A Will and a Way

settled against him. A light fragrance clung to her skin. “Can’t you seeCarlson’s face when the will holds up and he gets nothing but a magic wand and a trick hat?”
    His shoulder felt more solid than she’d imagined. “And Biff with three cartons of matchbooks.” Comfortable, she chuckled. “Uncle Jolley’s still having the last laugh.”
    “We’ll have it with him in a few months.”
    “It’s a date. And you’ve got your shoes on my sheets.”
    “Sorry.” With two economical movements, he pried them off.
    “That’s not exactly what I meant. Don’t you want to wander off to your own room now?”
    “Not particularly. Your bed’s nicer than mine. Do you always sleep naked?”
    “No.”
    “My luck must be turning then.” He shifted to press his lips to a bruise on her shoulder. “Hurt?”
    She shrugged and prayed it came off as negligent. “A little.”
    “Poor little Pandora. And to think I always thought you were tough-skinned.”
    “I am—”
    “Soft,” he interrupted, and skimmed his fingers down her arm. “Very soft. Any more bruises?” He brushed his lips over the curve of her neck. They both felt her quick, involuntary shudder.
    “Not so you’d notice.”
    “I’m very observant.” He rolled, smoothly, so that his body pressed more intimately into hers as he looked down on her. He was tired. Yes, he was tired and more than a little punchywith jet lag, but he hadn’t forgotten he wanted her. Even if he had, the way her body yielded, the way her face looked rosy and soft with sleep, would’ve jogged his memory. “Why don’t I look for myself?” He ran his fingers down to where the sheet lay, neat, prim and arousing, at her breast.
    She sucked in her breath, incredibly moved by his lightest touch. She couldn’t let it show…could she? She couldn’t reach out for something that was only an illusion. He wasn’t stable. He wasn’t real. He was with her now because she was here and no one else was. Why was it becoming so hard to remember that?
    His face was close, filling her vision. She saw the little things she’d tried not to notice over the years. The way a thin ring of gray outlined his irises, the straight, almost aristocratic line of his nose that had remained miraculously unbroken through countless fistfights. The soft, sculpted, somehow poetic shape of his mouth. A mouth, she remembered, that was hot and strong and inventive when pressed against hers.
    “Michael…” The fact that she hesitated, then fumbled before she reached down to take his hand both pleased and unnerved him. She wasn’t as cool and self-contained as she’d always appeared. And because she wasn’t, he could slip his way under her skin. But he might not slip out again so easily.
    Be practical, she told herself. Be realistic. “Michael, we have almost five months more to get through.”
    “Good point.” He needed the warmth. He needed the woman. Maybe it was time to risk the consequences. He lowered his head and nibbled at her mouth. “Why waste it?”
    She let herself enjoy him. For just a moment, she promisedherself. For only a moment. He was warm and his hands were easy. The night had been long and cold and frightening. No matter how much she hated to admit it, she’d needed him. Now, with the sun pouring through the tiny square panes in the windows, falling bright and hard on the bed, she had him. Close, secure, comforting.
    Her lips opened against his.
    He’d had no plan when he’d come into her room. He’d simply been drawn to her; he’d wanted to lie beside her and talk to her. Passion hadn’t guided him. Desire hadn’t pushed him. There’d only been the basic need to be home, to be home with her. When she’d snuggled against him, hair tousled, eyes heavy, it had been so natural that the longing had snuck up on him. He wanted nothing more than to stay where he was, wrapped around her, slowly heating.
    And for her, passion didn’t bubble wildly, but easily, like a brew that had been left to simmer through the day while spices were added. One sample, then another, and the taste changed, enriched, deepened. With Michael, there the flavors were only hinted at, an aroma to draw in and savor. She could have gone on, and on, hour after hour, until what they made between them was perfected. She wanted to give in to the need, the beginnings of greed. If she did, everything would change. It was a change she couldn’t predict, couldn’t see clearly, could only anticipate. So