It’s out today!
If she’d thought a meal might do a damn thing to break the tension between them, she would have been wrong. But she hadn’t been banking on that. There was too much still left between them, things unsaid. Things that should probably remain that way.
If she was wise. Because if she started saying all the things that were still unsaid, she’d probably start wishing she could do the things that were still undone—and maybe even the things that had been done. Just not recently. Making love with him. Lying in the bed next to him and listening to him breathe as he played with her hair. Laughing with him, talking with him . . . and before it had gotten to be too much, even working with him. Just being with him.
Yeah, she didn’t need to start thinking about all of that, and if she spent too much time with him, she would. She needed to be smart. Except she knew she couldn’t be. She’d thought she’d been smart all those years ago when she ran from something that overwhelmed her.
Since then, she’d spent years regretting it.
Years . . . years regretting the one decision she’d thought she had to make, listened to what she’d thought was the voice of reason. Since then, she’d asked herself more times than she could recall if she hadn’t made a mistake. And now . . . she just didn’t know. The only thing she did know was that she couldn’t leave him yet. Not yet.
She was certain she’d start to question herself any second now. Yet again that voice of reason would rear its ugly head and she’d start to think . . .
But it was strangely silent.
There was no reason for her to go with him, really. Unless she counted the information she had in her workbag. She could have given that to him outside. For that matter, she could give it to him here.
She didn’t want to do that, though. He’d look through it. And he needed to rest before he did any more. She could see the dragging exhaustion in his eyes.
If somebody wasn’t there to make him put the work aside, he wouldn’t do it.
So I could have waited until tomorrow . . .
They didn’t have time, though.
No time. They just didn’t have time for him to spend the next twelve hours in bed.
You don’t want to walk away, you don’t want him walking away, and you can’t wait until he’s gotten the sleep he needs. But with anybody else, you could let them sleep a few hours and then call. So either admit what you want . . . or just go home and call in six hours. So now the voice of reason had become the voice of insanity, temptation, and sluthood. The voice was sly, almost gleeful as it added, Just admit you can’t leave yet. You can’t walk away yet. You need him too much—just do it already.
Just do it?
Just do what . . . him?
The next story in my FBI Psychics series…