14. gray
14
GRAY
J ust like the previous week, Amelia sat by the campfire with a book in her lap. Only this time, it was the one I had recommended—and I didn't miss the covert glances she kept throwing my way through the crowd.
For the most part, I deliberately ignored her, partly because Wilder was right next to me, fidgeting, and I was waiting for him to start yet another conversation about Amelia. As if we hadn't talked enough about her in the past few days and how she had turned my life upside down in the best possible way without really trying.
What would happen if she actually put in some effort? If she stopped avoiding me and embraced the inevitable?
It hung in the air between us, but until she clearly indicated that she was ready, I wouldn't make another move. What was already happening between us caused enough emotional turmoil.
"Every time I look at you, it looks like you want to devour her, Gray."
"Just shut up," I grumbled. "You're seeing things."
It was the truth. And this need grew stronger every day. I wanted to peel her layer by layer, break her into a thousand pieces, and then put her back together. I wanted to see her ironclad self-control dissolve into thin air and have her surrender to me.
I wanted to be the one who silenced her thoughts and made her body sing. I wanted to see her arch with desire, feel her snuggle against me, and taste her lips on mine once more.
Not to mention the profound longing that kept rising inside me. I saw something in Amelia—and even though I couldn't name it, it stirred something in me, making me feel like I’d known her for more than just a week. Maybe even years.
With every new facet she revealed to me, the desire to hold her in my arms and never let go grew stronger. To protect her from anything that might harm her.
This didn't make the overall situation any easier because as long as Amelia and I were alone, I was completely certain of these feelings. I was aware that I had never felt this way for my ex-wife. Yes, I had loved her over the years, but at no point did it feel as intense as it does with Amelia. But there were moments that caused doubt—mostly coming from outside.
From the looks and what I read in them. From people who went overboard with the rumors. From the pity that met Amelia, or the odd questions and comments—like in the bookstore, from which I would certainly never buy books again.
It shouldn't affect me, and yet it extended so far that I vehemently told myself, despite the desire I felt, that I would wait for Amelia to make the first move. Then it was her decision, and I didn't take it from her. I didn't force anything on her. I was just there in case she decided to go for it. And even if she decided against it and just wanted to enjoy my company, I would still be there.
"You're doing it again," Wilder noted amusingly. "But if it's any consolation, I read the same thing in her eyes. Which kind of tells me that you still haven't managed to get her in bed."
He really couldn't decide which side he was on. So he just played devil's advocate and supported the mood I was in. When I needed it, he found arguments against it. When it came to encouraging me, he managed that with ease as well.
Whether that made him a particularly good friend or a damn strain on my nerves was not up for debate. In the last few days, he had gone to great lengths to keep me from going mad.
"What is she reading anyway?"
"A book I recommended to her."
What he muttered was unintelligible. "And what's it about?"
"Her favorite topic from what I can tell."
"You're speaking in riddles, Gray."
Because it was none of his business, and it all revolved solely around Amelia's reaction. And what I could observe across the campfire was exactly what I wanted to see. He didn't need to know that I had given her one of those books to read that included information on things that preoccupied me.
While she read about kidnappings, aliens, and dark affairs, I preferred other realms. Realms that were obviously not unfamiliar to her. And like everything that had been happening between us all this time, that was also reading between the lines.
"I think we have a problem." It was Soraya who spoke up. "We forgot the dessert for the barbecue, and the cook went home hours ago. Do you have an alternative, Gray?"
Yes.
And she had told me about her baking skills—but was still engrossed in her book.