"That's not true. You're not a total idiot savant."

"Coming from you, I take that as a compliment."

Rainie exited the closet. He could tell she was happy to be home because there was an extra bounce in her step, a spark of energy that had previously been missing. She'd changed from her T-shirt into a blue chambray button-down. As she walked toward the kitchen, he found himself studying how the soft, well-worn cotton flowed over the curve of her hips.

She is beautiful, he thought, and this time around, the realization stunned him. She was not just good-looking or attractive or sexy. She was beautiful. Beautiful in jeans and a cotton shirt. Beautiful in the way she burst past two homicide detectives at a Philadelphia crime scene simply because she knew that he needed her. Beautiful in the way she stood up to his fellow FBI agents even though she felt uncomfortable and outclassed. Beautiful in the way she was still beside him, when God knows that his life was disintegrating quickly and it would be so much easier to walk away.

She'd told him once that she didn't know anything about relationships or commitment. She was the most loyal, trustworthy person he knew.

"Rainie," he said quietly, "I messed up this morning."

That grabbed her attention. She froze with one foot in the kitchen, and the other in the bedroom. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"I was having the best dream, probably the first good dream I've had in months. We were together, on a beach, curled up on white-hot sand. I remember I was playing with your hair. We weren't saying anything. We were simply… happy."

"That had to be a dream."

"Then I woke up and you really were beside me."

"Was I snoring?"

"You weren't snoring."

"Phew." She made an exaggerated motion with her hand as if wiping sweat from her brow. "Here I was sure that I'd been snoring so loud, you'd had to run for your life."

"You had your head on my shoulder," he said softly.

"And your arm around my waist. And your leg… it was curved over my thigh."

"I get cold when I sleep."

"It was… it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me."

"Oh, fuck you, too, Quince." He blinked his eyes in shock. Rainie stalked toward him. Her cheeks were flushed, her finger making dangerous, jabbing motions in the air. Somewhere along the way, his little speech had obviously pushed the wrong button because she was definitely pissed off. Run, he thought immediately. Where? The place had no walls.

"I am not nice!" she spit out. "Can we get this straight? I am never nice."

He watched her finger warily. "Okay."

"I did not crawl into your bed to be nice. I did not curl up beside you to be nice. And I did not fall asleep to be nice. Got it?"

"I didn't mean – "

"Yes you did. I reached out to you. I made a huge leap forward for me. And you not only took the cowards way out this morning, but you're taking the coward's way out now, by reducing my act of caring to an act of pity."

"Are you going to stab me with that thing?"

"With what?"

"Your finger!"

"Quincy!" she yelled, throwing both hands into the air. "Stop being a smartass. For God's sake, you're acting like me! Snap out of it!"

He fell silent. After a moment, so did she. "I might have panicked this morning," he admitted.

"There you go."

"You could be gracious about this."

"No, I couldn't. Keep talking."

"It's possible," he said softly, "that I fell back on old habits. I woke up, saw you there, liked having you there, and… Rainie, now is not a great time to be someone I care about. People I care about are suffering notoriously short life spans."

"Quincy, boyfriends apologize, shrinks analyze. Which are you?"

He blinked. "Damn, you're getting good at this."

"Come on. Mitz could call at any time and then well have to get going. So apologize and make it snappy."

"I'm sorry," he said dutifully.

She wiggled her fingers. "For… .?"

"For sneaking out of bed like a thief in the night. For not waking you up first. For pretending it didn't happen, when spending the night with me was a monumental step for you and I appreciate your growth – "

"Okay." She held up a hand. "Quit while you're ahead. Any moment now, they'll be giving you your own talk show."

"Rainie, I liked waking up with you by my side."

Her hands finally came to rest in front of her. She gave him a sideways glance. "I kind of… I kind of liked it, too."

"I didn't snore?" He couldn't help himself. He took a step forward. She didn't move back.

"You didn't snore," she said.

"No tossing and turning, stealing covers, keeping you awake all night?" He kept approaching. She still didn't move back.

"Actually, you were rather cuddly. For a fed."

He was now only an inch away from her. His nerve endings had flared to life. He could smell the faint scent of her soap, the apple-ish fragrance of her shampoo. He could see every nuance of her face, the direct line of her gaze, the firm resolve of her lips, the way her chin was up as if preparing for a fight. Now was not the time, he reminded himself. Carl Mitz could call at any moment. The world could end.

He wanted to touch her so badly, his fingertips burned. She challenged him. She pushed him. And more than all that… She made him dream of white-hot sands when for so long he'd been a shell of a man, methodically analyzing humanity and sacrificing his own somewhere along the way.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered.

"Bad things happen, Quince. Someone I respect explained it to me once. We can't stop all the bad things in the world. We can simply try to enjoy the good."

"If I lost you…"

"You would get on with life," she said bluntly. "So would I. We're practical people, Quincy. And we're tough, and we're going to make it through this. Now stop talking. Stop thinking, stop analyzing, dammit, and kiss me."

He obliged.

His first touch was light. In spite of her bold words, he knew she was nervous. He could feel the tension in her spine as his hand settled on the small of her back. He could feel the finite hesitation as she tilted back her head and offered her lips. She expected him to dive right in, and she had steeled herself for the attack. He wasn't interested in a stoic or a martyr, however. He understood her history. Sex for Rainie had been about pain and punishment. Even if she thought it would be easier that way, he wasn't going to rush.

He brushed the corner of her mouth with his lips. He raised his left hand, and feathered back her hair. Her eyes were squeezed shut. He ran the ball of his thumb over her silky eyelashes.

"That tickles," she murmured.

He smiled. "Open your eyes, Rainie. Look at me. Trust me. I won't hurt you."

She opened her eyes. The gray depths were wide, translucent. He had never seen eyes quite like hers, the color of smoky, midnight skies. He bent lower, his gaze still locked on hers, and kissed her left cheekbone.

"Have I ever told you how much I love your profile?" he murmured. "Such a stubborn jaw and then these dramatic cheekbones.…"

"I look like a Picasso painting," she said.

"Rainie, you're the most beautiful woman I know." His lips came down and found her mouth. This time her gasp was unmistakable. Her spine relented. Her hands curved round his head. Her hips connected with his.

She had full lips, he'd appreciated that the first time he'd seen her. And he'd been struck by the dichotomy of her hard-boned face coupled with an undeniably sinful mouth. Men dreamed about lips like these. Men paid money, wrote sonnets, and sold their souls for lips like these. She should never have gone thirty-two years without appreciating her own sexuality, he thought. And he was honored that she trusted him with it now.