32
RUBY
Jem finisheshis meal and heads out of the room, leaving me and my disappointment behind. His habit of walking away without saying anything irritates me; does Jem realise what he’s doing?
“Will you play for me again?” Jem says from the doorway with the guitar I played in his hotel room.
“Why?”
“I like when you do.” He looks at me as if I’m asking a stupid question.
If my playing means he stays in the room with me and forges us further, I will. “Sure, but you can play for me too.”
Jem grins. “Cool by me.”
Cross-legged on the floor, I take the pick he offers and strum a few notes, fine-tuning the strings. Playing the opening bars of “Stairway to Heaven,” I grin at him as he rolls his eyes at the cliché.
“Don’t worry, I won’t playthat.” I play the Ruby Riot track, “Beneath the Stars,” lost in the world of colour.
The rainbows of music illuminate the shadows of my mind, dragging me away from darkness and stars, until I forget where I am. I always do. Playing alone or performing, I’m on a different plane, body as tuned into the music as my mind. When I finish, I jerk back to reality and focus on the world again.
The expression on Jem’s face tears the breath from my body. I’ve glimpsed the intense look before, on the days this sneaked through before he’d look away again. This time his eyes remain on mine in the way people look at you when you mean something to them. He told me the truth in the garden earlier.
“Why did I ever think you were like her?” he says quietly.
I don’t want Jem to elaborate, but I know who he means and I don’t want to go back to old conversations. Setting the guitar down, I make to stand and Jem sits forward.
“Don’t go,” he says. “Spend time with me before we hide in our dens.”
I rub my forehead. “You’re a confusing man, Jem Jones.”
“Nah, I’m quite simple really.”
“That, I don’t believe.”
Jem shifts and takes the guitar. “Sit with me. Play again.” I frown, unsure exactly what he wants. “Here. Lean against me.” He indicates the space in front of him.
This man who doesn’t like to be touched is asking me to sit close? I hesitate, aware the intimacy in placing myself there is another step across our borders. I’m torn. I’ve craved nothing more than Jem holding me for weeks, but I’m vulnerable and hurting.
“I want to be close to you, Ruby Tuesday. I’m over the URST bullshit, I want you in my life, and that involves touching you.” The abrupt words wipe out any doubt. He wants the same as I do; the same thing we’ve avoided for months. Not just a physical intimacy, but allowing in an emotional intimacy, too.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
I move so Jem can put his legs either side of me, my back against his chest as he rests against the armchair. He passes me the guitar. How will I play when all I’m aware of Jem encompassing me? He exudes calm and warmth, the thump of his heart against my back and his face close to my neck. His breath sets goose bumps along my skin, intensifying the situation. Is this how we can be close? If Jem can hold me, but I can’t him. If we can’t see each other’s eyes.
Jem strokes my hair, the sensation tingling my scalp. “How is your hair so soft when you kill it with hair dye?”
I chuckle and he rests his chin on my shoulder. “What’s funny?”
“Should we discuss hair care products? Which do you find gives yours the best body and shine?”
“I don’t use…” He pauses. “Ha ha. Play.”
I set the guitar down. “No.” I want to twist around to look into his face and communicate without words.
He misreads my tension and closes his hand over mine. “Fine, I’ll switch the music back on but my choice since you’re refusing my simple request.”
I place a hand on the floor, preparing to shift away from him but Jem curls his arms around my waist.