“Does this feel like I’m doing you a favor?”

Chapter 7

She needs me, Holt thought. That’s all this is.

She needs me, he told his conscience, and I’m not walking out on her.

Gotcha, his conscience replied. Reading you loud and clear.

For a while then, blessedly, he didn’t have to think at all. Kissing Billie, he was discovering, was a full-time occupation, an all-encompassing pleasure, one that involved every part of him, including his brain. And your heart, too? Yeah, what about that, Holt?

But that, too, was something he didn’t have to think about. At least, not then.

That fascinating mouth of hers, with its impish little up-turn at the corners…who would’ve thought it could feel so lush and ripe and full of sweetness? And her hands-card-player’s hands with their nimble fingers-no surprise that they should be so clever, but who would’ve thought they could also be gentle, almost tender in the way they touched his face. In stature she was petite, her body small and compact, well-muscled and tidy…but who would’ve thought she could feel so soft, and fill his arms so completely.

Then, once again they were breathing in ragged little gusts of air, clinging to each other, and Holt wondered if she was trying as hard as he was not to show how shaken she felt. If she was wondering, as he was, what to do next.

About then was when she said, “Okay,” and cleared her throat, pressed her palm against his chest and stared at it. He could see her forehead wrinkle with a frown.

“Yeah,” he said, and cleared his throat, too, not really helping much.

“This is the really awkward part,” she said, and valiantly lifted her face to meet his eyes. “I don’t suppose you, uh…came prepared for this. I mean, I understand if you don’t have anything, but the thing is, I’m pretty sure I don’t. I’m covered for the pregnancy thing-yeah, learned my lesson there-and I’m clean, too. Had myself tested before Hannah Grace was born, and I’ve been careful since, but I don’t expect you to just trust me. I mean, you’d have to be pretty stupid to-”

“Billie,” he said, “shut up.” He kissed her again, but a shorter time than before. When he lifted his head she started to say something else, so he kissed her again, for a lot longer, and this time when he released her mouth she just licked her lips and stared at him, slightly cross-eyed.

“You’d be stupid to trust me, too,” he said softly, “but I think we’re both in luck. I drove down from Reno and came straight here this morning. I’ve got my overnighter in the car. I’m pretty sure there’s something in there.”

She was gazing at him in wonder. Her dimples flashed, and his heart gave a little leap, the way it did when he caught a glimpse of a deer dashing across Laurel Canyon Boulevard in the early, early morning.

“Hold that thought,” he murmured, then touched a kiss to the tip of her nose and left her.

All the time he was getting his suitcase out of the Mustang, locking up, heading back to the house, he refused to let himself think about anything except what he was doing at that moment in time. Don’t think, don’t analyze…stay in the here and now. That’s what he told himself whenever a glimmer of thought tried to sneak past his mental firewalls: Here and now. That’s all that matters.

Back in Billie’s house, he found she’d turned off the lights in the kitchen. Following the glow from the hallway, he made his way to its source, which was the larger of the two bedrooms he’d cleared earlier while checking for intruders. He’d noticed then that although it lacked frills, it was a distinctly feminine room, done in neutral tones of cream and tan, with accents of black and green. There were plants near the windows, which were curtained now against the darkness, and Audubon prints and Ansel Adams photographs in simple frames on the walls. Now, with Billie added to the setting, he realized how perfectly the room suited her. And what an intimate thing it was, to share that room with her. He wondered if she knew.

She was standing beside the bed, which was neatly made, with an assortment of throw pillows casually arranged on top of the spread. The only light came from the lamp on the table beside the bed, which she’d evidently just switched on. She lifted her head and smiled at him, but without dimples.

“Okay, Kincaid, this is your chance,” she said in a tone that wanted to be airy, the tension she was trying to hide betrayed by only the slightest of tremors.

He set down his overnighter and returned the smile in a tentative way. “Chance? For what?”

“To change your mind.” She turned to him, moving her body side to side in a way that suggested a wavering of will. “You know-the moment’s passed and we’ve both cooled down…pulses steady. Isn’t this where reason and common sense usually step in?”

“And have they?” When she only clasped her arms across herself and looked away without answering, he persisted gently, “Are you having second thoughts?”

She gave a sharp little laugh and brought her eyes back to him. They seemed to shimmer in the lamplight. “I asked you to stay with me, remember? Because I, um-” She closed her eyes and struggled with it, and he took pity on her and mentally filled in the words she couldn’t bring herself to say.

You need me.

“Billie, no, I haven’t changed my mind. If you need me, I’ll stay.”

She looked at him for a long moment, smiling that little half smile, then slowly shook her head and whispered, “Kincaid, you are such a Boy Scout.”

“Boy Scout?” He gave a surprised huff of laughter. “Don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. And why is it,” he added wryly, “I get the feeling you don’t mean that as a compliment?”

“I do, actually. I haven’t met that many Boy Scouts in my life…” She studied him thoughtfully, and her eyes seemed to kindle. He felt their heat from where he stood, two full arm’s lengths away. “Who would’ve guessed. That’s sure not what I thought of when I first met you.”

“Yeah? What did you think of, then?” He realized they were speaking in low murmurs, the tone lovers use to exchange erotic suggestions under cover of darkness, though there was still that distance between them. A distance that seemed vast and unbridgeable.

“Harry Callahan,” she said.

“Who?”

“You know-Clint Eastwood movies…Dirty Harry…”

He burst out laughing-he couldn’t help it.

“You know,” she said, watching him with her head slightly cocked, “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you do that.”

“Do what?”

She gave a little shrug. “Never mind-it’s gone now. It was nice while it lasted, though.”

She turned to take the pillows off the bed, saying over her shoulder as she did, “Bathroom’s across the hall-it’s all yours.” She didn’t see him go.

She told herself not to think, but, as thoughts will, they came anyway. Why am I doing this? I guess I know why, I know what I think is why, but why do I need him when I’ve done all right without him up to now?

She began to undress, her fingers stiff and cold on the zipper of her jeans, tossing her clothes in the general direction of the dresser on the other side of the bed. It seemed too…intimate, too personal, to leave them lying where he would see them when he returned.

When he returns…

She tried not to think about how it would be. How he would look.

His body…

I wish he’d make this easier for me. He’s leaving it up to me to call the shots. I understand why, but I almost wish he’d take the lead. Funny…who would’ve thought he’d turn out to be so damned nice?

I don’t need him to be nice. I need him to kiss me again. I need him to hold me. I need him to not let me think…

She lifted the corner of the bedclothes and crawled between the sheets, shifting herself all the way to the other side of the bed to leave room for him. The sheet rasped across her goose-bumpy skin like sandpaper. She was shivering, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t make herself stop.

Holt left the bathroom and crossed the hall, his shaving kit in his hands and images of Billie in his mind. Not voluptuous, fantasy images-he didn’t have enough intimate knowledge of her body nor enough prurient imagination to provide material for those-but flashback images of her face in all its different moods, constantly changing, like a kaleidoscope. He didn’t try to stop them. It was better than thinking.

He hadn’t any expectations of what he’d see when he walked back into her bedroom, but even so, the scene that met his eyes jolted him in ways he couldn’t explain. He wished there had been a camera in his mind, some way of freezing that moment in his memory. Not a scene that could be considered sexy or erotic, not in the usual sense: Her face-just her face, her body a surprisingly small disturbance beneath the covers-nestled in a pile of pillows, its features indistinct, its outline blurred in the soft lamplight though the colors were pure and vivid, like a watercolor painting on silk. But for a moment he felt a weakening in his knees and that odd dropping sensation in his chest, and the need to remind himself all over again what he was doing here.

She needs you, Kincaid-that’s all this is. Be good to her…handle with care…and when the time comes, let her go.

She raised herself on one elbow and watched him walk toward her, wearing all his clothes and carrying what appeared to be a small toiletries kit in his hands. She searched his face for a hint of a smile. Instead, his eyes seemed to burn her, and she wondered how blue eyes could do that.

“I left the light on for you,” she said in a rasping voice. “You can turn it off, if you want to.”