They came down a short, narrow hall into one largish room that served as the entire house. It had been fixed up with some kind of portable dividers on wheels into a sleeping area with a neatly made bed (Pete, Claire thought, was a much better housekeeper than Shane ever had been), a clean little kitchenette with a two-person table, and a small living area with a couch and TV. Not much else, except books. Pete had stunning amounts of them, lining every inch of the walls in custom-built cases. Shane whistled when he looked around, and shook his head. 'Okay, I thought I knew Pete, but I would have pegged him for a magazine guy, at best,' he said. 'And only Sports Illustrated, at that. Think he's read all these?'
'I would have,' Claire said. She wasn't very often jealous, but somehow, this little, neat, clean place seemed perfect to her. The only thing that had its own separate walls was the bathroom, tucked into a corner - it held a toilet, sink, counter, tiled floor, and corner shower. She peeked in, feeling like an intruder and, at the same time, a tourist in somebody else's life. She liked it. Pete looked like an orderly, calm, interesting kind of guy.
'I'm going to have to give him shit for all this,' Shane said, as he wandered around. 'He lives alone and makes his bed? Who does that?'
'People who like things neat?'
'It's not natural.' Shane turned as she walked toward him. The light from the windows on the sides of the house caught his face, and she winced a little at the sight of the bruises - they were getting spectacular now, but probably didn't hurt nearly as much as before. He looked a little tired, she thought, and although he was trying not to show it, a little worried, too. He knew how alone they were here, away from home. And how vulnerable. Plus, he'd be missing his weapons, most likely.
'So,' he said. 'Here we are.'
'Yes. Here we are.' She didn't give him anything more than that, and he continued to watch her warily, as if he was no longer sure what she was thinking. She took a step closer, and then another one, until she had to look up into his face. His brown eyes were half closed, and she knew that look ... sharp with longing.
'Claire - we're both in the same place, but ... are we together?'
It was a brave question. A lot of people wouldn't have asked it, Claire thought; it would have been easier to just assume things, pretend, gloss it over. But that wasn't Shane. And he didn't flinch when she said, 'I want to be. Do you?'
'I can safely say that there is nothing I want more in my life,' he said. 'Problem is, you have to want it too. Both magnets have to attract.'
'Opposite poles,' she agreed, and took that last step forward, until she was pressed against him. His arms slowly went around her ... not like they had on the street, full of confidence and strength, but testing her. Seeing what she was going to do. 'We could talk all day about magnetism and poles and the Pauli exclusion principle and spin glass effect, or I could just do something about it.'
She rose up on tiptoes and kissed him. The second their lips met, she felt his tense muscles go slack, and she could almost feel the relief that washed through him. And the laugh that vibrated against her lips from his. 'I love it when you talk dirty physics,' he said, and then the tension was back in his muscles, but it was the good kind, and he picked her up and collapsed backward to Pete's neatly made bed, which bounced and creaked in protest. Claire let out a surprised burst of laughter, too, and straddled him to lean over and kiss him again, deeply, sweetly, with a core of heat that never failed to scorch but didn't burn. It wasn't that she'd forgotten how amazing this was, but that her body had deliberately hidden the memory from her to protect her from the longing, and now all those nerve endings were awake, remembering, and craving it again. His big hands held her shoulders, then slid up to caress her face in warmth, and as she unzipped his hoodie and pulled his T-shirt up, he shivered and arched against her. He let out a sigh as her own hands moved up over his abdomen and up to his chest. His skin felt amazing - soft and warm as satin against her palms.
He hooked a finger on the collar of her shirt, just about where the buttons started, and as she sat up, he said, 'Mind if I help you with this? Because I think I need to see what you're wearing under there.'
She smiled and moved his hand away, and unbuttoned the first button. 'There,' she said. 'How's that?'
'I think I need at least - how many buttons do you have? Six more.'
She nipped gently at his full lower lip. 'Only if you take off the shirt.'
He sat up as if he'd been jolted with a cattle prod, and the hoodie and T-shirt came off so fast she was afraid he'd pull a muscle. Oh God, he was lovely; even with the bruises, which made her ache inside, he was so incredibly gorgeous. It made her breath catch in her throat. So did the luminous light in his eyes as he settled back down on the pillows.
'Your turn,' he said, and put his hands behind his head. 'Six buttons.'
'Five?'
'Only if you don't want to keep that last one on the shirt.'
She smiled, and started unbuttoning. One at a time, slowly, watching the fire intensify in his eyes, feeling his body tensing under hers even as he tried to look utterly relaxed.
The cool air kissed her shoulders as she slipped off the blouse. 'Pretty,' he said. His voice sounded different now, low and rough as a cat's tongue. 'I guess I have to see if that bra has a matching set of panties.'
It did.
Neither of them stayed on very long, though.
Lying there, drowsy and warm in Shane's arms, Claire couldn't imagine how she'd walked away from him. From this. She'd had lots of frank discussions with the more worldly Eve about sex, about what could be good and bad about it. The worse, Eve had always said, was when the guy was all about getting his own thrills and treated the girl like a posable doll. Sure sign of a going-nowhere relationship.
Shane wasn't like that, not at all. It was a collaboration, and a partnership, and he left her feeling joyous and sated and utterly, utterly calm. They had plenty to worry about, but not here. Not between them. She made a sleepy, happy sound and pressed herself closer to him; his arms were around her waist, and he made a solid, hot blanket that pressed against her back. Sometime during the afternoon they'd managed to pull the covers up over them, which was good, because their clothes were somewhere scattered on the floor in entirely random order.
Shane kissed the back of her neck, drawing a delighted shiver. 'I missed you,' he whispered.
She giggled a little. 'I could tell. That first time was a little bit fast.'
He groaned. 'You're killing me.'
'Only a little. The second was much better.'
He licked her ear, which made her let out a little shriek of protest, and she twisted around to face him. He propped up on one elbow, looking down at her. His hair was a mess, and she pushed it out of his eyes. 'I love you.'
'I know.' He took her hand in his, and kissed the palm; his lips felt warm and damp and soft on her skin. 'And I let you down. I know that. I'm not saying I won't make mistakes; I will. But I promise that I won't make that particular one again.'
'Fair enough,' she said. 'I make plenty of mistakes, too, you know.'
'You mean, besides getting involved with me?'
She shook her head and kissed him. It was a drowsy, lazy kiss this time, full of honey and joy. 'I wish it could be like this. Just ... this. All the time.'
'Life doesn't work that way, you know that.'
'What if it did?'
'We'd be living in a cardboard box and starving to death?'
'Wow, you really know how to take the sexy away, don't you?'
'It's a gift.' Shane's fingers stroked down her back, then up, in a mesmerisingly random pattern. 'We should probably get up and make some dinner. Plus, I guess we should wash the sheets before Pete comes back. Seems like good manners.'
'I'm amazed you even thought of it.'
'I'm on my best behaviour.'
'Mmm, I could easily argue with that. Oh ...' She caught her breath, suddenly, because he tried to prove her right. He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, then her mouth, and then the lazy peace turned intense again, for a while. This time, though, they were truly exhausted, and it took at least another half an hour of sleepily murmuring to each other before Claire finally managed to convince him to get up, dress, and help her strip the sheets and pillowcases from the bed. Pete had one of those tiny little washer/dryer combo units tucked in the corner, and she put everything in with detergent, then showered and left her hair wet as Shane squeezed in after she stepped out. There wasn't room for two, which was probably good, considering how sore her muscles already felt. A good kind of sore, but still.
They were both dressed, if just barely, when the door rattled, the lock turned, and Pete stepped inside. He flipped the deadbolt behind him, and stopped dead at the end of the hall. Claire and Shane were sitting innocently on the couch; she was reading one of Pete's books, a science fiction classic by Isaac Asimov she'd been meaning to find, and Shane was flipping channels on the TV.