Chapter 11: Stranger Terms

I found him in the lot at ten that night, leaning on the fence under the yellow light.

He had been there since closing, and he had not come to the door.

I walked up to him with the photograph in my hand.

"She had someone follow you," I said. "She had someone follow me."

"I know. I'll deal with it."

"You'll deal with it on the twelfth, in front of three hundred people, with me."

I tore the photo in half, then in quarters.

"Tonight you don't deal with anything."

"What do you want, Tamara?"

"Come upstairs."

He didn't move.

"Those are different terms," he said carefully.

"They're tonight's terms. You don't know my name. I don't know yours."

I held his eyes.

"You're a stranger who owes me a great deal, and you'll pay it up there."

I turned around and walked to the stairs, and I heard his footsteps come after me, slow at first and then quick.

The room was dark except for the lamp.

I shut the door and stood with my back against it.

He stood in the middle of the floor with his hands hanging open.

"Take your coat off," I said.

He did.

"The rest."

He undid the buttons of his shirt, and I watched the pale scar on his hand move against the dark cloth.

His chest rose and fell fast.

I crossed the room and put my palm flat on his sternum, where it had been in the rain.

"You're shaking."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're looking at me," he said.

I pushed him backward until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he sat.

I stood between his legs and looked down at him.

He tipped his head back to meet my eyes.

He wasn't smiling, and he didn't look away.

I took the hem of my sweater and lifted it over my head.

His hands came up to my waist and stopped an inch away.

"Tell me where," he said hoarsely.

"Here."

I took his wrists and put his hands on my ribs.

He drew a breath through his teeth.

His palms were warm and rough, and they slid up my back to the clasp and undid it with one hand.

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