Low Pressure

“Because I’m too stupid to live.”

“He said that?”

“He did. He, uh…” It was several moments before he came around slowly to face her. “He said falling in love would make a person stup

id. But I, being me, had taken stupid to a new level and let you go.”

Her eyes went misty. “You don’t want to have Gall mad at you.”

Later, they argued over who moved first, but the important thing was that they came together in an embrace that fused their bodies and mouths. Eager hands opened articles of clothing, but when he pressed her up against the window, she appealed to his reason and said that anyone on the hotel grounds could see them, and he asked, “Who cares?” and when she said she did, he pulled her to the floor, where her few remaining inhibitions were stripped away as swiftly as the rest of their clothes.

Eventually they moved to the bedroom, where they made excellent use of the king-size bed, then lolled, temporarily replete, stroking each other.

“That morning,” he said. “When you came out of the bathroom, just out of the shower, wearing my shirt.”

“Hmm. You looked at me funny.”

“Well I was feeling funny.”

“Why?”

He rubbed his lips against her temple, started to speak, then paused before saying, “I was about to say that that was the first time I’d ever been glad to see a woman on the morning after. But it was more than that. I also realized how much I’d miss waking up with you if you weren’t there.”

She closed her eyes against the emotion welling up in them. “I don’t know where it will go, Dent, or what will happen,” she whispered against his throat. “I only know I want to be with you like this as often as I can be, for as long as I can be.”

“I can live with that. In fact, I want to live with that.” He angled his head back so he could look into her face. “You don’t mind that I’m poor and you’re rich?”

“Do you?”

“Hell no. Despite what Gall said, I’m not stupid.”

She tweaked a chest hair. “Are you after my money?”

“Absolutely. But first things first.”

He touched her in a way that caused her to gasp, and then he was above her again, moving inside her, not as frenzied as before but slowly and with feeling. Teasing aside, cupping her face between his hands, he kissed her closed eyelids, and when she opened them, he said, “They don’t look sad anymore.”

“That’s because I’m deliriously happy.”

“Then that makes two of us.”

“So you cared about whether or not I called you?”

Looking deeply into her eyes, he reached for her hands, positioned them on either side of her head, and, palm to palm, linked their fingers tightly. Resting his forehead on hers, he settled his weight on her and said gruffly, “I cared. I cared like hell. Thank God it only took you a week.”

Softly she kissed his mouth. “A week and eighteen years.”