He grinned. "It sort of feels like today is our unofficial wedding day," he said. "I'll do it again when it's official." He headed down a hall where he entered his bedroom and kissed me as my feet touched the floor. At the mere thought of someday being his wife, happiness filled my heart. I smiled against his mouth and pulled free, looking around his room. It was as tidy as the rest of the apartment, with simple, masculine furniture and a red and blue quilt on the bed. He had neat piles of books everywhere. A bookworm. And he still read paperbacks. My eyes lit on a shelf filled with models of all types—old-fashioned cars, ships, trains, airplanes, helicopters. I leaned in more closely, looking at the details of them. Everything was so tiny, so precise, so perfectly placed. I took a moment studying them. "You have the heart of an artist," I murmured.
Ryan came to stand next to me. "Nah, they're just models. They come with instructions. You can't really mess them up." I tilted my head, looking at the details of a helicopter, the way he'd drawn a bird on the side of one, its wings spread in flight, the wind streaming through its feathers. Another one had the 49ers logo on it. Most of them had tiny people drawn at the windows, drivers, passengers, all so beautifully done, their expressions different, some happy, some pensive, some bored. Everything was so tiny. How had he done that? I blinked, a sense of déjà vu overcoming me as if I'd seen something similar before . . . on a windowsill once upon a time, the light streaming in as I’d passed by an open door. As quickly as it came, the feeling passed. I stood up straight and turned to him.
"No, they might be just models for others, but you've made them into art. They're amazing." He gave me a crooked half smile, looking like a little boy who'd just been given a compliment and wasn't sure how to respond. "My friend says that those with the hearts of artists are more sensitive than others. They can be more easily broken."
Ryan brought my hair behind my shoulder and leaned in and kissed my neck, smiling against my skin. "I feel anything but broken right now," he whispered. I laughed softly, tilting my head to give him better access. Right now I didn't feel broken either. Right now I felt alive and filled with a joy so startling, I almost felt giddy. My eyes fell on something small and shiny on the top of his dresser and I reached over and picked it up, smiling as Ryan continued to nuzzle my neck. Holding it up, I sucked in a small breath. "You found it," I said, gazing at the arrowhead. Ryan lifted his head.
"Yes, I found it in my pocket." He closed my fingers around it. "You keep it. We'll take it back to the forest. Maybe we'll go skiing in Colorado this winter." I grinned, thinking about the future that lay ahead of us, suddenly filled not just with uncertainty but also with possibility. It was a heady thought, unfamiliar. The tunic top I was wearing had a small pocket over my breast and I dropped the arrowhead in it, focusing again on the wonderful feel of Ryan's mouth as it slid down my throat and came to rest over the dip right at the base. He rubbed his lips there, causing me to shiver and my core to clench. I bit my lip as he stepped back and pulled his shirt off. My eyes slid down his body. He was a work of art. So beautifully male, so perfectly proportioned. I felt my face flush with longing. Hot sparks ignited between my legs.
I ran a finger down the muscles of his stomach and he tensed, a whoosh of air escaping his lips. He reached forward and pulled the bottom of my shirt up and I raised my arms so he could pull it over my head. He laid it on top of his dresser as I kicked off my shoes and stepped out of my jeans. Ryan's eyes ran down my body—my bra was simple white cotton as was my underwear. I hadn't exactly expected to be standing in front of him like this when I'd left the house earlier. But he didn't seem to mind. His eyes burned my skin from my breasts to my feet and back up again, pausing for several moments on my breasts, causing my nipples to harden. Ryan stepped forward and pressed his hard body against mine, gripping my butt so he could pull me even closer. And there was nothing more delicious than feeling his hot skin against my own. He held me as his mouth stroked mine. I gripped his shoulders, my hands sliding down the muscles of his upper arms. And somehow—from somewhere—came the sharp scent of pine as if we were back in the forest, in our own world, just the two of us. I smiled against his mouth, feeling as if I was falling though I remained on my feet.
I used my thumbs to bring my underwear down and then shimmied out of it. Before I even realized what was happening, Ryan walked me toward his bed and when I felt it against the backs of my knees, I sat down and scooted back until I could lie down. Ryan crawled over me, the expression on his face intense and filled with want, with love. My breath faltered. I loved him. I loved him with every part of me.
He touched my cheek gently, so lovingly, and a tear broke and ran down my cheek. Ryan wiped it away with his thumb.
"Why does this make you cry, sweet Lily of the Night?"
"Because I never imagined someone would consider my love anything but a curse."
"Your love is a gift, never a curse." He traced my cheekbone with one finger, down to my lips, where he traced those as well.