They stood there for a long time, holding each other, not talking. After a while he led her indoors. He walked her down the hall to the bedroom and turned on the lights for her.
She pulled a little away from him, putting some distance between them. She gave him a shaky smile and used the back of her sleeve to wipe the moisture from her eyes.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back to my usual self in the morning.”
“Sure,” he said. “If it’s okay with you, though, I’m going to sleep on your couch tonight.”
She blinked and then her eyes widened. “Why do you want to do that?”
“Because you had a bad scare this evening and because I asked you about the past and because yo old me. You don’t really want to be alone tonight, do you?”
“No,” she said.
The stark, painful honesty of the reply hit him hard. She was not used to letting others this close, he thought.
“Neither do I.” He opened the tiny hall closet and took out the spare pillow and blanket stored inside. “Mind if I turn down the lights in the front room, though? If it bothers you, I can sleep with my shir ver my eyes.”
“No,” she said. “As long as I know you’re out there, I won’t be afraid of the dark.”
Twenty-Six
An hour and a half later, Irene got up for the second time and embarked on another short trek aroun he tiny bedroom. Another bad night; another ritual. In the blue glow of the night-light she had installed, she surveyed the rumpled bed and the small chest of drawers. There was barely any room to move in here.
When she was at home, a walk through her well-lit condo to check the locks on windows and door as the first of a two-part ritual that she used to deal with the midnight jitters. The second par onsisted of a spoonful of peanut butter spread between two saltine crackers.
The problem tonight was that she was confined to the bedroom because Luke was sleeping on th ouch in the other room. The more she reminded herself that she could not pursue her nighttime routine tonight, the more restless and edgy she felt.
She had to move, she thought. She had to get to the peanut butter and crackers.
She went to the door, cracked it open and peered down the short hall into the darkened front room and kitchen area. There was no sound from the vicinity of the couch. Luke was most likely asleep. If sh as very quiet, she might be able to go into the kitchen without waking him. She could get the box of crackers and the jar of peanut butter and take them back to the bedroom.
The package of clothes she had received had not contained a robe. The thought made her hesitate a few more seconds. Then she decided that her cozy, full-length, long-sleeved cotton nightgown would provide ample modesty and coverage if Luke did happen to wake up and see her.
She went toward the front room as stealthily as possible, automatically glancing into the well-lit bath to make certain that the high, frosted-glass window was still securely locked.
When she reached the shadowed living room, she looked toward the couch.
Although the lamps wer ff, there was a fair amount of porch light seeping between the cracks in the curtains.
She could mak ut Luke’s sleeping form sprawled on the cushions.
She worked her way cautiously toward the kitchen. When she arrived, she opened the cupboard doo s soundlessly as possible and groped inside for the peanut butter jar.
“You going to eat that all by yourself, or are you planning to share?” Luke asked out of the shadows.
She gasped, started violently and nearly lost her grip on the peanut butter. Clutching the jar, she whirled around.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said.
“Hard to do that with you prowling around back there in the bedroom.”
“Oh. Sorry about that.” She took down the box of crackers “When I can’t sleep, I walk. I also ea eanut butter and crackers.”
“Personally I usually go for a long walk and a slug of brandy. But I’ve got nothing against peanut butter. That works, too.”
She looked across the counter at him and nearly dropped the jar a second time.
He wasn’t quite naked, but dressed in a pair of white briefs and a black tee shirt, he might as well have been. She saw him reach for something in the shadows. His jeans, she thought. He pulled them on. She heard the metallic slide of the zipper. For some reason it seemed like an excruciatingly erotic little sound.
Be cool, she thought. Remember to breathe. Look at the positive side, you might not even need the peanut butter to take your mind off your nerves.
Peanut butter was, however, a good deal safer.
She turned away from the fascinating sight of him, opened the drawer that contained the limite election of flatware and seized a butter knife.
“Do I get one of those peanut butter crackers?” Luke asked.
She risked another quick glance in his direction and saw that he was coming toward her.
“Uh, sure,” she said.
She started to reach for the kitchen light switch but suddenly remembered that, while Luke was no uite decent, she was wearing only a nightgown.
No problem, she thought. She could make peanut butter crackers with her eyes [_closed. _]
“You gotta have something to drink with peanut butter.” Luke walked around the edge of the counter, heading for the refrigerator. “Otherwise it sticks to the roof of your mouth and gums up your tongue. Scientific fact.”
“No, wait,” she said quickl ut it was too late. He already had the refrigerator door open. The fixture inside gave off a shaft of light that illuminated her from head to foot.
Why hadn’t she brought along a sexier nightgown? The answer was simple, of course. While she had
been careful to pack full fashion battle armor to confront Dunsley and the past, she had expected t pend her nights alone, as was her custom.
Luke glanced at her over his shoulder. She went very still, not knowing what to expect.
What she got was a meltingly slow, breathtakingly sexy, utterly masculine look of appreciation.
Without a word, Luke closed the refrigerator door. He crossed the very short space between them wit single stride and gripped the counter behind her, one arm on either side of her waist. Leaning in clos e put his mouth against her ear.
“Told myself I wasn’t going to do this tonight,” he said. “Clearly I lied.”
“This is probably not a good idea,” she whispered.
“Got a better one?”
Therein lay the real problem, she thought. She didn’t have a better idea. Kissing Luke was far and away the best idea she’d had in years, maybe forever.