There was still a faint whiff of strawberries in the air, maybe a subtle note of chocolate mixed in. A silly indulgent cliché, but it always felt right, with him.
The room was dark, the light-cancelling drapes almost fully drawn against the afternoon sunlight. They were in their own little world, thirty stories above the street. Sharon stretched one arm over her head and luxuriated in the feeling of nowhere to go, no place to be. It was an illusion, but one he was so good at creating.
"I have to say, Sharon, motherhood suits you." Hazel eyes twinkled as her lover's hand stroked her cheekbone with a light finger. "It always has."
She turned her head and caught the exploring finger with her lips. "It's different now. I'm different, the demands are different…."
"You're still the archetypal mama bear, though. I can hear it when you talk about the young man."
She turned over on her stomach, resting her head on her folded arms. He began a light massage over her shoulders and back, pressing the trigger points that he'd always been able to find so easily.
"Did I change, after the children were off to school? Not being a full-time mom anymore?"
The man was silent beside her for a second, his hand coming to a stop. "A little. You were more carefree, I think. More daring." He bent and kissed a spot between her shoulder blades, his long fall of still-black hair tickling her skin. "But you're marvelous either way."
"You are, too. You've been marvelous, too." Sharon rolled on her side and glanced at the clock. Time was moving on, in more ways than one.
His hand left her back and he turned to face her. His features were only just visible in the filtered light. He'd aged, of course, but his cheekbones were still high, his brow still elegantly sculpted. He'd been breathtaking, the year they met. He still was, and yet….
"Oh, pet, I don't like the sound of that." His smile was gentle as he brushed her hair back from her face. "Feels like I'm about to be spoken of in the past tense."
"We always knew this would just be…this." They'd agreed on that from the start. A flight in, a telephone call, a few hours, sometimes a night. And twice, a few days' getaway, miles and miles from LA.
And promises of honesty, laced with the realities of both their lives.
"And 'this' has been perfect, hasn't it?" He twirled a strand of hair around his finger. "A break from dead bodies, ruined careers, all that unpleasantness." She smiled. She'd been a break for him, too. One of the handful of places he could be himself, unworried about snapping cameras and microphones shoved in his face, the same questions over and over.
"It has…it really has. But you always said when the time came, we'd wish each other well, no hard feelings."
His eyes seemed to droop at the corners. "It's not Jack, is it? Lord, love, I could take anything but that."
He'd seen the worst of what Jack had done to her, the hits her self-confidence had taken as she'd learned about one track disaster, one bookie nightmare after another.
"No, not Jack. He actually came back around a while ago. I don't think I told you, but it was the same routine. He set up his own personal circus, then…." She fell silent, thinking of coming home to an empty apartment and his letter.
"Did his typical disappearing act?" He gave a knowing chuckle.
"Of course. As usual." She shook her head, her hair feathering against the pillows. "No, it's someone I…I'm not sure exactly how I feel about." She pursed her lips. "I mean, I do, but it's complicated."
"Oh?" He raised one immaculately groomed eyebrow. "Do go on. Complicated in what way?"
"He's under my command. I'm his boss." The words sounded impossible, loosed into the air like that.
The man next to her gave her a puzzled look. "Handy, that, you getting to see him every day." The puzzlement cleared. "Oh, this is a quandary for you, isn't it? Fraternization and rules of that sort?"
"Exactly. We shouldn't…I shouldn't…but I do. I do feel something for him." Sharon blinked against the sudden welling in her eyes.
He sat up and reached for the tissues by the bed. He'd never been one for tears. She'd never been one to show that side of herself.
"Oh, what's this, then? The brave take-no-prisoners Sharon Raydor having a cry?" He dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. "Can't have that, can we?" He tapped her nose. "It sounds like you'd best do something about this."
"I am."
"Oh." He folded the tissue. "Am I the first step, in doing something about your new fellow?" He leaned back on his elbows, a bit crestfallen, maybe, but still looking at her with as much approval and respect as ever. She rested her hand over his heart, feeling its thick drubbing, slow and steady.
"I want to be able to tell him about me, about my life, and not have a bunch of secrets hanging between us. Even if nothing ever comes of this."
He covered her hand. "If nothing comes of this, he's a goddamn fool." He put on a face of mock fierceness. "Sure he's good enough for you? True-blue, stand-up guy, all that?"
She couldn't hold back the giggle. "Yes, he's all of that." She sobered. "It's just that I'm not sure how to make it work, or if it can work. I don't want to lose him as one of my division's detectives. And I don't want to move to yet another department."
"You've been giving this a lot of thought, haven't you?" He sat up and switched on the light, rustling around the nightstand until he found his cigarette case and lighter.
"You can't smoke in here, you know." She sat up as well, getting her glasses and putting them on.
He snorted. "I can smoke anywhere I damn well please. What, you're going to issue me a citation or something? You think a posh joint like this won't have me back over a few—"
"Don't." She placed her fingers over his lips. "I hate that word."
He lit up and took a deep drag, letting the smoke out in perfect rings. "Oh, Sharon…I do adore you, you know." His hazel eyes became dark and serious. "You're doing the right thing, pet. Life is too short not to follow your heart."
"Thanks for understanding," she said, giving him the smile of an old, dear friend.
"Although, if you want to throw me a bone and tell me he's no better between the sheets than I am, I wouldn't mind hearing that." His grin was back to devilish. He was becoming his public persona again.
She slid out of bed and began pulling her clothes back on. "I have no idea."
"Oh, my God, Sharon. All this and you haven't had a go at each other yet?" His pretended outrage made her smile as she hooked her bra.
"I told you, there's a lot to figure out first." She gave him a devilish smirk of her own. "Although I have danced with him, and if that's any indication…" she hummed suggestively.
She finished dressing in silence, gathering her things as he watched and smoked. He didn't speak until she picked up her pocketbook.
"Give us a kiss, then, love. For old times' sake." His lips were as cool and dry as hers when they met for the last time.
"All these years…" she wanted to say thanks for being there, thanks for not asking too many questions, thanks for never judging her. "All these years" was all she could manage.
"Send me a note when it's all done and dusted, let me know you're happy and all that, will you?" He lifted her hand to his lips. "I wish you—and this fellow—all the luck in the world, Sharon." He gave her hand a squeeze.
"See if there's any dregs in that bottle, would you, dear?"
Sharon turned to the ice bucket. The bottle of sparkling cider had a half-glassful left. She poured it into one of the crystal flutes and brought it back to the bed.
"What's this fellow's name, anyway?" he asked.
"Andy. Andy Flynn." She felt the slightest tingle and realized she liked saying his name like this, away from work.
The man in the bed raised the glass. "To Sharon and Andy. May they find a way to be together that doesn't bring the LAPD crashing down around their heads."
She nodded, then paused, her hand on the door.
"Take care, you."
"Always do, love. Go on, then. Let me enjoy the view one more time."
Sharon gave her hips a little extra sway as she walked out the door.