Another six hours and I'd be home.
This trip hadn't been any longer than any others, but as the year grew colder, each journey was getting harder to bear. Snow had been falling when I'd left and when I'd called Phil this morning, she'd said it was piled a foot deep beside the road with more on the way. That meant a slow drive up the hill, in the dark, with the heater in the Jeep going full blast without making a dent in the chill that crept inside year round.
With thoughts of a warm bed and a hot cup of Don's stew waiting for me at home, I gathered my bag from the overhead bin and headed into the concourse. I figured a copy of the paper and a bagel would help me pass the time during my layover, so I got through the gate and made a left toward Starbucks.
The good news was that once I made it home, I'd have a couple of days to myself while Phil got busy with the information I was bringing back with me, allowing me to spend time on my own research. I'd been tracking down a woman who lived on the Isle of Wight; according to a small newspaper article a friend had sent me, she was locally famous for being able to see, hear and smell things from a great distance. She lived on a remote farm which made contacting her difficult, so I had a lot of maneuvering to do to be able to interview her. The bad news was that a decent snowfall might force me to spend more time with Phil and Don than I'd care to—there's just something unnerving about all that love and happiness when you know you've lost your only chance at ever experiencing something like it.
The smell of espresso drew me like a siren's call. With all the travel I'd been doing these past months, I had airport waiting down to a serious art. If I knew the airport, I'd have an area all picked where I'd set up shop if I had a long time between flights. Pretty much every airport in the western world had espresso carts and I knew most of them, so if I was traveling during the day I'd get a decent cup of coffee and find an outlet for the laptop. Sometimes I preferred flying late at night, when most of the gates were deserted; there's something comforting about being the only guy within fifty yards of anything, the CNN monitors droning on and on to no one except me and the janitors and the other poor souls trying to get somewhere else. I've made a few interesting friends that way.
This airport I knew backward, forward and sideways, almost as well as I knew the one in Cascade. There were very few flights that went from Anchorage directly to anywhere, so SeaTac was beginning to feel like a second home to me. The last leg of this trip was going to be easy; the flight out of Atlanta had been right on time, getting me here in Seattle just a little after one. Being November in the Pacific Northwest, the rain was coming down in sheets outside, making all the workers on the tarmac miserable, their shoulders hunched against the wind and the water dripping off the hoods of their slickers. It reminded me of that time on the oil rig, when that storm—no, no, don't let the memory in.
Think of something else.
Let's see—I knew there should be some replies from my latest round of letters waiting for me when I returned; emails can't get you into some of the more remote areas of the world that I needed to contact, making the laborious task of using snail mail a necessity. Before leaving Atlanta, I'd downloaded some emails, including one from Phil, so after I got some sustenance I needed to find some space and that outlet. Just another leg of another trip in the exciting life of a research assistant, about as anonymous as a life can get. The last thing I expected to hear was the sound of my name being called out above the din of the concourse.
"Sandburg? Hey, Blair? Sandburg, wait up!"
Even before I'd turned around, I knew that voice—and I cursed every deity I knew in the time it took me to stick a smile on my face. My only time in the state of Washington was going to be these few hours spent here at SeaTac, but that was still too much of a temptation for the gods to pass up, because instead of being safely ensconced seventy miles north in Cascade, Jim Ellison was making his way toward me through the crowd, his face alight with a smile I'd hoped I'd never have to see again.
"Jim!" I cried, extending my hand. The area was crammed but it didn't stop him from elbowing people aside to take my hand and pull me into a bear hug that nearly lifted me out of my boots. I was a little shocked by this public gesture of affection, especially considering how little there was between us now. When he finally released me, I made sure I had my Happy Blair face in place, because after spending the last year of my life systematically removing him from my blood, I wasn't about to blow it by letting him see how much he was affecting me now.
"Man, what are you doing here?" I hitched the strap of my carryall higher on my shoulder. We were blocking people so we stepped out of the way and into the waiting area for my gate, but even in the crowd, Jim remained close, his arm brushing mine.
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward any of a dozen gates behind us. "Just got in from Tempe. CSU continuing ed conference."
"Yeah? Now you're a big shot lieutenant you can't dodge that stuff anymore, can you?" Despite my best intentions, I fell right into the old pattern, giving him a friendly shove with my free hand as I teased him about his promotion. What surprised me was the brief look of gratification that crossed his face before he summoned up a fake scowl and nudged me back.
"So what are you doing here?" he asked.
"Got a layover—" I began, just as another wave of passengers started flooding the area. With a nod of his head, Jim indicated that I follow him, so I let him guide us toward the bar. Every instinct told me that I needed to make an excuse and get away, but he'd already taken my bag and shoved it under the table he'd found in the corner, out of the way of the mainstream.
"How long?" he asked, pulling two chairs close together.
"Couple of hours. My flight leaves at six." I tried not to notice how good Jim looked—that wasn't going to help me get through this if he decided to spend my layover with me. He was wearing a sweater I'd always loved—in fact, it was very like the pullover he was wearing the day we'd said goodbye. The thin silk fabric was an odd color of blue-gray that did amazing things to his eyes. I used to enjoy the feelings that those eyes evoked in me, but now they just made me feel trapped.
"Six, huh? Then back to Coeur D'Alene?"
Shit. I'd left Idaho months ago.
"No, um, I'm living up near Anchorage now."
"Guess that explains the disconnected number."
Even worse. God, I was beginning to feel like such a loser. Jim looked down at his hands where they rested on top of the little cocktail table, a tiny frown between his eyes. It was never my intention to hurt him—not then, not ever—but I'd moved without giving him my new address so that I could feel like I was making progress in adding another layer between us to deaden the pan.
He recovered quickly, though. After signaling for a waitress, he pasted on an obviously forced smile. "Alaska. Great fishing up there."
In a feeble attempt to sound normal, I took the fishing thing and ran with it.
"Oh, yeah, except up there, the fish are, like, huge! I tried to use my spear but a salmon took it away from me and chased me upstream with it. I had to promise a hefty donation to the Salmon Conservancy before he'd give it back." I grinned and he grinned back, so at least one awkward moment was averted. The waitress came and we both ordered a microbrew, then we settled into a little silence with Jim's arm again rubbing against mine, despite the fact that there was plenty of room at the table to face me.
"So tell me about Alaska."
I glanced over at him trying to gauge his mood. I used to be able to do that effortlessly but during the last few weeks we'd lived together, we'd both become experts at hiding. Right now, his expression was as open as I'd ever seen it, his eyes resting on my face and a small smile on his lips. The proximity of our chairs forced me to turn my head in order to speak to him. It was painfully intimate but I couldn't make myself move away. He smelled so clean and looked so beautiful, I was drawn to him just like always and the past year seemed to fade away.
I laughed a little, trying to break the moment. "It is cold, man. Really, really cold—but beautiful, too. I like it, though. Been working up there as a research assistant for an old friend of mine."
"Yeah? Sounds interesting. I see you finally got rid of the mop you called hair." He reached over and tousled it, just like I'd imagined he would. I swatted his hand away, then touched my exposed neck a little self-consciously.
"Had to. I signed on for about twenty thousand air miles on this job, half of them to places like Louisiana and Arkansas and Georgia. Man, all kinds of nasty things want to live in your hair down there when it's that long so I had to cut it out of self defense."
"Why down there? That's a hell of a long way from Alaska."
"Phil—that's the professor I'm working for—Phil's studies are anthro-centered women's societies, based on matriarchal strata within vanishing American sub-tribes."
Predictably, Jim's eyes glazed over. "Sounds—edifying."
Our beer arrived and we both took an appreciative sip. I was wrestling with how much to tell him. If he knew I'd gone back to studying sentinels, this oh so cozy chat could turn cold pretty damn quick. Time for a preemptive strike.
"How's Simon?"
His smile turned wry, as if he knew I was diverting the conversation. "He's fine. Still works himself into an ulcer every other day only now it's on a bigger scale."
"Damn." I shook my head. "Well, Cascade is lucky to have him as Assistant Chief of Police, that's for sure. You get to see him a lot?"
"Yeah, we—"
We were interrupted by my cell phone. I dragged out my pack and pulled it out, holding up a finger to signal I'd make it quick.
"Take just a sec—hey, Don. No, still in Seattle. Bad weather? No—oh, okay, I'll check. Haven't heard anything yet. Yeah, yeah, got it. Tell Phil I'll be careful. Yeah. Bye."
I closed the phone and stuffed it back it its pocket.
"Sorry. You probably heard—weather's bad in Anchorage, so I may be delayed."
Jim was staring at me, one eyebrow arched.
"Phil and Don? You're living with the Everly Brothers?"
He said it so dryly, his delivery so perfect, that I burst out laughing.
In the space between one breath and another, I knew—I'd never gotten over this man. Not his loyalty, his integrity, or his arid sense of humor. From that thought sprang another—it had taken me over a year to convince myself that I didn't love Jim Ellison and now it looked like I was going to have to start all over again, just to pin my pitiful delusion back in place and reassemble some kind of life.
"No, no," I said scornfully, but with my amusement still showing through. "Philomena Stuart and her husband, Don. She was a prof of mine way back when. I'm doing legwork for her while I...I decide what I'm going to do next."
Without warning, we'd ventured onto dangerous ground. There was no way I was going to tell Jim that I was in search of another sentinel. Having found two, there was no reason to believe I couldn't find another. Besides, without the blessing of any formalized education system, all I had to do was support myself while I did my own research and rewrite my dissertation into a book.
It's not like I had anything else to do.
Jim and sentinels and me—we were a bad, bad combination. Take any one of the components away and life would've been so much simpler. But I could never separate Jim from what he was born to do, and that left me odd man out.
I couldn't tell what Jim was thinking; he had a way of smoothing out every nuance of expression, one of the qualities that made him a good undercover cop. The conversational silence we now shared was filled with more beer sipping while we people-watched for a bit. And all I could think about was how much I wanted him to leave so that I could get my feelings back under control. Don had said that bad weather in Alaska might delay me, so I figured maybe I should check into that. Saying as much, I'd started to rise from my chair when Jim placed a hand on my arm to guide me back down.
"I can see the monitors from here, Chief. What's your flight number?"
"Oh—oh, yeah. Um, 451."
Damn it, he could still amaze me. That reminiscent little thrill I felt in my gut reminded me that I would always be his number one groupie.
"You're okay. No delays. You want another beer?"
This was hell, undiluted and specifically designed to torment me. Everything I'd ever wanted, personally and professionally, was sitting beside me, trying to wave down the waitress and acting like we were two old friends who'd happened to meet at the airport and had some catching up to do.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
After I'd turned down the chance to become a detective, I'd had to seriously rethink my options. I'd gotten a small settlement out of Sid, the slimy publisher, enough to take care of my debts and give me a grubstake. Without me as a partner and with the sentinel thing now a departmental embarrassment, Jim had been forced to take a promotion, something he was in line for anyway. It was good—he deserved it and probably would've gotten there sooner if not for me.
All of that was irrelevant when compared to my true feelings about Jim Ellison. I would've stayed forever, somehow, some way, if he'd every given me a sign that he felt anything for me beyond friendship. I could handle the humiliation, the dead-end jobs, the banishment from the station—all of it, if Jim had wanted me. That was just it—he didn't. He never said it in so many words, but he never offered anything more that what we already had, and considering the shaky ground we'd be on for some time, one day I finally figured out that he and I would never be together in the only way that really mattered.
It was a revelation that would eventually drive me away. I stuffed my busted world into a duffel bag, moved to Idaho, and then deliberately and systematically killed our friendship. Memory by memory, every thought, touch, experience. I began deconstructing the last three years of my life as I worked in one nowhere job after another. It was a painful undertaking. I'd had to relive some memories that were deeply disturbing and some of them were better left alone. But the ones I could deal with, happy or sad—those are the ones I rewrote in my history, carefully expunging any happy reminiscences of Jim. For better or worse, it was time to get back to the pre-Ellison Blair Sandburg, the guy who had no cares, no ties, no time for anything other that what he'd been born to do: study sentinels. Yep, that was going to be me—the old Blair Sandburg was going to make a comeback. Sentinel research, seducer of willing women, lover of unattainable men.
Sitting next to Jim, I was faced with the reality that I'd accomplished absolutely nothing. I'd tried to replace Jim after I'd left, a couple of relationships with both sexes that were doomed from the start. As much as I'd always loved sleeping with women, it had always been a man who'd been able to reach those places I'd kept hidden inside my soul. Now it seemed that even that forlorn hope had been taken away from me. My only solace was found in work and the only work I wanted to do was that for which I'd already dedicated most of my adult life.
The silence had stretched too far. The waitress and come and gone, bringing us two full glasses. I was searching for something to say when Jim grunted in discomfort. I looked up to see a shaft of light cutting across his eyes; apparently we were experiencing a break in the weather and the subtle glare of sunlight, even through the tinted windows, had caught Jim off guard.
"Put on your sunglasses," I urged him softly, feeling that unwelcome tug of memory once again. How many times had I told him what to do in order to compensate for the vulnerability of his senses?
He held up a hand to shade his eyes, blinking at me to clear his vision. "Left them in the truck. It'll be fine in a minute."
"Okay." Hmm, let's see if I could make this any more miserable for myself. "So...you seeing anyone?"
Jim dropped his hand as the light faded and shook his head. "Nah. Been pretty busy with the new job, haven't had much of a chance to meet anyone."
I smiled, far too pleased by that admission. But hey, it's me, let's dig a little deeper, shall we?
"What about that designer chick, the one I met that day?"
"Courtney? What about her?"
I nudged him with my elbow. "C'mon, Jim, this is me! You two looked pretty cozy on the couch the day I dropped by." So cozy that I'd decided that would be the last time I'd drop by the loft whenever I happened to be in Cascade. Then I made sure I never happened to be in Cascade again.
Hello, Alaska.
"We weren't cozy, Sandburg. We were talking about doing some renovations on the loft. It wasn't a big deal."
"And did you? Renovate, I mean."
He shrugged and for some reason I got the feeling that he was uncomfortable with the subject. "A little."
Then, just to prove that there was mercy in the world, Jim's own phone rang. The conversation was terse and when an obviously annoyed Jim was done, I knew my time in purgatory was thankfully over.
"Look," he said, "I have to go. We've got a witness who's decided to turn state's evidence and they need me up in Everett."
"No problem," I murmured. I started to pull out my wallet but Jim shook his head and laid two twenties on the table as we both rose to our feet.
"When are you coming back to Cascade?"
He said it like he expected me to move back there—soon—and as I made clear eye contact with him for the first time, all my discipline flew out the window and I wanted nothing more than to figure out a way to make it happen.
"I—I don't know, Jim. I've got a ton of work to do. Phil needs me to travel a lot these days." A lie, but a harmless one. I hoped.
"Sure. Give me a call when you get ho—when you get up there. Maybe we can set something up, do a little fishing. I've never been to Alaska."
Okay, now I was back in purgatory again. This was slow death by buddy movie dialog and I was helpless to stop it.
"Sounds good." I held out my hand for him to shake and he used it for leverage to pull me into his arms. This wasn't the rough, manly hug he'd given me when we'd met—this was a surprisingly gentle, cherishing embrace. I let myself melt into it for just a few seconds, my eyes closed as I soaked in just a little of what I could never have.
The moment broke and we said our goodbyes. I watched him walk toward the escalators, his straight back and lean hips carrying him effortlessly through the crowd until he was swallowed up by bodies.
I sat back down in the chair and shook my head as the waitress approached one more time. I was exhausted, the last forty-five minutes having taken just about everything from me—my peace of mind, my trust in my future, my belief that I could rewrite my own history. That left me with no past I could rely on and no future that I could anticipate with any kind of joy.
The bar was beginning to fill and people were eying me and my table with less than friendly intent. I reached underneath my chair and grabbed my bag, that latte sounding better and better now that I had a beer and a half beneath my belt. After a quick stop at the men's room, I resumed my search for caffeine and a grasp of the person I thought I was when I arrived.
It seemed I was never destined to get that coffee. As I stood in the long line at Starbucks, the memory of Jim walking away came back to me. Unless that conference was only for half a day, Jim should've had a bag with him—the guy hated checking his luggage. Hell, I knew that beat-up leather carryall of his as well as I knew my own and he hadn't had it with him.
Okay, that alone wasn't proof of anything. A little strange, but not proof. But it was the next thing that popped into my had me jumping out of line so I could think about it.
If Jim had just come from Arizona, why were his sunglasses in the truck?
I may never have taken the detective's oath, but I hadn't spent three years in the company of Cascade's finest without learning a few things. I walked over to the airline information booth and waited until the pretty blonde attendant got off the phone.
"Hi, can I help you?" She tossed back her long hair and hit me with a blinding smile.
"I was trying to meet up with a friend during our layovers. He was supposed to be on the flight from Tempe and I can't remember what number the flight was. Can you tell me if the last flight came in? I don't see any from Tempe on the monitors." I gave her the old Sandburg Grin of Charm, hoping I didn't sound too much like an idiot.
Her bright expression dimmed into charming confusion. "Tempe? Arizona?"
I smiled harder. "Yeah. That's the one."
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, you must have the wrong airline. We don't fly into Arizona." She reached for the phone beside her. "Do you want me to call one of the other airlines?"
"No, no, that's okay. I must've mistaken the meeting place. Thanks anyway." I started to turn away but turned back. "Who do I see about rearranging my flight?
Another half an hour and I'd be home.
The day hadn't been a total loss—the witness had given up more than enough to send Stevens away for a good long time. It was a victory that my team and I'd worked hard for—but as I pulled onto Prospect and began looking for a parking spot, I felt anything but victorious.
At first, it'd seemed to work out perfectly. Sandburg's flight was right on time, and seeing him come through the gate was like feeling a separated shoulder slip back into place. Sure, it hurts like hell at the beginning, but then the relief swamps you and you realize the blistering pain was worth it.
I doubt Sandburg would appreciate the analogy.
I let him get away from the gate, staying out of his line of sight so I could take a long look at him. The hair was a shock, but I decided I liked it. If anything, the shorter curls made him look younger, more naïve than when he'd worked—and lived—with me. He was wearing faded Levi's and a red flannel shirt, one discreet silver hoop earring and his old corduroy coat threaded across his flight bag. Like a bloodhound, he made straight for the espresso stand but looking past him I could see a long line that would take him a while to get through. That's not what I wanted—I wanted to get him away somewhere, a place where we could talk, where I could look at him, smell him, touch him. The damn thing was that I knew I didn't have a lot of time.
When I finally called his name, I'm not sure what I expected. He looked completely stunned when he saw me and he let me manhandle him into a hug before he could think twice.
That was my first mistake. Getting his scent on my skin was like handing rock cocaine to an addict.
I knew how long his layover was, so it wasn't too hard to maneuver him into the bar. I also knew his final destination was Anchorage, but it's not like I could tell him that I'd been tracking him since the day he'd moved out. Oh yeah, that'd go over real well. Even today, he would've flown through Seattle without knowing, except that I'd had an appointment near the airport—and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see him, even if it was for just a few minutes.
We talked about shallow things, and even that was a balm to my soul, a cherished part of my life that I'd been missing without knowing it. I teased him about his hair, we talked about fishing—everything that was safe and normal between friends.
And then it was over. I had to leave, I had no choice—people were depending on me. Walking away from him after those precious few minutes was just as hard as I'd dreaded—and I almost gave myself away there at the end.
As I locked up the truck, I glanced at my watch. It was after six, so Sandburg would be in the air already. I still didn't have a clear idea what he was doing in Alaska; he said he was a research assistant, but knowing Blair, he had more going on than that. Tired and hungry, I climbed the stairs to the apartment, grimacing at the smell of frying rubber of whatever it was they were cooking in 209.
When I stepped onto the landing of the third floor, I knew someone was in my home. There was a clanking sound coming from within and my first thought was that the place was being tossed. I slipped my weapon from its holster and slowly turned the knob on the front door, unsurprised to find it unlocked. Stepping back, I resettled the gun in my hands and gave the door a hard kick.
The sound of the door slamming the wall was followed by a familiar yell and an even louder clank as my old teapot hit the kitchen floor. Staring at me wide-eyed with hands held up in surrender was Blair.
"Jesus, Sandburg!" I barked at him, immediately pointing my weapon downward. "What the hell?"
He slowly lowered his hands, an unrepentant grin on his face. "Hi, honey. How was your day?"
I couldn't tell whose heart was beating faster, his or mine. I closed the door and holstered my gun as he picked up the kettle and began filling it with water, both of us with less than steady hands.
"Aren't you supposed to be on a plane?" Part of me was pissed off that he'd put himself in a position to have a gun—my gun—aimed at him, but I was a lot happier about the fact that he was here at all.
He didn't look up as he put the kettle on the stove. "Turns out I had some unfinished business here in Cascade. Funny how that happens."
Shit. He had that "I've got it all figured out" tone to his voice. I guess I was made—the question was how to deal with it.
"Yeah?" I said noncommittally.
"Yep." He wiped his hand on a towel and walked over to me, the light of battle in his eyes and so intent on his mission that he failed to notice he hadn't turned on the burner.
This was not going to be pretty.
"Why'd you lie, Jim?" Oh yeah, very calm, very reasonable.
Not pretty at all.
I shrugged and moved around him. "I wanted to see you. Is that a crime?"
I slipped off the hip holster and laid it on the table as Blair started pacing in the space between the front door and the stairs, throwing questions at me at each turn.
"You couldn't call me like a normal person?"
"Didn't have your current phone number, did I."
"Don't change the subject. And how'd you know I was going to be at the airport—because I know you hadn't just flown in from Arizona."
"Passenger list database. I had your name flagged."
He was briefly shocked out of his anger and tried to hide his unwilling amusement. "Uh, isn't that illegal?"
"Not if I had a court order."
"Oh, my God, you didn't!"
"No, I didn't, so relax." No need to tell him there are other ways; he probably thought I was a neophyte stalker already. "Look, is this interrogation going to take long?"
"Why? Got some place you need to be?"
"No, I'm just hungry. You want to go grab a bite?"
"Jim!" he wailed, and I knew his patience had worn thin. "You track me down at an airport over an hour away, lie about why you're there, and now you want to head off for dinner like nothing strange has happened here?"
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the kitchen island. Even though I knew I was about to have my dreams crucified, I soaked in the glory of the moment, acknowledging how good it felt to have him back here. Like a man admiring a beautiful sunrise on the morning of his execution, I saw us as we should've always been—and then prepared myself for the final loss.
"What do you want from me, Sandburg?"
Something in my less than encouraging tone stopped him in his tracks. He looked at me for a few seconds as if weighing how far he wanted to push me.
All the way, apparently.
"How about the truth," he said quietly. When he gets quiet, you know you're screwed. "You went to a lot of trouble to spend forty-five minutes with me today. Why?"
"Because I never should've let you walk out that door. I regretted it then and I regret it still."
And there it was. Confession made. Interrogation successful. Little bastard never should have passed up law enforcement.
Except that this was Blair Sandburg, and capitulation was only a starting point.
"That's just nuts. One word from you and I never would have left."
"I know. That's why I never said anything."
He reared back like I'd slapped him. "So you did want me to leave?"
The angry bewilderment in his voice hurt. Maybe he'd convinced himself that he'd done the noble thing by leaving but that I'd been unwilling to let him go. I'd been more than reluctant, and at least a hundred times during our last few days together I'd wanted to make him understand that I never wanted him to leave my side. But Blair Sandburg wasn't the only bone-headed guy trying to be noble in this relationship.
"No, I didn't want you to go, but I had no good reason to ask you to stay."
The frenetic pacing stopped. Since it didn't look like I was going to move from my chosen territory, Blair backed up and parked his butt on the back of the sofa. Almost in unison, we folded our arms over our chests, a protective and telling gesture.
"I never would have asked you for a reason, you know that. Friendship would have been enough." His eyes pleaded with mine for understanding, but I wasn't feeling generous. Today I'd made a tactical error out of weakness and like a good soldier, I had to own up to the whole thing.
I dragged in a deep breath. Okay, here goes nothing.
"Maybe friendship would have been enough for you. Not for me."
"What?"
I picked a point over his left shoulder to stare at while I bared my slightly blackened soul.
"I couldn't ask you to stay. I had nothing to offer you anymore. No job, no dissertation, no ride-along. I offered you money, you refused it. I offered you a badge and you turned that down, too."
Disappointment brought shadows to his eyes and it struck me how many times we'd miscommunicated in the past and how we were managing to do it again, more than a year after we'd parted company.
Sandburg was shaking his head. "No one can be that dense, Jim. Not even you. You held back the only thing I ever wanted."
"I offered you—"
"Yeah, I remember what you offered me. A home, a job—hell, you even offered me sex once."
Damn. That was low. It had been right after that Kincaid thing; I'd been flying high on adrenaline afterward and I'd had the suspicion that this fuzzy-haired kid I'd inherited felt the same. I'd casually mentioned a way to burn off the excess buzz—I knew he wasn't averse to the idea—and he'd considered it before turning me down, saying I was a 'subject' and that wasn't ethical.
"How long are you going to throw that in my face?" I demanded. "We hardly knew each other then!"
"Right. But when I wanted more, you shut me down pretty damn fast, remember?"
"That was different. I didn't realize it was all or nothing, not with you drying out your lungs in a hospital bed." Hard to believe, but he'd missed something about me that I thought was fairly obvious. "Besides," I added with a twist of my lips that may have been a smile, "how often do I sleep with someone I care about?"
"Well, okay, that's true." He paused and I knew what name he wanted to throw at me. "But what about Alex?"
"Get this through your head, Chief. Caring had nothing to do with what I felt about her."
Silence fell between us, not uncomfortable but not friendly, either. We'd taken our shots and we were running out of ammo, with nothing resolved. When Blair finally looked at me, his eyes wide and peaceful and sad, I knew that our time together was coming to an end, that he'd leave again—and this time, he wouldn't come back.
"Jim, I've spent the last year trying to forget you." He smiled, a sad grin that weakened my knees with the need to give him comfort. "And I did a really lousy job, too."
I grunted in disagreement. "Better than I did, anyway."
"Uh, I don't think so, Ellison." He inclined his head toward the French doors that once led into his bedroom. "I took a peek in there for old times' sake. That's a nice bit of 'redecoration' you did. Pretty clear to me that you didn't want me to come back."
Okay, the idiot had it all backwards—maybe law enforcement wasn't his forte after all.
"Wrong again," I argued patiently. "That's the evidence that proves that I didn't want you sleeping in a glorified closet when you came back."
Panic clouded his eyes and he gazed back at me blindly. I'd just blown his final defense out of the water, and he didn't know what to do.
But he did know what to say, and it was the most painful thing I'd heard since he'd told me goodbye.
"Jesus, Jim," he whispered on a shaky laugh, "I'm never going to get over you if you keep showing up in my life."
I swallowed against the sandpaper grit lining mouth. "Why do you want to get over me?"
His eyes turned downward. "Because I can't love you again, man. I just can't."
Again? The sharp blade of hope cut through my misery and I drew in a deep breath.
"C'mere. I want to show you something."
He looked like he wanted to say no, but he joined me in front of the French doors anyway. I opened them both and ushered him inside, leaning a shoulder against the door frame while he looked around.
"Tell me what you see."
"Jim—"
"Tell me. Think like an anthropologist. What is this room saying to you?"
"Um, okay, it says you must've gotten a decent bump in pay with your promotion. That's a primo computer you've got there."
I reached over and bopped him on the head. "Try again." He didn't want to do this, but I had a point to make.
He sighed and stuck his fists on his hips. "New paint, very nice. Shelves, also nice. You finally got your medals framed. You've got pictures. Let's see, you and your Army buddies and there's you and me at your award ceremony and remind me again why I smoked a cigar?"
"Because you're a total lightweight when it comes to drinking champagne."
"Oh, yeah, right. And that one, that was fun—fishing with Simon."
"Catch and release," I said, so softly he didn't hear me.
"And one of you and me—okay, I get it. This is nice, it really is—"
"Keep looking."
Another sigh. "Books. Kerouac, Morrison, Cussler—oh, my God."
I tugged at my earlobe; I'd always wondered what his reaction would be.
He turned to me, disbelief in his eyes. "I sold the monograph in Coeur d'Alene."
"I know. I bought it back. You spent the past year trying to forget me. I spent the last year remembering everything about you. What does that tell you about our relationship?"
He managed a tight shrug. "I don't know."
"Here. Let me explain it to you."
Snagging him by the neck, I pulled him against me and pressed my mouth to his.
As kisses go, this one wasn't a huge success. Blair's eyes were wide and so were mine, both of us cross-eyed as we tried to gauge the other's reaction. I was about to make a retreat, apology ready, when I saw his eyes drift shut. With a slight shift of his head, our lips met again, and the world as I knew it was changed forever.
Four years of imagining this moment. Four years of wondering what it would be like to have Blair in my arms. Four years of wanting and misunderstanding, anger and denial and now, finally, I held the only thing that had truly mattered to me since the day I'd met him. His mouth opened beneath mine, warm and welcoming, the skin of his cheeks soft beneath the slight tickle of his beard. I slipped my arms around his waist and guided him closer, gratified to feel his strong hands tug at my hips in return. Sweet and calm, the kiss went on and on, more an expression of intense feeling than a physical gesture. I learned the shape of his mouth, the strong contours and gentle slopes, finding immeasurable pleasure in his generous response. I filled my lungs with his scent and combed my fingers through the curls at his neck, wanting so much so soon that I was dizzy. Blair seemed to feel the same way; as the kiss broke, he sagged in my arms, sending us both against the wall with a heavy thud.
"I'm so glad you did that," he muttered into my neck. "For a while there, I thought you were going to talk me to death."
"Sandburg!" I shut up when he leaned back so that I could see the laughter shining in his unforgettable blue eyes. I'd missed that color so much that I'd had the room painted the same shade; I hoped he'd never pick up on that one, because then I'd have to admit I had perfect color memory and he'd probably chew me out retroactively for never telling him.
But right now, I had other priorities. Cupping the back of his head with my palm, I nuzzled his ear and proclaimed the only truth I believed in anymore.
"You're an idiot," I murmured, "but guess what. I love you anyway."
I closed my eyes and waited for his reply; even at this stage of the game, he could still say it wasn't enough and leave. When I felt trembling fingers brush against my temple and flow over my head in a tender benediction, I knew I was home free.
"I never got over you," he told me, his voice thick and fierce. "Never. God, Jim, I love you, too."
The lump in my throat made it hard to speak and my next words came out in a harsh whisper.
"Thought you said you couldn't love me again." Stupid question, but I had to be sure.
He pushed closer, his arms tightening possessively around my waist. "I lied. I lied like a big rug."
"A big, ugly rug." The silly words were muttered against the side of his head.
"Plaid, polka dots and cabbage roses. Hideous, man, I'm tellin' ya."
"Very. Hey, listen, are you going to let me kiss you again or what?"
"No."
"No?"
"My turn."
This next kiss of ours—damn, it was completely different, disorienting and hot. As much as I'd come to love Blair for the person he was, there's always been a hell of a lot of lust thrown into our strange mix. I'd forced myself to ignore him sexually as much as possible; he really had come to mean the world to me and that never changed, even when I was angriest with him, so I couldn't afford to let sex change that.
Tonight I had Blair in my arms and we weren't just holding on to each other purely out of affection. The blood was rising in both of us, our skin warming with the intimate contact of our bodies. I didn't quite believe all this—until Blair put his tongue in my mouth as his hand slid over my hip to knead my ass. Then I knew that this was real, this was happening, and I'd better pay attention, or Blair was going to leave me behind. I was finally free to touch, to caress, to explore the topography of his body, but doing it standing up in his old bedroom wasn't the stuff of my dreams.
Apparently, it wasn't Blair's, either.
"Okay, okay," he panted, pressing his forehead to my shoulder, "let's slow down." I knew what he meant and more importantly I knew how he felt, literally and figuratively. This was too new, too fragile, to spin headlong into desire this way.
"Yeah." I hugged him close before grasping the balls of his shoulders and guiding him away. He looked as dazed as I felt, so I kissed him on the nose and let him back to the living room. "Let's do this right."
"Which means what, exactly?" He followed docilely enough, but I knew that was misleading.
"Which means we have to spend the time we have carefully. What time's your flight?"
He wrinkled his nose. "Eight a.m. Which means I have to get the rental car back to Seattle by six thirty at the latest."
"Right. Okay, let's take the rental back to the local distributor, grab some dinner and then come back here."
"Just like old times." God, I'd missed that smartass grin of his.
"Pretty much," I agreed, except that this time when we returned to the loft, we'd be making love instead of going to separate rooms. He knew it, I knew it—we both felt the electricity inherent in its inevitability. The next few hours were going to be wonderful torture for both of us.
"That reminds me," he said with a snap of his fingers. "I'm going to need a toothbrush and stuff. My gear was already on its way to Anchorage when you showed up. All I have with me is the laptop and a bag of honey roasted peanuts."
"We can pick that up while we're out." My eyes narrowed as something occurred to me. "Sandburg, just how did you get in here tonight?"
He shot me a sheepish grin, tucking his hands in his back pockets and rocking back on his heels. "I used my key."
I frowned at him. "You gave me your key when you—now, wait a minute. You didn't leave a key above the door again, did you?" Always a sore subject with me, yet I wouldn't have put it past him.
"No, no, of course not. Jeez, I learned my lesson on that one, okay? But I'd had a few extras made and one of them still happened to be in my wallet. Convenient, huh?"
I shook my head and gathered up our jackets. Sure, convenient. And revealing. Why keep a key to a place you'd thought you'd left forever?
Of course, I already knew the answer to that question and now Blair did, too.
Another ten minutes and I'd be home.
It was three days before Christmas and I'd just spent the last week freezing my ass off in a shotgun shack outside of Macon, Georgia, interviewing a ninety-eight year old woman named Mama Coo. She was the last matriarch in a family ruled by them since the eighteenth century and although I loved to listen to her talk, I could've done without the cockroaches crawling across the toe of my boot. But I was bringing home some great stuff for Phil and I knew she'd be in research heaven for weeks.
I was looking forward to being back, but the big log house was no longer my home. With only a few weeks left to fulfill my contract with Phil, I was already looking beyond that to the time when I would go home for good, back to the only place I truly belonged. Being without Jim during the holidays was going to be rougher than I'd thought; it seemed so unfair that we had to be separated again, especially this time of year, but I had an obligation to keep.
The twelve hours we'd spent together in November was a memory I never wanted to lose. We'd done just as we'd planned—returned the car, stopped by the drug store for a toothbrush and other accessories—and had a great dinner at one of our old haunts. Jim caught me up on the station gossip and I told him about my adventures in the deep South. However, I chose not to reveal the part about searching for another sentinel, for fear it would start an argument that would ruin everything. And honest to God, I had to be sure of Jim before we got into that again.
We'd arrived back at the loft around nine and by then, both of us were beyond simmer and rapidly reaching the boiling point. We'd found any reason to touch each other during the evening; even in the restaurant, we'd kept our hands beneath the table half the time so we could tangle our fingers. It was sloppy and romantic—and no indication of what was going to happen next.
Because what did happen—well, it was amazing, astounding, and a lot of other -ing words, too. Turns out Jim likes to be flesh on flesh as soon as possible; he'd practically undressed me in the elevator, unbuttoning my shirt and unzipping my fly before pressing me up against the wall by his front door. His mouth had been doing incredible things to mine the whole time so I barely noticed. That is until his big, warm hand closed over me and began the most intimate massage of my life. If that weren't enough—believe me, it almost was—his other hand had crept into my loosened jeans from behind, thus cradling me between two talented hands that nearly had the festivities over before they'd properly begun. However, Jim apparently had a gift for knowing when things were getting too close and he'd backed off long enough to get us in the door.
So it was a very bleary-eyed and somewhat sore Blair Sandburg who was on that eight o'clock flight the next morning. You couldn't miss me—I was the guy in seat 27-A who couldn't stop grinning.
But that was four weeks ago and we hadn't seen each other since. We'd talked on the phone a lot, usually with me in some godforsaken place where lilts and drawls and twangs were normal and I was the stranger with the accent. This had been my last trip for the year and while I was looking forward to the down time, not having Jim beside me was robbing me of a lot of seasonal joy.
The night was clear and extremely cold and by the time I parked next to Don's Land Rover, I couldn't feel my fingers or toes. The lights of the cabin were shining brightly, including, for some reason, my own rooms on the second floor. Don had probably been up there, starting a fire or laying in fresh towels. I was pulling my bags out of the Jeep when the front door opened, flooding the snow-covered driveway with welcoming light.
"Hey ya, Blair!" Don called as he came toward me. He was a big-boned and big-hearted retired park ranger who worshiped the ground Phil rolled on. "Need some help?"
"Hey, Don. Yeah, that'd be great."
He offered to take my bags upstairs, so I grabbed the case that had the laptop and Phil's research disks in it and made my way to the back of the house where the huge kitchen was lit up and smelling good.
"Welcome back, Blair!" Phil pivoted her chair away from the low table that served as her prep station. "How was your flight?"
I dropped the laptop and my gloves in one of the stuffed chairs beside the dining room fireplace and came over to give her a kiss on the cheek. Teacher once, she was surrogate mother now, providing me with a safe place when I'd most definitely needed it. While I'm sure Naomi would have done the same if she could, the permanence of Phil and Don had been the glue that had held me together over the past few months and I was going to miss them.
"Long. Boring. I've seen that in-flight movie three times already and it never gets any better. Man, it smells great in here. When do we eat?"
She poked me in the ribs with blunt end of her wooden spoon. "Soon, so relax. Did you get that book I wanted?"
I nodded and headed over to the stove to check out the contents of the pots. "Yeah, Don will love it." Removing one of the lids, I searched around for something to use to sneak a taste.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
She rolled her expressive green eyes. In her early fifties, Phil was gorgeous, with short, curly red hair and hardly a wrinkle on her lightly freckled face. Tonight she looked fantastic, dressed in a royal purple turtleneck and black skirt, a pair of amethyst earrings that Don had given her for their twentieth anniversary sparkling in the light. Her wheelchair had never slowed her down; she could run a charity auction or preside over a dinner party for thirty and never miss a beat.
"Just fine and don't taste that yet, Don hasn't finished fussing with it." Using her chair as a mechanized battering ram, she started shooing me out of the kitchen. "Go on and get washed up. And if you see Don, send him in here. Tell him I'm adding cumin to his sauce—that'll get get his goat."
I met Don on the landing between the two floors. "Phil's looking for you. She said something about cumin."
He groaned. "Not again. That woman has no sense of decency." He nudged me with his elbow and considering he's about ten inches taller than I am, I'm lucky I didn't get a black eye. "You take your time, okay?"
He was rumbling down the stairs before I could comment. He and Phil had the kind of relationship people dreamed about—I know I did, but now I felt like I had a good shot at the same thing myself.
With Phil's condition making the stairs impossible for her, I had the entire second floor to myself. It was a large, open space, really one big bedroom with two king-sized beds and one single to accommodate members of the large Stuart family when they visited from the lower forty-eight. I had a desk, a 36-inch TV and a DVD player, a large bathroom and a view of the lake out back. With lots of bright, thick rugs covering the pine floor and a fireplace facing a small seating area, it was the perfect place for someone whose life had fallen apart to hide for a while. It had served its purpose for me and I was ready to move on.
As I rounded the corner from the staircase and entered the open space, I saw the real reason why Don had instructed me not to rush—and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. With a shout, I hurled myself into Jim's outstretched arms and held on tight, not understanding this turn of events and not caring a bit.
"Well, if it isn't my own personal stalker," I murmured in his ear on a choked laugh. "God, it's good to see you. What are you doing here?"
I pulled back far enough to see his eyes and the yearning I saw there took my breath away.
"Tell you in a minute." The words were whispered against my mouth and I soon forgot what the question was. Long moments of deep, luxurious pleasure followed as we re-learned taste and texture, the long-missed thrills of a lover's skin, the music of desire-infused sigh—and that was just our first kiss hello.
When it finally ended, I dragged Jim over to the little couch by the fireplace and sat us down close together.
"I can't believe you're really here," I babbled. "I mean, it's like—hell, I don't know what it's like! Did you pull rank or something?"
Stretching out his legs so that his sock-covered feet were closer to the fire, Jim leaned back and slung his arm over my shoulder, pulling me close.
"Didn't have to. As long as I'm back by Sunday, all the shifts are covered. I figured it was stupid for us to be apart if I didn't have to work, so I called your friends and invited myself."
"Excellent." I rested my head against his shoulder as both of us stared into the fire, suddenly and deeply contented. Sunday was four whole days away and Jim would be here with me for a white Christmas. I'm not sure why the universe was being so generous with me right now, but I'm no fool—you don't question stuff like that.
"This is so cool," I murmured, my eyes getting heavy despite my excitement. Jim grunted agreeably, the arm around my shoulder bending so that he could stroke my head. We stayed like that until we were called for dinner, leaving our warm nook reluctantly, but the aroma of butternut squash soup and roast beef easing the pain a little.
Conversation around the dinner table was a hoot. I swear it was like Jim was meeting prospective in-laws. He was charming and devastatingly handsome in his cream cable-knit sweater as he poured wine and told cleaned up stories of our years together. One year apart had changed us both and yet we were probably more ourselves that night than we'd been in a long time.
Phil and Don went to bed after dessert, leaving Jim and me with the cleanup. This was old hat for us and we worked quietly and efficiently, delicious tension building between us as we cleared and rinsed and loaded the dishes. When we were finished, I told Jim to give me a minute upstairs and he agreed, telling me he was going to grab his shoes and jacket so he could step outside and count the stars.
When he came upstairs, I was ready. Our first night together had been a crazy blur as we satisfied all that long-denied need. Tonight, I wanted us to take our time. No candles were handy, but I did stoke the fire before dragging out the extra foam mattress the grandkids used when they were here. Then I gathered a bunch of pillows and blankets from the two beds and piled all of it in front of the fire, making a pretty damn romantic scene if I do say so myself. I hoped it wasn't over the top—this was eggs-and-Ford trucks Jim we were talking about—but one glimpse of the stunned appreciation in his eyes as he took in our little love nest and I thought I'd hit one out of the park.
Or maybe it was turning foul. Jim hadn't moved from the middle of the room and his eyes went from me to the blankets and back again, a small frown appearing between his eyes.
"Jim?" I gestured toward the mattress. "What? Too trashy romance novel or too seventies porno movie? I can put it all back, we don't have to—"
"Don't touch a thing." He gave me a wicked grin. "You have a lot of faith in this forty-something back of mine."
"Oh, right." I sighed heavily. "As usual guess I'll just have to do all the heavy lifting."
He glanced at me, one eyebrow bent in an arrogant arch. "That's why they call it delegating, Chief." His expression softened, then changed again as his gaze settled on me with possessive intensity.
That's when I knew I'd cleared the fence with room to spare.
I went over and knelt on the mattress, my hands resting lightly on my thighs. Jim sat on the big bed nearest the fire long enough to slide off his shoes and socks, then came and mirrored my position, our knees a scant four or five inches apart.
There was no reason for me to be nervous, but I was. A month ago we'd climbed all over each other, investigating every part of each others' bodies, trying things I hadn't known were possible. Tonight, face to face with a fire crackling beside us, I began to worry that I'd laid a huge amount of pressure on our heads. After all, the guy'd flown all the way here to be with me and I wanted to make sure I could deliver.
I must've looked lost, because Jim tilted his head and gave me a small, funny, knowing grin. Smiling back uncertainly, I watched as he moved on to all fours and circled around me until he was at my back. I held still, jerking slightly when I felt his fingers at the hem of my sweatshirt. Those long fingers of his danced upward, taking my shirt with it as he gathered the fabric and pulled it over my head.
The shiver that rippled across my shoulder blades had nothing to do with the room temperature and everything to do with the kisses being sprinkled over my neck and shoulders. Bowing my head, I inhaled deeply as Jim's hands crept around and began flowing across my chest and abdomen with a touch as light as the soft lips at my spine. He played me for a few moments, circling my nipples with his fingertips and running his tongue along the edge of my ear. When it seemed like he was going to torture me like this forever, I trapped his hands to my body and slid them down to the waistband of my jeans.
There's no graceful way for a guy to slide out of his 501s, even with his boots and socks already off. Jim unbuttoned them and peeled them off my hips before letting me do the rest, which I did with enthusiasm if not a lot of style. Being the clever man that I am, I'd placed pillows at both ends of the mattress, so as the jeans and shorts flew over the couch, all I had to do was turn and fall back, cushioned and warm and ready for action.
And, oh, God—what I saw. I swear Jim can undress faster than a Versace supermodel. He was already naked, balanced on one bent knee as he waited for me, golden on one side and shadowed on the other. I started to say something, but his hands settled on my ankles with heavy intent, rolling them carefully outward. He gave me one long look and I shivered again, the atmosphere between us completely unlike our first night. That had been all fun and games, a six-hour sexual wrestling match. This had the feel of a covenant being made, of physical, silent pledges and profound love.
Jim wasn't a dominant lover, I knew that. We'd already shared every intimacy that two men can share and being inside Jim was the one of the most beautiful moments of my life, right up there with the time a few hours later when he returned the favor. But tonight—oh, tonight it looked like Jim needed to run the show. His eyes were narrowed as he watched his own hands slide up my calves, the rest of his body taut and obviously under fierce control. As his fingers flowed over the tops of my thighs I let out a broken moan and flung my arms over my head to grasp at the legs of the chair behind me, my back arching in mindless pleasure.
"Yeah," Jim muttered approvingly. "You got it."
These feather-light caresses were incredible, so different than before. He tortured my hips and abdomen with his mouth and tongue, always avoiding the most sensitive part of me no matter how I twisted around. He countered every move of mine with another somewhere else, using his mouth against my ribs as his hands curved around my hipbones to make sure I stayed flat.
My head was beginning to swim with the intensity of this kind of lovemaking. There was no hurrying Jim and no amount of pleading on my part could get him to do what I wanted, not that I was complaining. I'd closed my eyes when he'd kissed my belly button, but when the full body kissing ceased, I eased them open to find Jim braced above me, his gaze fixed on my face with that same, strange concentration.
"Jim?" I was powerfully aroused, not just from being the absolute focus of Jim's bedroom skills, but from the aura of reined-in strength that poured off Jim's body like the sweat that coated his skin. He shook his head as if the sound of my voice barely penetrated the fog of desire that surrounded us. His only response was to take my mouth in a kiss so deep that I felt it down to the soles of my feet. When I attempted to wrap my arms around his neck, he took my wrists in an easy grasp and pushed them back above my head, molding my fingers to the chair legs once more.
"Okay?" His voice was hoarse, like he hadn't used it lately.
I could only nod, my own lack of usable air making a verbal response impossible.
The sensual assault was renewed but now that I understood my role, I was able to enjoy it more and worry less about reciprocating. Soon I was howling with the twin sensations of Jim's exquisite seduction and the force of his undeniable love. When I was put aside as Jim shifted away, it allowed me to catch my breath for whatever he had in mind next.
"Blair."
He had to say it twice before I could see through the sensual haze that clouded my eyes. Blinking, I saw he was holding out his hands, both palm slick, so I sat up and took them in mine. Our fingers tangled as the thick, warm fluid was exchanged, then Jim rose to his knees and held his arms out from his body.
Like an adoring supplicant, I knelt in front of him and took him in my hands. His stomach muscles worked and flowed with each caress of my fingers, his respirations growing labored as I bent down to breathe on the now glossy skin. My intimate chore done, I stole a kiss before lying back down and spreading my legs, giving myself over body and soul to the pleasure of this moment.
Jim positioned himself between my knees, bestowing a teasing kiss on each thigh before gently easing his hand upward. The slippery stroke of his fingers alone were enough to blow my mind, but that was nothing compared to the clean thrust of his body when he finally came into me. Neck muscles straining, he shifted back and took me with him, my mouth devouring his as we swayed upright. With my legs wrapped tightly around his waist and our arms wound around each other, our bodies made a snug plait that left little room for actual movement. It didn't matter; for me it was nothing less than the deepest joy, pure and obliterating, physical and spiritual. There was no one in my world but Jim and everything he had was mine.
It was only with the tiniest jerks of his hips that he could move inside me, keeping me on the keen edge of fulfillment but never overdoing it. I rocked harder, trying to give back to him as best I could, but hard-won insight told me that Jim didn't want to drive into me, demanding my release and finding his own—he wanted to fill me, to give me this brief eternity together, before time moved on and instinct took over.
The idea that Jim would do this for me, to me, combined with one last twist of his hips, drove me to arch upward in his embrace. One hand supported my back and another, smooth and hot, gave me the friction I needed. I came with a soundless, exultant cry, shuddering and panting, incoherent, completely shattered. The end was almost unendurably wracking but the landing was soft as Jim eased me down on my back. Compliant and supple in his arms, my eyes misted as my chest heaved in search of its next breath, I could only smile as Jim finally gave in to his need and gave himself up to the most natural, beautiful act two people can share. A few mighty thrusts and my silent shout was echoed as Jim froze above me. When his arms quivered with the vulnerability of a completely spent lover, I gathered him against my body, murmuring loving nonsense to him as I stroked my fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.
A well-placed sheet cleaned up the worst of the mess, then sentinel-sensitive fingers were employed to sooth and check for any signs of unintentional damage. When all parties were satisfied and blankets had been drawn over our cooling bodies, I again drew Jim's head to my shoulder. Nothing more was said—nothing more was needed. Giver and receiver, we'd shared more than passion tonight, and as I hugged him closer and drifted away, I thought of my one regret—the year I'd spent trying to reconstruct my life. You can't ignore the past and you can't rewrite it either. I tried and all I got were three hundred or so days of loneliness and misery.
No, you can't rewrite the past but you can be the author of your future—and the beginning and end of my future was sleeping tame and safe in my arms, right where he belonged.
I awoke some time in the middle of the night, turning carefully away from Jim so I could use the bathroom and stoke the fire without waking him. There were blankets and pillows everywhere, so I straightened things up and tucked myself into one of the quilts before pressing back into the accommodating curve of Jim's body. I stared into the fire, growing drowsy but reluctant to give up a minute of this night. When Jim's arm slid around my hips, I nudged back a little, feeling more secure and loved than I'd ever felt before—until Jim whispered in my ear.
"You're studying sentinels again, aren't you."
I stiffened and his arm tensed. "How'd you know?"
"You left some research on your desk. Is it true? Did you decide to go back to it?"
They say the truth will set you free. What a crock—the truth only tightens the ropes.
"Not back to it, Jim. I've never stopped."
"Why?"
I thrust his arm away and sat up, shifting around so I could face him.
"Why? Because it's what I do. It's my life's work."
"I don't like it." In Jim's vocabulary, that phrase was also know as "this scares me, so I'm going to glare at it until it surrenders". He sat up as well and I swallowed as the firelight bounced off the bare skin of his chest—this was not the time to start anything. As he swathed himself in another blanket, I told myself to take it slow and Jim give some credit; I knew I was loved, now it was time to find out if I was trusted.
One of my greatest fears about this conversation was his emotional withdrawal—been there, done that—so I sighed with relief when he took my hand in his.
"Look, I know you don't like it," I said. "You never have, but it's the one thing you've got to get your head around if we're going to go forward. And I really, really want to go forward, but the right way, okay?"
He released my hand and stroked his fingertips down my cheek, his expression unreadable in the flickering light. Strangely, I think I anticipated his next move, but I still let out a surprised grunt when he twisted around and grabbed my legs, sliding me gently but quickly on to my back. After making sure I had a pillow beneath my head, he straddled me and leaned in close. Even his breathing was elevated, like a warrior before a battle. Somewhere in the back of my head I made a note about that, but mostly I was just concerned that this discussion was going to finish us before we'd had our chance.
Framing my face in a firm grip, Jim stared down at me. "I don't want you studying other sentinels, Blair."
"Why not?" I kept my voice reasonable, fascinated and entirely undaunted by the feral gleam in his eyes.
"It's dangerous. You of all people—"
I laid my hands over his lips. "Jim, that is so lame. Sentinels are no more dangerous than the next person. It's the dynamics between sentinels that throws everything out of balance. But you have to know that I'd never do anything to put you in that situation again, right?" I shifted my hand so that my thumb floated over his lower lip. "As long as I keep you away from—"
"No." He took my wrist and turned over my hand so that he could mouth a kiss against my palm.
"No? That's it, just no?" He was making love to my fingers, delicately licking down each one before sucking the tips into his mouth. It was making it hard to think clearly—probably his intention, the jerk. "This isn't—ahh, that's so good—open for negotiation."
His lips traveled down my wrist. "No, it isn't."
"Jim—"
He raised his head and stared at me. The firelight gilded his left cheekbone, the side of his nose, the firm bend of his chin, making his all-American good looks sharpen into something more fierce than modern man could ever be. I sucked in an involuntary breath of anticipation; I'd only seen glimpses of this side of Jim in the past. I wasn't sure if I liked it when it was aimed at yours truly, but I had a feeling that one lesson I was going to learn was how to love not only the man, but the sentinel inside him as well.
"You want to study sentinels. Fine. You got one right here. Can you make do with that?"
It had once been my greatest wish—second greatest, anyway. Inside Jim was more experience, more knowledge, more access than anyone else I was likely to find. He was not only a sentinel, he was the perfect working model of a sentinel.
And he'd hated each and every test I'd ever asked him to do.
"I can't, Jim. That was part of my first mistake, not establishing you as my baseline. But then you've never wanted to be a lab experiment anyway, You told me over and over that you couldn't stand to—"
He stopped my indictment with a searing kiss as his hands slid up into my hair. With a twist of his thighs he pressed his naked body against mine in a sizzling caress that made me moan low in my throat. Jim chased down that moan with his lips until his mouth rested against the skin just above my heart.
This conversation was now going in a very unhelpful but wholly enjoyable direction.
"I know what I said," he whispered. His breath was hot on my skin as he pressed his tongue against my sensitive nipple. Interesting tactic—lay down the law according to Jim and then seduce your way into acquiescence. As much as I was basking in the attention, I knew we had to get this settled. With a mighty effort, I wedged my hands between us and shoved him away. He settled on his back with an annoyed sigh and I suppressed a grin. Nice try, I'll give him points for that.
"Okay, Jim, I'll make you a deal. You stop being a cop and I'll stop chasing after rogue sentinels. How does that sound?"
"It's not the same thing."
Yeah. Bingo.
I rolled over and propped my head on my hand. The physical thrill of this new part of our relationship wasn't even close to wearing off and although we were having a Very Serious Discussion, I couldn't prevent myself from brushing the back of my hand over the firm skin of his upper arm.
"You know, a famous leader once said 'risk is our business'. That's certainly true where you're concerned, right? And hey, I've learned my lesson when it comes to fooling around with sensory-enhanced people and that lesson is don't do it without carrying a big stick. But Jesus, Jim, c'mon. Seriously. You were in severe pain when I met you and so was Alex. Not because you're naturally that way, but because your senses were out of whack. That's what makes the circumstances unsafe, not anything inherent in the traits of a sentinel. Most of the people I've been investigating have already adapted to their abilities in some way or another. They're not fighting them like someone else I know."
He was staring at the ceiling, the arm I wasn't stroking curled so that his head was pillowed on top of it.
"Would you stop if I asked you to?"
I laid my hand on his forearm and gave it a light squeeze. "No. I'd eventually resent it and we'd be right back where we were two years ago. Nothing is worth that, not even for your peace of mind. I'm sorry."
He reached for me, wrapping his arms around me and tugging at me until I was draped across his body.
"Don't apologize for that," he murmured. "You can apologize to hell and back for quoting Captain Kirk at me, but don't apologize for that."
"So we'll figure it out as we go along, okay?"
He ran his finger down the slope of my nose and tapped my lips. "Okay, but we'll take it slowly, right? No surprises, no secrets. Deal?"
"Deal." I brushed my mouth over his, dizzy with relief and euphoria. With a tacit agreement to let it go for now, Jim guided my head to his shoulder after I got us recovered in the blankets. I knew I wasn't completely out of the woods on this subject; Jim had accepted it intellectually but the first time I met up with a sentinel who was even slightly off kilter, I knew we'd have this conversation again. But they say trust is a two way street—I'd have to learn to trust Jim with my heart and he'd have to learn to trust my judgment.
Oh, yeah, we were in for a hell of a ride, but as Jim tickled my ear with his soft snores, I couldn't help but grin. Who would've thought we'd be here, our friendship not only restored, but deepened beyond all of my wildest dreams. No more wondering, no more waiting and no more wandering—abiding safely in Jim's heart, I would always be home.
This story originally appeared in the zine Senses of Wonder 3 and has been modified from that version.
Thanks to Gershwhen who copied the story for me after the original was lost in the Crash of 2004.
And hugs to Aithine who re-read a story she'd already beta'd once, caught all the strange typos—and liked it anyway.
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