“I think you’re braver than me,” I tell him. “I’ve never had grand dreams of defeating my foes. All I’ve ever wished for is to be happy. Happier than I am.”
“What would make you happy?”
I look over at Abraham, his face close, a hint of brightness reflecting off his eyes. “I’m not sure. A simple life.”
“With Catherine. In the countryside.”
“Perhaps,” I admit, voice hoarse.
“Where you aren’t expected to court a wife.”
My breath catches, my heart leaping into my throat. “I…”
“Do you know you have stars in your eyes?” Abraham’s words are soft. Spoken low. “I can see them clearly. Your wishes.”
I feel as if I can’t breathe. The world hangs suspended, for just a moment, the same as that sword in the sky.
Abraham breaks the stillness. “Do you wish to kiss me, Jasper Sinclair?”
My exhale is one of surprise. Fear. Many things I have not the time to put a name to. “That… That isn’t allowed. It’s illegal.”
Abraham watches me, not voicing a response. I’m desperate to understand what’s going through his head.
Has he kissed men before? Is that why he’s asking? Does he desire to kissme? He wouldn’t pose the question otherwise, would he?
Unless it’s a ruse.
But no. I refuse to believe such. He wouldn’t be that cruel.
Is kissing Abraham something I want? It’s absurd, and yet… Women have never called to me. Not when my body was changing, turning me into a man. And not now, when I know I should appreciate their feminine allure. I should be looking for a wife, yet I’ve never wanted one.
Maybe there’s a reason for that.
It’s hard to make out Abraham under the darkness of night, but I feel as if I know him already. His dark brows and straight, patrician nose befitting the warrior he fancies himself to be. The brown eyes, like honeyed lacquer, that smiled at me upon our first meeting. The cadence of his voice, even, and the laugh I admire. The strength of spirit he possesses. The fortitude.
Abraham eases onto his side, bringing us closer. He seems to loom over me, and yet, I’m not afraid. Not of him. “Jasper?”
I bring my shaking hand to Abraham’s jaw, feeling a hint of coarse hair he must shave away. He covers my hand with his own, holding me to him, shifting his lips to my palm and placing the smallest of kisses there.
It rattles me to my very core. Shifts the foundation of all I know. It snaps into place the certainty that I have answers for those questions never before solved.
Would I have ever found the truth without Abraham? Without his lips pressed to my skin?
“Yes,” I say at a hush. “I wish to kiss you.”
Abraham pulls my palm from his lips, a sigh of aching relief leaving his lungs. He holds my hand to his heart as the world around me goes dark. As Abraham leans in, blocking out the stars. There’s the whisper of his breath. The pulse beneath my fingertips. And then Abraham’s lips on mine.
My world explodes in a shower of white.
Abraham kisses me again and again, each press of his lips a greeting, as if he’s loath to say goodbye. I would gladly linger in an infinite state of introduction with this man given the chance. In fact, my heart races at the very idea of this ever coming to an end. Perhaps he senses it. Because Abraham shifts his hand to my face, grip settling beside my ear, his fingers carding through my hair and making my very skin feel as if it’s alive. His heart beats under my palm, the lifeblood of this man calling to me, reminding me of how very alive we are indeed.
When his mouth parts from my own, I nearly shake him. Because no. That isn’t right.
“Abe,” I plead.
“My heart.” His voice trembles, and I can only pray he feels the same desperation as me inside his chest. “Do you wish for me to kiss you again?”
Surely he must know?
