Irene smiled, melting a little inside at Sam’s words.  “I’ve never wanted anything more, Sam, than to know more about you, spend time with you, make love with you...”  She smiled at the chosen term and moved with Sam as he swayed them.<br/><br/>“Once upon a time Irene Garrison was actually sought out to attend cotillions and balls.  I came out the year before my parents got sick; I had a year of dancing.  Of course, I’d had lessons and all of that.”  She leaned into Sam, imagining dancing with him in one of the grand ball rooms of New York’s finest.  She smiled at herself; she wasn’t the kind of girl who got invited to those places anymore.  The thought didn’t bother her.  She felt oddly safe with Sam.  He was a tall man, imposing, but it was more than that.  He hadn’t treated her like a tool, not from the start.  He knew all about her and he was still here, still saying the same words.  She was beginning to believe them, now.<br/><br/>“I’d like to help you do your job, Sam.  That seems so purposeful, so...I don’t know, like you’re doing the world a service.  Of course, the danger is a bit of an attraction, and the challenge of outwitting clever criminals.  Her eyes, should Sam look down at her, were distant, thinking of men who should be “outlaws.”<br/><br/>“I am a good rider.  I’m familiar with a colt pistol, but I haven’t ever had to fire one at someone. And, by familiar, I mean that I cleaned Timothy’s gun.”<br/><br/>Irene yawned widely.  “I would like to sleep with you, too, Sam.  I fear though that we won’t sleep and will then fall asleep at the least opportune moment.”  She grinned, meeting his smile.<br/><br/>She turned her head and grabbed one of Sam’s hands, unfolding his fingers to kiss the tips.  “Do you have a night shirt, Sam?” she asked, smiling.<br/>