“God,” he whispered, “I need to be close to you.”
Her hands seemed tiny when he clasped them between his palms, tinier still when he spread their intertwined fingers against his chest. It was not easier undoing his buttons with four hands instead of two; it was just more pleasurable. The feeling of her fingertips against his chest, the way she looked at him, her eyes latched on the growing area revealed by each undone button. She made him feel strong. She made him feel wanted. And hidden in the tempest between them, she made him feel safe.
Her hands fumbled against his chest, and he looked down.
“Amelia.” He shook his head. “That’s not a buttonhole, love.”
“I am bad at buttons,” she informed him. “I can never do them properly. Why are buttons?”
“Bad at names.” He took her hand in his and kissed it. “Bad at buttons. Best at being Amelia.”
She caught his hand in hers, turning it. “Best at being Grayson,” she whispered back. “My dearest Grayson.”
There were other words she did not say. He found himself not saying them back. Words like I love you. However true it felt in his heart, those words smacked of promise, and he could make none.
It felt like arrogance to believe that he could hear them in her actions anyway. He could hear them in the feel of her body against his. He could feel the emotion in the way she squeezed him tight and angled her head up for another kiss. And he could feel his same response, those same unspoken words reverberating between them, communicated in his arms coming around her, holding her like something precious.
He let out a shaky breath. “Amelia. I have wanted you from the moment you showed me that damned bamboo cage just outside your mother’s household.”
“I figured that out about you.” She smiled. “Eventually.”
Somehow, she’d finally managed to undo his buttons. He shrugged out of his shirt. She leaned in, touching her lips to his bare shoulder. The heat of her mouth, the tenderness of the gesture… He felt those deep inside, a warmth blossoming in winter. She tilted her head, leaning into him, her lips brushing his bare neck with searing kisses.
She put a hand over his mouth. “Before I met you, I felt like a lamp dimmed to the point of extinguishment. I could not let myself feel anything—not joy, not anger, not sorrow. Meeting you was one of the greatest joys of my life. You have brought a kaleidoscope of color into my world.”
He let out a breath and found his lips pressed against her forehead. “No. You did that for yourself.”
His hands came to clasp her arms, and he inhaled. He could smell the scent of her, something sweet and lovely and indeterminate. Her arm went around him, stroking his hair. Her fingertips were soft and sweet.
“I walked this path,” she said. “But you told me it was here.”
His hands slid down the edge of her robe, skirting that boundary between fabric and skin. He could feel the softness of her. He wanted her so much it was painful, so much he felt an urge to make some jest to hide it all.
But she would see through him. And if she didn’t, he didn’t want his humor to hurt her. Not now. Not like this, when they were both already so bruised, when she was his comfort and he wanted to be hers. Instead, he drew her to sit next to him on the brick bench that served as bed, then set his head against her chest. His fingers played with the sash of her robe. And he told her the truth.
“I’m afraid,” he confessed into the fabric covering her breastbone.
Her touch on the back of his neck was soothing. “Of what?”
“I disappoint everyone in my family.” Those words felt more naked than his bare skin. “When I see them, I’m so aware that I can’t make up for the emptiness that remains. They expect me to be more than who I am. I find myself playacting the person I used to be and leaving as soon as I can.”
“Grayson.” She nuzzled him.
“They ask me to come visit, so I do. Occasionally. But more often than not, if an excuse comes up, I’ll take it. If I’m there, I disappoint them. If I’m not, I disappoint them.”
“Grayson.”
His fingertips dug into the meat of her thigh. “I’m going to leave after this,” he said desperately. “I’m going to disappoint you too. Because that’s what I do. And if I were a good person, I would care what that means for you. But I’m not. I’m just tired of disappointing the people I care about.”
“Grayson.” She tightened her grasp around him. “Grayson. There’s nothing disappointing about you.”
He let out a long breath. Easy for her to say that now.
“There is nothing disappointing about you,” she repeated. “You could leave me right now and for the rest of my days I would remember you the same way.” Her voice shook. “With affection.” A kiss on his nose. “Admiration.” Another kiss. “A certain amount of annoyance because I want you so much, and if you walk away now, I’ll have to take care of this myself.”
He let out a surprised laugh against her neck.
“But disappointment?” She shook her head. “Never. Never, ever. If you believe nothing else, believe that. Every bit of you is precious to me.”
“Every bit?”
She nodded. “Even the annoying bits.”
“Well.” He cupped her cheek. “Then. If I’m going to leave you, let me not leave you annoyed.”
He kissed her. It felt different, this kiss. It wasn’t just heat and want. It came from somewhere deep inside him, filled with all the yearning for her he’d refused to let himself acknowledge until now.
God, he knew he couldn’t stay, that he would never stay. But he wanted her to be his.
Her hands came to his face, and she kissed him back with a fervor that felt connected to his very center, as if she had the same dream. It felt right, that kiss. As if this moment transcended the tomorrow that would never be and made something infinite in his soul.
He untied the sash of her robe. The fabric had been cinched around her waist; as he freed it, it slithered loose, showing him what she was wearing underneath.
Nothing. She was wearing nothing. He saw smooth skin, light brown in the guttering light of the candle. So much skin. She had a little mole above the swell of her left breast. Her nipples were a warm brown in the dim illumination. Her waist was a gentle curve leading to the arc of her hips. A dark tangle of curls between her legs made his breath stop. He could practically feel the blood rushing south.
“Amelia.”
She pressed herself to him and kissed him. Instead of wrapping her arms around him as she had before, her hands worked inside the waistband of his loose trousers. He could feel her fingers as she undid his buttons. It took her half a minute fumbling at his groin to manage that, and he wasn’t about to offer his assistance. Not when he could swallow her laughter with his kiss, not when she was touching him there, fingers trying to find the buttonhole in dim light, groping along his hardening length. Finally, she succeeded. She slipped the fabric down his hips, underclothing and all, and his erection snapped free, heavy and hard, pressing against her.
“Grayson.” She eyed his member. “Oh. That’s interesting. May I touch?”
He nodded, and she reached out. He let out a shuddering breath at the spark of pleasure that raced down his spine at that first contact. The warmth of her hand, the gentleness of her touch. She patted the head softly.