She stood across the room from him nervously then started to speak.
“You should know something about me,” she announced.
He stopped unbuttoning his shirt to study her, wondering what she had to say. Wondering if he’d believe what she had to say. Wondering if he’d be further annoyed by what she had to say. And thinking that he likely would not (to the former) and definitely would (to the latter).
Then, to his surprise, she crossed the room and halted not a foot away from him.
She lifted her beautiful face to his and her eyes were sherry. When she spoke her voice was low and intent and almost urgent.
“My mother and father are both redheads, I didn’t get their hair but I got their temper. I always say things I regret when I lose my temper and I’m always in a foul mood when I wake up. I’m so sorry I was such a terrible shrew this morning. Please don’t be mad at me anymore.”
When he didn’t reply to this stunning announcement, an announcement that, backed by the shade of her eyes (something she likely couldn’t control), he believed for they were a warm sherry, she closed the distance between them and hesitantly rested both her hands on his chest.
“I like it when you’re yelling at me or ordering me around a lot better than this. Not that I like you ordering me around but I couldn’t bear five months of this,” she declared and at the earnest look on her face he finally felt his chest, which had been tight since the moment he saw her smile at the waiter, relax. He also felt the anger ebb out of him and decided on the best course of action to work the rest of his tension at the evening out of his system.
Therefore, he ordered, “Take your clothes off, Sibyl.”
She nodded, her shoulders drooped, she dropped her head and began to step away from him.
“No,” he changed his mind, “I think tonight I’d rather do it.”
Her head snapped up and his hands went to her hips, sliding around, pressing in to pull her to him and she rested her hands lightly on his shoulders.
“Can I take it that since you’re ordering me around again that you aren’t mad at me anymore?” she asked, her alto voice sweet and, if he heard it correctly, hopeful.
Colin studied her.
Sibyl Godwin was definitely an enigma and this was a new, enchanting element to her puzzle.
He bent his neck and brushed his lips against hers.
Then he said against her mouth, “No, Sibyl, I’m not mad at you anymore.”
And that’s when it happened.
She relaxed, leaned into him, locked her sherry eyes with his and smiled.
And Colin knew, in that instant, he’d never forget that smile for the rest of his life.
* * * * *
Much later, Colin woke from a deep sleep, mainly because Sibyl had kicked him violently in the shin.
He pulled himself onto his elbow to see she was still asleep. They hadn’t closed the shutters and he could see her in the moonlight, she had moved away from him in the night and was lying on her stomach. He could tell she was agitated, something wasn’t right.
“Sibyl?” He reached out to touch her, to wake her from what was obviously a nightmare.
Before he made contact with her body, she reared up violently then she flew from the bed and raced across the room.
Colin noted distractedly that Mallory, who had been lying on the floor by Colin’s side of the bed, was now up as well, standing still and fierce and not barking or vibrating with his usual big dog energy.
But Colin’s attention was focussed on Sibyl, she’d halted by the window and stood panting as if she’d just run a race. Her body was tense, her arms held out, bent at the elbows, palms up in a defence posture. She was looking around, her head tossing this way and that, like she expected someone to attack her.
On guard at her strange behaviour, Colin exited the bed and approached her slowly.
“Sibyl,” he murmured quietly and her head jerked to him.
“Colin,” she whispered achingly and he felt his gut clench at the terrible tone of her voice. She sounded sad and defeated and, somehow, lost.