His Private Pleasure(29)

She sat there for what felt like an eternity. Saying nothing. Dylan thought about just pulling back on the road, heading to the airport and wishing her a good life. He could get a deputy to come pick him up when he got back. It would certainly be the smart thing to do. He already had one major complication to deal with, get rid of, so he could go back to his new, quiet, life. Why in God’s name ask for another? Hell, he was practically begging for it.

“You think you’re pretty damn clever, don’t you?” she said at last. Almost too quietly.

He looked to her, but her profile was averted, so he couldn’t see her eyes, or what was in them.

“For someone who just met me, you seem pretty damn sure you have me all pegged.” She turned to him, and what he found was not what he expected. He’d expected irritation, maybe even anger. But not hurt. Never hurt. He didn’t know her well enough to hurt her, didn’t mean enough to her to hurt her, wouldn’t have if he did. Realizing that he did—and had—stunned him into silence.

“I guess all those years grilling perps and witnesses makes you a pretty good judge of character. Because you’re right. Most people see the confidence, the directness, the control, and think I have my act together. Well, I do. Precisely because I know how to close myself off. I’ve been taking pretty damn good care of myself for a very, very long time. And I’m very good at it. Mostly because I learned early on that sharing pieces of yourself didn’t guarantee that others shared back. And pieces given away don’t always regenerate themselves. It seemed smarter to me, still does, to take special care with those pieces. Protect them, and therefore myself, from harm.” She turned away, looked straight ahead. “It’s worked out pretty well so far.”

He stared at her proud profile and didn’t know if he wanted to yell at her, break through that wall with the sheer force of his will, or pull her into his arms and hold her, then demand to know who had so stupidly squandered those precious pieces.

“So you took care of other people’s precious pieces,” he said, almost to himself. “Protected them, coddled them, made sure no one abused them.”

She said nothing, but her shoulders rounded slightly. The rigid line of her neck softened a bit.

“So, maybe the question shouldn’t have been why you got into your former line of work…but why you left it?”

There was a long pause, then a sigh, then she said, “Why bother to explain further? I’m sure you’ll be telling me, anyway.” She looked at him, and some of the hurt was gone. But what replaced it was far worse. What replaced it was…absolutely nothing. It was like staring into a mask. “I know why I left Hollywood. Any shrink with a framed piece of paper on the wall could tell me without even seeing me why I left my former life. It was ultimately unfulfilling because in putting those pieces in protective custody, I’d effectively put myself away. My whole life was my job and I enjoyed it, I was good at it. But it wasn’t enough. I watched my best friend fall in love, talked myself into believing I was, too. I wasn’t. But what I learned was that I needed more than job satisfaction. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost myself. So I walked. Toward what, I have no earthly idea. I haven’t a clue what I want to do with myself now. I’m still figuring out who that self is and what will make her feel whole. But until I do, those pieces are going to stay under lock and key.”

Now he did reach out. Even if she pulled away, he had to make the gesture. Because he simply couldn’t not make it. She stiffened, but didn’t recoil when he stroked his fingertips down her cheek, along her jaw. Very softly, he said, “Did you ever think that maybe you’re going to have to bust that lock if you ever want to find out who you are? That maybe it’s the risk of exposing those parts to the light of day that allows them to reflect back on you?”

“I—I never thought of it that way,” she said with abject honesty, shifting slightly away from his touch. “But…” She held herself very still, then sighed. It was a deep, shuddering sigh that seemed to deflate her usually abundant innate strength. When she lifted her gaze to his, those oceans of blue were clouded with tears. “Maybe it’s been so long, I’ve forgotten how.”

Her voice caught and Dylan could see that she was struggling very hard to hold it together. “Come here.”

She shook her head, sniffed once and went to move away. “Just get back on the road. You’re going to be late.”

“I don’t really give a flat damn at the moment.”

His quiet vehemence startled a glance from her.

“Right now my only concern is you.”

She tried a cocky smile, and managed a shaky one. “I don’t need your concern.”

“You need a whole lot of things.”

“And I suppose you think you’re the man to give them to me, right? Well, I don’t need—”

He tugged her against him, held her there. “Yes, you do need. Maybe that’s a good place for you to start. Admitting you need. That you’re not a completely self-sufficient unit. That it just might feel good when you share a part of your real self with someone who cares about you, who you care about. I know I do, Liza.” He bent his head to hers. “I think you know it, too.” He took her mouth, but rather than demand she respond, he gentled the kiss, coaxed her to respond, to give back to him. To give something of herself, even if it was just a kiss. A kiss not designed to seduce, but to comfort, to soothe. He realized he hadn’t had too many of those in his life. Maybe none. And he’d be willing to bet she hadn’t, either.

“Maybe we both need to find a way to expose those little pieces,” he murmured against her lips. “I want to try. With you. And I want you to try. With me.” He kissed her again, and reveled in the joy of feeling her gradually respond, if not in words, at least in action.

When he finally lifted his head, his own eyes were a bit cloudy. He didn’t try to analyze the emotions, the illogical reality of them, considering the short time frame of their acquaintance. At the moment, he only knew he’d found the most significant piece of himself. He was holding it in his arms. And he was damned if he was going to simply let it walk away.

“Stay,” he said. “With me. Explore this, yourself, us, whatever. With me.” He brushed his hand over her hair. “Please.”

She was quiet, tucked against his chest. He could feel her heart pounding, but her breathing had steadied. Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer him, she said, “I’ll stay.” His heart was already leaping, his pulse kicking, when she added in a soft whisper, “For now.”





14




STAY. Liza tried to keep her focus on the scenery as they turned onto the narrow road leading them to the airstrip. But it was Dylan’s request that echoed in her ear, and his hand covering hers—as it had for the remainder of the trip—that cornered her attention.

She’d been teasing him earlier, when she’d hoped he’d convince her to stay. She’d wanted more playtime with him, sure, but that had changed the moment he’d started his little analysis. She should have known he wouldn’t play by the rules, that he’d keep probing at the parts of her she’d just as soon remain untouched. And she’d be a whole lot more pissy about it…if he hadn’t been so damn right.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t irritated. Or, dammit, intrigued. No one bothered to look behind her in-your-face attitude and see that she was more than the sum of her smart mouth and savvy brains. And now that someone had, she wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do about it. Or worse, what he was going to find now that he’d looked.

This was one exploration she wasn’t sure she wanted to make. And yet in the weeks she’d been on the road to personal enlightenment, this was the first time she honestly felt like she was getting anywhere.

Stay.

“Dammit!” Dylan smacked the wheel and stomped on the brakes.

Liza was jerked from her thoughts in time to grab the dashboard…and to see a small plane take off from behind the hangar-shaped white building and control tower they’d just pulled up to. “Would they take off without you?” she asked, confused. But there were no other planes on the ground. “I thought it was a private charter?”

Dylan merely grunted and swung around the building, then slowed to a stop as they both spied a dark blue sedan pulling away from the tarmac. When it turned and started toward them, Dylan surprised her by placing his palm flat on her head and pushing her down. “Keep low.”

“Wha—?” Whatever else she might have said was swallowed hard when he spun the little sports car around and headed back toward the main road.

“Damn, damn, damn. I should have never—”

Then there was honking coming from behind them.

Another string of expletives floated through the air above her head, but the car slowed, and Dylan finally let up on her. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”

“Which son of a bitch would that be?” Liza asked calmly, as if she hadn’t just been crammed down into her tiny seat. She smoothed her dress, fluffed her hair.