Stahl is delirious. What the hell did she give him? With alcohol, too. Was she trying to kill him? And he fell for her act like a lovesick idiot, once again. Wait, maybe not alcohol? A faint recollection nudges at him...
He imagines her serving him tea, with milk, to appeal to his strained senses. He is glad she is learning, she is taking her time. Tiny hope stirs inside him and he is bewitched. If he could only elicit the same in her...He wishes he could figure her out but she stays elusive, like quicksand. This Harlee is royal, hard, manipulative, a tease. And he thought he was wicked.
He is half-pleased and half-sad that she acts like she cares. She brings a salve and bandages and tends to his burns. He moves to the couch, just for a minute, he tells himself.
The warmth of the tea tastes sweet, just like the other Harlee he knows. The tender one that caresses so softly and fucks with his mind so deliciously well. The one that is kind and inviting, the one whose touches make him feel safe. He's been wary, so wary of being tied down, but with her it is not the same. He wishes so hard for this Harlee to stay with him, to connect...all he wants is a chance to love her, to show her what only he can. She may not ever let him, may not understand...He tries to sweep these thoughts away but they are heavy, like rocks in tar. And now he feels bitter and jealous and he knows it's not right. He's heard the old adage-something about setting your love free. Set her free...He is so scared. Now that he finally found Her, set her free? But he knows firsthand what his obsession can lead to, what disaster can jealousy bring. God in heaven, he will always remember and live with that guilt. His partner, his wife...How the hell could he do it? And for the first time he is sorry, so sorry for that. The time to pay for his past transgressions is coming, his boy's life and his freedom in question as well...
She is back from somewhere, no longer in black. Now it's a fuzzy gray robe, nothing glamorous but he loves it the same. He wonders what's underneath it but also doesn't care because it's Her. She kneels in front of him and he pulls slightly back. No wonder-the last time she touched him he was hit in the face. She touches his knee and His breath hitches. He covers her hands with his own, his elegant strong fingers finding their way. The burns hurt but the desire to touch her is stronger. He slowly brings her hands to his lips and kisses them gently. The electricity jolts them. She studies his face. Unspoken question hangs in the air between them. Does either one want this to end?