“Saint.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
I drop my hands and turn to look at him. “What do you want me to say? That I’m terrified? That I don’t know if I can do this? That even knowing there’s a plan, I’m still scared out of my mind?”
“Yes.” He reaches for my hand and threads his fingers through mine. “Say all of that.”
“I’m terrified,” I whisper. “And I don’t know if I can trust you. I want to, but I don’t know how.” It’s not entirely the truth. I’ve already trusted him, been trusting him, so what’s a little further?
“I know.”
We sit like that for a long moment, hands linked, breathing in sync. Then I feel something shift in the air between us. Feel the weight of everything we haven’t said, everything we’ve been dancing around since the beginning.
I stand suddenly, pulling my hand from his. I strip off my jacket, then the sweater underneath. The new jeans. The boots.
“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, strained.
“If we’re going to do this,” I say, not looking at him as I pull off my shirt, standing in just my bra and underwear, “if I’m going to pretend tomorrow night, then I want something good to hold on to. Something real.”
I turn to face him now, chin lifted despite the vulnerability of standing almost naked in front of him.
“I want you.” The words come out steady, sure. “You want me. I don’t want the anger between us this time. I don’t want the fear. I want to choose this. Choose you. And not because I’m drunk or drugged.”
I hold my arms out to him.
For a moment, he doesn’t move. Just stares at me like he’s seeing something he never expected. Something precious.
Then he’s on his feet, closing the distance between us in three strides. His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones as he looks down at me with those winter-sky eyes.
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “I’m sure.”
He kisses me then, and it’s different from every other kiss we’ve shared. Softer. Slower. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my mouth, the taste of me. Like this matters more than anything that’s come before.
I kiss him back with everything I have. All my fear and anger and desperate hope. All the feelings I’ve been trying to suppress since the moment he took me from my father’s house.
He lifts me easily, carries me to the bed. Lays me down on the quilt my mother made, the one piece of my old life I still have. Then he’s covering me with his body, still fully clothed, settling his weight between my legs.
I can feel him through his jeans, hard and ready. Can feel the heat of him, the solid strength. He props himself up on his forearms, looking down at me with something raw and vulnerable in his expression.
“Tomorrow,” he says quietly, “no matter what happens, remember this. Remember that you chose me. Thatwechose this.”
I reach up and trace the line of his jaw with my fingers. “I’ll remember.”
He leans down to kiss me again, and I feel his control cracking. Feel the desperation underneath the gentleness. He wants this as much as I do. Maybe more.
Calder
The kiss breakssomething open inside me.
Not the careful control I’ve maintained for weeks. Not the walls I’ve built to keep her at a distance while still keeping her close. Something deeper. Something that’s been locked away so long I’d forgotten it existed.
Her mouth is soft under mine, yielding but demanding at the same time. Her hands slide up my chest to grip my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I feel the desperation in her touch. The need that mirrors my own.
I’ve wanted her completely for so long. Since that night outside her father’s house when she was eighteen and threw herself at me with all that innocent desire. Since I carried her into my truck bleeding and broken. Since she stood in that barn, defiant and terrified and more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen.
