From the Heart

couldn’t resist. There was rain in her hair, on her cheeks. He could taste it on her lips.
    He had never sensed this sort of abandonment in her before. It fanned his desire to a consuming fire. Couldn’t she see how much he loved, how much he needed, and have pity on him if nothing else? Dear God, he thought, as he devoured her willing mouth, he was desperate enough to take pity if it was all she could give him. Crushing her to him, Thorpe buried his face against her throat.
    Liv stepped back, drawing out of his arms to lean against a lamppost. Her heart was racing with a terrifying euphoria. The speed and force of her own passion left her shaken. And she had sensed something in him, a desperation that she didn’t dare accept.
    “Thorpe, I . . .” Swallowing, unable to admit what was happening to her, she shook her head. “I didn’t mean for that—It just happened,” she finished helplessly.
    Still throbbing, Thorpe went to her. “Liv,” he began, lifting a hand to her cheek.
    “No, please.” She closed her eyes. There was a tug-of-war inside her—pulling toward him, pulling away. Perhaps if she could forget everything, wipe the slate clean until that moment, then . . . But no, there was no pushing aside what had been. She wasn’t yet ready to start again. “I can’t,” she whispered as she opened her eyes. “I just can’t.”
    Instead of taking his hand from her cheek, he turned it over, letting his knuckles brush along her skin. It would have been impossible to have wanted her any more than he did at that moment. “Can’t,” he asked, “or won’t?”
    “I don’t know,” she murmured.
    “What do you want, Liv?”
    “Tonight . . .” She lifted her hand to his. “Just be my friend tonight, Thorpe.”
    There was a plea in her eyes that he couldn’t ignore. “Tonight, Liv.” He took her by the shoulders. “Friends tonight, but I won’t make any promises about tomorrow.”
    “Fair enough.” Some of the tension seeped out of her. After a deep breath, she smiled at him. “Buy me a drink? I’ve waited twelve years to see the inside of a London pub.”
    His hold slackened slowly. She caught a glimmer of the effort it took for him to release her. “I know a little place in Soho if it’s still there.”
    “Let’s go see.” Liv linked her arm through his.
    It was there—a bit more dingy than it had been seven years before. When he entered, Thorpe wondered if it were the scent of the same stale beer and tobacco that hung in the air.
    “It’s perfect!” Liv told him as she gazed around through the curtain of smoke. “Let’s get a table.”
    They found one in a corner. Liv sat with her back to the wall. Customers were shoulder to shoulder at the bar. From the familiarity, she concluded most of them were regulars. Off to the side, someone played a piano with more enthusiasm than skill. Several voices joined in song.
    There was talk, a constant chatter. A voice would lift now and then, so that she caught snatches of conversation. The theme ranged from the attack on the funeral procession to someone’s unsympathetic boss.
    “What’ll ya ’ave?” The barmaid who sauntered over gave them both a suspicious stare.
    “White wine for the lady,” Thorpe told her. “I’ll have a beer.”
    “Ooh, Americans.” That seemed to please her. “Doing the town?”
    “That’s right,” Thorpe told her.
    With a quick laugh, she walked back to the bar. “Got us a couple Americans, Jake,” she told the bartender. “Let’s ’ave some service.”
    Liv gave a low laugh. “How did you know about this place, Thorpe?”
    “I was on assignment a few years back.” He flicked his lighter at the end of a cigarette. “An American attached to our embassy here had delusions of being a master spy. He picked this place for the meet.”
    “Cloak and dagger.” Liv leaned forward, resting her elbows on the wooden table. “And what came of it?”
    “Zilch.”
    “Oh, come on, Thorpe.” Disappointed, Liv shook her head. “At least make something up.”
    “How about I infiltrated an international spy ring single-handedly and broke the story on the six o’clock news?”
    “Much better,” she approved.
    “Here you go, ducks.” The barmaid set the drinks in front of them. “Just whistle when you want another round.”
    “You know,” Liv continued when they were alone again. “You just about fit the image.”
    “Image?”
    “The tough, unflappable newsman.” Liv sipped at her