A/N: I really wanted to get this posted, as it is a continuation of the previous chapter. Huge thanks and hugs to Biff McLaughlin for her terrific beta work and suggestions. She turned this chapter around very quickly so I could post it today. Now I owe her many, many cookies! I hope you enjoy this second half of Natasja and Brynjolf's day. Please feel free to comment and/or review. I love hearing from readers. NSFW, by the way.
Into the Unknown
Brynjolf still held the book in his hand as he watched Natasha and Farkas. They were holding each other in what Brynjolf thought was the longest embrace he'd ever seen. He thumbed through the book during the long silence, then tossed it onto the side table with a thud. That should do it.
Hearing the loud clunk, Farkas finally let her go with a despondent smile.
Natasja looked into his eyes, and the confident look she had seen moments ago was gone. It was replaced with a glassy stare she'd seen once before; when she had told him she could not return his affections. Guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. "It is good to see you, Farkas." She stared at him, studying his face, and then she took his hand in hers. "The lycan curse still afflicts you, I see."
"It does. No one has made it back from the Glenmoril Coven alive, let alone with the head of a witch. Without your assistance, we are not quite as capable, it seems."
"I'm sorry I left as I did. But don't you try going there alone. Maybe I could…" She glanced at Brynjolf. He smiled at her and pointed to the fire to indicate he was keeping busy tending it. He looked uncomfortable, but pleasant enough. What is he thinking? Oh, shit.... She had communicated to Farkas with much more than just words, and she saw that Brynjolf knew what they were saying, even if he didn't understand it word for word. "Well, I'll see what I can do after I accomplish a few things here first."
"Have you come back to us then, Tajsa?" Farkas pressed her hand to his chest, wanting to make a stronger bond than their greeting allowed. "We miss you. I miss you."
Natasja let her hand slip from Farkas's. "I can't stay in Whiterun. But I'd like to visit you while I'm here," she whispered to him before moving away. "Why don't you tell me how business has been?"
Farkas looked beyond her shoulder, and catching Brynjolf's eye, tipped his head as a greeting. It was Brynjolf's chance to throw himself into the mix.
"Not the same without you," Farkas sighed. "But we have food on the tables and blades on our backs, so I can't complain."
Brynjolf approached them with arms outstretched. "Who is your friend, lass?" His eyes fixed on Natasja with a searching stare.
"Ah, how rude of me." She shook her head, then smiled and gestured toward her friend. "This is Farkas, and Farkas, this is Brynjolf, from Riften. I apologize for not introducing you two already."
"Riften? A seedy town as I recall."
"I find it has a lot of character," Natasja said as she smiled at Brynjolf.
Farkas was too busy giving Brynjolf the once-over to see her flirtation, noting his armor with a sneer. "Thieves Guild, eh?" He looked at her, trying to keep his voice steady. "Is that what you're doing now, Tasja? Stealing like a common criminal?"
Brynjolf's jaw tightened at Farkas's demeaning tone. Natasja seemed nonplussed, but Brynjolf saw her clench her fist after she ran her hand down the back of her head.
"Come on, Farkas. I've done what I've had to do, just as I did for the Companions."
"I suppose it's better than joining the Brotherhood, although not by much."
Natasja's face fell. Farkas's disappointment in her choices weighed heavily upon her once again. "I'm sorry you don't approve, but it is my choice."
"You're different, Tasja. What has happened to you that you'd fall in with the likes of treacherous thieves?"
"Farkas, please. Don't give me the innocent routine," she said softly, not wanting their conversation to escalate into an argument. Natasja shifted her weight restlessly from one booted foot to the other and raised both hands to comb her hair back. "We all have a dark side. You know this better than most."
She and Farkas were speaking as if Brynjolf wasn't even present in the room. Brynjolf moved closer, dislike for the werewolf driving him on. By the Divines, was he jealous? He'd never been jealous over a woman before. But this time, he couldn't ignore the truth - he was tired of hearing her apologize and sick of seeing her smile at the beast. Brynjolf placed himself between the two. "Natasja's had a long day and she's rather tired tonight. Maybe it's best you leave, friend."
Farkas scowled at Brynjolf. "You're no friend of mine. Back off, thief," he warned in a voice that Natasja scarcely recognized as his.
"Don't get your hackles up on my account, boys."
The statement had just left her mouth when Brynjolf's body went rigid with aggression. Natasja put her hand on his arm, and almost as fast as Brynjolf had flared up, he realized what he might be starting, and what it might be doing to Natasja. He reined in his anger and took a small step to the side, but kept a hand on his sheathed dagger.
The werewolf ignored Brynjolf completely. Natasja smiled at Farkas again, so charmingly that Farkas involuntarily smiled back.
"Ah, Tasja. I'm sorry. I just wanted to come here and see how my favorite Thane was faring." Farkas's eyes narrowed as he glanced at Brynjolf. "Come by and catch up soon."
"I promise I will." Natasja laid her hand on Farkas's arm, her touch almost weightless. Leaning forward, she looked into his eyes with her most persuasive smile. "And make sure Vilkas knows I'm coming, too. I need some of his expert advice," she said with a little sadness in her voice. As Farkas left, he waved to her and she responded in kind. "And watch out for spiders, Farkas!"
His face lit up at her sarcastic remark. "And you watch out for those damned crickets!"
Natasja closed the door with a mournful sigh. Her thoughts of Brynjolf's intervention fell somewhere between annoyed and flattered. Struggling to overcome the disapproving emotions simmering inside her, she turned and… Damn him and that roguish smile.
"Honestly, Bryn, I don't need you get involved in my affairs," she said, rather tersely.
His nostrils flared and the resentment in his narrowed eyes had changed to an emotion decidedly more... jealous. "Affairs?"
"Not those kind of affairs." She rolled her eyes. "Although obviously you realize Farkas and I were involved, but it was mostly platonic."
"You don't have to tell me about any dalliance with him."
"Fine! Then I won't," she snapped. "But I'm well known here, so don't get involved in my dealings with these people."
"Sorry, lass, but that's like asking me not to breathe. I'll stay back, in the periphery, but I'll make no promises where your welfare is concerned."
"Damn it, Brynjolf, you're not my father! You're not even-" She stopped. He looked as if he were about to laugh, but the smile on his face did little to hide the overprotectiveness in his eyes. "Look, I don't mind a little manly bravado, but I don't like the 'oh, you poor defenseless girl' innuendo!" She frowned, and he saw something building in her, something heated.
"You have got to relax Natasja. I do not, and will never, see you as helpless. But you are my protégé, if you recall. I am merely taking responsibility for you, keeping a woman, who will someday be a highly profitable thief, from harm."
"No one in Whiterun will hurt me," she said confidently. "And I'm already profitable."
"And valuable. And I intended that to be a compliment, so stop your pouting."
"I am not pouting. I'm just tired of your covert plans to -"
"Gods, woman!" he interrupted. "Can't you just be quiet for one bloody minute?" He cupped her cheeks tenderly, as if holding a fragile treasure, and stared into her eyes. "I have no covert plans, by the way. Unless you count this."
The press of his lips on hers startled her as he claimed her mouth hard and groaned into her lips as they parted beneath his. The kiss told her more clearly than words how valuable she was - to him. When the kiss ended, a sigh escaped her lips before she gazed at him. When she saw the look of possession in his dark eyes, for once, that look didn't bother her. Instead, it made her feel safe and secure. And it seduced her.
"Were you poor when you were young?" she blurted.
"What? You're asking if I was poor? After that kiss?" He laughed at her eager expression, then acknowledged the truth. "Actually my family was rather well off."
"I thought as much. Maybe you can tell me something about your childhood over supper. Do you have any stories that are entertaining and not tragic?"
Talos, she's putting my patience to the test. "I can think of a few to amuse you with."
Her smile lit up her whole face as she pulled him toward her and gave him a warm hug. "Thank you, Brynjolf," she whispered to him. Her whole body relaxed in his arms and he groaned softly against her, as if he too was fighting a battle that was hopelessly lost. "Thanks for everything." Her sweet sentiment was somewhat ruined by the sudden rumble of his stomach.
"Come on, lass. My stomach is complaining nearly as loud as yours now." Damn.
He held the door and shuffled her outside. Arm in arm, they walked the short distance to the Bannered Mare, until Natasja stopped in her tracks just before the stairs leading to the inn.
"Bryn, I almost forgot. We need to speak with Mallus Maccius."
He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes tightly. "Gods, I forgot too. You are a distraction, it seems."
She opened her mouth to speak when she heard someone rushing toward them.
"Psst!" Natasja spun around and saw an Imperial man matching the description of Maccius, who worked for the Honningbrew Meadery.
"You must be Maccius."
"I am. But I don't have much time. Here's what you have to do." He glanced around nervously, and then spoke quickly, his words streaming out. "Talk to Sabjorn so you can get the key to the basement of the meadery. Clear out the skeevers he's having a problem with and then poison the vat. That simple. Got it?"
"Yes, but-"
"Gotta run. Uh oh, here she comes!" Maccius fled as a woman came running toward him waving a wooden spoon in her hand and shouting obscenities.
"Strange man," Natasja said to Brynjolf. "Well, that seems easy enough."
"Aye, it does, but do you see what happens when you let a woman have the mistaken idea that she should have a say?"
Natasja punched him in the arm, hard. "Chauvinist!"
"Oy! That hurt. I demand an apology, woman!"
She stomped up the steps and into the Bannered Mare in silence.
Once inside, Ysolda immediately greeted Natasja. Ysolda, the annoying merchant whose only concern was to take over the lucrative inn should its owner, Hulda, die a sudden death. Natasja was mildly surprised Ysolda hadn't found a way to remove Hulda from ownership yet.
"Still hanging around and waiting for Hulda to drop dead?"
"Well, if it isn't Natasja Black-Nail, our fair Thane come to set this city to rights." Ysolda wasn't looking at Natasja as she spoke, but instead, eyed Brynjolf appraisingly.
Natasja tensed and bit her lip, and for a moment, Brynjolf sensed she was about to strike the woman, but Natasja's temper was fleeting. He relaxed then, just a little. "Well, good to see you, Ysolda, but-"
"And who is this handsome man you're with?" she interrupted.
"My name is Brynjolf," he answered, his smooth voice sickening Natasja. "It's a pleasure, lass."
"Oh, my dear man, you can come to my house and call me 'lass' any time. And here's the key," she said reaching into a pocket.
Brynjolf held up his hand. "No, no. That won't be necessary. I am… unavailable for such things."
"Is that a fact?" Brynjolf's eyes darted to his left to catch Natasja's eye, but she turned and scanned the inn for a free table. "It seems Natasja has you under her thumb the same as she had Farkas."
Sighing impatiently, Natasja began to move toward an empty table. "That is enough, Ysolda. You knew nothing of me then, and you know nothing of me now."
"I know how Farkas pined for you when you disappeared," she spoke up loudly. "But don't worry about him. He spends his time with more… respectable women now."
Natasja stepped in front of Ysolda with deliberate contempt. "Do not test me," she threatened with a fierce glare. "Now leave us." Ysolda grumbled in protest, but wandered off toward the bar all the same.
"What was all that about?" Brynjolf asked.
"She's just mad at me." She motioned to a table in the corner of the dining room.
He pulled out the chair for her and said, "My lady…." Then he watched as she sank into the chair with less grace than most women he'd seen. "And why is she mad?"
"Because I never helped her to trade sleeping tree sap with the Khajiiti. Nasty business, that is."
"She almost sounded like a scorned lover."
"Did she? I'm not familiar with scorned lovers," she said dismissively. If he was curious about her statement, he let it pass. And she was glad. Despite the fact that they'd discussed serious topics prior to their arrival, Brynjolf had been surprisingly calm. And she didn't want that to change, at least not yet. Brynjolf waved over a server and ordered lamb stew and ale for both of them. "I love lamb. How did you know?"
"I didn't. It was a guess," he said. "And I intend to pay for the meals as well, so don't get all riled up later."
"A proper courting then?"
"Perhaps. Or maybe it's just my way of thanking you for your… hospitality."
Her muscles tensed and she had to force herself to sit still. "The rooms are pretty cheap here should you find yourself without a roof over your head tonight."
"Relax, lass." He took her hand and threaded his fingers between hers. "I'm just trying to show you how tame I can be."
If she hadn't been so edgy, she might have laughed aloud. Just when she thought she was figuring him out, she realized she didn't really understand him at all. She knew that she wanted him to accept her though, and not be spooked by her. "I think you're about as tame as the north wind before a storm."
"You'll just have to wait and see."
She tried to ignore the heat beginning to spread from the hand he was holding to her wrist, up her arm, and straight to her face. With perfect timing, a server came by and set down two ales and two bowls of stew on the table, and she let go of him to take a long, refreshing drink. "So, regale me with a childhood yarn, Bryn."
"I'll give you a choice between two stories." He scratched his stubble thoughtfully. "The first is a sad and heartbreaking tale of a boy's first love for a priestess at the tender age of eleven. The second, and far more compelling story, is of a dashing young scamp's first time stealing a horse." Brynjolf was sure she would choose the story of his ascent to horse thief, so he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.
Natasja laughed at him. "I'm betting you think I want to hear about the horse. But… I think I'd like to know a little more about an innocent and tender-hearted young Brynjolf."
"Now, lass, I was more or less joking about that one," he said, leaning forward.
"Oh no, you can't back out now. You offered and I chose. So get going with the story while I'll eat my stew." His smile disappeared, his thoughts protected by his guarded expression. She lifted her hand and pondered if she should ask again, then rested her hand on top of his with a gentle smile. "Come on, Bryn. I'd really like to hear about you as a boy."
With so unassuming and yet so inspiring a touch, how could he refuse her? Another realization struck him hard then. Brynjolf was a fearless man normally, but Natasja's presence gave him a different kind of courage, a courage that inspired him to take a deep breath and let her inside his head, if only for a few minutes. "All right. I'll tell the story for you, lass."
She looked as excited as a child anticipating a treat. "Get on with it already."
"Well, as you can imagine, I learned to pickpocket at an early age, and one day I chose the wrong target. My mother."
"No, you didn't!"
"Aye, and it was a mistake that haunted me for years. She dragged me to the chapel to atone for my wicked sins. That's when I saw the most beautiful and angelic creature who walked the lands of Tamriel. She was a priestess of Mara with a heart of gold, and her name was Britta."
She listened and watched him, loving the sound of his voice, and deciding it was the most masculine voice she had ever heard, deep in tone and clear in resonance. He was never at a loss for words either, speaking articulately and always with an unmistaken air of command.
On and on he continued, observing that she listened to his every word with rapt attention, taking only a mouthful of stew when he stopped to sip his ale. It provoked in him a nagging envy of her time spent with Farkas; time he wished he had been a part of.
Smitten beyond reason, she gazed at him as the tale ended. "I love that story, Bryn. It's the kind of tale you tell your children when they're sitting on your knee and listening in silent awe." She saw a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was pleased with her compliment. Very pleased.
"Now you know the reason my pickpocket skills are lacking today."
"Yes, and I promise I will never make fun of you again." Her brows narrowed for a moment. "Does Delvin know that story?"
"Gods, no! And he never will." His eyes demanded her subsequent silence. "Isn't that right, lass?" Silence was all he got from her, accompanied by a mischievous grin. "I can see you need to be convinced of my veiled threat," he said with a hint of wickedness in his darkened gaze.
Ignoring the shiver of anticipation that shot through her, she thought about how he'd had unlimited possibilities growing up. Why he chose to become a thief puzzled her to no end. "Brynjolf, forgive me if I sound insulting, but you could have been anything you wanted in life. You're intelligent and intuitive, a natural leader. I can see you leading armies into battle or as a successful shopkeeper, or a bard even. Just about anything but a thief."
"I could say the same of you."
"But you had a loving family and the coin for education. I envy you that. I suppose you think a normal life would have become tiresome after a while. I never had normal, only… upheaval."
"I've had my share of troubles as well. My family wasn't always supportive of my hobbies."
"Hobbies? You're funny," she laughed. "I have to say the Guild members are a welcoming crew. I suspect that familial relationship is quite enjoyable."
"It is, and you are part of us now too. Never forget that, Natasja."
"I won't forget it, no matter where fate sends me." Her face tightened, and she pushed her bowl away and made to stand up. "For now, I think fate is sending me home to get some sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."
"Aye, I'm tired too."
"How tired?" she asked, giving him a half- smile, a mischievous glint in her eye.
He grinned and leapt from his chair, throwing down more than enough coin to cover their meals. "That all depends on you." He took her hand and led her out the door, and then to the side of the building. It was dark now, but she looked around anyway, on the chance that someone was watching.
A groan broke from him as he captured her lips in a feverish kiss. Desire, simmering for so long inside of him, burst to life.
She slid her hands up across his chest, along the strong lines of his neck, and into his hair. "Brynjolf, if you mean to tease me, please don't."
What he felt for her - what he wanted from her - was so much more than sex, no matter how remarkable the sex may be. He still wouldn't put a name to the emotion ripping up from his gut into his chest, making every breath an effort of willpower. And he feared what he did want. But he also reveled in it.
"I don't want just a few stolen moments tonight. I want you completely, and free of fear."
"I don't fear you. I fear…." Her throat closed, the admission on the tip of her tongue, embarrassing her.
"You fear being intimate with me?"
"It's been a long time, and it was quick and it… it only happened twice," she said, sounding surprised, as if he should have known.
"Then I will show you how it should be," he promised as he stroked her hair. "I'll make you feel as you've never felt before. Trust me."
"I do trust you." Staring into his self-assured eyes, she soon found herself being led away.
They raced to her home and she flung open the door, tangled in his arms. She'd left a lamp burning in the room, and only that faint glow kept the room from being totally dark. He shoved her inside and slammed the door behind them.
When his mouth closed over hers and his tongue teased her lips she felt a fire blazing through her so hotly that she must have radiated heat. But she fought the overwhelming passion that swarmed her senses and blurred her rational mind. "The spare room is at the top of the stairs on the left," she panted, and slowly turned her head to look away.
Before her eyes left his, he took her chin in hand, and forced her head up. "Do not turn away from me again," he growled, tangling his hands in her hair. He kissed her, sweeping through her mouth, sucking her tongue, igniting passion in her once more. With a moan, she leaned into him and kissed him until he pulled back. "No more teasing. We're well beyond that point now."
She made a sound that was half a moan of delight and half his name as she flattened her hands against his chest, enjoying the strong beat of his heart beneath her touch.
"Tell me what you want me to do," he said, command clear in his voice. Pulling her arms over her head, he pinned her to the wall with one hand. "Tell me, Natasja."
A wave of arousal raced through her body when he pressed into her. He kissed his way down her throat and she arched to give him better contact. He left hot kisses that spiked a shiver down her spine and she shuddered at the heavy glide of his hand up her thigh.
"Tell me what you want, Natasja, and say it now, or I swear to Talos, I'll walk out the door and never look back."
"No! Don't leave." She threaded her hands in his hair to pull him closer, and every thought she'd had of him poured out from deep within her soul. "I want more than the dream of you to keep me warm tonight," she whispered. "I want you to touch me. I want you to show me what it can be like, because I really don't know. I want you to hold me and tell me I matter to you. I want you to give me this one night…."
"Not just one night." Delight and relief flooded through him in equal measure. "I don't think I will tire of you any time soon. But, just to be clear…." He kissed along her jaw. "I will touch you… here." His tongue teased her lips farther apart until he finally took her mouth in a passionate kiss. He left her mouth to trace the firm, pale flesh of her neck. "And here." His hands slipped under her shirt and rose to the silky warmth of her breasts. "And here…"
Sensing the moment was right, he grabbed the lantern from the side table. "Now, come with me, lass."
Her knees went weak. She nodded, unable to speak as he led her up the stairs. Her breath came just a little quicker as they walked past the spare room, heading for the larger bed. Her bed.
Taking her by the arms, he pulled her closer, then caressed her face and kissed her. His hand slipped under her shirt again, moving up to stop just beneath her breast, his thumb gently moving back and forth on the tender skin. She met his gaze in the dimming light of the lantern.
"Brynjolf… I've never wanted a man as much as I want you. Never."
"And you will have me. But first…." With a reassuring smile, he pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor next to them, and she all but purred when his hands roamed over her flesh. "Shall I continue?"
"Definitely." She stayed still as his mouth moved over hers hungrily, stealing her breath as he made short work of her remaining clothes. Naked before him, he ran his warm hands over her skin, caressing her shoulders, her arms, her back. Shivers of delight washed over her, and she leaned forward to kiss him, her mouth hungry for his taste. Effortlessly, he lifted her up and carried her toward the bed. With a gentle touch, he placed her down and removed his clothes faster than she thought was possible. He lay down beside her, resting his head on his hand, and he gazed at her.
"If that's all you intend to do, then you can go right back to the Bannered Mare."
He had to smile at her impudence. "I want to remember how you look right now, naked and dreamy-eyed, so… willing. Have you any idea how hard it's been for me to hold you in my arms and yet not be able to do this?"
With the lightest of strokes, he traced a delicate path from her cheek, to her jaw, down her neck, caressing across her until he reached the peak of one breast. "… to touch you here," he said into her ear, his voice and his hands leaving her breathless. He squeezed and pinched, and felt her squirm and tremble beneath his ministrations. "...and here." Her eyelids fluttered while he stared at her, his eyes blazing with passion.
As she lay exposed, a moment of panic consumed her at the promise of what he was about to do. She closed her eyes and pulled him to her with soft murmurs of endearments, and he whispered her name as he kissed her face. She was not afraid, for she wanted this, wanted him too much to be truly afraid. It was the unknown that had her so uneasy.
She melted into him and arched her back, pressing against his body, his taut muscle and heated skin, his long, hard… Her eyes flew open. She gasped and wriggled against the hardness that rested between her legs. He kissed her, calming her and enflaming her all at once. His eyes bore into hers and she could not look away, no longer wanting to keep her emotions hidden from him.
He moved his hand down and touched her, and she gasped when she felt him explore the slick wetness between her thighs. Her anxiety quickly faded. With his free hand, he gripped her thigh, and raised it. She lifted it higher, and wrapped her leg around his hips, urging him against her body. Arms and legs tangled, hands and lips everywhere, seeking and touching, taking and giving, their movements a prelude of things to come. Lost in a world of pleasure, she was beyond conscious thought, her mind, her heart, and her soul focused intently on each new sensation his touch evoked.
She moaned as he ran his tongue around her ear and whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Natasja?"
She knew what he asked. "Yes," she breathed so low she wasn't sure if he heard her.
His arms tightened around her, his eyes still on hers. He heard.
She hooked her arms around his neck loosely and stared up into his eyes. His hand caressed her breasts, and his body surged with an ache to fill her. In one smooth, fierce stroke, he slid into her, hard and swift, and she cried out before she could stop herself. Her mouth sought his and they kissed, their lips and bodies fitting together perfectly as if they were two halves of the same whole. The sensations began to soar and she moved with him in a slow, sensuous push and pull of their bodies as he took her with long, sweet thrusts.
As their pace increased, their enthusiasm neared a fever pitch as they drew closer and closer to finding release. Awash in pleasure and blissful sensations and feelings that had no name, she thought she might faint. So she held onto Brynjolf's strong shoulders, the only stable element in her spinning world. She was overcome with waves of the most intense pleasure she had ever known as he strained his body against hers.
Her name fell from his lips like a chant of worship, his every muscle tightening as he shook and trembled with release. With a moan low in his throat, he lost himself in her. He heard her cry out his name as she clung to him and shuddered uncontrollably beneath him. He pulled her to him, feeling closer, more connected to her than he had to anyone in a long time. Breathing as heavily as she was, he held her, brushing kisses to her forehead and whispering her name until he collapsed next to her.
Languid and basking in the divine weakness that crept over her body, she curled up next to him. Brynjolf drew her into his arms and kissed her tenderly with the kind of kisses that would be burned forever into her memory. His fingers caressed her face, and she smiled at him.
"You're so quiet, lass. It's odd not to hear you yammering on about something."
She let go an uncharacteristic giggle as he rolled onto his back. She curled her leg over his thighs and stretched her arm across his bare chest. "Bryn, I am… you are… Gods, I don't know what to say."
She swore she could hear a smile spread across his face. But he was silent in the faint shadows, and she listened intently, waiting for his voice to confirm her thoughts.
"So that was good for you? Better than you expected?"
"Oh yes. So much better."
"As I knew it would be."
"You are an arrogant man."
"I am a happy man."
"You are? Truly?"
He moved onto his side and gave her a soft peck on the lips. "I am also an honest man. Never question anything I say to you again."
"I won't," she said. "And Bryn?"
"Yes?"
"Are you very sleepy?"
"No," he admitted, and added hopefully, "Do you have some mischief in mind?"
"In a manner of speaking," she said, and there in the dimly lit room, they grinned at each other in a moment of comfortable and blissful accord.