Текст книги "The Dark Horse "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 8 страниц)

Chapter Seven

I watched the Sebring crest the hilltop and wind down the road leading to the beach house. The car disappeared from sight.

I checked my watch. Four-thirty. Steve was late as usual. He'd be late to his own funeral.

Over the distant crash of waves I heard the faint slam of a car door and my nerves tightened. Show time.

I caught a glimpse of a blue shirt and the top of his head as he hurried along the side of the deck. He started up the stairs, checking when he noticed me sitting at the patio table. «Dude! What are you doing out here?» «Waiting for you.»

«Yeah? Well, I got here as soon as I could.» He glanced past me toward the open glass door. «So where is everybody?»

«Maria's gone for the day. Markowitz was recalled.» I shrugged. «With Hammond dead, the cops didn't want to waste anymore of the taxpayer's money.»

«How weird is that?» Steve shook his head. «I mean, to think he was dead the whole time.» He eyed me speculatively. «But what about Lenny Norman's murder?» «It wasn't connected. The cops are holding his neighbor.» «So it's just us? Dan really is gone?»

«Yep. That's over.» I drained my glass. My hand shook a little and I watched him note it. The pain was real and raw; I couldn't hide it, but I couldn't let myself think about it for even a moment. «Is he going to be stopping by later to pick his junk up?»

I shook my head. It had seemed like Dan's stuff was everywhere, but it had taken him exactly seventeen efficient minutes to collect his things. He'd left nothing but his fingerprints. He sure as hell hadn't left any excuse for coming back.

Straddling the bench across from me, Steve smiled that guileless smile I knew so well. The smile he wore when things had gone well at the race track.

«Shit, man. Just like that? True, I can't pretend I ever liked the guy, but I know you …» Despite the smile he couldn't bite back, his mournful brown eyes looked sadder than ever. «How are you doing?»

«Not good.» He rose, reaching for my empty glass, and I added, «Not bad enough to do a Norman Maine.»

He laughed at the A Star is Born reference and went inside the house. It took him about four minutes. When he came back he had refilled my glass and poured himself a beer. «So … what happened?» He handed me my glass.

I took it and set it down on the table. «I asked him whether he had talked to you about getting me committed.»

«He never used the word 'committed,'» Steve said, as though – in fairness to Dan – it was really important to keep this point straight.

«Yeah, that's what he said. In fact, he said he never had any such discussion with you at all.» «What's he going to say?» Steve asked reasonably. «True.» «So he just denied everything?»

«Pretty much. He admitted he asked you to stop encouraging me to believe Hammond was still out there.» «Threatened me is more like it,» Steve said. «Really?»

«He wanted to keep you in a bubble,» Steve said. «Like it was just you two and nobody else existed. That's not healthy.» He glanced at my untouched glass.

I said, «He also admitted he was having Maria pick up the threatening postcards each day before I could see them.» «Ah,» Steve said. «Makes sense.»

«Does it?» I grinned twistedly. «I thought for sure you were going to suggest that he might be the one sending them.» He met my eyes. «So you have considered that possibility?»

«For about three seconds. It wouldn't make a lot of sense for him to head off his own death threats.»

«Oh. Right. But I don't know if he was exactly balanced in his feelings for you. I mean, think about how possessive he was. And controlling. And way over-protective.»

I reached up, automatically touching the ring on the chain around my neck. Steve's eyes followed my hand. «I guess I just never trusted the guy,» he said. «I guess it was mutual.» He stared. «What do you mean?» «You said he threatened you.» «Oh. Yeah.» He glanced at my drink again. I asked, «So when do I start work on the film?» «The … film?» «The Charioteer. What did Bruce say when you told him I was in?»

«Well, actually, I didn't get a chance to call him yet. I'll phone him tomorrow.»

I said, «It's almost funny. I see this direct parallel between the characters in The Charioteer and what happened with Dan and me. Steve blinked. «Yeah?»

«Yeah. In the book, Laurie keeps getting angry because Ralph keeps trying to fix things for him, but the truth is, Laurie is the one who sets that dynamic up. He turns to Ralph every time he has a problem. He knows how Ralph is. So why does he get so angry when Ralph tries to protect him?»

«Uh, dude, I have no clue what you're talking about.» His eyes traveled to the lounge chair and the marked-up copy of The Charioteer script. «So which one offs himself?» «What?»

«I read the scene in the script where the one guy is reading the other guy's suicide note.»

«Oh.» My smile felt like it was on crooked. «Things aren't always what they seem.»

«You got that right.» He held his beer out to me, and said, «Well, here's to not looking back.» He nodded at my moisture-beaded glass, and I picked it up. He clinked the rim of his mug against my glass, and drank.

I watched the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed. I could remember kissing his throat – he had this way of throwing his head back when he laughed. I could vaguely

recall what his mouth felt like on me, although those memories faded next to the vividness of my memories of Dan.

I said, «Like, for example, I can pretty much tell when someone is acting. Dan wasn't acting. You are.» Steve lowered his mug. Beer slopped out the top. «What's that supposed to mean?»

I thought I had myself pretty well under control, but heat suffused my body and my heart began to slug against my ribs in hard measured punches; I felt breathless with something akin to stage fright. «Can we just cut the bullshit?» I requested. His eyes narrowed.

«You want to know where you first slipped?» I didn't wait for his answer. He didn't look like he would have one anytime soon. «It was that crack about changing my will. I haven't thought about my will since I first made it out – back when we were living together.» Steve gave a strange laugh. Hey, dude, don't go psycho on me, okay?» «Up until the bit with the will you'd been pretty subtle.» «You really are losing it, Sean. Dan's right.»

«Dan was right about one thing,» I said. «You do know how to play me. You know just what buttons to push, what triggers my self-doubt. And there was always just enough truth in what you said. But you way overshot the mark with that story about Dan wanting me to check into UCLA.»

Steve seemed to struggle with himself. Apparently the desire to show me how smart he was, won out. «You wouldn't take a hint,» he said. «You hardly knew the guy but you were so goddamn stubborn about him.»

I stared. I knew Steve so well. I knew everything from how he took his coffee to the sounds he made during sex. And it turned out that I didn't know him at all. «You had to know he was going to deny it.»

«So?» He smiled, spreading his arms. «He denied it, but here we are. I guess you believed it on some level. Maybe not for long, but long enough.» I swallowed hard. The truth was a bitter pill.

«How did he take it, by the way? You didn't really say. Was he iron-jawed and dignified, or did he cry?»

Stern and silent, actually, but I wasn't going to discuss Dan with Steve. Not now, not ever. I said, «Once I finally accepted that Hammond had been dead the whole time, I started thinking about who had a reason to want me out of the way. I remembered your comment about the will – and then I remembered that the will was still in your favor.» «I guess the fact that you never changed it says something,» he said lightly. We were silent for a moment. «Why, Steve?» I asked finally. He didn't speak, didn't look at me. «Is it just for the money? Because I would have given you the goddamn money.»

He rose then, shaking the table. He walked over to the railing, bracing both hands on it, staring out at the blue dazzle of the water. «No. It wasn't just the money. Not like you think. I got in deep. Too deep. I owe over four hundred grand in gambling debts – to people who don't understand installment plans.»

«F-four hundred grand?» I said. «You owe almost half a million in gambling debts? How the hell did you manage that?»

«Easier than you think. I convinced people I was good for it. Actually, I convinced them that you were good for it.»

«Why didn't you stop? When you were like … I don't know … eighty grand in? Why didn't you come to me for help?»

«How could I? Besides, I thought I could win it back. I thought my luck would change. It always changes sooner or later.» «Jesus Christ, Steve!»

«Don't be so self-righteous,» he said hotly. «It's an illness – compulsive gambling. Like alcoholism. It's not like I could control it. You of anybody ought to understand about that kind of illness.»

Was I supposed to feel sorry for him? Because it was hard to feel much of anything other than bewilderment. «And one of the symptoms was you planned to kill me and inherit my trust fund?»

He looked me right in the eyes and said, «I never wanted that. Never. You're all I've got. I love you. I do. But … it's you or me, Sean. And I don't want to die.» I said, «I know the feeling.»

He reached behind himself and pulled out a gun. I was willing to bet it was a 9 mm semiautomatic. He came back to the table and sat down. Meeting my gaze, he gave me a sad lopsided smile.

Bitterly, I said, «Why the big charade? Why the postcards and killing my neighbor's dog? Why not just shoot me on the deck one afternoon?»

«Because as soon as your will was read I'd have been the cop's number one suspect.» «You got the idea when Hammond's body didn't turn up.»

«That's right. That was what originally gave me the idea. I realized that if Hammond had killed you, my problems would have been over. And when they couldn't find his body, I thought maybe if something happened to you, it would be blamed on Hammond.» «So you created the illusion that Hammond was still out there.»

«It was easier than I expected. I still had copies of those first letters he sent you. So I just faked the postcards.»

The idea he wanted me dead was bad enough, but the deliberate cruelty of sending those cards shook me.

«What did you do, hire some asshole who looked like Hammond to follow me around? Yeah, you did. And that's why the fake Hammond never really did or said anything to threaten me.» He got a weird look on his face. He didn't reply. «Or was that you?» «No.» I stared at him, and then I realized what I was seeing in his eyes.

«Did you … « I swallowed hard. «Jesus. He's dead, isn't he? That's why he disappeared again.» He said with macabre cheerfulness, «He asked one too many questions.»

I absorbed this and realized that I was going to have to give up any hope of talking Steve out of killing me.

«So what was Plan B?» I asked. «If you pushed hard enough I might have another breakdown and hopefully do the job myself.»

«If you had another breakdown and … did yourself, that would be like your choice.» He was reasoning with me as though he believed he could somehow make me see it from his point of view. «I mean, you could have a breakdown a few years from now and off yourself and it wouldn't help anyone – whereas this way you'd be saving my life.» «But Dan kept running interference.» «Yep.» I owed Dan an apology.

I glanced down at my drink, the ice melted in the glass. «So what happens if I drink this?»

«You just go to sleep,» he said earnestly. «Very peacefully and naturally. There's no pain or anything. Your heart just stops. That would be the best way. I don't want to …» he glanced down at the gun lying between us, and swallowed. «Why not? You shot Hammond's double. You killed Lenny Norman, right?»

His eyes did this queer little flickery thing, like his brain was short-circuiting. But before I had time to react, he smiled, once more in control. «Lenny Norman was an asshole. I thought you might actually appreciate that one.»

Years of training, but I couldn't quite control my expression, and reading my face, Steve said thickly, «I thought for sure that would be the end of that damned film. And I figured that might tip you over the edge – you were so obsessed about that role. But it was … bad. He begged me …»

«My God, Steve.» I put my hand over my eyes, and then remembered I needed to keep watch on him. «Think about what you've done.»

«I know exactly what I've done, and we both know I can't go back now. Look, I don't want to hurt you, Sean. Just drink the stuff and … go to sleep.»

I stared into his eyes. This was Steve. Steve whom I had known forever. My partner, my friend, my former lover. I just couldn't seem to wrap my mind around it. Maybe because I didn't want to. I picked up the glass. «You know what? You're right. Living is overrated. Between you and Dan – I am a little tired.» I put the glass to my lips and his eyes flared with – surprise? Excitement? Fear? Maybe he didn't know himself.

Wet touched my lips and I paused. «But you do know, Dan isn't going to believe this suicide scenario. Not unless I leave some kind of a note.»

He hesitated, glanced toward the house, and I chucked the glass with all my strength at his head. It connected with a satisfying thunk and he fell out of his chair, nearly taking the table with him. As he collapsed, he grabbed for the gun, which went off with a bang, taking a chunk out of the railing a few inches to my left. Jeeeeesus.

I hopped up from my chair, wiping my mouth with my arm. I hadn't swallowed anything but who knew what the hell he'd laced my drink with. «God damn you, Sean!»

His fury triggered a hysterical laugh. He was angry because I was trying to stay alive. And I was the crazy one?

Jumping from the deck, I hit the sand and sprinted for the side of the house, yelling, «Markowitz, where the hell are you?»

I slammed into a wall. A wall of hard muscle and bone and warm flesh. The wall reached out and steadied me. Dan. I blinked up at him dazedly. With his free hand he was holding a gun. Definitely not a movie prop.

Without a change of expression he put me behind him and trained the gun on Steve who had paused at the stairs of the deck. «Freeze, Krieger.» Steve stared down in disbelief. Blood trickled from a cut in his hairline. «What are you doing here?»

«Drop the gun.» Dan ordered, adding, «Or I'll blow your fucking head off.» Which was probably not LAPD-approved script.

Steve hesitated. I could see him running his options, weighing the risk, figuring his odds: always the gambler.

Dan was like a statue; he didn't flick an eyelash, didn't move a muscle. He was ready and waiting – and despite the fact that Steve had wanted me dead, had cold-bloodedly plotted and planned for that very thing – I couldn't take the idea of seeing his head blown off. I croaked, «Please, Steve …»

I spotted Markowitz edging behind the railing on the other side of the deck, his own weapon drawn.

Steve's eyes met mine over Dan's shoulder. He laughed the old Steve laugh and dropped his gun. It landed on the sand with a dull sound. «Hey, what the hell.» He held his hands out. «Book 'em, Danno!»

Dan went up the stairs, shoved Steve back into the table hard, and while Steve was picking himself back up, jammed his gun in his back waistband and took out a pair of handcuffs. Markowitz joined him a moment later.

«So it was a trap,» Steve said, trying to look over his shoulder at me. «You knew and you set me up?» «It's called acting,» I said.

Dan's eyes met mine briefly. Blue and bleak. I had no idea what he was doing there – I had set my «trap» with Markowitz's assistance – but I was glad to see him. The wail of sirens floated in the distance.

Steve was still trying to make eye contact. He said urgently, «Hey, Sean. I'm sorry, man. If there had been another way …»

My throat closed up, choking off anything I could have said – if I'd had anything to left to say. «Very touching, asshole,» Dan growled. * * * * * «When did you know?» I asked Dan.

The sheriffs had come and gone, taking Steve with them. Markowitz had followed shortly after, and it was just Dan and me now. Past that adrenaline overdrive, I felt a little numb and a lot shaky. I'd have given anything for a hug from Dan, but there were no hugs forthcoming. Dan looked like Dan, but there was a force field around him that even the Starcatz would have trouble neutralizing.

«That Steve was planning to kill you?» His smile was humorless. «I knew for sure this afternoon. That bullshit story of his – the only possible reason for that was to play on your insecurities and distrust. To drive enough of a wedge between us that either you would send me away or I'd get fed up and leave.» «He was running out of time,» I said. «It made him desperate.» «And stupid.»

«I need a drink,» I said, and went to the bar. I poured myself a Bushmills. Dan's whiskey. Apparently the one and only reminder of his brief stay in my life. «Did you want something?» Anything? «No.»

I could see the tiny lines of weariness around his blue eyes and unsmiling mouth, but he didn't sit down, and he didn't take his jacket off. He wasn't staying. He didn't want anything I had to offer.

I tossed back the whiskey, welcoming the burn in the back of my throat. It distracted me from the burn at the back of my eyes. That wasn't going to get me anywhere. It would just embarrass us both.

Refilling my glass, I said, «But you already suspected Steve, didn't you? That's what you meant today when you said you weren't sure who was sending the postcards.»

Eyes on my glass, he said, «You were right about the odds of attracting two aggressive stalkers in such a short space of time; so I knew after Hammond's body turned up that I needed to look for someone with another motive for getting rid of you. Steve fit the bill.»

I forced myself to meet his gaze. It was hard because, as I feared, there was nothing in his eyes. No emotion. «Thank you,» I said. «You saved my life.»

He shook his head. «I was just tagging along. It was Markowitz's show – and yours.» «Markowitz told you –?» «He thought I'd be interested. He thought I had a right to know.»

There was no accusation in his voice, but I knew that he was sore about that. I took a deep breath. «Dan, I owe you an apology.»

«You don't owe me anything,» he said flatly. He looked at his watch. «If you're okay now, I've got some place to be.» «I'm okay.» If he walked out that door I was never going to be okay again.

I set my glass down and followed him through the rooms to the front door. Hand on the door knob, he paused. «That reminds me.» He pulled his keys out and began to work one off the ring.

«Don't.» The word startled me. Startled him. I said, trying for lightness, trying to hide the desperation, «There's no hurry, right?»

«And no reason to stall, right?» He smiled – and he was either a better actor than me or he really didn't give a damn. He handed the key to me, and like a little kid I put my hands behind my back. «I don't want it.»

He reached around me, took my hand and pulled it forward. Not roughly, but not playing. He pressed the key into my palm.

«The truth is, I never had this.» He folded my fingers around the bite of cool metal. «You were never open to me. Not really.» He turned, opened the door and I reached past him, slamming it shut.

«So … saving my life … that wasn't anything personal. That's just your job, right?»

I couldn't read the expression in his eyes, but his voice was level. «Right. It's my job. And wrong. Of course it's personal. Of course I still have feelings for you. But the bottom line is, it didn't work between us.» He shrugged.

The shrug hurt more than the words – and the words hurt plenty. Mouth dry, I said, «I want to be open to you. If you'll show me how.» He said very gently, «You're still acting, Sean.»

It was like taking a hard and unexpected fall. The air seemed to slam out of my lungs. «I'm not.» «Sean …» He sighed.

I said quickly, «You're going to say it won't change anything. And I guess that's true, but I want to make love to you. One last time. And for the first time.»

He said, still trying to be kind, «It wasn't about sex, Sean. It was about intimacy.»

«And intimacy is about trust. I do get that, Dan.» I controlled my voice. «I still want my first time to be with you.» His eyes flickered.

We were close enough that I could feel his heat, feel the warmth of his breath fanning my face. I held his gaze with mine and I could see the darkness there, the hunger. Into his silence, I whispered, «Isn't ex sex supposed to be the best?»

He put his hand behind my head and pulled me forward, his mouth hard on my own. It was a grinding kiss, an angry kiss, the bump of teeth and the smear of lips. I closed my eyes and opened to him, and almost at once he gentled. We breathed in balmy moist unison until at last he broke contact. He said softly, «You're too good an actor, Sean.»

«You're not being fair to either of us.» I found his hand and put it on my crotch. «I'm not that good. I want you.» He felt me over, and I strained against his hand, craving his touch through the stiff material of my jeans. «Do I have to beg? I will.»

Sick, shameless pervert, said my father's contemptuous voice next to my ear. I closed my ears to that memory, focused on Dan's face. It was a handsome face, but I loved the strength and caring and intelligence more than the trick of bone structure and coloring. I loved him.

My hands went to my fly, and then I rethought that and reached for his. And Dan bit off a sound that could have been a laugh or maybe just impatience, and undid the button at my waist. He pulled, and the buttons popped through the denim, one by one. His big hands, warm and knowledgeable, slid inside my jeans, fastened on my hips.

I pulled his Levis down and his boxers, and his dick sprang free, ready and willing, regardless of whatever his brain was telling him. «You don't have to beg,» Dan said, acknowledging what we both knew to be true. «Bedroom?» I asked hopefully.

He nodded, and then he was pulling his shirt over his head. I stepped out of my jeans, kicked off my boxers, and preceded him into the soft gloom of the bedroom, bouncing down on the bed. I reached for him and he lowered himself beside me.

I was braced for his resentment to play out in roughness or haste, but Dan took his time kissing and caressing every inch of my body: His tongue scraped my nipple in pleasurable chafing, a fingertip lightly scratching the back of my knee; he brushed his nose against mine in a child's Eskimo kiss. I smiled and sighed and relaxed, kissing him back when he'd let me, stroking his lean hard flanks and sides.

«Please …» I whispered. I didn't finish it. Even I wasn't sure what I was really asking. His leaving had left me empty, aching. I wanted to fill that emptiness with memories if nothing else.

At last he helped me over onto my belly. I ignored the tightening in my gut – partly anxiety but mostly desire – and spread my legs. There was no going back now, and I wouldn't if I could have. This was as much for me as for him.

The slide of the drawer, the squirt of the lube. I shivered convulsively as he worked warm lube between my ass cheeks. His finger delicately pierced me. I moaned at the strangely familiar invasion. He paused. «It's not necessary, Sean. You don't have to prove anything.» «Want to …» I wriggled back against his hand, trying to force him to action. «Why?» He didn't so much as twitch his finger. I groaned. «Dan, why are we talking?»

«Because I need to understand what's really happening here.» I heard the pain in his voice, and it startled me. If I could still hurt him, then on some plane he still cared for me.

I swallowed hard. «I'm trying to tell you. Trying to show you. I love you. I want to share this with you. Even if it's … too late for you.» I pushed back against finger. «Please give me this.»

He moved his finger again, and I caught my breath. His oily thumb lightly stroked across the sensitive mouth of my hole. «Keep breathing,» he said.

I whimpered as his thumb pressed in. He massaged, pushed a little deeper, rubbed some more. «Relax.»

I tried. I concentrated on loosening my muscles. The tip of his other thumb slid in and he used both to massage me strongly, widening my entrance. My breaths came in shallow pants as he prepared me. He was tender, but very thorough; I'd said I'd wanted it, and he was taking me at my word. It was intense and invasive, and seemed to go on forever.

My stomach muscles were quivering, and my legs felt like jelly by the time he withdrew. «That didn't hurt, did it?»

I shook my head. I didn't think I could manage my voice. I rolled over onto my back, and tucked my legs up neatly.

He leaned over me, and his mouth found one of my nipples. He tongued it, wet heat turning the tip to a hard point. Distantly I felt the pressure from the blunt head of his shaft building at the entrance of my body, but more immediate was the tease of his lips as he moved to my other nipple. His teeth closed delicately on the bud, and I writhed beneath him, aching for more.

It was almost a relief when the pressure on my hole built to a distracting pain – and then, staggeringly, I felt my body's resistance give.

Dan's cock slipped past the tight ring of muscle. Nerves and muscles spasmed. He was inside me. «Okay?» He seemed to have trouble squeezing even that one word out.

I gulped and nodded. And I was okay. My shivering body was already adjusting to that thickness. I wasn't tearing apart. I was still whole. Still me. I could still breathe. I could still move …

Dan's thighs tightened in response, and he thrust against me, just once. «Don't move yet,» he gasped. His hands continued to stroke and smooth my belly, my ass.

Wonderingly I reached down and touched where our bodies were joined. We were like some astonishing mythological creature – not the monster my parents pictured, but something very old and powerful. I felt wrapped in the wings of an unexpectedly sweet revelation. «How's that?» Dan's voice sounded strained. «H-hey, it's not bad,» I said.

He laughed shakily at the wonder in my voice and cautiously began to rock his hips against me. It was a relief to give up all control and just feel, just let it happen, just ride it out. Not bad? It was actually pretty damn good. «That's it,» he breathed. «Just let go.»

I looked into his face. It was too dark to read his eyes, and I wanted to watch his eyes while he took me. He was pounding me harder now. I began to move too. Awkwardly. My fists clenched on the comforter. Dan's hands slid under my ass and he lifted me up, shoving a pillow beneath my hips. The changed angle sent a jolt of sheer exquisite feeling surging through me. What the hell was that?

I found my own rhythm, straining into the push and pull cadence of our bodies. I jerked out, «Dan …»

He pegged me over and over, deep, powerful thrusts. It went on and on, lightning strikes of pleasure – and who was it said lightning didn't strike the same place twice?

My fists relaxed back into hands, and I reached for Dan, stroking his sides, running my fingertips down his back, fondling whatever I could reach. Trying to tell him with touch that this wasn't an act, that there was no pretense here.

He murmured encouragement. His face bumped my face, his mouth closed over mine, hot and wet and urgent.

Dazed, I realized that he was going to make me come just like this. I didn't think that was possible.

At the same time Dan yelled my name, and I felt liquid seed pouring into me. I began to come, white hot waves shivering through my bones and muscles and nerves. It went on and on, like a supernova.

Then, from a long way away I felt Dan gathering me up against him, saying comforting things – like I would need to be reassured after that. I kissed him back dizzily. Lights out, I thought. Fade to black – although it was more of a soft and restful gray.

«Was it everything you expected?» Dan asked when he got his breath back. His voice was a little dry, but his callused hand was warm on my bare skin, lazy and caressing.

Was it what I had expected? I felt wrung out, used up, boneless. I felt sated. Complete. And at the same time I felt naked and unprotected. But it was okay to be vulnerable with Dan's arms around me. I felt closer to him than I ever felt to anyone in my life.

I shook my head. I didn't begin to know how to answer him. I said, «Are you going to leave me, Dan?» He licked his lips, like this was going to be a difficult thing to say.

I reached for him, and his arms came about me, loving and strong. «I'm sorry for not trusting you, for the stupid things I said, for everything,» I said into his shoulder.

«Shhh. Listen, Sean, I let you down. I screwed up. I should have listened to you. I did think you were letting your fears get the better of you.» He took a deep breath. «I did believe the strain was too much for you.» It was painful to hear; clearly it was equally painful for him to say. «I guess it was,» I admitted.

«No. You're second-guessing yourself now, but the fact is, your instincts were correct. I let my own fear affect my judgment – and ultimately put you at risk.»

I could hear the guilt and regret in his voice. And what was the point of that? We had both made mistakes, both let each other down. Was the important stuff where we had failed each other or the parts where we had got it right? It felt to me like we had got a lot of it right a lot of the time. I was afraid to ask, but I had to know. «Is it too late for us?»

After what felt like the longest moment of my life, he said almost inaudibly, «It's not too late.»

I closed my eyes and pressed my face into his throat. I could barely hear him, but I felt the words against my mouth. «It's not that easy to turn it on and off.» I said, «I don't have a lot of experience.»

«Neither do I.» He must have caught my surprise because he said, «Oh, I have experience at this –« He ran a light hand down my back, leaving goose bumps of sensation. «Not with loving someone. I've never even used the word before.»