Mine at his ear, nipping, tugging the lobe, voice barely a whisper, I say, “You’re right. This can wait until morning. For now, I just want to be here.”
three
After two solid weeks of waking up in Damen’s bed, wrapped in Damen’s arms, you’d think I’d have grown used to it by now.
But nope.
Not even close.
Though I could get used to it.
I’d like to get used to it.
Used to the solid assurance of his body snuggled tightly around mine, the warmth of his breath at my ear …
But as of now, I’m nowhere near.
I’m always a little disoriented at first. Requiring a handful of moments to piece it together, take stock of this new set of circumstances.
Determine my location, my situation, and just how I came to find myself here.
And it’s always that last part, that how-I-got-here part, that never fails to deflate me.
Which is never a good way to greet a new day.
“Buon giorno, ” Damen whispers, his voice a little scratchy, unused. Choosing to start each morning with one of the many languages he speaks, today settling on his native Italian, pushing his face into the curtain of long blond hair that spil s down my neck, while inhaling deeply.
“Buon giorno, yourself,” I say, the words muffled, spoken straight into the plush, down-fil ed pil ow my face is burrowed into.
“How’d you sleep?”
I rol onto my back, push my hair out of my eyes, and enjoy a nice, long moment of simply admiring him. Realizing that’s yet another thing that I’m stil not quite used to—the look of him. The pure and startling beauty of him. It’s a pretty awe-inducing sight.
“Okay.” I shrug, stealing a moment to close my eyes so I can manifest some minty fresh breath before I continue, “I mean, I don’t remember it, so that must be a good sign, right?”
He lifts himself off the sheet, settling his weight onto his elbow while resting his head against his palm to better see me. “You don’t remember it? None of it?” he asks in a voice that’s ridiculously hopeful.
“Wel , let’s see…” I fake ponder, index finger tapping my chin. “I remember you turning off the lights and sliding in beside me…” I sneak a peek at him. “I remember your hands … or at least the almost feel of your hands…” His gaze blurs ever so slightly, a sure sign he’s remembering too. “And I seem to vaguely remember the almost feel of your lips … but, like I said, the memory’s pretty vague so I can’t be too sure…”
“Vague? ” He grins, eyes flashing in a way that makes it al too clear just how wil ing he is to refresh my memory.
I return the smile, though it soon fades when I say, “Oh, and yeah, I seem to remember something about a late-night/early-morning impromptu visit to Summerland, and the crazy old lady where we buried Haven’s belongings, and how you, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to help me uncover the meaning of her crazy, cryptic message.…” I meet his gaze again, and yep, it’s just as I thought. He looks as though I’d opened a spigot and dumped a load of cold water right onto his head.
He turns on his back and stares at the ceiling, engaging in a moment of deep, thoughtful silence, before he sits up, swings his legs over the side, and fights to untangle the sheet from his knee.
“Damen—” I start, unsure of what fol ows, but it’s not like it matters, he’s quick to fil in the blanks.
“I was hoping we could spend our winter break doing other things.” He moves toward the window where he stops, looks at me.
“What kind of things?” I narrow my gaze, wondering what other things there could possibly be.
“Wel , for starters, don’t you think it’s time we settled this whole thing with Sabine?”
I grab the pil ow from his side, and plop it right over my face. A move I recognize as being incredibly ineffective, not to mention immature, but at the moment, I don’t care. I mean, if I don’t even want to think about Sabine, then I think it’s safe to say that I real y don’t want to talk about Sabine either. But there he is, attempting to chat about my number-one, off-limits, completely taboo—or at least for the moment anyway—subject.
“Ever…” He plucks at the pil ow, but I just grip it tighter. “You can’t leave it like this. It’s not right. You have to go back there eventual y.”
He tugs one more time before sighing and retreating to his place by the window.