Page 103 of Windlass

Stevie pushed her up against the wall nearest the stairs but after searching Angie’s face, she paused.

“Ange,” she said, hair loose and silken in Angie’s fingers, the bun falling in a wave as Angie tugged it free. “Are you okay?”

The emptiness. The desperate desires of her stupid, stupid heart. “I will be,” she managed as she slid off Stevie to stand on her own.

“Ange.”

“What?”

Stevie didn’t step back, but her posture put enough distance between them that Angie could focus on her face in the dim light.

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

Tears welled with a sudden ferocity that suggested they’d been lying in wait. Damn Stevie. Gentle arms folded her into an embrace she didn’t deserve, not after what had almost happened with Lana. She accepted anyway, burying her face in the warmth of Stevie’s neck.

“Come on,” said Stevie when Angie finally stopped shaking. “Let’s go someplace we can lie down, yeah?”

“You’ll sleep with me?” she asked like a child.

Stevie wiped tears from Angie’s cheeks with her thumbs. “Duh.”

Back in the room Stevie scooped her up from behind and dumped her on the bed, both of them trying to stifle laughter, hers tainted with occasional sobs. She shed her dress without ceremony. It melted into the shadows where she tossed it. Stevie shucked off her clothing and slid into bed beside her. They’d done this enough times that it felt normal. This should scare her, but right now she was grateful and tired of stepping around the mines in her own mind.

Minefield. Mindfield. She needed one of those mine-sniffing rats to walk before her.

“Stephanie?”

“Yeah?”

Angie’s hand lay splayed across Stevie’s chest. She toyed with the notch of her collarbone, stroking the hollow with her middle finger. She knew what she wanted to say, but had enough self-awareness to know she would scare herself off if she said it. The rat sniffed the ground ahead.

A head full of rodents was probably a sign she was losing it anyway.

“I have another rule,” Angie said at last.

“Oh yeah?” Stevie kissed the top of her head as she spoke.

Her finger fit perfectly into that little hollow. Stevie’s breasts, a perfect handful, because everything about her was perfect, rose and fell steadily beneath her palm.

“Don’t leave me.”

Stevie stilled. Angie waited, knowing that what she asked was unfair, hypocritical, a euphemism for the words she’d said to Stevie many times, but never with the depth of honesty Stevie deserved.

“Scientific evidence suggests I’m incapable.”

“Why have you stayed?” Angie asked. Stevie’s heart kicked against her ribs, and Angie felt the stutter travel up her arm and through her.

“Angie . . .”

“Tell me.”

“You know why.”

And there it was: pain. She heard it in Stevie’s voice, rough and rueful. Maybe she was a sadist after all. Gently, she skimmed her fingers up Stevie’s neck and turned her face until their noses brushed.

She could say so many different things in this moment. She could say therightthing. But what if she said the right thing and it felt wrong?

She traced Stevie’s lips with her fingers, feeling Stevie shiver in response. It would be so easy to kiss her right now. Maybe easy was the wrong word. She wanted desperately to kiss her. She wanted to be sure first that she could trust herself not to run.

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