He just sat on the bed, numb. She loves me. That was the only thought his mind would register. As he recovered thought function, his mind raced through a thousand questions. Not questions about her, but questions about himself. Why had it never occurred to him that she might love him in return? Once he'd realized how he felt about her, he fought so hard to keep those feelings hidden, to deny they even existed, that he never gave a thought to how she felt about him. That she loved him, he was certain. That she was in love with him, he had never imagined. And why? He dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. He had no answer for that. Could he imagine her in bed with him? Hell, yes. He did damn near every night when he closed his eyes and dreamed. At first, he had fought against the dreams, losing more sleep than he could afford. But once he convinced himself that they were harmless, he had come to enjoy them. What was hard for him was waking up, knowing it had all been just a dream. Accepting that those dreams would never become reality was painful, but he was used to pain. And so he just went on, facing his dreams with frustration, being close to her during the day and drawing her closer at night, wishing they were more than just dreams. It never occurred to him that she might be going through the same thing. As insightful as he could be, as much as he studied human behavior and psychology, he had been unable to read the feelings of the one person in the world he was closest to...because...because he was so close to her. He had never looked at her objectively. He had never looked at her with the part of his mind he reserved for perps and suspects. Why would he? But...she loved him.
He sighed. Now what? What did she expect of him? He assumed she wanted to step into a more intimate relationship, but that was an assumption, and if he was wrong it could be very painful for him, in more ways than one. But she hadn't smacked the crap out of him when he'd kissed her earlier. No, she'd kissed him back. And he wasn't allowed to apologize again for kissing her...or for loving her. You're not in this alone, and you never have been. Not alone any more...he wondered what that would be like. There was not going to be any second chance for him because there was no one else for him. It was time he admitted that. Well...he sat up. There was only one way to find out what she expected. He had to ask her.
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She changed into sweats, then pulled his t-shirt back on over her sweatshirt. She loved wearing his clothes, not because they were big and comfortable, which they were, but because they were his. His scent clung to this shirt, and it made her feel closer to him. It was as close as she ever got, but she was hoping that would change. Their talk would get one of two reactions from him. Either he would knock on the door and he would be hers for good, or he would freak out again and she'd lose him forever. If he knocked on the door, she was sure he would be tentative, uncertain of what she expected from him. That was just Bobby. But she knew just how to make it crystal clear, even to him, exactly what she wanted. If he freaked out, she didn't know what would happen to him...to them. Her intuition, which was usually very close to the mark, told her that sooner or later, there would be a knock on the door. He had to have known for a long time now that he was in love with her, but having it thrown in his face, along with the realization that his feelings were not as hidden as he had thought, had caused his emotional stability, which could be rocky at best, to tumble out of control. With one sentence, Annie had knock his entire world off kilter. It was her job to right it back up because he obviously couldn't do it himself.
She turned off the lights and walked to the balcony door, looking out through the glass at the ocean. Moonlight reflected off the waves and she felt calmer just watching the crashing surf. No wonder he liked to come to the ocean. She could barely make out the swells beyond the breakers, and beyond that there was nothing but blackness. She shivered, but it wasn't because she was cold. No, she was finally warm again and she swore that she was going to tie him to furniture if he didn't quit going outside. She did have her handcuffs with her...stop it! she chastised herself. But she smiled. He liked to play and so did she. She found herself wondering how good he was at the game, but she didn't want it to be just a game. Not with him. What made her think he was willing to invest more of himself into them? The fact that one statement, spoken through the anguish of a broken heart, had sent him here because he had never taken the time to consider that she was as much in love with him as he was with her. Stupid idiot. Knowing that she did love him would definitely change things for him.
The knock was soft. Not a cop's knock at all. Hell, it wasn't even his knock. But she knew he was the one at the door. He wouldn't knock a second time. He was still very uncertain...
She crossed the room, turning on the desk lamp as she passed it, and opened the door. He was pacing in the hallway, again lost in thought. She had to struggle not to laugh. "Get in here, Goren."
He looked up, unaware that she had opened the door. "Oh, Eames. I..."
"Don't say it. I told you I'd be waiting, didn't I?"
"Yeah, you did."
"Well, then get in here."
He was ready to kick himself. Idiot squared, he scolded himself. He passed her, stopping in the middle of the room, not quite sure what to do next. Eames watched him, annoyed. "How the hell can you be so damn smooth with every other woman at One PP, and yet so lost with me?"
He slid his hand over his head, clamping it behind his neck. "You are not every other woman, and I'm not in love with any other woman. I, uh, I don't want to get myself smacked."
She fought down a smile. "If you don't want to get smacked, sit down."
When he moved toward the chair near the balcony door, she added, "On the bed, Bobby. You are not going outside again tonight."
He frowned. "Why not?"
"Because I'm damn tired of being cold, that's why."
She saw the smile crop up in his eyes, even though his words said, "Sorry."
"Are you? Are you sorry for throwing me in the surf?"
"Uh, no."
"Are you sorry for kissing me in the surf?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "I, uh...no."
She smiled. "Good answer. Now quit apologizing for nothing and sit down."
He sat lightly on the side of the bed. She was pleased beyond words to see that some of his natural spring and grace had returned. She sat beside him, watching him. His discomfort both amused and annoyed her.
He fidgeted awkwardly. He felt like a teenager again and he hated that. "Um, I did some thinking."
"Of course you did. Did anything come of it this time?"
"Kind of. I need to know..uh, where you...er, what you...aw hell..."
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Why was it so hard to ask her a simple question? Just a few simple words: What do you want me to do? Easy...if his mind would cooperate and let his mouth speak the words. His entire body tensed when her breath sighed past his ear. He felt his damn heart quicken. He almost fell off the bed when her tongue slid over his ear. "Eames," he muttered, his voice husky with emotion. "What...what do you..." He trailed off, unable to concentrate.
"What do I want? Just honesty. Simple honesty."
"Ok." She was nuzzling his neck now. "I...um...I can do...that..."
"Do what?"
"Whatever you..." Her lips trailed from his ear...along his jaw..."...want..." ...to his mouth...
His arms encircled her as her mouth claimed his and he gently eased her back onto the mattress. But he kept enough control to hold back, to take his time. He was going to savor...everything... He had told her sex was not love because it never had been, but now...now he used his skill to let her know exactly how much he did love her. For the first time in his life, it was love that drove him, and only love.
She knew and understood the phrase "exquisite torture," but she had never experienced it...until now. She had no idea how he did it, but his touch left a trail of fire burning across her skin. His lips and tongue set her whole body on fire. Whoever coined the phrase "burning passion" must have known him. Her mind went into overdrive, and she lost track of everything but him.
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She settled her body against his, exhausted and drifting in and out of sleep. His arm was snug around her and she rested her head against the curve of his shoulder. With his free hand, he continued to explore her body...the curve of her hip, the gentle swell in her abdomen that would never quite go back the way it was before she had given birth. He had not failed to notice the changes in her body when she'd carried her sister's son, and he was pleased that all those changes had not vanished. He nuzzled her neck and muttered sleepily, "This is the part where I wake up and I'm all alone."
"You've had this dream before?"
"Many times. It always ends the same."
"Does it? So what's going to happen when it turns out differently this time?"
"Hmm...I guess I'll just have to...be happy."
His fingers caressed her side, over her hip, along her thigh. She shuddered and he kissed her neck. "Aren't you tired?" she asked with a laugh.
"I was...but not any more."
"Oh? What changed?"
He let his fingers continue their journey as he answered, "My whole life."
She turned over in his arms, pulling him close into a hug before kissing him deeply. "Are you sure this is what you want?" she whispered into his ear, teasing him with a gentle nip to his earlobe.
"Absolutely. And you?"
His touch was burning again and she groaned. She didn't say a single word, but he understood her reply. There was no way he could misinterpret the response of her body to his. Body to body, heart to heart, they were one.
