Chapter 59
Emmerick
Before I could see Elsedora through the doorway, the sweet, buttery scent of shortbread filled the air. Then the vision of her holding a tray, wearing nothing but her brassiere, and a thin pair of lace undergarments distracted me entirely from my hunger for sweets.
Her eyes lit from within when she spotted me resting against her pillows with my arms behind my head, as though she’d expected me to flee.
Every ounce of my reservations about falling for her had been quelled and morphed into the overwhelming truth.
I’d do whatever it took to keep her looking at me like I was the best part of her day.
The foolish games had concluded.
We’d never be merely friends again. Not now. Not after I’d gotten a glimmer of what could be.
I watched, with undivided attention, as she climbed into bed beside me and set the tray on my lap.
“These look far better than what I would have accomplished alone,” she mused.
Instinct had my hand buried in her hair within moments, roughly pulling her to lean over for a kiss. Her finger came between our mouths, so I bit down on it gently.
She smirked. “We’ve worked very hard for these. Eat your shortbread.”
My patience was wearing thin already. I needed her again, but I didn’t argue. I couldn’t deny my favorite baked goods.
“Fine.” I relented and released her.
She grabbed a shortbread cookie, offering it to me, and I ate the whole thing in one bite while she chuckled. “Greedy! You’re supposed to take time to enjoy it.”
Oh, I would…
She laid down beside me, with her head resting on her palm, elbow to her pillow, propped up to watch me eat another. Her rapt attention on my lips and her breasts pressed together did nothing to cool my blood.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?” She blinked innocently as one corner of her mouth lifted.
“You are bringing out something wild in me, woman. And if you don’t stop looking at me like I’m a meal, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, placating me, and plucked a treat from the tray. When she took a bite, she closed her eyes and let an unsubtle moan build in the back of her throat.
Not. even. fair.
Yet I’d let her torment me for an eternity.
“I love you.” The words left my lips before my mind caught up.
Both of her brows rose as her eyes snapped open and crumbs dropped down her chin onto the sheets. Her body stiffened but she hid her unease with a mischievous smirk. “That is the postcoital bliss talking.”
I shook my head. “No, it isn’t. You’ve worked up a million excuses in your head not to love me. And that’s alright. I’ll be here when you figure it out.”
“I have not,” she retorted, growing more flustered. It looked good on her.
“So you do love me?”
“I didn’t say…” The words died on her tongue.
“Go ahead. Finish your sentence,” I teased and looped a strand of auburn hair around my finger.
Her face paled, and her mouth hung open.
“Why do you struggle to tell people that, Else?” I whispered, this time not teasing her.
She could have told me now or a hundred years from now. It didn’t matter—I could feel it. She showed it.
Her love was a pocket watch ticking on the nightstand, a bushel of roses and chocolate delivered each year to my parents, a voice through the darkness beckoning me out of the void.
Her eyes glistened. “Because loving is losing. Loving is stepping to the edge of a cliff and not knowing whether the wind will blow me from it or spare me. Whenever I’ve loved too hard, they’ve been taken from me...”
She continued in a hushed whisper against my lips, “And if I let myself say that to you now, if I promise you forever, I’m afraid it won’t happen. That I will curse it.”
I dropped the tray onto the side table, then flipped toward her, hooking one arm behind her to pull her close.
“I love you, Elsedora,” I repeated. I’d keep saying it for both of us.
“You once told me that ‘love is a sacrifice of freedom.’ I’ve lost all freedom to choose a life that doesn’t include you in it.
I think falling for you was inevitable—not fated, just natural.
I can wait for you to join me in the descent. ”
Our breath mingled. We were too close to see each other clearly, but I could feel the tension uncoiling in the muscles of her back.
I squeezed her tighter.
“I’ve only romantically loved someone once,” she admitted. “And I mucked it all up. I don’t want to hurt you—I can’t.”
As I rolled onto her and put one knee between her thighs, her cheeks flushed. Her gazing up at me, hair a tangled halo, was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.
I smiled. “I’m glad you can admit you loved him,” I said, and the lines of her forehead wrinkled. “It means I have a chance.”
When I kissed her again, she melted into the mattress and folded around me.
For the first time since waking, I felt the man I used to be stir to life. For her.