“There’s nothing—”
I sit up straight. “Do not even think you can bullshit me. I know you way, way, way too well. You’re out here before dawn, so there’s a clue. Plus, you held back in the study. That started out a lot wilder than it ended up. And I’m not complaining because it was pretty damn awesome, but it wasn’t what you wanted—no, don’t deny it. I know you, remember?”
“Jane.” My name sounds like glass, about to break on the sharp edges of his voice.
“Please, Dallas. Talk to me. Maybe I’m wrong and looking for problems. But I feel like there’s something going on with you. Something you’re not telling me.”
He says nothing—just sighs and looks out at the night. I’m about to break down into full-blown begging when he finally sighs, then says, “I know we promised each other no more secrets, and I want to live up to that. But there are things …”
“Like what she did to you?” I ask when he trails off.
He drags his fingers through his hair. “That’s sure as hell part of it.”
“And the rest of it?”
“Jane, can we not do this right now—”
“We need to talk. You need to talk. I know something’s bothering you and I’m sorry if I’m pushing, but—”
“Yes, you are pushing.” He turns to me, his eyes dark. “You are most definitely pushing,” he repeats, then sighs. “Christ, you always do this. It makes me crazy, like that time when you were in Girl Scouts and—”
I can’t help but laugh.
He looks at me like I’m insane. “What?”
“I was just wondering how many couples break down into sibling arguments in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel.”
His mouth twitches. “You have a point.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I still win the argument, but you have a point.”
“You do not win,” I say. “You can’t win if you don’t finish, and you are so totally avoiding the—”
“Jane?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Since that’s something we don’t have to argue about, I do, and it’s long and hot and tender and sweet all rolled up in the perfect rooftop kiss.
I sigh and curl against him as he slides his arm around my shoulders. “I don’t want to have secrets,” he says softly. “And I’m trying my damnedest not to. But some things I have to work through first. Does that make sense?”
I nod. “Yeah. It does.”
“Good.”
We sit like that for a while, just holding each other, wrapped in the dark of the night.
“We’ve got this right?” I finally ask, my voice a whisper, my eyes on the ocean that churns in front of us.
“Yeah,” he says, pulling me closer. “We’ve totally got this.”
What the Butler Saw
I wake up curled against Dallas and think that there’s really no place I’d rather be? and nothing else I will ever need. Except for coffee.
I definitely need coffee.
“Good morning.” His hair is deliciously mussed, and there’s a very obvious invitation in his eyes. An invitation that he backs up with the slow trailing of his fingers up and down my bare arm.
“Don’t even think about it,” I tease. “The only way you’re getting any this morning is if I get some coffee.”
“I can do that.” He stretches, yawns, then sits up on the side of the bed, giving me a very nice view of his well-muscled back and broad, strong shoulders.
“Mmmm,” I say, and he peers at me over his shoulder.
“Something on your mind?”
“Just enjoying the view.”
His eyes graze over me, bare except for the spread of black satin draped over my calf. “I know exactly what you mean.” He leans down and kisses me gently. “Give me a minute to go down to the kitchen,” he says as he stands. He grabs a pair of sweatpants from where he’d left them over the arm of a chair a day or so ago, then tugs them on.
“And this is why I have a Keurig in my bedroom.”
“I’m not the addict you are.” He flashes a wolfish grin. “You’re all the buzz I need.”
I counter by throwing a pillow at him. “Go,” I say, pulling the sheet up to my neck and then pointing toward the door. “No looking or touching until I’m properly caffeinated.”
He inclines his head in a subservient bow. “As you wish.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m still smiling after he’s gone. And when he taps lightly on the door a few minutes later, I say in my most authoritative voice, “Enter.”
Except it’s not him. It’s Archie. And he’s carrying a tray with a coffeepot.
The sheet, thank God, is still under my chin—I’d been planning on tormenting Dallas a little upon his return. But that fact barely makes a dent in my overall level of mortification.
Archie, however, is his usual professional self.
He crosses the room without even rattling the cups and sets the tray down on the bedside table. “Shall I pour?”