shirt, slipped it from his shoulders, let it fall to the floor, and then ran my fingertips in a gentle motion across his smooth bare chest, “is why I came.”
Heart and soul, body and mind, were all in agreement. I had no choice but to say yes.
Awake.
A light had been lit inside of me.
I could feel the internal flame in every ounce of whatever made me…me. The glow had always been present because of him; it just needed the chance to bloom.
Time.
We were lost to it. Found only to each other. Did the rest of the world disappear when ecstasy filled every aching hole? I believed so. Time ceased to function, drunk on the clear smoke of laughing gas that love and ecstasy released when the two worlds came together, creating one. A refuge. A time capsule. Our lovemaking echoed throughout the night without shame, without thoughts of an inevitable end.
Hungry.
Greedy, was more like it. I couldn’t stand the loss of his body, his heat, and all I could manage in thought was over and over and over and over. All my body could long for was more, more, more…because this was love.
Always.
Always, always, always…
In the silence of predawn, during that precarious and delicate switching of hands from dark to light, the words refused to leave me. The need to write them down in my journal, documenting our beautiful years, came close to seizing me with panic—don’t forget, never forget…
Somewhere in a mind that seemed to float with the rest of me, in the slow-drifting clouds of my thoughts, I made a mental note to do just that whenever the opportunity arose.
I hoped the opportunity was far off in the distance. I never wanted to leave the dream we had somehow weaved. Right now, the mad dash to write down all of my feelings was in no comparison to the insane need to stay close to the man beside me.
We had moved to the bed long ago, finding warmth in the fireplace, underneath the covers. I found my true warmth from his steady heat. He held me, my back pressed to his front, his fingertips stroking the skin on my arm, my shoulders, and then up and down my spine, over each rising vertebra.
Every once in a while he would lean in, inhale my hair, the skin behind my ear, and then he would whisper something about roses, causing a delightful chill to make me shiver.
The strong scent of roses hung in the air above us, tangling with the robust smell of the fire and his cologne. For what felt like the longest stretch of peaceful time, the only sounds were the hiss and pop of the flames, our jagged breathing, and an occasional trembling sigh from me.
“You call me your angel.” Brando’s voice melted in with the other sounds, sneaky as the hiss and pop, as mild as the scent of roses, sharp as the breaths of want, and as peaceful as the release of a satiated breath, but there was something there, looming on the surface: clear and condensed vulnerability. “You save me, Scarlett.”
I turned to look at him, to see his face, but he kept me in place with the stronghold of his arms. I took some time to think about my answer. It was on the tip of my tongue, but the words needed to be right for him. When the time came, my voice broke, and I had to start over again.
“You—you introduced me to love, Brando. The night in the snow, I remember seeing it. How bright our world was against the night. And I don’t remember feeling it—the cold. You know what I felt? Warmth. All that I remember is the warmth that I felt. It was the only thing about that night that I’ve never questioned. You lit something inside of me that may have burned low for a time, but it never left me completely. When you came back…it flared. I’ve always believed in angels. I believe that of you.”
“Tell me how to say misguided angel in French.”
“Brando—”
“Say it.”
“Ange trompé.”
“Angelo sbagliata.” He repeated the words, but not in the same language. The sound of him speaking Italian rushed over me, as sexual as a wave crashing into shore. Alone, his mouth was sensual, but with Italian flowing from it?
“You speak Italian,” I pointed out, almost stupidly.
“Yeah,” he said. “All that I am.”
All that he was? His answer came in response to my obvious observation, but there was more to his blasé