“You see, there were those before you who didn’t so it’s essential you do.”
Before he could utter a word, she swiftly and silently swept from the room.
Her parting words obliterated the serenity he’d felt minutes before.
His mind turned to Belle and his first night together, her earnest demand that he promise she could trust him and the conversation they never had the next morning where she was going to share her secrets.
Perhaps, he thought with no small amount of uneasiness, they should talk before he’d fully earned her trust and made their relationship far more pleasantly complicated.
His arm tightened and he shifted her closer, deciding to clear the foreboding from his mind by reading.
He was engrossed in his book when she woke.
Her cheek gliding on his chest, her eyes opening and focussing fuzzily on his book, Jack watched her blink a couple of times. Then her head tipped up and her grey eyes, still groggy, were soft and had no trouble catching his.
“Hi,” she whispered and Jack felt that one word, uttered in her sweet voice, drift across his skin like it was a physical touch.
“Welcome back from dreamland, poppet,” Jack murmured, closing his book and dropping it to the floor.
He pulled her up his chest as he twisted her torso more fully on top of his.
She did not struggle as he did this. Instead, she lifted a hand to pull the wisps of hair away from her face and her eyes dropped to his mouth.
When he’d positioned her so their faces were close, before he knew or, he imagined, she knew what she was about, her lips curled into a small smile. Then she rested her hand on his chest, leaned in and touched her mouth to his.
At this light touch, he felt a surge of warmth through his body but, mouth still on his, Belle froze then jerked back.
Swiftly, his arms closed around her, containing her retreat.
She’d given him his opening.
It was time, Jack decided as the warmth remained in his body, to make things considerably more complicated.
Decision made, Jack didn’t delay.
“No, love,” he murmured. “Don’t be afraid, finish what you start.”
“Jack –”
He cut her off by demanding in a low voice, “Belle, kiss me.”
He felt her melting, her fingers curling into his shirt but, still, she resisted.
“Jack –”
One of his hands slid up her spine and, as it always did, this caused her to shiver. His body absorbed it as his fingers sifted into her hair at the back of her head.
He angled his own head forward and, lips against hers, he repeated softly, “Kiss me, poppet.”
“Please –” she begged even as he felt her body moulding to his.
He should put her out of her misery but he needed her to kiss him. He needed her to make that first move of her own volition (albeit with his coaxing). He needed the statement of what such an act would mean, to her as well as to him.
However, if she didn’t do this soon, he’d do it. With her body pressed to his, her thick hair falling through is fingers, he was losing control and he was losing it irritatingly fast.
Therefore, his voice was rough when he urged, “Belle, I want you to kiss me.”
Her eyes looked into his, he saw the struggle she was waging with her mind then her lids grew heavy, her stormy gaze grew dazed and he knew he had her.