Closer.
And closer. Until I’m more than halfway on top of it.
Finally. My stomach, chest, and hip make full contact as I drape my right thigh across it, capturing the penetrating warmth. The solid form shifts beneath me. A breath exhales, low and ragged, but it feels distant, hazy, and I think I might be imagining it.
It’s so solid, so hard. I nestle my head into it, relaxing every part of me.Mmm, this time the sound pours out of me as a moan. It’s like my body is sighing, finally tasting the relief it needed. Eyes still closed, my right hand starts to roam, idly teasing the warmth. Ah, so good. The tips of my fingers touch upon a thin layer of cloth. A barrier. I inwardly growl.
No, I need to becloser.
The heat, give me more.
I’m rough when I tug at the fabric, ruthlessly breaking the barrier away as I slide my hand beneath it, not stopping until my palm lies flat against the source.
Much better.
Hard lines ripple beneath my touch, flooding me with a deep warmth that settles into my stomach. Whatisthat? I press my body closer, practically rubbing against it until I feel the solid mass beneath me stiffen.
For a second I almost freeze up at the strange movement, then resume blindly feeling around. Searching for clues. It’s smooth, hard, everywhere, slightly dipping and curving in spots like a sculpture. And then, is that . . . a line of hair? Um . . . My fingers wander lower, taking in a hard, V-like curve as they do.
Then lower—
A sharp intake of breath sounds from above my head, and large fingers clasp over my own. My hand is yanked out from beneath the fabric, then dropped like my skin could burn.
Oh, crap.
This time, I really do freeze. Every part of my body tightens, from my arms to my stomach to my thighs . . . the same thighs that are wrapped aroundhis. This isn’t good. The tightening of my muscles has me clenching his and, well, our thighs aren’t the only body parts touching. We’re almost perfectly aligned.Tooaligned. The shiver that sears through me now no longer has anything to do with my illness.
My arm is wrapped stiffly around his chest, rising and falling with the heavy pattern of his breathing. Oh my god, I don’t even want to know what’s going through his mind right now. He must have lain beside me to provide warmth, an innocent act of kindness, and here I am mauling him, sensations far from innocent pooling between my thighs.
Crap, crap, crap.
I need to move, right? I don’t know what to do. If I scurry away from him now, it’ll be obvious that I’ve woken. That I figured out what I’m doing, which will just make things way too uncomfortable between us from here on out. But if I remain in place, his warm breaths teasing my hair, the curves of my breasts pressed up against his hard chest, my open thighs gripping him in a way that sends delicious sparks of firerightthere. . .
Yeah. I know what I need to do.
Without opening my eyes, I murmur a groggy groan, hoping it sounds like I’m just starting to stir, then lazily roll off him so I fall onto my back.Calm, steady breaths, Lou. Just like any ordinary sleeping person would do.
With our bodies still so close, I hear the distinct sound of him swallow. Feel the movement of his arm lifting, the sound of him running a hand through his hair as he lets out a long, uneven breath.
He doesn’t move from beside me, though, and I can’t decide if I want him to. Having him this close to me now, when I know what he feels like, the way my curves fit against his muscles . . . it’s torture in the most unexpected way. But my chills are already coming back, cold bursts of air tingling across my skin, and I don’t want to lose the single source of warmth I have.
I don’t know how long we lie like this, two electrical wavelengths attempting to keep the sparks of our currents from ever touching. Twice, I feel the bed shift beside me, hear it creak as though he’s about to distance himself. And twice, he curses under his breath and lies back down. I try to quiet the sounds of my shivers, try to will the chills away so he won’t feel obligated to stay. But my body won’t listen.
Eventually, who knows how long after, my heart regains a steady pace. My pulse quiets, muscles relax. The enticing lull of sleep pulls me into its soothing rhythm.
And the last lucid thought in my mind is that he, the unfeeling wall that is Death, stayed. He stayed beside me. Offered his warmth to soothe me, when he thought I wouldn’t know. Maybe he’s not the icy, stone-like being those haunting, steel eyes would have me believe after all. No. Maybe he’s the evergreen buried beneath them.
Chapter 21
Mr. Blackwood has beenabsent for most of the day. I was surprised when he asked to see me after only an hour since my arrival this morning. He never asks for me. Never speaks at all, in fact, unless prompted. He grumbled something about having someplace to be and said I’d be on my own for the rest of the day, and that was that. He was out the door before I’d even formed a response.
It’s not until my last hour, when all that’s left to do is a final round of dusting, that I find myself eying the crinkled pieces of paper cluttering the coffee table and bookshelves. After all the time spent inside his house, avoiding any physical contact with the wadded-up pages, my fingers itch to pry them open. This is the first day he’s left me alone, and I know better than to break his trust, but the curiosity is practically burning. Begging me to take advantage of the moment.
What could possibly make him so adamant about keeping me from looking at those papers? They aren’t even organized or well-cared-for. In fact, from the wrinkles etched into most of them, they appear almost neglected. That, or overused. I suppose if he were constantly adding more notes to the pages then wadding them up again, that could cause them to wrinkle like this.
Shaking my head, I shrug the urge away.Don’t be that person, Lou. Let the man have his privacy.
Finally, the dusting is complete. I restore the remaining cleaning supplies to the living room closet and am just about to lock up, when I remember I left my jacket upstairs. I’m extra achy as I climb up the steps, pacing myself to avoid another wave of nausea. It’s been two days since The Fever—yes, I thought it memorable enough to give it a title—has come and gone, but I’m still waiting for my body to snap back to normalcy.
