I feel more alive than I have since before the blood and darkness tried to hollow me out. It's what propels me to my feet, drawn to her like gravity, like inevitability.
I allow myself a small smile, knowing it's probably a mistake. "Come on, then."
"I’ve never beenon Waterloo Bridge when there were no people on it." She looks out on the London skyline. The Tower Bridge, The Shard, The Gherkin, and the Walkie-Talkie building are all lit up. The city feels endless but also, intimate.
"Me neither," I say in a hushed tone.
It’s not like anyone can hear us. And yet, it feels right to lower my tone, in keeping with the silence surrounding us. A lone boat heads toward the bridge, then passes under us.
She turns to face me, her back to the bridge. "You do this often? Spend the night talking with women you’ve only just met?"
I allow myself a small smile. "No, I don’t. You’re the first, and you know that."
When I look at her, she' s smiling too. "Just wanted to hear you say it."
I chuckle.
Her smile fades a little. She scans my features, seemingly transfixed by whatever she sees.
"What?" I arch an eyebrow.
"You look different when you smile. The weight of your worries seems to fall away. And you seem almost…approachable."
"Thanks?" I drawl.
"Of course, the forbidding, dark, smoldering looks also add to your appeal."
"Smoldering?" I bark out a laugh.
Yeah, I’ve never laughed as much as I have with her. She’s dangerous. I should put distance between us. But…for the first time in a long time, I’m having so much fun. And I do feel so much lighter. Enough that I want to, at least, allow myself this night. I want to create memories to last me through my last tour. I stiffen.
When did I made up my mind that I'm leaving the Marines?
I took time off to decide what I want to do with my future. And meeting her distracted me from my immediate concerns, giving me perspective. Enough that my subconscious mind decided my path of action.
"Definitely smoldering." She grins up at me. "It’s probably going to boost your already ginormous ego when I tell you, you’re the most striking, most charismatic, most masculine man I’ve ever met, but there you go."
A gust of wind blows a strand of hair across her forehead. Without giving myself time to second guess myself, I reach over and tuck it behind her ear.
The slide of her silky soft hair against my skin feels decadent. Like diving headfirst into a pool filled with chocolate and cream,and now, I’m sinking fast. The temptation to keep my hand on her, to pull the band from her hair, then bury my nose in her lustrous locks is overwhelming.
The ardor of my longing hits me with such force that it brings me back into my body.
I step back. Then, to stop myself from doing something I’ll regret, like kiss her, I stuff my hands in my pocket. "I’m not criticizing your perceptions of me. But—" I roll my shoulders back. "You haven’t seen enough of the world to draw that conclusion."
She firms her lips. "I’m not saying you’re wrong. But also, there’s something called instinct. And mine insists, you’re one of a kind."
Her eyes shine up at me with something close to hero-worship. A part of me revels in it. I’d love to be her hero. To take her away from her currently dreary job and into a life where I can take care of her. Only, she's too young. And I wouldn’t be able to guarantee her forever. Or even a short-term relationship, for that matter. If I told her that, she’d insist she’d be fine with it. But I know, she’d eventually want more. And I wouldn’t be able to give it to her. But then, the thought of being her first… Fuck. That’s too much responsibility for me, at this stage.
"Oh no—" She shakes her head. "No. No. No. Whatever it is you’re thinking, you need to stop it right now."
I almost chuckle at that. "You have no idea what I’m thinking."
She scoffs. "I bet it’s the same ol’, same ol’, thoughts of protecting me and walking away from me for all the reasons we’ve spent the night discussing."
I look away from her at the lights in the distance, then back at her. "What you don’t know is that beneath all that is this overwhelming desire to carry you out of here and to my bed and have my way with you, until you can’t walk for days."
"Oh—" She freezes with her mouth open, her eyes wide. Except for the wind which rustles the tips of her hair, she might as well be a frozen tableau. Her surprise, combined with the blush that stains her cheeks, is a thing of beauty.
