Free Better Deeds Than Words (Words#2) by Georgina Guthrie Page A

my head. Then he kissed me again, hot and wet and breathy.
    I melted against him as he purged whatever demon was spurring him on. I struggled to free one of my hands, eager to touch his face, his hair, his thighs, his back. I wanted to scratch him again. But he held me still and worked his magic with his incredible lips before letting go of my hands and rolling onto his back, throwing his folded arms across his face.
    “You’re killing me,” he groaned. “Get in that sleeping bag right now.”
    “What?” I asked, rolling over to peek innocently under his forearms.
    “Don’t play coy with me, Miss V.” He looked at me from under his arm. “Let me know when it’s safe to come out.”
    I pouted and slid into the sleeping bag, pulling the thick fleece up under my arms.
    “Okay. I’m in.”
    He dragged himself to the edge of the bed. “I’m going to look at some pictures of geological rock formations, or something equally unstimulating, and then I’ll set the timer on the coffee maker. What time should we be up?”
    “I’ll shower back at my place, if that’s okay? I should be back there by quarter to eight at the latest. Can you drop me off at Union Station at seven thirty?”
    He nodded and then headed off to the kitchen while I folded my hands under my head, staring at the ceiling with a stupid grin on my face, basking in the glow of—well, not what I wished I was basking in, but I basked anyway. When Daniel came back into the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed beside me, fiddling with the alarm clock.
    “You look adorable,” he said.
    “I feel like a burrito.”
    “Well, you certainly do look good enough to eat.” He kissed me chastely and crawled under the covers. He moved over to lie close to me and draped his arm across my stomach. “Can you reach the light to turn it off?” he asked.
    I flicked the switch, and a deep darkness enveloped the room. I snuggled up against him, content.
    He groaned suddenly. “Shit, I forgot something.”
    He reached over me to turn the lamp back on and opened the top drawer of the nightstand. He pulled out a calendar—the exact same calendar he’d bought me. He looked at me and winked, removing the cap off a red pen with his teeth. Using my stomach to lean on he drew a decisive X through Sunday, March 15th. One more day down.
    He tossed everything back in the drawer, turned the light off, and settled in again.
    “Forty-six,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head.
    I groaned. “I can’t wait.”
    “Patience,” he said softly.
    “Patience, shmatience,” I grumbled, resting my hand on his chest. I felt, rather than heard, his gentle laugh. As tired as I was, I couldn’t stop my brain from replaying the evening, and I thought uneasily of the prescription pill bottles as I listened to Daniel breathing in the darkness. Was he already asleep?
    “Daniel?” I whispered.
    “Hmm?”
    “Would you consider yourself healthy?”
    “What?” He chuckled quietly again. “I’m as healthy as a horse.”
    “Okay. Good. Good night, sailor.”
    “Good night, poppet. Sleep well.”
    And I did.
    Until exactly 3:20 a.m.

Chapter 7
    Conscience
    Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
( Sonnet 151 )
    I W OKE W ITH A S TART , completely disoriented. Something was crushing my shoulder. Then I remembered—I was at Daniel’s. He was still curled up against me, and it was his hand that was squeezing near my neck like a vice. He was moaning, repeating, “No, I didn’t do it,” over and over again.
    He was having a bad dream.
    I unclasped his fingers from my shoulder and drew his head to my chest, stroking his hair. His hand settled on my abdomen.
    “I didn’t do it,” he mumbled.
    “Shh, I know you didn’t,” I said.
    “Why are you doing this to me?”
    There was pain and disbelief in his whispered words. Was he awake? Asleep? Could he hear me?
    “It’s okay. I’m here. It’s Aubrey. Everything’s all