good demanded too much of her, needing to come from a place inside herself she never visited. She was a songwriter with no words, a singer with no voice. She dug her fingers into his skull, trying to press understanding into him. She stroked his back to soothe his anxiety. She rocked him against her body to impress her need on him, and when she kissed him, she flavoured her lips with the love she could never trust. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start.
Later, exhaustion claimed them both again and they slept, waking at a more civilised hour when Rielle’s alarm peeped. She had to climb across him to shut it off. His hair was a scribbled mess and he needed a shave. He looked sleep rumpled and impossibly, generously gorgeous. It was the perfect excuse to lie across his chest and kiss him properly awake.
Jake played possum for about the length of time it took for Rielle to find out he was ticklish. He grabbed her hands and pinned them to her sides and her laughter was a new delight. A good sound, carefree and happy. He wanted her to feel joy like this not fear, release not shame. He wanted to give her freedom not constraint. But despite the kisses, he was still anxious about how she’d be with him this morning. He didn’t know what to trust from her, the tears or the way she responded to his body. The laughter or the way her eyes could shutter him out.
No woman had ever had him so confused, so tentative. She cut up his confidence. Made him hesitate when he wanted to be certain. Self conscious when he wanted to be selflessly lost in her. He released her hands and she snuggled into him. Their bodies were entirely open to each other now, but even half crazed with lust, Rie held herself apart from him. It wasn’t enough. He felt gypped. He wanted to get behind her detachment, behind her fears, and fight her to show him her truth, but he knew that was dumb. It would only push her away before the natural end of them came. He’d been capable of the whole Zen thing before last night because he’d denied how hard he’d fallen for her. Now there was no denying it; there was only living it until she called it off.
She drew him from his funk by flicking her tongue over the four points of his compass tattoo. “What does this mean to you?”
A dozen ways to answer that—the truth some kind of betrayal—he shrugged. “Just a cool image for a boy scout like me.”
“Liar.” She scraped her teeth against the ink. “It’s more.”
“Yeah, it’s more.” What was the point in lying to her? “It’s a reminder to watch where I’m going. Not get lost in all the white noise. To stay centred and remember what’s true.”
She folded her arms across his chest, propped her chin on her hands, considered him. “Are you lost now, Jake?”
“You could say that. You’re my white noise, Rie. I’m gone, lost in you.”
Jake saw distance form quick shifting clouds in Rielle’s eyes. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m a big boy now. I can handle a little distraction without heading too far off course.” He was getting better at this lying gig. She was teaching him the dubious virtue of hiding his feelings. He drew his hand across her sacrum, found the ripple in her skin and traced the scar around her hip. “Tell me about this?” Her lips narrowed and he knew he’d as good as shoved her away.
She stayed where she was; her heart fluttered softly against his ribs, but her voice was hard, steely. “It was a long time ago, Jake. I hardly remember it.”
“You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I try.” She was shutting down, dismissing him even as she moved up his body and kissed him. Her lips were more a seal than an enticement.
When she broke off, he said, “And the ankle?”
It was a good save. She rolled over beside him, stretching her leg straight up and pointing her toe at the ceiling so the red heart was visible inside her ankle. “My first. After a fight with Rand. I don’t remember what it was about. I was fifteen and Ben was still alive but too sick to take much notice of anything.”
He sat up, ran his hand from her hip bone across her concave belly then over her inside thigh, calf and ankle;