Page 111 of Secondhand Smoke

~*~

Just before dawn, the hostage in the bike shop was cut loose and a cab was called for him. He left Dartmoor completely intact, carrying a message for his boss:

Last night had been a lesson for Don Ellison. Next time, bodies would hit the ground.

Twenty-One

Sam woke to a tickling sensation along her spine. A gentle, teasing touch, moving down to the small of her back. Lower…

She smiled against the pillows, stretched drowsily beneath the sheets. “That feels nice.”

Aidan’s voice was soft, but not sleepy; he’d been awake for a while. “The first hour’s free.”

They both laughed, quietly.

Sam rolled over onto her back and found him propped up on an elbow beside her. His hair was rumpled, jaw shadowed with stubble. The bruises from the sparring match were ugly and dark, but his eyes shone, coffee-colored in the faint light coming through the frosted window.

“You survived your first big club party,” he said.

“I take it they aren’t usually that crazy.”

“Nah. Usually just one stripper.”

She reached up and tweaked the end of his nose with thumb and forefinger, earning a low chuckle that made her toes flex. The orderly, professorial side of her wanted to ask a dozen questions. Where did they go from here? Wasforeverpart of their vocabulary now? Ought she to tackle his disaster apartment with closet organizers and fresh paint?

But she pushed all her wonder back, deciding that she would only make herself anxious. She didn’t want to be the one to wreck this shiny warm thing they had.

Aidan pushed the sheets back and got out of bed. “Probably one of the girls is making breakfast. I’m gonna grab coffee; how many sugars?”

She sat up, pushed her hair back, enjoyed the view as he tugged on his jeans commando. “Three.”

“Be right back.”

He was at the door when a knot of words came unstuck in her throat and rolled off her tongue. She couldn’t prevent them, and didn’t want to. “Aidan?”

He paused and glanced back at her.

“I love you.”

Saying it released a tension inside her, one she hadn’t known she carried. They were just words, but for her, words were trade. Words were religion. Actions were well and good, but for her own part, she had to share the words, so there could be no mistaking her feelings.

Aidan went very still, eyes wide and full of wonder as he stared at her.

“You don’t have to say it back,” she said, softly. “I just wanted you to know.”

He nodded; his throat worked as he swallowed.

“Coffee, remember?” she prodded, smiling.

He nodded again, and even if his lips couldn’t form the syllables, she could read his eyes well enough.

She thought he loved her too.

~*~

The aftermath was always ugly; like a battlefield littered with post-party carnage. Cups, napkins, countless trod-upon tortilla chips, empty bottles. The jack-o-lanterns on the bar stared at him with soot-blackened eyes, all their charm gone. The club girls, likewise, would have lost their charm, nothing but regret and smudged mascara by this point.

Aidan was surprised to find Maggie at the helm in the kitchen, alone, putting together one of her fantastic breakfast casseroles. Wrapped in the sharp scent of coffee, she had showered, done her makeup, and proved exactly why she was the queen of this operation and not some hanger-on.

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