Whiskey Beach - By Nora Roberts Page 0,74

being with me, puts you in the crosshairs. Your personal life, what happened to you, choices you’ve made, your work, your family, your friends—all of everything is going to be turned over, dug into, examined, talked about. You’ve been through something like this once, and you put it behind you. But staying here will put it in front of you again.”

“That’s true. And?”

“You should take some time to think about that, to decide if you really want to put yourself under that kind of scrutiny.”

Her gaze stayed calm and quiet on his. “Which means you don’t think I have thought about it, and doesn’t say much for your opinion of my sense of self or my ability to reason out consequences for actions.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You’re not going to save me from myself, Eli. I do fine in that area. I’m not opposed to you looking out for me because I believe, strongly, people should look out for each other, but Vinnie’s wrong. Voices carry in empty houses, and I have excellent hearing,” she pointed out. “I do know how vicious people can be, but I’m not inclined to think they won’t be. I’m inclined to hope they won’t be, and that’s very different.”

“They usually are, given half a chance.”

“It’s a shame you feel that way, but given what’s happened, what’s happening now, it’s hard to blame you. Still, we could have an interesting debate on that subject sometime. But right now, do you want to know what I think?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I think while the kitchen floor looks good, that couch looks even better. Want to try it out and see?”

“Yeah.” He walked toward her. “I do.”

She stayed. When they finally made it back to bed, finally exhausted themselves, she learned he wasn’t a snuggler. But he earned half a point rather than a full one in her score book by not objecting to snuggling.

She woke in light like a gray pearl, when he shifted to ease away from her. “Mmm. You getting up?”

“Yeah. Sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay.” But she curled around him again. “What time is it?”

“About six. You should go back to sleep.”

“I have an eight-o’clock class.” She nuzzled at his throat. “What’s on your plate?”

“Usually coffee and work.” But he could adjust that, he thought, and ran a hand down her long, bare back.

“Then you have time to join me for a short morning stretch and I’ll fix you breakfast as a reward before I go.”

“We can stretch right here.”

She didn’t object when he rolled over, slipped inside her. Instead, she sighed deep, smiled into his eyes. “A wonderful way to salute the sun.”

Slow and easy, like floating on a quiet sea. The lazy counterpoint to the night’s rush and thunder slid through her like the sunrise, like that promise of the fresh and the new and the hopeful.

She could see him now, the lines of his face, the clarity of his eyes with the dark trouble still shadowed in them.

Her nature urged her to banish shadows, to bring the light. So she gave herself to him for his pleasure, for her own. She took that gentle ride up the crest, down again, and watched for a moment, for their moment, that light burn through.

She lay with him, wrapped around him, and basked in that moment.

“You should think about me today.”

He turned his head to brush his lips against her throat. “I think the odds are pretty good on that.”

“Deliberately think of me today,” she amended. “Say around noon. And I’ll deliberately think of you. We’ll send strong, positive, sexy thoughts into the universe.”

He lifted his head. “Sexy thoughts into the universe.”

“It couldn’t hurt. Where do writers and artists and inventors and all the creative people get their ideas?” She lifted her hands, circled her index fingers in the air.

“Is that where they come from?”

“They’re out there.” Lowering her hands, she ran her fingers in a firm line down his spine, up again. “People have to open up, reach for them. Positive or negative thoughts, it’s up to you. One of the ways to grab the good ones is to start the day opening up.”

“I think we accomplished that.”

“Step two.” She nudged him aside, made a dash toward the bathroom. “See if you can hunt me up a pair of sweatpants or shorts. Drawstrings would work. I’m using one of the spare toothbrushes stocked in the cabinet in here.”

“Okay.” She’d know more about the amenities than he did, he figured, as she’d probably put them

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