could worry about him quite enough without hearing that.

To Toreth's relief, dinner was less strained. Whether Jen or someone else had spoken to him or not, Tarin seemed to have himself under better control. He didn't speak to or look at Toreth, but that was frankly a relief.

Dillian seemed to be in better spirits and once or twice he caught her looking between himself and Warrick with an expression quite different to the one he'd become used to recently — friendly, or at least less unfriendly. Intrigued, almost. Toreth scented an interesting distraction. He always liked a mystery.

The largest trauma of the meal was at the end, when it was discovered that the dishwasher had broken. The family looked at Warrick, who put his hands up. "I'm a programmer, not a mechanic," he said. "I can do it the old-fashioned way, though."

"I'll help," Dillian said.

Toreth took the opportunity. "I'll do it — after all, you made dinner," he said, speaking to Warrick, making it quite clear which of the two of them he intended to replace.

Warrick looked at Dillian until she shrugged. Then he smiled. "Thanks. I'll help you carry things through."

"Wash or dry?" Toreth asked once he was alone in the kitchen with Dillian.

"I don't mind." A little put out, perhaps, but still in a relatively good mood. "You do whichever you prefer."

"I'll dry. You're very friendly this evening," he added casually.

"Not especially." She started to fill the sink with water.

"Yes, you are." He moved up next to her to clear a space by the sink. "The last couple of months the heating system's come on every time you walk into a room and see me. I can feel the frost forming. And now you're happy to spend time with me?"

"I offered to help Keir."

"Of course." He tried to catch her eye, but she was concentrating fiercely on the pan in the sink.

"Succumbing to my irresistible charms at last?" he asked.

Finally she looked at him. "You are completely bloody . . ." She searched for words. "Impossible," she finished.

Easy catch. "Actually, I'm a fairly safe bet."

"Look, if you must know —" And she stopped dead.

"Well?"

"Nothing. Just forget it."

He touched her arm, a brief, friendly contact, nothing more. "Tell me."

"I . . . oh, all right." She began to speak briskly, getting the conversation out of the way. "I saw some bruises on Keir and I thought . . . and I wondered how it had happened and today I asked him about it and —" She stopped, a flush creeping up from the neck of her dress. Nice to know which way she blushed.

"And what did he say?"

She was burning now, staring down at the floor.

"He explained." It must have almost killed her to say even that much. God, she looked good like this.