He was waiting for her impatiently when she came back outside through the ambulance bay, the habitual wringing of his gloves. He shook his head when he saw her and with a hand on the small of her back he led her towards his bike.

"You're riding. We'll come back for the Cutlass in the morning."

At the bike, helmeting up, she impulsively went on tiptoe and kissed him. "I don't know how you did it, but thanks for appearing like my guardian angel."

"Went by the house looking for you. What's with the For Sale sign?"

"I'll tell you all about it later." His expression seemed unreadable. "Okay?"

He nodded and then she was seated tight behind him and as he accelerated out of the parking lot she felt herself become solid again, her heart beating in time to the rubber whapping of the tires on the tarmac, her lungs working with the wind whipping around her. She marveled at this. As an extension of the motorcycle, he was holding her together, keeping her from flying apart, losing her center. She wrapped her arms around him, cleaving herself to his back. The massive Harley beneath them, joining them in a kind of trembling ecstatic feeling of endlessness. There was no fear, no panic.


She had the front door key in her hand and he was right behind her. She had not left the porch light on and as she tried to fit it by feel into the deadbolt, his hand came around her body, his other hand steadying them against the door and he pulled her hard up against him, his mouth at the nape of her neck. His hand inside the waistband of her pants, fingers reaching down inside her panties.

"I missed you something awful, girl."

She felt the key slide home, felt his urgency against her hips. She turned the knob and let them into the foyer, dropping her bag, toeing out of the clogs, turning in his arms as he shut the door behind them.

"It was only one night," she said.

He had her against the wall, hands everywhere, his mouth hot on her throat, her face, beneath her chin.

"Tha' right?"

She was shimmying out of her scrub pants, he was pulling her top over her head. "It felt like forever," she gasped.

He found her mouth, all tongue and teeth. She reached between them for his belt, pulling it out of the buckle, unbuttoning the jeans, pushing them down over his hips. Then he was reaching down for her thighs, pressing her shoulders hard against the wall behind her with the crush of his body. She could feel how strong he was as he cupped her ass and she wrapped her legs around his waist and he groaned, a deep sound of pure lust. It shot through her ears and down the length of her spine, exploding in vibrant color between her legs. And then he was inside her, thrusting with huge movements of his thighs, bending knees, bracing himself against her, his forehead grinding into her collarbone.

"Oh, god," she moaned. "Fil, Fil, Fil." She could no longer control her voice, sing-songing his name, arching against him. Giving herself entirely over to him.


They were sitting on the floor of the foyer, clothing scattered around them. The digital clocks on the stove and the coffee pot in the kitchen acting nightlights. She was slotted between his knees, back to his chest. His jeans were twisted around his ankles. He was still breathing hard, arms around her, face down into her shoulder. She leaned forward, pulling at the jean material until she found one boot and began unlacing it. His fingers were tracing each vertebra in her bowed back.

"Taking care of you is becoming a full time job."

"Taking care of me?" she teased. "What exactly are you referring to?"

He laughed. She had the boot free and he was kicking out of it. She turned to the next boot.

"Well, aye, there's that, too."

She pushed the second boot off his foot, then tugged the jeans off him. The socks looked ridiculous, so she rolled those off as well. She turned and with a deft movement was straddling him, her knees up against the baseboard.

"Really?" He was grinning wolfishly at her. He hung his head sideways. "I'm knackered."

"No, you're not," she said, and began kissing him with deep French kisses. Tonguing out of the corners of his mouth, licking at his teeth.

"A'right then. But I gotta get off the floor, girl. I'm like a hundred years older than you and this is gonna cripple me."

She could feel his cock stirring to new life beneath her and she murmured appreciatively into his mouth.

"You're gonna kill me, Tara."

"No one ever died from fucking on the floor, Filip."

"I'm half-dressed here. But I'm thinking you like that, aye?"

She laughed then stood, steadying herself on his shoulders. He leaned between her thighs and bit the soft skin above her knee. Then he pulled himself to his feet.

"I'm starving," he told her.

She walked into the kitchen, flicking on the light. "I could eat."

He pulled his jeans back on but shrugged out of the cut, walking into the living room and dropping his clothing and accouterments into a pile on the carpet. She walked past him, down the short hallway, into the bedroom. She reappeared wearing a skimply silk nightshirt.

In the kitchen, she began setting food onto the counter. Dialing the stove top on, setting a fry pan onto the hob. They began working seamlessly together. Within quiet long minutes they had the table set with steaming plates of breakfast.

"So, that sign. And you walking off a panic attack. What's the story?"

"I want to sell this house. It's full of ghosts and truly terrible memories."

He nodded, eyes narrowed. "You leaving Charming?"

She looked at him, sucking her lower lip between her teeth.

"Fine. We'll get to that later. What about the hospital. And what were you doing there? You couldn't wait for me?"

"Wait for you? I didn't know you were coming by tonight. This morning, actually. You said all weekend. I had to get out of here. I don't stay here if I can help it."

"I shoulda called."

"Or texted."

He scowled. "Last night was hard without you. I got myself completely twisted."

She raised her eyebrows slightly.

"It was not good. Still feeling it in my head bone." He forked the rest of the eggs into his mouth. "Opie and Lyla got themselves hitched."

"Really?"

He nodded, a sideways movement of his head.

"Is that not a good thing? Poor Donna. I liked Lyla. Seems a bit soon, though."

"Things are heating up much faster than I would have thought possible. It's been a fucking madhouse for two days. These guys, they just brought mayhem. Mayhem."

She pushed her half-eaten food away from her, towards him. He indicated a piece of toast on her plate. She nodded permission.

"I don't want you in the Life, right. You don't want to be in the Life, I know tha'." He swallowed, looking at her, his eyes dark and broodingly serious. "This is going to be feckin impossible."

"Not impossible."

She stood and retrieved her bag, she tossed him a two-pack of his brand, cellophaned together.

"Oi, thanks. You're my guardian angel," he said, wiping up the last of the eggs with his toast. He pushed the chair back onto its rear legs and opened one of the packs. She sat back down and he handed her the lit cigarette, lighting another for himself. "About that."

"I don't want to talk about that. Really. Please."

"You're high maintenance."

"Like a girl from Diosa?"

He choked coughing, smoke streaming out of his nostrils. "Christ. No." He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. "I'm a simple bloke, Tara. I don't really take to complicated things."

She was nodding, smoking. "You take care of people, Filip. It's in your nature. You're far from simple. And you do like very complicated things, such as that Harley out front. The MC politics. You're good at complicated."

"I never had a complicated woman. Never took good care of any woman I did have, either."

"What are you saying?" She could feel her blood thicken, the wings falling from her feet, her trigger finger itching. He was calling out a fight response in her.

He stood, running the butt under the sink faucet, tossing it into the garbage, facing away from her. "I don't know what the fuck I'm saying." He turned walking back to her, pulling her up to her feet. She tossed the cigarette into the sink. He pulled her into his arms, hands on her hips, leaning back to look into her face. "You're making my life complicated. That's what I'm saying."