Christ, she wasn’t ready for this conversation. She hadn’t taken the job expecting to even be conflicted, never mind falling for him. She’d thought having the moral high ground would be empowering. Instead, it made her feel small, and mean.
She shook herself free of his grasp and turned. She grabbed one of his hands, took a step back toward the hotel, and tugged. He didn’t budge, and she wouldn’t hurt him to make him follow. She could only ask. “Rake, come back with me, it’s getting chilly.” It wasn’t. She was so upset and nervous and embarrassed and confused, she was sweating. And he was in that silly sweatshirt she’d bought him; he wasn’t cold, either. Now she wished she’d bought him ten shitty sweatshirts. A dozen. Told her employer to fuck off twice. Never promised anything. Saved him from the muggers and then given him everything in her wallet. Showed him the DNA results instead of walking that particular tightrope. Kept Lillith away from this, from them. Donna was right. It’s a Lost Boys lifestyle; it’s no way for actual adults to live. She was right to be done with us. “C’mon, okay?”
He shook his head. “No, thank you.”
That cool courtesy: the worst. “Please?” God, he just looked so sad and calm; she was amazed to find she couldn’t bear it. “C’mon back with me, come in and—and we’ll order room service, you love that—”
“I do love that,” he said thoughtfully.
“—and we’ll get a bite and some sleep and you’ll—it’ll be better. In the morning.”
“Sorry” was the polite reply. “I haven’t earned the money for a bite and some sleep.” The worst of it was, he didn’t sound particularly biting or nasty. Just tired. “In fact, if I’m going to be your charitable dray horse, I need to find much cheaper accommodations. And you haven’t answered me: How long does this go on? When will I be considered an adult who can handle his big-boy checkbook?”
“It’s not—it’s not like that.” Once, sure. Now? No. She was ready to give him all of her money at this point, the money she’d earned and the money still owed her, the money she had to take when people thought they could promise to help, when they thought their word meant nothing. The money that made her blighted childhood worth something, granting her a skill set she could use to undo all the wrongs of her early life.
For the first time, she got a glimpse of why someone would take something that wasn’t theirs and give it to someone else. “You don’t have to—come on. Come inside. I’ll tell you what I can.”
“But not all of it.”
“I can’t,” she said with fierce desperation.
“Because you gave your word.”
“Yes. I know that sounds—”
“It sounds fine.” And just like that, he let her steer him back toward her
(our, dammit!)
hotel.
“It’s fine?” she repeated, not quite believing his 180.
“Yeah. I know there’s stuff you have to keep to yourself, because I’m doing the same thing. I’ve done something I’m not ready to tell you about,” he said, but she was so happy they were going back, she didn’t give half a shit.
“Okay. That’s okay.”
“You’ll be angry when I do tell you.”
“All right. That’s—” She took a breath, tried to imagine what he wasn’t telling her. Took the coward’s way out and decided she didn’t want to know. Let out her breath in a whoosh. She felt lighter, which was stupid. Nothing had been resolved. Everything was shitty. He didn’t like her anymore, and he would never, ever love her. Lillith was still in limbo. Donna was still dead. “Fair. That’s fair. So I won’t—I mean, I’d understand. Even if I didn’t like what you told me.”
“Yes.” He looked down and shifted their grip; now she wasn’t yanking him down the street; now they were holding hands like any one of the couples around them. “That’s a big thing for you, right, Delaney? Maybe the biggest. Fair play.”
“Yes.”
“That’s all right, then,” he replied, and even smiled a little.
Thirty-nine
He didn’t say another word until they were in the elevator, so when he did speak, it startled her. She’d been thinking, Just a few more hours and I can tell the rest. Just a few more hours and I’ll have kept my word. “What happened to the San Basso guy?”
“What? Oh.” She frowned. For once, she didn’t give a shit about the hit. “He’s gone. He—he saw you left the kitchen a mess and left town.” Her joke fell flat with an almost audible thud.
“Yeah, he’s gone.” Rake wasn’t surprised. Why wasn’t he surprised? Was it a test? Did she pass? “I checked, you know.”
Her reply was cautious. “Okay.” She was so glad they were moving away from her complicity (though she would later realize he’d never left the topic), she didn’t think to question what he was asking, or why.
“I know why you did what you did, and maybe it was even a good thing.” He shook his head. “But you shouldn’t have done it.”
“How do you even—”
Ding! Never had an elevator chime been more annoying. He popped out and made straight for their
(yes, their, it was theirs)
room. Once inside, she went straight for the room service menu to make good on her word, but he put a hand on her wrist to stop her. “Will you come to bed with me?”
“Do you want bruschetta or— What?”
“I really, really need to have sex with you,” he said patiently, like it was an everyday feeling, like she shouldn’t be amazed. “Can we?”
She could only gape and thought she must look ridiculous with her big eyes staring and her big mouth hanging open. Every time she thought the conversation couldn’t get more surreal, he topped it. “I didn’t—I never thought you’d want to. With me.”
“I never thought you’d want to. With me.” He was looking at her with a steady gaze; those baby blues never wavered. “I hoped, but … I didn’t have the courage to ask until now.”
“You know I’ve been up to—to bad things, and that I’m partially responsible for—for things.…” The mess you’re in. The mess I’m in. The mess you didn’t deserve. The mess I did deserve. “And you still want to?”
“Oh, God, yes.” The cool reserve slipped and she saw his desire, which fed her own repressed hunger. “Since Friday.”
“But today is— Oh. You’re teasing.”
He smiled. “Maybe a little. I mean, I don’t know for sure that it’s Friday, but I’ll take your word.”
“You shouldn’t,” she said earnestly. “About anything. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. Maybe my word is shit, and I’ve been fooling myself. Maybe building a life around keeping promises and making things fair is juvenile and stupid.”
“Hey, hey.” He stepped a little closer and she closed her eyes; he smelled like Venice: complex and rich and wonderful. “Maybe you’re just scrupulously, pathologically fair.” His thumb was gently stroking along her pulse point, and when she opened her eyes, she saw his smile wasn’t wavering.