“Maybe we should duck into a store and wait it out for a bit,” she suggests.
That would work, but I see a better solution. Dragging her with me, I slip inside a narrow alleyway that I know leads to an artist’s studio and gallery. The alley is completely covered overhead, thick ivy growing along the sides and across the trellis that’s built there. It’s dark and safe from the rain and little white twinkle lights have been strewn amongst the ivy in preparation for the upcoming holiday season.
It’s downright magical and I notice how Fable stares up at it in wonder, her lips parted, her eyes wide. She turns to look at me, her long blonde hair sopping wet, her cheeks sprinkled with raindrops. Without thought, I reach out and wipe the droplets away with my thumb, first from one cheek, then the other. A tremble moves through her and she presses her lips together, her gaze dropping to the ground.
“Cold?” I murmur. I’m overwhelmed with the need to touch her, to keep on touching her. She’s somehow become my lifeline.
Fable slowly shakes her head, lifts her gaze to meet mine once more. “This spot, it’s so pretty. Are you sure it’s okay if we hide out here for a few?”
“Yeah. Definitely.” I pull her into me because I can’t resist and she comes willingly, staring at my lips. We’re sharing the same thoughts and that fills me with relief. She wants this as much as I do.
But she’s so tiny, I tower over her and I glance around, spot the low wooden bench that’s to the right of us. I grab her by her waist, making her squeak and I set her on top of it so now she’s the one who’s taller than me.
“What are you doing?” She settles her hands on my shoulders, her fingers digging into the wet fabric of my shirt.
“Letting you take the lead,” I say, hoping she will. Damn, I want her to. So bad, it’s killing me. I rest my hands on her hips, wishing she wasn’t wearing jeans. Really wishing she wasn’t wearing anything at all and that we’re somewhere else, back at the guesthouse, her body tucked beneath mine as we explore each other with our hands and mouths.
Being with Fable frees me. I wish I would’ve realized it sooner.
Fable
Something has changed within Drew since last night. Where before he was tense and secretive, today he seems more open and happier than I’ve ever seen him. Since we’ve come here, we’ve talked, we fought, we talked some more and somehow that’s brought us closer together.
But I’m also afraid. He goes back and forth. One minute open and charming and so irresistible he steals my breath. Then the next he’s dark and withdrawn, quiet. It takes a lot of energy to spend time with Drew but when he’s acting like this, I forget all the drama and revel in just being with him.
The unexpected rainstorm has made me wet and miserable but I don’t care. Not when I have Drew staring up at me, his blue eyes locked with mine. His face is damp with raindrops and his hair is soaked, as are his clothes, like mine. But we’re in this little tunnel of an alley, covered by a wooden trellis overgrown with ivy and it’s kind of cozy. Tiny white Christmas lights cast a faint glow upon us and it’s dark, the only sound our accelerated breathing and the rain falling on the sidewalk and street only a few feet away.
I feel alone with him. Completely and totally isolated, not worried who might see us or what they might say. We can do whatever we want without fear of judgment or snide remarks. The jealous girls and the jealous stepmoms fade away until it’s just me and him and the rain.
Studying his face, I smooth my index finger along one cheekbone, then the other. He didn’t shave this morning and the stubble on his face is scratchy. Makes me wonder what it would feel like, to have him rub against my sensitive body parts with those roughened cheeks.
A shiver moves through me at the thought.
He’s completely still, only the faint flicker of his eyelids give away that he’s affected by my touch and becoming bolder, I trace his mouth. Slowly, along the curve of his upper lip, then the full lower lip, my finger lingering in the corners, absorbing the tiny droplets of water that dot his skin. He parts his lips, capturing the tip of my finger between them and a gasp escapes me when he gently bites my finger, then licks it.
God. He’s killing me. I don’t know why he’s bolder today, I don’t know why he’s suddenly making moves on me but I’m not questioning it. I want this. I want him.
“You going to kiss me or what?” he asks after I remove my finger from between his lips. “You’re torturing me, you know.”
“Maybe I want to.” I feel flirty, mischievous and the slow grin that spreads across his face at my remark was worth it.