Chapter 7: Wherever You Live

"Not the airport," I said. "Not the house either."

"Where?"

"Wherever you live."

The car slowed for a second.

"Gianna."

"You said any door I want, any day."

"I said you could walk out of one. I didn't say..."

"I'm not asking you to say anything."

He drove us to Red Hook without another word.

His place was the top floor of a brick building over a ship chandler's shop, with a steel stairwell that rang under our shoes.

He unlocked the door and stood back, and he didn't turn on the lights.

A kitchen with one chair, a bed against the far wall under a window, and the harbor lights coming in across a clean floor.

On the sill sat a row of small things I couldn't see well.

"It's not much," he said.

"It's quiet."

I put my bag on the chair and turned around.

He was still in the doorway, with his hands at his sides, and he did not come in.

My heart was going so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

I crossed the floor, and I put my palm flat on the middle of his chest.

His heart was going too.

"Your terms," I said. "You don't touch me."

"No."

"Then I'll do it."

I took hold of his tie and pulled his mouth down to mine.

For a second he held perfectly still.

Then a sound came out of him, low and rough, and his hands came up, finally, and sank into my hair.

He kissed me.

My back met the wall.

He pulled the zipper of my mother's dress down in one slow stroke, and his knuckles dragged along my spine.

"Tell me to stop," he said against my throat.

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