“Don’t get smart with me, ace. I’d like to know why you went around me and gave her five times the amount agreed on. I’d like to know why you didn’t tell me about this shelter you asked her to give time to.”
“I liked the work she was doing.”
“Roarke.” She laid her hand over his. Firmly. “You started this shelter for me. Did you think I’d be upset, or pissed off or what if you told me about it?”
“I implemented plans for the shelter several months ago. For you,” he said and turned his hand over hers so that their fingers linked. “For myself. We had nowhere to go, did we, Eve? And if I had, I wouldn’t have gone. Too tough, too angry. Even bleeding from the ears from the last beating, I’d not have gone. But others will.”
He lifted their joined hands, studying the way they fit. The way they held. “Still, I’m next to certain I wouldn’t have thought to do this thing if it hadn’t been for you.”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
“The shelter’s not altogether finished,” he began. “It’s open, and they’ve taken in what they’re calling guests. But there are still details to be completed, some programs that are yet to be fully implemented. It should be—” He broke off. “No, I didn’t tell you. I don’t know whether I intended to or not because I couldn’t be sure if it would please you or distress you.”
“The name pleases me.”
“Good.”
“And what distresses me, though that’s a wimpy word, is that you didn’t tell me about something you’re doing that makes me really proud of you. I wouldn’t have gone to one of those places either,” she continued when he only looked at her. “Because he had me so scared of them, because he made them sound like big, dark pits and I was as afraid of the dark as I was of him. So I wouldn’t have gone. But others will.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “Yes.”
“Now look at you, Dublin’s bad boy. Pillar of the community, philanthropist, a leading social conscience of the city.”
“Don’t you start.”
“Tough guy with a big, gooey heart.”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Eve.”
“Hear that?” She cocked her head. “That’s the sound of my knees knocking.” She sat back, satisfied the sadness she’d seen lingering on his face when he’d first come home was gone. She was really starting to nail this wife thing.
“Okay, now that I’ve let you fuck me and feed me, thereby satisfying all immediate appetites, I’ve got work.”
“I beg your pardon, but I seem to recall someone promising to tuck me into bed.”
“That’ll have to wait, ace. I want to run some probabilities, and see if I can get a line on the umbrella account this guy uses. French deal. La Belle Dame.”
“Keats.”
“What’s that?”
“Not what, you plebeian, who. John Keats. Classic poet, nineteenth century. The poem is ‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci.’ The beautiful woman without mercy.”
“How come you know all this stuff?”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” He laughed as he pulled her to her feet. “I’ll get you the poem, then we can get to work.”
“I don’t need—”
He shut her up with a quick, hard kiss. “How about this? Let’s pretend you argued about not needing or wanting civilian help or interference, then I pointed out all the very sane and reasonable advantages of same. We wrangled about it for twenty minutes, then admitting that I can find data more quickly than you, and two heads are better than one, and so on and so forth, we got to work. That’ll save some time.”
She hissed out a breath. “Okay, but if I catch you looking smug, I’m kicking your ass.”
“Darling, that goes without saying.”
Chapter 5
They didn’t have his face. Whenever fear tried to creep under his skin like hot ants, he repeated that single and most essential fact.