Still of the Night I

Bill was glad he’d sent for his bags from the hotel, otherwise he would have stuck out like a sore thumb in his dress uniform at the cozy little lake-side restaurant that Laura liked. He was even happier that he’d actually packed civilian attire for this leave beyond jeans and t-shirts. The black casual trousers, dark blue button-down, and leather jacket let him blend in amongst the other diners with ease.

“You look nice,” Laura had told him when he’d emerged from the lavatory in the ensemble. He’d returned the compliment taking in her attire — dark green slacks, a cream-colored blouse, and tailored, brown jacket.

They’d taken her car, a high-end, sleek, black sedan. She’d offered him the keys to drive, but he’d declined, saying that he was out of practice and, for safety’s sake, it was best if she drove. She’d smiled at him and slid behind the wheel while he ducked into the passenger’s side. The drive had been a short one, maybe a dozen blocks or so, and they’d passed it in silence, save for the surge and ebb of the engine and steady beat of the windscreen wipers.

Once there, they’d quickly ducked in out of the rain and into the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant with its low-hanging lamps, green-topped tables, and walls and floors of dark wood. It was busy but not crowded and they were seated almost immediately, at one of the tables for two near the fireplace.

Against the backdrop of live piano music, they ordered wine and a couple bowls of soup to go with the complimentary bread.

“Will that be all Ms. Roslin?” the waiter asked after securing their order, unknowingly giving Bill a bit of information he lacked — her last name.

Laura Roslin, he mused, watching her eyes cut to him with a bit of amusement and something akin to nervousness. He wondered why until then realized he knew that name and what it was associated with.

As their waiter wandered away to fill their order, he looked at her squarely, scarcely believing he had been frakking a member of the presidential cabinet for the last twenty-four hours. But then again, he hadn’t been. No, he’d been frakking a beautiful woman he’d met at a party, who’d invited him into her body and home, let him take care of her needs and found his own met in return.

A smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he said softly, “Secretary of Education.”

“Yes,” she said softly then looked away from him, down to the table where she fiddled with the corner of the place mat, worry suddenly marring her brow. “Does it change things?” she asked.

He didn’t even have to think about it. “No,” he replied and meant it. It didn’t change anything except to lend perspective on just how much trust she’d placed in him.

People in such high profile positions had to be infinitely careful of image, and often crafted one that was distanced from the person beneath. As a battlestar commander, he knew what it took to achieve the necessary image, and the toll it took on the human being who bore it. It often made for a lonely existence aboard ship. He could only imagine what it was like for someone known throughout the Colonies. At least he had relative anonymity when he wasn’t in fleet circles. But friends, true and trusted friends and confidants were few and treasured.

Her gaze darted up to his and the vulnerability he saw there startled him. She hadn’t let him see that before now. He’d known, of course, all humans were vulnerable in some fashion but most shielded it out of self preservation.

To suddenly see it in her, here in the intimate atmosphere of the restaurant, inevitably sparked his desire, but it also stirred his protective nature in a way he wasn’t sure she would appreciate. He tempered the latter out of respect for her independence but did not hide the former, wanting her to know that things had not changed between them.

Holding her gaze, he said simply, “Your trust has not been misplaced, Laura.” And it hadn’t been. He could give a whit what her job was. He would meet any and every need she would allow, without question or thought to her position.

That seemed to satisfy her as her smile returned and she quit fidgeting with the place mat. Their waiter returned briefly with wine and bread, and a promise that their soup would be ready in a few minutes. As they waited, he asked her how the pyramid game that they’d been watching earlier ended.

She shook her head with a smile, “I sorry, I have no idea.”

“It’s not important,” Bill chuckled and reached for his wine. He took a sip, looked around the room. “This is a nice place.”

“I like it,” Laura said softly. “It’s close and rarely booked, and the food is good.”

“Music, too.” Bill gestured to the piano and player across the room, playing some soothing tune. It wasn’t anything he recognized.

“Um-hmm, though it’s only on the weekends,” she told him, “And sometimes it’s a guitarist.”

The waiter came with their food and they took their time with the meal. It was good and warmed the insides while the fireplace cast out a heat to warm their outsides. They talked a little as they ate, about ordinary things. They were beginning a discussion about Edward Prima when Laura’s attention seemed to wander.

Bill looked over to see why and found her watching a young couple dance, her expression definitely wistful. He almost asked her if she wanted to dance but decided against it when someone passing by their table recognized her. She smiled, nodded with a polite “hello” then glanced at him with a bemused smile.

“It takes them longer with the blonde hair,” she whispered to him.

He chuckled, finished off the last of the wine in his glass and asked her if she was ready to go. At her affirmative nod, he rose and pulled her chair out for her. He took the check before she could grab it and paid the bill, and she fussed at him all the way to the car.

“You should have at least let me pay my half. Going out was my idea,” she said as they fastened their seat belts.

“Considering what I’m doing to your water bill, I’m getting off easy,” he replied when she finally silenced.

There were a few more seconds of silence then giggles, loud ones, and they didn’t stop the rest of the ride to her home. They’d taper, almost disappear and then she’d burst out into a fit of them again, making Bill chuckle along with her.

She held onto his arm as they stepped up onto her porch, handing him her keys. He took them and unlocked the door. He ushered her inside just as the rain began coming down in earnest again. He shut the door and locked it, still grinning at hearing her giggles continue through the house.

It was a genuinely happy sound, both adorable and sexy. He followed it like a hungry bird would a trail of breadcrumbs and found her standing in front of her closet undressing. He leaned against the doorway and watched her, feeling decidedly privileged to do so.

The lamplight loved her, making her golden locks and creamy skin glow warm. He admired the curves he’d had the pleasure of touching and kissing, the gorgeous length of her legs that he’d felt around him numerous times.

Her giggles eventually waned and she glanced over at him as she shed her undergarments, letting him know she was well aware of where his attention was. He smiled at her, not bothering to hide his appreciation of her.

When she was down to just skin, she made her way over to him, breasts bouncing with each step. He righted himself as she stepped up to him. She laid a hand on his chest, caressed him lightly as her eyes twinkled up at him.

“Are you going to ask me what you wanted to ask me at the restaurant?” she asked softly.

Bill looked at her in wonder, wondering how she’d known what he intended to ask, and yet a part of him wasn’t surprised at all. Women noticed everything, and read men much better than men read them. At least that’d been his experience.

“You mean about dancing?” he wanted to clarify to make sure he hadn’t missed something, because it was entirely possible he had. She nodded her head, though, making him smile.

He covered her hand, asked, “Would you like to dance?”

“I would,” she replied.

“Music?” he queried further.

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed and slipped away from, moving across the room to an armoire. She opened it and he spied a computer as well as a music system. As she switched on the latter, dialed up an appropriate score, he shrugged out of his jacket and moved to join her, tossing the garment into a nearby chair, where he paused and toed out of his shoes.

He met her then in the open area near the foot of her bed, stepped into her extending arms, one hand curling around hers as the other made itself at home in the curve of her spine. Fingers splaying across her smooth skin, he eased them into a slow rhythm.

“Ah, he can dance,” she said softly, bringing her body full against his, her smile easy, sexy.

“Yeah,” he replied, thumb stirring the downy hairs in the dip of her back. “I can dance.”

She trembled and lay her head on his shoulder, nuzzling, and let out this little hum that shot straight to his groin. It had been too long since he’d done this with a woman, had one lean on him and trust him to lead her, to take her weight. During sex, yes, with this woman even, but not like this, when passion still lurked on the periphery. It felt good, made him feel like a man in the most fundamental of ways.

Holding her closer, he buried his face in her hair and breathed her in, whispered her name in recognition.

She hummed again and he eased his hand from hers, sliding it along the back of her arm as she wrapped it around his neck. Gods, her skin was soft, so soft, her body perfectly so against his. He was getting hard from just the feel of her so close. But he waited, there was no rush. They had all night for that, and he was enjoying just holding her.

Cradling her against him, he eased them through the song, another, and another. She shifted from time to time, kissing his shoulder and chest. Eventually she turned her face into the hollow of his throat and spoke. “There’s something I want to tell you,” came her voice, breathy soft.

“What’s that?” he murmured, fingers stroking her long hair.

There was a hitch in her breath then barely audible, “I’ve been in an affair.”

Bill couldn’t say he was surprised, though he wasn’t sure why that was. One thing he was sure of, she trusted him a great deal if she was telling him. “Are you still?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

She shook her head, nuzzling into the touch of his lips, and made a little sound before sighing unsteadily, “It’s finished.”

There was a distinct note of weariness in her voice, in her body in the wake of her confession, prompting Bill to hold her closer still. He knew what it was to be at the end of a relationship that had taken everything from you. Depleted. You felt depleted and like you’d never feel anything else ever again.

Which is why we’re here, he realized.

Burrowing into her hair, his lips found the rim of her ear, kissed gently. “Was that him earlier? The call?” he asked, remembering how she’d unplugged the phone after hanging up.

“He wanted me to meet him,” she sighed, her fingers curling into his shirt and holding tightly. “But I’m done with it. I feel good about myself again and I don’t want that to change.”

Bill smiled. He knew the feeling well. He’d reclaimed his sense of worth as a man in the last twenty-four hours with her help. He hadn’t thought he ever would. He owed her more than he could ever repay.

Hugging her impossibly closer, he whispered, “It won’t.”

There was a pause, then in a small voice, “Bill?”

“Yes?” he acknowledged, his body trembling at feeling hers slowly rising against his.

Still so small. “I want to ask you something.”

“Okay,” he agreed, fingers massaging her scalp as he held her against him.

A soft inhale. “I think I need to make love.”

Heart hammering, body surging to life in ways he hadn’t known it was even asleep, Bill drew her back from the haven of his neck, thumb brushing back and forth against her temple between gentle touches to her hair. He met her gaze. “Are you asking me to make love to you?” he murmured.

Gray-green eyes flickered with hope and a not-so-small amount of fear, were glassy with unshed tears. “Yes,” she braved.

Bill searched her, considered her request even though he didn’t really need to consider. He wanted her, making love to her would not be a hardship, but..

“You need to be sure,” he whispered, every part of him aching at the prospect. “Because I’m not going to want to stop.” He leaned closer to her, breathing a confession, “I haven’t made love to a woman in a very long time, Laura.”

Fear faded away as she nodded in understanding. “We both need this,” she breathed.

He agreed with her on that, nodded, asked, “You sure?”

A smile then, gentle, warm, unlike any other he’d seen from her. Then came her answer, softly through unshed tears, “Yes, I’m sure.”

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