The second Mae had stood up from the couch, Sahvage’s right eye had cracked open, but it didn’t stay that way. As if she had passed some kind of review—perhaps an unconscious one—he resettled and seemed to fall back to sleep.
Mae wasn’t hungry, her stomach still churning over Tallah’s home-cooked splendor however many hours later, but she couldn’t sit around.
Besides, every single thing you could put on the stovetop had been used for that stew. If somebody wanted eggs for First Meal, they had nothing to cook them in, and this exposed another truism about females of worth from the glymera.
Not only couldn’t they cook, they didn’t know how to clean up, either.
Hitting the pool of warm water with a squeeze of Ivory dish soap, she glanced back to make sure she wasn’t making too much noise. Fortunately, Sahvage’s heavy-treaded boots were in the same position, crossed at the ankle, so he remained where she’d left him.
Mae tried to stay as quiet as she could as she used a wad of paper towels as a sponge—given that she’d destroyed Tallah’s only scrubber on the kitchen floor the night before. Looked like she was developing a track record for nervous cleaning—
At the sound of a creak, she froze and looked over at the refrigerator that barricaded the back door. When the sound didn’t repeat, she took a deep breath, and told herself that even though she couldn’t do anything about whatever was outside the cottage, goddamn it, she could wash and dry the mess in front of her.
When the rack got too full, she paused with the soaping-andrinsing and reached for a dish towel—
“Oh!” she gasped. “You’re up.”
Sahvage was leaning against the open door into the full bath, his arms crossed, his lids low as he studied her. He seemed bigger than ever before, but she was beginning to expect that knee-jerk impression. It seemed like anytime she saw him, she had to get used to his size all over again.
And that wasn’t the only thing that kept making a fresh impression. His eyes. His lips. His . . . hips.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She started drying the pile she’d created. “I, well, cleanup is required if anyone wants to cook ever again.”
“I wasn’t sleeping. Just resting my eyes. Tallah up?”
“She usually doesn’t rise until midnight.” Mae smiled a little. “She believes in beauty sleep. It used to drive my mahmen nuts—well, anyway.”
“No, continue.”
Mae circled the towel around the inside of a sauté pan. “Tallah loved my mahmen. And it was very mutual. They were as different as could be, but they had a wonderful friendship that crossed the barriers of servant and mistress.”
“So Tallah must miss her.”
“I think she does, yes.”
There was a long silence. Then he said, “Listen, we need to talk about the elephant in the room.”
Mae had no intention for her eyes to travel down his body. But they did. And she didn’t mean for her face to flush. But it did. And she prayed he didn’t notice either of those.
But he did.
As Sahvage straightened from his lean, she swallowed hard and got real determined not to drop the pan in her hands. So she put it down.
Throughout the daylight hours, she’d had vivid dreams of him approaching her. Taking her into his arms. Lowering his lips to hers—
And every time, just before the kiss happened, the image disappeared. Over and over again. It was like a loop that wouldn’t stop, a tantalizing promise that never came to fruition.
A mirage that was ever on the brink, never on the actual.
Although with the way his hooded eyes were focused on her now, and how his body was moving toward her, and—
Sahvage walked past her and went back out into the parlor. Over next to the armchair he’d been in, he picked up the black duffle bag he’d always kept by him—and by the sounds of metal on metal, she knew what was inside.
Yet it was still a shock as he put things on the table and got to the unzipping.
“So many . . .” she whispered.
Weapons, she finished in her head.
Mae watched as his big hands went through the tangles of muzzles and stocks or whatever the hell you called them. There was ammunition in there, too, loose bullets that were long and pointy, and then boxes as well.
The gun he brought out was a small, handheld God-only-knew-what.
“This is a nine millimeter autoloader with a full magazine,” he said. “It has a laser sight. Point and shoot, literally. Using both hands. And make sure there’s nothing you care about behind whatever you’re aiming at. The safety is here. Off. On. You try.”
Under any other circumstances, she wouldn’t have gone anywhere near the thing. But Sahvage couldn’t possibly stay with them forever, and . . . well, that brunette, for one thing. That shadow, for another.