Page 71 of Hazard a Guest
“Are you?” she asked, watching him closely.
“Overjoyed,” he said with businesslike certainty. “I am, however, uncertain about your decision regarding Mr. Beck.”
“My decision?” she repeated. “You mean my decision not to crucify the bastard?”
He grimaced, the little tick of his expression enough to fully remove the remainder of any sleepiness from her body.
“That can’t be it,” she said, pushing herself up to sit, drawing her legs behind her as she faced him. “Mercy should only please the likes of you, shouldn’t it? I thought you’d be relieved.”
“This isn’t about mercy,” Joe protested, that grimace giving way to more of a wince. “It’s about safety. It’s about the law. And it’s about pragmatism, Ember.”
She narrowed her eyes at each new revelation of what this was supposedly all about. “Say what you mean.”
He sighed heavily. “What is your plan, exactly? Maybe I’m misunderstanding.”
“Plan? I don’t have a plan,” she replied, perhaps a little shrilly. “Well, not as such. I wrote out a few options, a few drafts of what to return to Millie with the post tomorrow, but I haven’t decided on anything yet other than making sure my stepsons never darken my doorstep again.”
He watched her, his face unmoving. “And Beck? Lazarus? Are you going to tell them about any of it?”
“Well, yes, I …” She trailed off, frowning. “Yes. Beck, at least. If I tell Lazarus, it might get away from us.”
“How?” he pressed, turning his body toward her, drawing her hands into his. “How are you going to tell him? How are you going to present this information in a way that doesn’t make things worse? You know he is already lying low after what happened in the hallway. You know we could already send him to jail, easily, for punching Freddy. Are youcertainyou don’t want to do that?”
She half wanted to jerk her hands away, her gaze darkening into something like a glower. “I said I didn’t want to do it,” she reminded him. “Don’t you believe me?”
“That’s the problem,” he said on a soft sigh, “I do believe you, and I don’t think I can talk you out of it.”
“Good,” she returned, sharper than necessary, “best you learn that now.”
He almost smiled, just a flicker on the edge of his expression. “Before you marry me, you mean?”
“Aye, that.” She nodded curtly. “Before I marry you.”
He chuckled, leaning forward to catch her lips with his own, a soft press of hearing and listening and understanding. “All right,” he said. “I believe you. I just worry too. Best you learn that now.”
She blinked at him, more disarmed by agreement than she could have been by a thousand raging rebuttals. She didn’t move for a second and then she nodded and she understood.
“All right,” she allowed, squeezing his hands back. “How should I tell him, Joe? What do you think?”
It wasn’t a flicker this time. He smiled fully, and damn him, it made her smile too.
“I will tell you after,” he told her through his happiness.
“After what?”
But she was already on her back, already being crawled over, already tasting his satisfaction with this conclusion of their first and only spat.
His hands were already working down the length of her dress, a loose morning dress that would be far easier to remove than the evening gown she’d worn the last time. His lips were hot and soft and unrelenting.
She welcomed the flood of confusion that they created as it washed into her mind, her mind that had been dragged to capacity with adrenaline and plotting and surprise and wanted nothing more now, nothing less than what he was providing.
“Are you going to propose to me?” he teased, his fingertips finding their way under her skirt. “Properly?”
“No,” she answered, only because she knew it would make him grin, would make those dimples appear and devastate her further.
“No?” he asked, touching her where she most wanted, teasing, discovering her there.
“No,” she confirmed, and gasped as those long, scholarly fingers found their way inside her.
