of it, taking advantage of the early evening light from the window. Yes. Bruises. Deep ones. He couldn’t make out the nature of them; couldn’t think of anything she might have been doing today that would have involved such scuffling. Ouch.
What he could do was see that she’d been looking at the memory book his mother had made. He doubted Kimmercould recognize the touches that spoke of Sobo—the white space every bit as important as the photos, the photos never crowded on the page, the captions placed just so—but to Rio they were every bit as important as the memories the photos invoked.
He didn’t have to guess what she’d been doing.
Trying to understand.
Just as he was trying to understand how she could so thoroughly cut the ties to her own family, never knowing whether her brothers had grown out of their cruelties, whether her father still lived, whether any of them ever regretted contributing to a life that had driven Kimmer away so young. Thinking of Hank, Rio made a face. The man had been frightened. Awkward. Out of his league and knowing it…and then embarrassed at the extent of his salvation at Kimmer’s hands.
But he had a wife. He had children. Who knew how many other nieces or nephews Kimmer had by now? She hadn’t asked Hank and he hadn’t volunteered. Mostly he’d hidden out in front of the television, although he’d learned very quickly that casual demands for service or food had done little good. Kimmer had made the food easily available and left it at that.
Rio had his own nightmares—betrayal, the death of friends, the agonizing injury that had ended his career and almost his life, the long recovery—but he wouldn’t want to be in Kimmer’s place.
A sudden shift of light foretold sunset. Rio moved to the other side of the bed. Pulling off the thick cable sweater made some noise. He removed his watch and belt and let that make noise, too. Kimmer stirred by then, and he said softly, “It’s me.” She smiled and would have turned to him, still half-asleep in that relaxed way that let him know she understoodperfectly well who it was, but he leaned over the bed and put a hand on her shoulder, and she settled. He ran that hand from shoulder down the curve of her back and into the dip of her waist, and let it come to rest on—yes, on that sweet little ass. Always good for a moment of appreciation. His body sighed happily, in complete agreement.
Then he lifted the end of the cotton throw and slid in underneath, spooning up against Kimmer. She wasn’t slow to realize he came mostly dressed, still in a T-shirt over the loose-legged jeans he preferred. And it must have suited her on this particular night, for instead of turning over to undress him, she inched back against him, lifting her arm just enough so he could slide his hand in over her ribs, letting it come to rest quite comfortably over her just-right breast. The rest of him responded immediately but not with any intense urgency…just savoring the sweetness of lying there with as much of Kimmer as possible tucked up against as much of him as possible. Her head and its cinnamon-scented curls tucked in under his chin, but only after he’d kissed it. Thoughtfully. Very much aware that they’d had few of these quiet moments—that Kimmer allowed very few of them.
Perpetual motion Kimmer, always keeping herself busy. Not, he thought, because she was so driven by her past. Aside from the days since Hank’s arrival, he’d seen little sign that it actively bothered her anymore. She’d come to some sort of peace with who she was on that very assignment on which she’d met him, enough peace to let someone in her life for the first time.
Someone. Him .
Now all they had to do was make it work.
We’ll figure it out .
We have to.
Kimmer faced Governor Day stiff with bruises. The whole bouncing off a car trick hadn’t been her best thought-out ploy ever, but it had worked—and those on the governor’s team now had a clear
What he could do was see that she’d been looking at the memory book his mother had made. He doubted Kimmercould recognize the touches that spoke of Sobo—the white space every bit as important as the photos, the photos never crowded on the page, the captions placed just so—but to Rio they were every bit as important as the memories the photos invoked.
He didn’t have to guess what she’d been doing.
Trying to understand.
Just as he was trying to understand how she could so thoroughly cut the ties to her own family, never knowing whether her brothers had grown out of their cruelties, whether her father still lived, whether any of them ever regretted contributing to a life that had driven Kimmer away so young. Thinking of Hank, Rio made a face. The man had been frightened. Awkward. Out of his league and knowing it…and then embarrassed at the extent of his salvation at Kimmer’s hands.
But he had a wife. He had children. Who knew how many other nieces or nephews Kimmer had by now? She hadn’t asked Hank and he hadn’t volunteered. Mostly he’d hidden out in front of the television, although he’d learned very quickly that casual demands for service or food had done little good. Kimmer had made the food easily available and left it at that.
Rio had his own nightmares—betrayal, the death of friends, the agonizing injury that had ended his career and almost his life, the long recovery—but he wouldn’t want to be in Kimmer’s place.
A sudden shift of light foretold sunset. Rio moved to the other side of the bed. Pulling off the thick cable sweater made some noise. He removed his watch and belt and let that make noise, too. Kimmer stirred by then, and he said softly, “It’s me.” She smiled and would have turned to him, still half-asleep in that relaxed way that let him know she understoodperfectly well who it was, but he leaned over the bed and put a hand on her shoulder, and she settled. He ran that hand from shoulder down the curve of her back and into the dip of her waist, and let it come to rest on—yes, on that sweet little ass. Always good for a moment of appreciation. His body sighed happily, in complete agreement.
Then he lifted the end of the cotton throw and slid in underneath, spooning up against Kimmer. She wasn’t slow to realize he came mostly dressed, still in a T-shirt over the loose-legged jeans he preferred. And it must have suited her on this particular night, for instead of turning over to undress him, she inched back against him, lifting her arm just enough so he could slide his hand in over her ribs, letting it come to rest quite comfortably over her just-right breast. The rest of him responded immediately but not with any intense urgency…just savoring the sweetness of lying there with as much of Kimmer as possible tucked up against as much of him as possible. Her head and its cinnamon-scented curls tucked in under his chin, but only after he’d kissed it. Thoughtfully. Very much aware that they’d had few of these quiet moments—that Kimmer allowed very few of them.
Perpetual motion Kimmer, always keeping herself busy. Not, he thought, because she was so driven by her past. Aside from the days since Hank’s arrival, he’d seen little sign that it actively bothered her anymore. She’d come to some sort of peace with who she was on that very assignment on which she’d met him, enough peace to let someone in her life for the first time.
Someone. Him .
Now all they had to do was make it work.
We’ll figure it out .
We have to.
Kimmer faced Governor Day stiff with bruises. The whole bouncing off a car trick hadn’t been her best thought-out ploy ever, but it had worked—and those on the governor’s team now had a clear
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