Page 68 of Devil's Due

My dick, now soft, starts slipping out of her. With one hand I hold the end of the condom. “Got to go deal with this.”

“Yeah.” She can’t see but must have enough clues to know what I mean. Propping her elbows beneath her, she raises the upper half of her body, and frowns. “Are you coming back, Beef?”

I slip off the condom and tie a knot in the end. She’s pre-empted the conversation we must have. I close my eyes, knowing she can’t see my expression or how much I regret this. “No. Stevie, this was—”

“Don’t you dare say it was a mistake.”

“I wasn’t going to. This was one time, Stevie. You needed a release, so did I. It stops here, it has to.” Her bottom lip quivers, so I add more. “Soon you’ll be able to move on. We’ll never see each other again. I won’t know where you are, you won’t even be able to check in. Safest that way for you, darlin’. One fuck and I already know I could get hooked.”

“Me too,” she inserts fast.

“So it’s best we put this behind us. Before neither of us want to walk away.”

I wait, but she seems to have accepted it. Me? I’m already wondering whether it’s too late.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Although Stevie seems to have a sixth sense and can often somehow feel my eyes watching her, I’ve learned how to sneak peeks at her without her knowing I’m there. Right now, she’s busying herself in the kitchen preparing lasagne for dinner tonight. As usual, I’m transfixed by her effortless actions as she feels her way through the preparations. It’s only because I’m watching carefully that I see the clues that give away she’s blind; the way she finds the right implement by touch.

The first time I saw her chopping an onion I thought she’d surely cut herself, then saw she’d learned or taught herself a technique by which she could safely do it.

She doesn’t object to my help when I offer it, she only protests if she feels I’m contributing assistance if I don’t think she can do it herself, when she’s perfectly capable of performing a task. I’ve learned to wait until it’s obvious, or only aid when asked. She knows her limitations better than I.

Already I know how far off the mark I was to ever think she’d be needy and clingy. Daily she demonstrates far more independence than Sally ever showed. Moving to Pueblo alone with only her dog beside her should have been the first clue, it had been there from the start. But so fresh from leaving Sally, I’d looked for something that wasn’t there, a reason to not fall for the first woman who crossed my path.

Have I fallen?A range of emotions must cross my face. At least, with her, I don’t need to guard them. I admit it, I have. I’ve fallen hard. Since the night before last, we’ve not touched, not kissed, and not spoken about the out of the world sex we’d experienced. The next morning started as each subsequent one has with us avoiding the issue completely. If at times I believe I see a wistful look on her face, it could be my imagination.

I know the words said in the dark of the night were right. As soon as it’s safe, we’ll be handing her back into the care of the marshals. Anything started now would have an expiration date. If I feel this way after just one night, how would I feel if we repeated it, not once, but twice, a hundred times or more? A feeling tells me, this woman is one I’d follow to the end of the earth.

It makes me admit, there was never a time I wasn’t faking it with Sally. From the start I’d been trying to make her into someone she wasn’t, trying to see her as the right woman for me, simply because she strayed into my path. Now I know why my Tucson brothers knew their old ladies were their one. It’s the same way I know Stevie could be that for me.

It’s easy to dream of taking her down to Tucson—on the back of my bike, she wouldn’t complain about the long ride. I’d introduce her to Sam, Sophie, Marcia and the rest of the old ladies. Oh, and Becca. Becca would be so happy I’d found someone for myself at last.

That thought pulls me up. While I’ve been with Stevie, I’ve not thought about Becca once, or not with the regret that she was with my best friend and not me.

But taking Stevie to Tucson, well, that’s never going to happen.

I’ve been staring down at my hands, something makes me raise my eyes.

Stevie’s standing, spatula in hand, her head quizzically tilted toward me. “You alright?” she asks.

Wondering again how she can tell, I lie. “I’m fine.”

“You gave a heavy sigh.” She frowns. “Are you getting bored, Beef? Staying here with me?” She gives a brief chuckle. “Getting cabin fever?”

How could I be bored? It’s easy being here with her. I read Harley magazines, planning upgrades to my bike while she listens to her audible books using headphones. Those are some of the best times, my attention often drawn away from what I’m reading, to watch the expressions crossing her face. Tenderness, arousal, anger. Yeah, the latter amused me. One night I was sure she was going to throw her iPad across the room. Or, if she’s not reading, we watch a film. I’ve become used to describing scenes where there’s action but no conversation. It’s natural for me to say something like, yup, she’s going down to that basement, to which Stevie will scream out, ‘No’, and, amusingly, cover her face with her hands.

Daytime I chop wood for the fire and clear up around the place outside while Stevie tidies the interior. This cabin has been neglected for years and there’s much I can find to occupy myself.

“Not getting cabin fever, Stevie. In fact the opposite. Probably the most time I’ve had to decompress for years. Can’t say I’d like staying here forever but it will be a while yet before I get bored.”

Her lips curve. “You done anymore on that old bike?”

Hmm. She remembers too much. Some of my clearing up might have revealed the frame of an ancient Indian. I’ve been scrounging around to see whether there are any other parts for it. Someone obviously brought it up here and dumped it. Perhaps they were going to restore it, but then gave up? Or, considering the early days of the Colorado club and the loss of members to prison or bullets, maybe they never got the chance to return for it. I remember how Sam, Drummer’s old lady, had restored her Vincent from nothing much more than I have found.

“Well, I might have found me a project to work on.” I laugh. Then I wonder about her. “How you doing? You finding time dragging?”

“I would, but you’re good company, Beef. Like you, though, it won’t be long before I want to get back to real life. It’s great having a chance to relax, and these couldn’t be nicer surroundings, but I do want to get back to work.” Her face falls. “Not that I probably have a job now, I just disappeared.”

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