Chapter 18: On Top

Ronan told her what the driver said while she stood at the long window of the mill, and she listened to every word.

When he finished, she turned her back to the glass.

"Pearl's husband," she said. "My grandfather. He died when I was two, in a car."

"Then we ask her tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Cora said. "Tonight I'm not asking anyone anything."

He looked at her across the dark room.

She had taken her shoes off at the door, and her hair was down, and she wore the borrowed black dress from the shower night.

"You shook in that garage," she said. "You told me so yourself, with your hands."

"I'm fine."

"You lied again."

His mouth moved. "A little."

"Come here, then," Cora said.

He crossed the floor in the lamplight.

She put both hands flat on his chest and pushed.

He went back one step, two, until the backs of his knees met the edge of the bed, and then he sat.

She stood between his knees and looked down at him.

His dark eyes were turned up to her, and the ink climbed his throat.

"I want to do this part myself," she said.

"Do what?"

"All of it."

She reached behind her, found the zipper, and slid it down.

The dress fell to the floor, and she stepped out of it in nothing but black lace.

Ronan's breath left him in a rush.

"Cora."

"Hands on the bed."

"You don't have to-"

"I know I don't." She unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, one button at a time, and pushed it off his shoulders. "I want to. Put your hands flat."

He put them flat on the sheet.

She climbed onto his lap, a knee on each side of him, and took both his wrists, and pressed them down into the mattress beside his hips.

"Don't move them," she said.

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