Intimate Enemies
““I’m cold,” she whispered.“I’ll close the—” He started to turn as he spoke, but she pulled on his arm.“I’m cold on the inside.” She sat up straighter, added her other hand to his arm, and pulled him toward her. “Come lie with me.”His heart, his body rejoiced with a resounding yes, but his mind resisted, though he couldn’t say he put much effort into pulling from her grip. “I was walking on the beach.” His balance tipped, and he dropped one knee on the bed. “My jeans are wet, my feet are sandy—”“I keep seeing them,” she said, her gaze lowered to his chest, her hands insistent. “I’ve seen so much worse in the emergency room, but that…” Her gaze lifted to his. “I feel…numb.” He knew what she meant. She meant a part of her felt dead, the way a part of him felt every time he witnessed a murder or found a victim. And he knew what she wanted. She wanted to feel alive again. She wanted him to make her feel alive. And, God, how he longed to.
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