CHAPTER TWELVE
Later, he brought a second breakfast. "After that half an hour," he explained, "even I could eat a few more eggs. So you must be ravenous."
"Not bad for an old dead guy," she said casually, pretending she wasn't still vibrating. The man had a fiendish touch between the sheets—or in the tub—and that was a fact. "I'm sure the ladies like you all right. When you're not being such a jerkoff."
He didn't answer, just sat down across from her and watched her eat. After a few minutes, he started drumming his fingers on the table.
"Yeah, that's not gonna get annoying. The kidnapping and the fucking I can take, but not the fidgeting tics. Cut it out."
"Why only twice?"
She glanced up at him in mid-chew. "What?"
He was nibbling on his lower lip and watching her. "Why was last night only your second time? You're in your thirties; you’re smart and lovely and you’re not afraid to grab what you want. You should have had hundreds of experiences by now. It can't be a dislike for the act itself—you're sexy and responsive and you can let go. Even under, um, trying circumstances. So...why?”
Her mouth was suddenly dry and she guzzled her passionfruit juice. "None of your business."
"Did he hurt you?” Dick shifted in his chair and for some reason it reminded her of a rattlesnake coiling to bite. “Because if he did, I'd be delighted to track him down for you and teach him a richly deserved—"
"Am I speaking a language you don't know, Sunglasses? I said it was none of your business. And what makes you think I’d need help tracking someone down?" Her hand was shaking. She put the juice glass down with a bang and hid her hands under the table. "And even if it was—which it isn’t—I don't want to talk about it. Not with you. Especially with you."
His eyes were narrow, thoughtful. "Ah...you hurt him. And have felt needless guilt ever since—Jane, for heaven's sake. Whatever you did, I’m certain it was an accident.”
“You are an arrogant shithead.” He knows. He knows!
“You didn't mean it."
"Do multiple orgasms in a twenty-four-hour period make you deaf? I said I don't want to talk about it!" The glass zoomed at his head; he ducked and it slammed into the far wall. Juice and broken glass sprayed everywhere.
This is why you can’t have nice things, Janet.
"All right," he said calmly. "We won't talk about it."
Her hands weren't the only thing shaking. She grabbed her elbows and squeezed; clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering. She was morbidly afraid she might puke, and soon.
He rose from his chair, came to her, and scooped her up as if she was a child. For a wonder, she didn't try to bisect his nose with her fingernails. "You're tired," he soothed. "You've had a rotten weekend. Why don't you take a nap?"
"Why don't you go fuck yourself?"
"If I do, will you lie down and rest?”
“You mean you’ll actually—what? How would you even do that?”
“I have no idea, but I’m sure we could work something out.”
“You’re deeply nuts.” She wasn’t leaning into him for comfort. She wasn’t.
“Some say it’s my best quality,” he said with faux modesty, and she laughed in spite of herself.