Page 42 of Nothing More

“You…” Oh.

She scanned the room and found that it was empty save the two of them. “Where is everyone?”

“Miles went to his room. I sent Cassandra to bed. Bennet’s catching a couple hours on the futon.”

She frowned.

“It’s eleven-fifty.”

“It’s…” She glanced toward the clock on the stove, and her stomach lurched as she watched the fifty roll over to fifty-one. “Damn.” She looked back at him. “When did that happen?”

“Probably when you were spit-shining the entire kitchen.” He set the rag on the edge of the island. “It’s spotless, and you look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.” But she had to push a hank of hair off her face where it had worked its way out of her ponytail. “I’m…” She trailed off when she saw his expression. Lying to him truly was a waste of time and effort.

“Don’t you have a housekeeper?”

“You’re just assuming because I have money I can’t clean my own flat?”

More eyebrows.

“Fine. I usually have a housekeeper. I didn’t hire one in America, though.” God, she was tired. She stepped around him so she could pull out a stool and sit. “With things so up in the air, with you lot hanging around – protecting me,” she amended, when she saw his sour face. “I didn’t want a stranger in and out of the flat. It would have been too easy for an enemy to plant someone here.”

He nodded. “Smart.”

“It turns out that housekeeping is a good stress reliever.” She surveyed her gleaming kitchen, felt the soreness in her body, and wished her head wasn’t throbbing. “Usually.”

“Go to bed. You can’t do anything else tonight.”

She knew, in that instant, that he wasn’t talking about cleaning. She braced her elbows on the counter and pressed her face into her hands. “Ugh! I hate this! I bloodyhate it! I’m not some – some – helpless fucking maiden! Waiting on a knight to ride in and save me!” It felt good to vent; to curse and fuss and figuratively gnash her teeth.

She dropped her hands and looked at him, entreating, willing him to understand. “This isn’t me. I’m not – notafraidof things. Of anything. I’m the person who handles things. Who gets things done. Do you know, when Dad turned up in London dragging all his baggage with him, and my brothers came over, and Albie got blown up, and Fox realized he couldn’t live without Eden – do you know that I stole a bike and went with Tommy to conduct proper spy business? I was involved in the op! I was in the line of fire! And I didn’t even blink. I used to be – God, I used to bebrave.” She shook her head. “What’s happened to me?”

Toly frowned. Leaned a hip up against the counter and rested a hand on its surface.

“You’re getting fingerprints on my clean counter,” she pointed out.

“Better than an ear print.”

“Oh, God…”

“Stop.” Tone firm but gentle, a voice she hadn’t heard from him yet. His brows were furrowed again, but this time…this time it looked like concern, rather than temper. “You’re panicking.”

“Yes. I am. I think I’m entitled…no matter how disgusting it is,” she muttered.

His mouth twitched in a considering fashion…then he went to the fridge and retrieved the wine. Two fresh glasses – but not wine glasses. Low tumblers better suited for juice.

“Oh,” she said, “the glasses are–”

“I know where they are.”

She sighed, and accepted the drink he slid toward her.

He came to sit on the stool beside her, holding his own glass. He smelled like their dinner, and the hand soap in her guest bathroom, and whatever laundry detergent Miles had used to wash the sweats and shirt.

Again, she was struck by that unexpected sense of intimacy. The safety of it.

She took a sip of her wine, exhaled out a little of her tension, and waited. She could tell he had more to say, but she thought it might be best not to draw it out of him, this time. To let him go at his own pace instead.