Chapter 13
thirteen
. . .
Rosalind
As I walk toward him, rain hits my face. Each step leads me to my future, and I want to know whether it includes him and Spool.
His not speaking won’t stop me. Not after making fifty-two index cards.
I started them after he told me about Ghost and confessed that books were the only thing that made the silence bearable.
I wrote a card for each book on his shelf: every one I’d read, recognized, or pulled down while he was up the mountain.
My gaze stays on Jace.
Title. Author. A line about why he loves the book. My recommendation for what to read next. Except for the one I just finished.
Rosalind Egan. Filed under: Yours. Checkout status: Permanent. No returns.
He’s coming toward me with Spool at his heels. I stumble on the wet ground but don’t fall. If he sends me away, the truth will, at least, be out there.
Wet fabric clings to his shoulders. He meets me halfway.
“Jace.” The icy drops sting my scalp. “The pass opens in two days. I can leave. Finish the Bluebird contract from the lodge when my reservation starts.”
The quiet stretches.
“Or I can stay,” I continue.
His head dips.
“I reorganized your bookshelf. I wanted to be part of something you love.” My voice stays steady. “I put the westerns by the window because the light was right, and some instinct told me you read them there. Paying attention to you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
His hands flex at his sides.
“I kissed you first. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.
Not even close. I’ve spent my whole life being easy to overlook.
Giving and never asking.” The rain falls harder.
I don’t care. I force the words out. “I’m asking now.
I want to drink your coffee, sleep in your bed, and read on your couch while you pretend you’re not watching me.
I want to know your bookshelves. I want to stay. Here. With you.”
He swallows. His eyes are red. “I’m not good at this.”
“I’m not asking you to be good at it. I’m asking you to let me stay.”
He stands there, wet. His chest heaves. Five seconds of quiet stretches.
He takes my face in both hands. His palms are wet and shaking. “Stay. Please don’t leave me.”
A laugh escapes. My shoulders relax, sagging. Relief drains the tension from my legs.
He kisses me or I kiss him.
Jace holds me tight. I grab his soaked flannel. Rain falls on us, but I’m lost to his kiss. He pulls back.
“There are fifty-two index cards on the table,” I whisper. “For your books.”
His lips part. “You made me a card catalog.”
“Yes, but the last one is about me.”
His eyes widen. “I want to see.”
He takes my hand, lacing his fingers with mine, and leads me inside.
I asked. He said yes.
A choked laugh escapes me, and relief floods through my veins.
The rain hasn’t stopped, but inside, the stove warms the cabin. The air smells like woodsmoke, cedar, and books.
I stand by the bookshelf. My clothes are soaked. Water streams down my back. My hands shake from the cold.
Jace is in the doorway, one shoulder leaning on the wood frame. Water runs along his forearms and beads on his fingertips.
He stares at me the way he couldn’t all week. Straight on. No more side-eye. His expression...
Open. Hungry. And the way his gaze holds mine, like I’m the only answer he’ll ever need, makes me feel utterly chosen.
Jace pushes off the doorframe and comes to me. The floorboards creak under his boots. He stops in front of me, close enough that I feel the cold water dripping off his clothes.
As my back presses against the bookcase, his lips move over mine. Tasting. Learning. A few nights ago, this was breaking. Now his tongue traces my lower lip, and I open for him. The low sound he makes is barely audible, but the possessive pull in his kiss claims me.
Jace pulls back and runs his thumb across my lower lip. “I want to do this right. We’ll make it to our bedroom eventually.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He peels the wet fabric of my shirt away from my skin and drops it on the floor. He unclasps my bra and slides the straps off my arms.
I’m bare from the waist up. I meet his gaze, unafraid.
Jace exhales a long, shaking breath. He wraps his fingers around my wrists and lifts them above my head, pressing my hands to the shelf. “Let me?”
“Yes.”
He pins my wrists loosely, a gentle tether. I can pull free anytime.
He kisses down my neck until his lips find the hollow of my throat where my pulse beats fast, and he stays there, breathing on my skin. My collarbone. The curve of my shoulder. Then lower.
His tongue licks the swell of my breast, and I gasp, and his breath is feather-warm. “I want to hear every sound. Don’t be quiet.”
As he sucks on my nipple, I tip my head toward the shelf, and a paperback hits the floor. “Jace…”
He switches sides. His tongue glides. His teeth graze. I pull against his hold on my wrists, a frantic need to touch him.
“Not yet,” he whispers. “Remember? I’m taking my time with you.”
He releases my wrists. His palms slide over my skin, mapping every curve. He unbuttons my skirt, pushes it down, and kneels in front of me.
His mouth finds the soft curve of my belly. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever touched. Every part of you. Do you understand that?”
My chest tightens. I nod. His thick, wet hair is between my fingers.
He pulls down my underwear and spreads me apart. “Ready for this?”
“God, yes.”
His mouth is on me, and I can’t think. He grips my hips, holding me steady. His tongue works, an assault that bleaches my vision white at the edges.
I moan, my fingers twisting in his hair. Books fall off the shelf every time my shoulder blades hit the wood.
He finds a rhythm that steals the strength from my knees. It’s almost too much. I push away, but he pulls me closer.
“Stay with me.” The vibration of his words sends a shiver through me, making me squirm. “Right here.”
He adds his fingers. Two slide inside me while his tongue keeps working. My back arches off the shelves.
He doesn’t rush me to the edge. He coaxes me, pushes me close, then eases back. Again, he brings me there, holding me longer each time, tension coiling until I tremble. “Please…”
“What?”
“Let me…”
“Say it.”
“Jace.”
“Rosalind.” He lifts his head, meeting my gaze from where he’s kneeling. “Say it.”
“I need you… to come. Please.”
“Yeah. You do,” he rasps, then presses his lips to me. His fingers curl deep, and all light fractures white.
My climax hits. My legs give out, and he catches me, stands, and lifts me. I wrap my legs around him. He carries me to the floor, where my back rubs on the rug and books are scattered around us. He settles over me, kissing me slowly. Once again, I taste myself on his mouth.
“I want to watch you this time,” he says. “I want to see your face when I’m inside you.”
“Yes.”
He reaches for his jeans. Wallet. Foil. He sheathes himself, then meets my gaze. His mouth curves, a slight tremor. “Enjoying the view?”
“You know it.” I laugh.
Jace smiles back. Then he braces on his forearms and pushes, slow and deliberate, inside me.
No sharp edge this time. Just fullness. Pressure. The stretch makes my spine curve off the rug.
He’s watching me. “Keep going?”
“You better.” I lift my hips. “Don’t hold back this time.”
His expression darkens. “Rosalind.”
“I mean it.” I cup his cheek. His jaw is rough under my palms. “You were careful last time. That was perfect. But I’m not fragile. I want all of you.”
His breath shudders. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Good, but you can’t die for a hundred more years or so.”
He moves. Deep, steady strokes that hit a place inside me, sending my head back. His left hand laces with mine on the rug, pinning it beside my head. His other hand grips my hip, angling me, and the change draws a gasp.
“There?” he asks.
“Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He finds a rhythm that unravels me and locks into it. His hand slides between us. His thumb circles my clit. The synergy drives me closer to the edge.
And his gaze never leaves mine. Mid-stroke, I realize... “Jace. You’re not… looking away.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, and a softness appears in his eyes even as his hips keep their rhythm. “Never again. You hear me, sweetheart? Not ever again.”
My back arches off the rug. I shatter. “Jace…”
He guides me through my orgasm with his thumb and his kisses. “That’s my girl.”
He doesn’t follow me but pulls back. I’m still shaking, and he’s still inside me. “Turn over.”
“What?”
His lips brush my temple. “I’m not done with you. Turn over for me.”
Jace lifts on his forearms to give me room. I turn onto my stomach. His hand is at the small of my back, sliding up to my nape, gathering my damp hair, and moving it off to one side.
He settles over me from behind. His breath is warm on my skin. “Okay with this?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me if anything is too much.”
“I will.”
Jace slides back into me. The angle is different. Deeper. A sound rips from my throat.
He holds still.
“I’m good,” I say. “Really good.”
He pulls me toward his chest. “Stay with me. I’ve got you.”
Then he moves, each stroke slow and deliberate. His hand slips between us, finding my clit. I bury my face in the rug.
“Look at you.” He sounds hoarse. “Taking all of me.”
“Jace.”
As his teeth graze the spot behind my ear, his rhythm picks up. I push back.
He grunts. “Whose? Tell me.”
“Yours.” My breath is shallow. “Yours…”
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Jace.”
His hips snap forward. He presses his face into the hollow of my neck and groans, raw and ruined and mine.
My second climax isn’t as loud as the first, but it’s deeper. The wave courses through my body, leaving me limp on the rug. Jace follows and doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
After a long minute, he kisses the skin behind my ear. Another spot on my shoulder.
“I’ve got you.” He speaks softly, his voice raw. “I’ve always got you.”
He eases out. Then he turns me in his arms and holds me.
Books are everywhere. Oliver by my elbow, spine up. Two westerns closer to the couch. A poetry collection fanned open.
His arm is heavy across my waist. His face is in my hair.
Then he wipes me with a warm washcloth. Pulls me to his chest on the rug. Covers us with the throw from the couch.
Jace’s fingertips run along my spine. “I’ll talk to Evelyn. About more shelving for the bookstore. In case she needs anything built.”
My heart bumps. “Yeah?”
“I used to build things. I’m going back to town.”
He says it, a plain statement of fact.
I smile into his chest. Spool appears in the doorway, surveys the destruction of the living room, and lies down in the hall with a long sigh.
Jace’s warm hand settles on the back of my neck. I press closer, where I belong.