19. Love and War #3
He had forgiven her and would keep doing so because he saw in her a goodness worth pursuing. She might have seen it sooner if she’d only given him a chance. She was sorry for it, so terribly sorry.
“It’s alright,” he whispered, and she realized she’d been saying it aloud, over and over. “You’re alright.”
“I tried to kill you tonight.”
“I wanted you to try. I’ve found it’s more effective to win your attention with a sword in hand.” He leaned back to gently sweep his thumb over her cheek, catching a leftover tear. “I wasn’t worried you’d kill me.”
She stopped trembling, but the tears still came, releasing her from the merciless burden of having to fight for herself for so long. “Why?”
“Because I wouldn’t have killed you.” Jack smoothed her hair away from her face, seemingly finding every excuse to touch her as he murmured, “I’m rather sure of you, even if you aren’t sure of yourself. I’ve never met a fairer match—it lends to a certain way of knowing a person.”
He knew her, and she’d wasted so much time not wanting to know him in return. She wanted to, and she told him as much through renewed tears.
“We have time,” he whispered. “All you must know now is that I want you. Let me have your heart, and I will adore you so long as you are mine.” On a breath, he added, “Hell, I’ll adore you even if you’re not.”
She could have melted into starlight and puddled on the forest floor. She was so tired, and his promise sounded so perfect. And she trusted him because he’d only ever been consistent, reliable even at his worst.
She whispered, “You have all that’s left of it, Jack, so long as I may have yours.”
He held her to him as he searched her face, his fingers smoothing over her jaw. “You’ve had it for a while.” His lips moved into a grin—those lips she’d die to kiss again. “The sword. The dagger. The sparring… Surely you must know I did it for more than your smile.”
Her hands moved from his back to his chest, too nervous to go any higher, to touch him as she wanted. This was all so new and perfect that she worried she’d taint it if she somehow managed to scare him away.
But Jack didn’t scare easily. His heart beat wildly beneath her palm as he took her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers.
His kiss was light at first, gently assuring her that this was not some lust-driven, half-thought act. He didn’t want to scare her either, she realized, and she filled with light.
She smiled into him, felt him smile back. This was different than kissing Hein or how Jack had kissed her in the tavern. It was warmer, more welcoming, and she tentatively let herself explore, slipping one hand to his face, her thumb lightly caressing the scar on his cheek.
Her scar, officially, and no one else would touch it for as long as she had a say.
His lips were soft, and there was kindness in the way he held her. And he was generous—slow and achingly tender as she learned to move with him.
In this moment, she could imagine she’d never been awful at all. She was worthy of being wanted, and her soul was not so damned that life would not give her good things.
Hester had been right after all.
She took a breath that sounded more like a gasp, and Jack’s eyes opened for only a moment—piercing blue through the darkness.
“Cecily?” His eyes sparked with that longing that was so newly familiar, his question low and gruff. He wanted more, but only if she wanted it too.
Cecily glanced at his lips and answered, “More.”
With a sharp, quiet huff, Jack obliged. He gripped her waist, pushing her back into the tree.
He pressed himself to her, one hand sliding to her nape as he angled the kiss into something deeper and so consuming that Cecily arched into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him nearer, her body begging him closer of its own volition.
He groaned as her fingers curled in his hair and she stretched up onto her toes, wanting him all around her.
His hands wandered to her neck, her face, her waist. She wanted him to let go, wanted all of him, but somewhere beneath her haze of desire, she knew she didn’t fully know what that meant.
Innocent, her mind whispered. You’re so damn innocent.
She nearly laughed at the thought—that Jack had found the only innocence she had left and was mindful of it, even as he kissed her like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
He broke away, trailing his mouth over her jaw and tilting her head so he could kiss her throat.
She shivered at the feel of his soft lips against her jugular where he’d held a knife a mere half hour ago.
Each kiss, every breath he exhaled over her heated skin carried the assurance of all he’d said to her tonight—that he was true, that he wanted her, and she was his.
When he lifted his gaze to hers, the blue was entirely gone from his eyes, leaving them black and deep.
Cecily no longer felt like a criminal. Now she was cherished and worthy of being wanted. Happiness welled, strong and bright enough to gild the edges of her life with renewed joy—and even hope.
She pulled him back to her, kissing him now, demanding in the same way he had only seconds ago. He was smiling, and so was she.
And not one bit of her felt cold.