Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Twelve Years Ago, London
Peter’s fingers followed the length of her spine from neck to tailbone while he kissed her bare shoulder, his eyes drinking her in, half hooded with languid satisfaction.
Peter had no problem being naked, though if Sybil looked like he did, she wouldn’t have a problem being naked, either. She could see the places where he was still exiting the lankiness of his boyhood and entering the lean musculature of manhood. It was like seeing one of the great marble statues while it was still being carved, and she wished they had more time for her to see the rest of the transformation.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice prayer quiet.
Sybil rolled her eyes, hoping the act of nonchalance would balance out the hot blush spreading from her face to her chest.
“You’re only saying that because I have sex with you.”
He brushed a few sweaty curls away from her temple. “No, I really mean it. You look like you stepped out of a Rococo painting.”
“Putting that art museum date to good use.”
“What was it you said? Free is more fun?” He grinned at her, quiet laughter making his blue eyes sparkle. “I feel like the luckiest guy in the world that I get to be with you.”
Sybil pulled the sheets up and held them tightly to her chest. “I dare you to say that again now that my tits are covered.”
“Sybil…” Peter growled playfully and curled an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. His skin was warm, soft, and a little sticky from drying sweat. They should shower, but the bed was too beguiling. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I can’t even see your tits right now.”
“But your hand is on my ass,” she pointed out, and he groaned and flopped onto his back dramatically.
“What is it going to take for you to accept a compliment?”
“Some originality.”
Peter sighed, then rolled back onto his side so he could look at her again. He touched her cheek, caressing her skin with his thumb, then slid his fingers down to her shoulder, following the curve down the length of her arm.
“I love your freckles. They remind me of spending summers at our house in the Cotswolds when I’d lay outside at night, the grass tickling my skin and the earth still warm from the sun, and I’d look up at the night sky in wonder, unable to fathom the beauty of the stars. Because these”—he linked their fingers and moved her arm so they could both look at it—“remind me of those stars. You’re covered in stardust, Sybil, and I cannot comprehend how I got so lucky to hold a galaxy in my arms.”
There wasn’t enough space in her ribs for her heart. It grew too fast and threatened to break her open. She couldn’t understand how anyone who looked like Peter, so classically and unnaturally beautiful, would say anything so wonderful and sincere about her . Not only did he say nice things, but he was so kind and generous. He remembered the things she said and cared when she talked. Sybil wanted to let herself fall into his love, but she kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. It wasn’t fair that his biggest fault was living on the wrong continent.
“You can’t say shit like that. You’re going to make me fall in love with you.”
“That’s the point.”