Page 207 of Fury

That grin of his returned. “I stick to pushups.”

That I’d like to see.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Definitely.” He went back to my bedroom and came out moments later wearing his jeans and a tight, long-sleeved T, a plaid flannel shirt unbuttoned over that, his boots in his hand.

I handed him his coffee and sat at my dining table.

“How’s Joshua this morning?” I asked.

He laughed, taking a sip of coffee. “He’s got to get back to Nebraska.”

“What happened yesterday, Finger? Why were you so concerned?”

“Yesterday was the beginning and middle of the end. It was a long time coming.”

“What did you do?”

“Punished the harlot.”

“Which of the many harlots?” I asked.

“Reich for starters. My National President, who was coddling him. Clearing the land, baby. Outside and in.” His dark metallic eyes stayed on mine as he drank his coffee.

I toyed with the edge of my beaded placemat. “You’re concerned about blowback?”

He picked at the blueberries in the cereal, popping them in his mouth. “Not usually. But things are different now. Now I have you again, and I’m not letting go, for anyone or anything.” He ate a spoonful of the granola.

“You have me?”

“Yes. And you have me.” He chewed, those iron eyes on me again, making my stomach seize. “Tell me you made this granola yourself.”

“I made this granola myself.”

“It’s real good. I’ve never liked cereal for breakfast. As a snack on the road, on hikes, yeah. But not for breakfast. Talented woman.”

He sat on the chair next to me and shoved on his boots. Leaning in close, he brushed a hand across my jaw and up the side of my face, but he didn’t go in for a kiss. In a tense, expectant silence, we stared at each other’s lips, eyes, taking each other in, the differences, the similarities, applying brushstrokes of color to a pencil sketch, tasting the wine we had bottled ourselves a long, long time ago.

A giddy coil unwound inside me. He was still my Justin underneath the deeper lines, the thicker beard. That dark gleam in those savage eyes was still there, still unfurling me, still filling me. I glided, sails full on his wind.

His features remained intent and he pulled me in closer, planting a lingering kiss on my lips, his tongue taunting mine. My breath caught, my lips stung. I dug my nails into his formidable biceps. Was it possible to be infatuated, enthralled all over again all these years later?

He brushed a finger over the compass with the flaming blue N on my chest. “I like that tat.” He planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Finger—”

He grabbed his colors from the chair and stalked out my front door. “Tonight, baby.”

59

I’d spent the night withLenore three times now. Slipping into her house, into her bed, holding her, pressing my body into hers. No words, only two or three soft kisses down her neck, and then sleep. A thick, full sleep with my arms full of her.

How had I done it all these years without her? Shut down, shut off. Would I ever feel satiated? I didn’t think so.

At dawn, I’d leave and ride back to Nebraska and get back to work. Back to planning.

Tonight, Lenore was awake. Waiting. A small orange lamp glowed at the side of her bed, a glass of amber liquor in her hand. I took it from her and drank. Brandy. Its sweet heat spilled through me.

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