I open my mouth to call her a crafty bloody wench, but Macsen slides a ten-pound note on the counter, gaining both Stella’s attention and mine.
“My treat.” He picks up his roll and smiles broadly at Stella. “This looks delicious, thank you.”
She beams. Literally glows. You’d swear he just asked her to marry him.
“Well, now then. It’s nice to see a man with manners, and such a posh accent to boot. Lah-de-dah. Not like the riff-raff ‘round ‘ere.” She flicks her hand in my direction, and I can’t help but snigger, earning myself a full-on Stella glare. Turning back to Macsen, she’s all charm and heaving bosom. “What’s your name, love, and why are you setting your wellies under our Ellis’s bed and not mine?”
“You’ve got to hand it to her, she makes a delicious crab roll, even if she did scare the shit out of me.” Macsen takes another bite and hums contentedly around the corners of the crusty cob filled to bursting with fresh crab meat and Stella’s secret dressing.
I choke on a sip of my water, and nudge my shoulder into his. The contact zings down my side and I want to stay there and lean into him, desperate for more.
“Yes, you certainly made an impression on our Stella. Now she knows you’re staying above the pub my bet is we’ll see her dropping in for a nightcap within the next week.”
The horrified expression on his face makes me snort unattractively, and I look out over the sea below us to stop from doing something stupid—like kissing it off him.
“What about her Aled?” He balls his napkin, slipping it into his pocket and stretching out his long legs.
“That’s her son, not her husband. She’s still looking for a man to put his wellies under her bed.”
Macsen barks out a laugh, and I absorb it. It’s mine. I own that sound because it was my words that made it happen. It’s something I find myself doing more and more, saving up little nuggets of our interactions to savour later.
“Jesus, she would eat me alive.” He gives an exaggerated shiver, making it far too easy for me to ignore the view stretched out before us and give him my full attention.
“It’s stunning here. Must’ve been a great place to grow up,” he muses, gaze set on the shimmering blue below.
I shift on the hard, wooden bench, barely big enough for two, and turn my attention to the vista before me, trying to look at it with Macsen’s eyes.
The breeze blowing in off the ocean rustles through the long grass at the edge of the sheer cliff, framing the seascape in a soft caress. Sunlight kisses the water creating mirrored ripples that swirl and sparkle, while on the horizon, boats bob and weave, and dolphins dance in the deep around them, putting on a show for the tourists to gasp in awe.
Yes, it’s beautiful here, but I want to look at him more than the view.
So, I do.
When my eyes land on his profile, the scenery around us gets sucked away, the world seems to tilt before righting itself, and I grip the edge of the bench seat with both hands to ground me to this moment with him.
Everything about his features is still so familiar to me from his proud, straight nose, to his defined cheekbones, but it’s his eyes that I know the most. They seem ageless, filled with a wisdom I can never comprehend.
“Idyllic,” I respond when I’m finally able. “And lonely.” I huff out a laugh when his head whips to face me, sadness painted across his brow, worry pooling in his too knowing brown eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“With pity.” I shake off the power of his gaze and turn once more to face the sea. If I am to give him a piece of me, better to do it without his searching eyes on mine.
“My loneliness has nothing to do with Lily Bay or anything else. It’s as much a part of me as the colour of my hair or shape of my eyes. It just is. I’ve learned to accept that.” I don’t expect him to understand. Why would he? No one else ever has. But, as I’m coming to find, I should never underestimate Macsen Evans.
“I know what you mean.” His words hold a weight to them. It’s not a mindless platitude. He’s felt that kind of loneliness, too.
Closing my eyes to the view, I ask what I need to know more than I need my next breath.
“What is this thing between us? Please say you know, because fuck if it isn’t messing with my head, and I don’t do messy. I don’t do… this. I’ve never—”
“Ellis.” My name on his lips. I will never forget the sound. “Look at me, Ellis.”
‘That’s part of the problem,’ I want to say. ‘I can’t stop looking at you. You’re all I see.’
My head turns, my eyes open, and my vision is filled with him.
I expect to see pity. I expect to see dismissal.
What I don’t expect is for him to kiss me.
His lips touch mine, and the world stills. Every inch of my being focuses on that one point of contact where our mouths brush.
I know this kiss. We’ve done this before.
My eyes snap open, and I pull away.
His chaste kiss, merely the press of his lips to mine, leaves me panting and breathless as if we’ve made out for hours.
With a shaky hand, I lift my fingers, pressing them to my mouth and attempting to calm the sensations tickling my skin. Inches from me, his breath skirting over my lips, he watches as my trembling fingers move from my mouth to his, my eyes following their path.
He indulges me, allows me to have this tremulous moment, all the while never taking his eyes from mine, letting me search their depths for answers, as my fingers trace his lips for the truth.
“Why do I know this, Macsen?” The question is a whisper of sound that, with our heads so close, hangs expectantly in the air between us.
He inhales, something in his gaze resolute.
“Tell me what you feel.”
“I can’t.”
“Try.”
“Dammit, I said I can’t.” With a growl of frustration, I retake his mouth, only I am anything but chaste. My kiss isn’t gentle like his; it’s brutal and unforgiving, wild and claiming.
He gasps, and that’s invitation enough for me to slip my tongue past the seam of his lips, plundering his mouth with drugging sips and teasing licks, and with a low, almost pained groan, his resolve snaps. A strong hand wraps around the back of my neck, pulling me to him. His other slides over my jaw, holding me in place, turning the tables on our kiss and dominating me.
I fist his shirt with both hands to find purchase, tugging him closer even as he pins me in place.
All his need—the ache that he carries for me that matches mine for him—spills into his kiss. If I ever questioned that this man wants me, is drawn to me as much as I am to him, this kiss obliterates those doubts. I have never been kissed like this. Never been owned so thoroughly.
Only I have.
This passion is familiar, the burn of pleasure creeping up my spine, a memory. We’ve come together like this so many times before, and each time feels like the first.
Drugging, addictive, hungry, but also more than that. It’s life, and sustenance, and peace, and contentment. It’s bliss, and wonder, and pleasure, and serenity.
It’s all those tangled feelings and emotions woven into something endless and unbreakable.