The Case of the Season

Chapter Eighteen

She blushed and giggled, and he reached out to touch her face. "That's one of the things I find most fetching about you," he revealed. "The real color in your cheeks."

She wrinkled her nose. "I hate rouge. It's unnatural and impossible to remove."

"Well, I don't like it either, so I don't mind if you never wear any."

"I won't." She paused and then smiled mischievously, her eyes twinkling. "Do you still find me vexing?"

He laughed loudly. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"You did."

"I don't think I'd call it vexing anymore," he decided. "Honest is more accurate."

"Did you really want me to work your case with you? Or did you just give in because you felt you had no other choice?"

"I don't work with partners, so of course I didn't. However, I have recently discovered that the right partner can be quite enjoyable."

He raised an eyebrow at her as he continued to eat and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Well, you threw me for a loop when you revealed that you were carrying my novel in your jacket pocket, if it makes you feel better."

"I'm still surprised that you told me you wrote it. That was very risky."

"It was, but it seemed appropriate at the time. There's something thrilling about someone else knowing. I've been reviewed, of course, but only anonymously. On one hand, it's remarkably unbiased. On the other, it's like not being seen."

"Well, Robin, I certainly see you," he murmured, setting his empty plate aside.

Her blush returned slightly, but she ignored the innuendo behind his words for the moment. "Do you really find my books tolerable, Sherlock?"

He smiled sheepishly. "I find them more than tolerable, actually. I'm not one who generally reads novels, as you know, but I have every single one you've written, and I've read them all multiple times. I simply don't mention them to others because novels are seen as frivolous."

"At least you're not a woman." She rolled her eyes. "Novels are dangerous for us. They make us downright unrespectable, if not hysterical," she huffed.

"You are many things, Robin, but hysterical is not one of them."

"Well, I suppose I should trust you, since you're such a big fan," she purred.

She set her own empty plate aside and he breathed in sharply as she straddled his lap and put her arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss.

He put his arms around her and gathered her closer as he returned the kiss.

"Did you get enough to eat, Robin?"

He needed to make sure she was taken care of more than anything else. The role reversal was amusing to him. She'd done exactly the same on the day that he'd accepted her proposal.

"Hush, Sherlock."

And he did. But it was only for a moment, though she was the one to ask a question this time.

"What were you thinking when I proposed to you that night? You left so quickly."

He licked his lips and gazed down into her eyes as he confessed. "I left so I wouldn't just say yes to you. I was already confused. I'd been so free in my gestures that you had to warn me, when I had never before dreamed of being so profligate. And I could hardly think around you. Your intelligence, your beauty, your scent..." He sighed. "They all disarmed me totally."

"It would have been easy to trap you into having to marry me," she reflected. "But I wanted to give you the choice."

"I know you could have. And I tried to come up with a reason to refuse you. Oh, how I tried."