Key of Knowledge
Page 44
She gave his cheek a friendly rub, then stretched. “God. I’m starving.”
“Want to order a pizza?”
“I can’t wait for pizza. I need immediate fueling. There’s got to be something that passes for food in the kitchen.”
“Wouldn’t count on it. Kitchen’s pretty torn up. Construction zone.”
“A real man would go down and hunt up provisions.”
“I hate when you do that. I always did.”
“I know.” It absolutely warmed her cockles. “Does it still work?”
“Yeah. Shit.” He got out of bed, dragged on his jeans. “You’re going to take what you get. No bitching.”
“Deal.” Satisfied, she lay back down on her side, snuggled into the pillow. “Problem?” she asked when he only stood, staring at her.
“No. Brain cells regenerating.”
Her dimples flashed. “Food.”
“I’m on it.”
She felt quite smug as he walked out of the room. Maybe it was just a little small of her to gloat, even mentally, that she still knew how to push his buttons. But it brought her such a nice glow, how wrong could it be?
And it was better, wasn’t it, then letting herself get all worried and churned up about what was going to happen next. This time around she would be smarter, enjoy the moment and restrain herself from expecting more.
They enjoyed each other’s company, even when they were poking at each other. They shared people who mattered, very much, to both of them. And they had a strong sexual connection.
It was the basis of a good, healthy relationship.
So why the hell did she have to be in love with him? If not for that one little thing, it would be perfect.
Still, when you approached it realistically, it really was her problem. Just as it had been her problem before. He wasn’t obliged to love her back, and whatever she put into or took out of the situation was her own doing.
He cared about her. She closed her eyes and bit back a sigh. Jesus, that was a sting. Was there anything more painful or lowering than being in love with someone who sincerely cared about you?
Better not to think about it, to turn that part of herself off, as long as she could manage it. She didn’t have any illusions this time around about them being together forever, building a home, making a family, forging a future.
His life was in New York, and hers was here. And God knew she had enough in her life to satisfy and occupy her without adding to it by spinning dreams that included Jordan Hawke.
He’d only hurt her before because she’d let herself be hurt. She wasn’t just older, she decided. She was smarter and stronger now.
While she was trying to convince herself, she stared at his laptop. His screen saver had come on, and was nothing but a shifting spiral of color that was already making her dizzy.
How did he stand it?
As soon as she thought it, she had the answer. It would irritate him enough to push him back to work.
Considering, she sat up. He hadn’t turned the machine off when she’d interrupted him. He hadn’t closed the document . . . had he?
She bit her lip, glanced toward the doorway.
That meant whatever he’d been writing was still on the screen, and if she just happened to give the mouse a little shake, it would pop right up. And if she just happened to read what he’d written, what was the harm?
Keeping an ear out for footsteps, she slid out of bed, tiptoed over to the desk. She tapped the mouse gently with a fingertip to flick the screen saver off.
With one last glance toward the doorway, she scrolled back two pages in the document, then began to read.
She was caught up quickly, though she hit what was obviously the middle of a descriptive paragraph. He had a way of pulling you into the scene, surrounding you with it.
And this one was dark and cold and quietly terrifying. Something lurked. By the first page she was in the hero’s head, knowing his sense of urgency and the underlying fear. Something hunted, and was already feeding off pain.
When she came to the end of what he’d written, she swore. “Well, damn it, what happens next?”
“That’s a hell of a compliment from a naked woman,” Jordan commented.
She jumped. She cursed herself, but she all but jumped out of her skin, which was all she was wearing. And she flushed, which was considerably worse. She felt the heat spread over her as she whirled to see Jordan standing in the doorway, jeans carelessly unbuttoned, hair mussed, a bag of Fritos, a can of Coke, and an apple in his hands.
“I was just . . .” There wasn’t any way out of it, she realized, and so she simply told the embarrassing truth. “I was curious. And rude.”
“No big deal.”
“No, really, I shouldn’t have poked around in your work. But it was just there, which is your fault for not closing the file.”
“Which would make it your fault for interrupting me, then distracting me with sex.”
“I certainly didn’t use sex just so I could . . .” She broke off, heaved out a breath. He was grinning at her, and she could hardly blame him. “Hand over the Fritos.”
Instead, he walked to the bed, sat back against the pillow. “Come and get them.” He reached into the bag, took out a handful, and began to munch.
“Anyway, it was the screen saver. It was making me cross-eyed.” Casually, she thought, she sat back down on the bed and tugged the bag of chips out of his hand.
“I hate that bastard.” He crunched into the apple, handed her the soda. “So, you want to know what happens next?”
“I was mildly interested.” She popped the top of the Coke, took a long sip. She ate some Fritos, traded them for the apple, traded them back. And, she thought in disgust, he wasn’t going to crack.
“Okay, who is he? What’s after him? How did he get there?”
He took the Coke. Was there anything more satisfying than having someone who shared your love of books being so interested in one of yours? he wondered.
If you added the fact that your literary partner was a very sexy, very naked woman, it was just gravy.
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say he’s a man who’s made mistakes, and he’s looking for a way to fix them. Along the way he finds out there aren’t any easy answers, that redemption—the real thing—carries a price. That love, the kind that matters, makes the price worth paying.”
“Want to order a pizza?”
“I can’t wait for pizza. I need immediate fueling. There’s got to be something that passes for food in the kitchen.”
“Wouldn’t count on it. Kitchen’s pretty torn up. Construction zone.”
“A real man would go down and hunt up provisions.”
“I hate when you do that. I always did.”
“I know.” It absolutely warmed her cockles. “Does it still work?”
“Yeah. Shit.” He got out of bed, dragged on his jeans. “You’re going to take what you get. No bitching.”
“Deal.” Satisfied, she lay back down on her side, snuggled into the pillow. “Problem?” she asked when he only stood, staring at her.
“No. Brain cells regenerating.”
Her dimples flashed. “Food.”
“I’m on it.”
She felt quite smug as he walked out of the room. Maybe it was just a little small of her to gloat, even mentally, that she still knew how to push his buttons. But it brought her such a nice glow, how wrong could it be?
And it was better, wasn’t it, then letting herself get all worried and churned up about what was going to happen next. This time around she would be smarter, enjoy the moment and restrain herself from expecting more.
They enjoyed each other’s company, even when they were poking at each other. They shared people who mattered, very much, to both of them. And they had a strong sexual connection.
It was the basis of a good, healthy relationship.
So why the hell did she have to be in love with him? If not for that one little thing, it would be perfect.
Still, when you approached it realistically, it really was her problem. Just as it had been her problem before. He wasn’t obliged to love her back, and whatever she put into or took out of the situation was her own doing.
He cared about her. She closed her eyes and bit back a sigh. Jesus, that was a sting. Was there anything more painful or lowering than being in love with someone who sincerely cared about you?
Better not to think about it, to turn that part of herself off, as long as she could manage it. She didn’t have any illusions this time around about them being together forever, building a home, making a family, forging a future.
His life was in New York, and hers was here. And God knew she had enough in her life to satisfy and occupy her without adding to it by spinning dreams that included Jordan Hawke.
He’d only hurt her before because she’d let herself be hurt. She wasn’t just older, she decided. She was smarter and stronger now.
While she was trying to convince herself, she stared at his laptop. His screen saver had come on, and was nothing but a shifting spiral of color that was already making her dizzy.
How did he stand it?
As soon as she thought it, she had the answer. It would irritate him enough to push him back to work.
Considering, she sat up. He hadn’t turned the machine off when she’d interrupted him. He hadn’t closed the document . . . had he?
She bit her lip, glanced toward the doorway.
That meant whatever he’d been writing was still on the screen, and if she just happened to give the mouse a little shake, it would pop right up. And if she just happened to read what he’d written, what was the harm?
Keeping an ear out for footsteps, she slid out of bed, tiptoed over to the desk. She tapped the mouse gently with a fingertip to flick the screen saver off.
With one last glance toward the doorway, she scrolled back two pages in the document, then began to read.
She was caught up quickly, though she hit what was obviously the middle of a descriptive paragraph. He had a way of pulling you into the scene, surrounding you with it.
And this one was dark and cold and quietly terrifying. Something lurked. By the first page she was in the hero’s head, knowing his sense of urgency and the underlying fear. Something hunted, and was already feeding off pain.
When she came to the end of what he’d written, she swore. “Well, damn it, what happens next?”
“That’s a hell of a compliment from a naked woman,” Jordan commented.
She jumped. She cursed herself, but she all but jumped out of her skin, which was all she was wearing. And she flushed, which was considerably worse. She felt the heat spread over her as she whirled to see Jordan standing in the doorway, jeans carelessly unbuttoned, hair mussed, a bag of Fritos, a can of Coke, and an apple in his hands.
“I was just . . .” There wasn’t any way out of it, she realized, and so she simply told the embarrassing truth. “I was curious. And rude.”
“No big deal.”
“No, really, I shouldn’t have poked around in your work. But it was just there, which is your fault for not closing the file.”
“Which would make it your fault for interrupting me, then distracting me with sex.”
“I certainly didn’t use sex just so I could . . .” She broke off, heaved out a breath. He was grinning at her, and she could hardly blame him. “Hand over the Fritos.”
Instead, he walked to the bed, sat back against the pillow. “Come and get them.” He reached into the bag, took out a handful, and began to munch.
“Anyway, it was the screen saver. It was making me cross-eyed.” Casually, she thought, she sat back down on the bed and tugged the bag of chips out of his hand.
“I hate that bastard.” He crunched into the apple, handed her the soda. “So, you want to know what happens next?”
“I was mildly interested.” She popped the top of the Coke, took a long sip. She ate some Fritos, traded them for the apple, traded them back. And, she thought in disgust, he wasn’t going to crack.
“Okay, who is he? What’s after him? How did he get there?”
He took the Coke. Was there anything more satisfying than having someone who shared your love of books being so interested in one of yours? he wondered.
If you added the fact that your literary partner was a very sexy, very naked woman, it was just gravy.
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say he’s a man who’s made mistakes, and he’s looking for a way to fix them. Along the way he finds out there aren’t any easy answers, that redemption—the real thing—carries a price. That love, the kind that matters, makes the price worth paying.”
