She touches me. Not with the cloth, but with warm, gentle fingers. It’s harmless at first. Just a soft stroke along my hairline. She traces my eyebrow. My cheekbone. She cups my jaw, and I let my cheek turn toward the warmth of her hand. It’s been so long since someone’s touched me. As long as she stays on the left side of my face—my good side—I’d let her touch me forever.
But she doesn’t stay on the left side. My heart stops when I feel her other hand touch my right temple.
I try to jerk away, but now she’s cupping my face. Don’t, I silently beg her.
She does.
I suck in a breath as she tenderly, reverently runs one gentle finger over the top of my right cheekbone. Then lower.
She’s touching my scars. And I’m letting her.
The three lines running down my face have always reminded me of a wolverine slash. As though some clawed animal swiped at my face instead of a cruel Afghani with a blade and an agenda. She traces each one gently, thoughtfully, as though she can heal them with her touch.
The touches finally stop, and I feel the loss acutely as her hands drop away from her face. I feel it even more when she stands, starting to gather the bowl of bloodied water.
“I’ll get you that ice.”
I touch her again, this time on the wrist, like before silently begging her to stay, but this time she gently pulls away, and I let her go.
I get up and walk to the fire, staring quietly into the flames, lost in thoughts of Olivia and the danger she represents.
This time, when she comes back, I’m ready for her.
She stands before me, offering the ice pack. When I ignore it she frowns a little, as though I’m a petulant child disobeying his nanny’s instructions.
Fuck that. I knock the ice pack out of her hand, and before it even hits the ground, one hand finds the back of her waist, pulling her gently but firmly toward me. The other hand slides gently beneath her hair, settling against the smooth skin of the back of her neck.
I’ve told myself over and over that I won’t kiss her again. That she’ll kiss me.
But I’m not above luring her in. I want her. I want her so badly it hurts.
My eyes meet hers, watching as her shock fades to desire. She wants me too.
I purposely move my gaze to her mouth. Kiss me, I silently beg. And then I say it out loud. “Kiss me, Olivia.”
She shakes her head once.
“Please,” I whisper. I don’t care if I’m begging. I don’t care if she kisses me out of pity. I need her.
Her eyes go dark, and I brace myself for her to pull away.
Instead she moves closer until we’re chest to chest, her eyes level with my chin. My arm goes more firmly around her back, my other hand toying with the soft hair at the base of her neck.
Her hands move to my hips, and my heart beats harder.
Slowly, slowly, she lifts her head, her eyes moving from my chin to my mouth.
I can’t wait any longer. I dip my head, tilting it to the right just slightly as I press my lips to hers, just briefly. Then again, longer this time.
When I move in the third time, her mouth collides with mine.
The kiss is hot and hungry, somehow managing to be slow and frantic at the same time. At my hips, her hands pull at the fabric of my T-shirt, holding me closer, and my arm is all the way around her now as my other hand presses at the back of her neck, keeping her lips fused to mine.
I dip my knees just slightly, bending to her height, wanting to get closer, but it’s not close enough. My tongue seeks and finds hers, shy at first, then bolder as the kiss becomes explosive.
My palms are itching to roam. I want to touch her everywhere. I want her naked by the fire. But for now, I let this be enough. It has to be enough.
Finally she pulls back, and I let her. Her breathing is low and raspy, her chest rising and falling as though she can’t catch her breath.
I sure as hell know I can’t catch mine. She makes me forget to breathe. She makes me forget everything.
“That was…” She breaks off.
I silently fill in the blanks for her. Stupid. Irresponsible. Crazy.
Amazing.
She says none of those things, instead shaking her head as if to clear it.
“I’ve got to go,” she says, her hands abruptly leaving my waist as though she can’t bear to touch me.