Savich cupped her beloved face between his hands. She’d loosed her hair from the clips and now it was a wild nimbus around her head. He fingered a bright corkscrew curl, wrapped it around his finger. “I think the first time I saw you, I fell in love with your hair. The amazing color—it’s not red, more titian. I wanted to bury my face in all those curls.” That was only the beginning of what he’d wanted when he’d first laid eyes on her at Quantico more than six years before, but it was best to stop.
She took a step back from him, pressed her palms against her head. “I hate this. I try to act normal, like I’m here and tuned in to everything, only I’m not. You probably heard me tell Carl I know how to do things, like when I saw the piano at Eagle’s Nest, I knew I could play. I know who the president is, how to use my cell phone, my iPad. It’s people, Dillon, it’s people who are hidden away. How can I know things and yet not know people? Even you, the most important person in my life, and you’re a stranger to me.” She poked a finger against her chest. “All I know about who I am or what I am is what you tell me.” She began to cry, silently, tears running down her face. “I’ve lost you and me. I’ve lost what we are.”
He wanted to weep with her, but instead he drew her in. She didn’t resist. “It’s okay to cry, baby. I know everything’s hard. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.” Stupid, meaningless words. He felt her shaking with the force of her tears. He stroked his hands up and down her back. He said against her hair, his voice steady, “The truth is I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I do know that here”—he laid her hand against his heart—“you’ll remember. You’ll come back to you and to me. Carson said you’re intuitive and she’s right. I’ve seen you shine with it. But for now you’ll have to trust me to have your back. Can you do that? Can you trust me?”
She raised her face, tears still wet on her cheeks, swallowed. “I’ve watched how you act with other people, how you treat them. I’ve seen how kind you are. But I heard you tell Mrs. Bodine you’d kill her if she hurt me again, and she believed you and I believed you. You’re a warrior, Dillon, and you protected me. Do I trust you?”
Her palm was still against his chest and she felt the steady beat of his heart. “I’d be an idiot if I didn’t. So yes, I trust you.” She gave him a crooked grin. “I look at that bed and know it shouldn’t worry me. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it.”
He kissed her hair, said against her ear, “We both have to be patient, Sherlock. And honest with each other. If there’s anything you want to say to me, please, always say it, okay? And don’t worry about the bed. I don’t want to be a stranger with benefits.”
She nodded against his neck. “Maybe what we need is a good knock-down, drag-out fight, yell at each other. The problem is, I can’t think what to yell at you about. Do we fight?”
“On occasion.”
She leaned back in his arms. “Do we fight about money? About sex? What?”
“Maybe because I’m the better cook? Well, at some things, like lasagna. You hate it when guests praise my lasagna and ignore your garlic toast and Caesar salad. Actually, it’s really quite funny. But then you bring out your apple pie and everyone drools and praises you to your eyebrows, and all’s right with the world again.” He kissed her forehead. “But seriously, we don’t fight about money or about sex.” He gave her a crooked grin. “We have enough of both. We’re very busy trying to raise our boy and do our jobs. When we have knock-down, drag-outs it’s usually about work. I’m your boss. I give you assignments you sometimes don’t agree with and you leap into the fray, no holds barred. You’re ferocious.”
“My boss. That’s got to be tough, for both of us.”
“Yes, sometimes, but usually we work well together, spark off each other.”
She looked thoughtful, nodded. “Know what I think? Sounds to me like I’m the brain and you’re the brawn.”