I inhaled deeply, feeling him from the inside out.No doubt. Mine.
Chapter Seventeen
Scarlett
After Brando had taken his shower, he came out to find me wearing his white thermal and my holey overalls, rolled up to the ankles. I slipped into a pair of Converse for comfort’s sake. He stared at me for some time, eyes absorbing.
“Nice shirt,” he said finally. “Seems comfortable.”
He was messing around with me, giving me hell about taking his shirt, but underneath the surface, he was more than pleased. In fact, something deep and warm radiated from him—the certainty of it could be felt in my veins.
“Yes,” I replied, shrugging. “It is. Smells even better than it looks. And it goes perfectly with a fine Italian leather jacket I have too.”
His hair had been slicked back and was as black as I had ever seen it; it was still damp from the shower. Instead of the darkness overshadowing the color of his eyes, it accentuated it and made him seem even more mysterious.
I longed to reach out and touch the soft strands, to run my fingers through the volume of it, to feel his hair slide between my fingers.
I did just that as we rested in the sun, Brando’s head on my legs. We had scrounged up whatever food had been left in the cabin and took it outside for a picnic with Mitch and Violet.
Sunday was my favorite day of the week. Especially Sundays that warmed the blood without overheating or freezing it. Louisiana was known for its unpredictable weather patterns—the highest highs and the most bone-chilling lows; the kind of weather that seeps through clothes and hits marrow. Today, an autumn chill hung in the air, but the sun was hot enough to challenge it.
Mitch, inspired by some unknown muse, had started a lengthy rhapsody about me being the Sunday to Brando’s Saturday, and how the differences could work in our favor, or not.
Neither of us seemed to be paying much attention to him, as Brando looked up at me and I looked down at him. Until he closed his eyes, sighing, falling under the spell of my touch. His lashes fanned out against his cheeks and his hands crossed over his chest. He breathed in and out in an easy rhythm, something hypnotic to get caught up in.
Unable to stop myself, I leaned over, my hair creating a curtain around us, and kissed him softly on the mouth.
It was the first time thatIhad kissedhim. This bold move seemed to take him by surprise, and the look in his eyes did the same to me. He stopped the air from touching my lungs.
“Time for a walk,” he said.
I agreed.
Before we left Mitch and Violet to their own devices, Violet lifted her Polaroid camera and ordered us to smile. He didn’t; I did. A minute or two later, Brando took the picture from her and stuck it in his back pocket with the rest of the ones she took without me noticing.
He stood, holding the leather jacket in one hand, offering me his other; he didn’t let go after we started our walk. We were silent, taking in the beauty of the lake, before we moved on to an area more densely populated with trees. The sun couldn’t penetrate through their thick branches, and full shade equaled lower temperatures.
The deeper we went into the property, the denser the pines became. Their boughs touched, creating an emerald sky above, with specks of gold from the sun glinting here and there. The specks grew brighter where the trees thinned or fanned out far enough to allow light through, but the bald spots were few and far between.
In the cold’s grasp, the scent of pine perfumed the air, deeply resinous, and on deeper breaths, my nostrils burned with it.
Without me having to ask, Brando let go of my hand and helped me into the leather jacket. His shirt was almost comically big on me, and though it helped with the chill, it still wasn’t enough.
Once settled, he took my hand again, holding it tighter than he had before. Just as his shirt swallowed me, so did the size of his palm. I tucked my free hand inside a pocket to ward off the thick chill and then stole a peek at Brando. A black thermal, similar to the one I had on, clung to his body in a way that made me jealous. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the cold. Little wonder. He diffused heat like a radiator. Blankets were optional in his arms.
He had been whistling a tune, Led Zeppelin’s “Thank You,” I thought. When he noticed me watching, he stopped the music and brought my fingers to his mouth, blowing warm air on my skin.
“You have the most beautiful skin,” he said, almost offhandedly. “Pink rose-petals, with a hint of gold.” He lifted my arm, a gap in the rustling trees allowing light to shine through. A piercing beam hit my skin straight on, and all of the veins underneath were more apparent. He took one finger and traced a blue vein from my palm to my wrist, pushing back the jacket and thermal as he did, commanding the moving blood to rush with his touch. The heat from his skin on mine left me glowing.
“I’m too pale,” I said. “I could blind someone.”
“You're my light,” he said, eyes finding mine. “Some of the other girls were talking. I overheard.”
I stiffened, knowing where this was going. I had been called many things, oddball the most prominent opinion. The habit I had of gazing at the sky, among other things, labeled me as someone other than normal.
His eyelids lowered and his eyes softened. “They were talking about how beautiful your skin is, among other things. They’re jealous. Maggie Beautiful has no female friends. It’s good that you have Violet. It’s hard for beautiful women to have and keep friends. Jealousy is a cruel creature.”
“She’s been a good friend to me,” was all I could manage. He had brought my wrist to his nose, inhaling the scent on my skin.
