his heartbeat strong against my ear. Some of the tension had lessened but still radiated in the air.
I sensed that he wanted to ask me something, to dig deeper, but I didn’t want to go there. To set his mind in a different direction, I turned from him and retrieved my bag from the bathroom. After searching through the pockets, I handed him the ticket. He looked it over for a minute and then lifted it up in question.
“A ticket to see the Gin Blossoms. Ace asked me to go with him.”
“Tell me—” he took a deep breath “—if you want to go with him.”
“I—” I didn’t expect that. “No. I don’t.” I looked down at my hands. My skin seemed translucent, thin from the chill in the cabin. “I only want to be with you, Brando.”
“Right fucking answer. You’ve always been mine.”
My eyes rose to meet his in a rush. He flicked the ticket, like it was trash, to the floor. He came forward at the same time, his arms creating two bars around my body, and his lips came to my mouth.
This kiss hungered, felt starved, and I reciprocated in kind, feeding his need. Instinct directed my hands, and the burn in me continued to build, fueling the want for him. A want. A need. Both created a painful ache for more.
Occasionally, his mouth veered, only to caress my jaw and my neck. His hands explored my face and arms and waist and hips and behind. Each touch seemed hot enough to burn through fabric.
If he continued to venture, if my hands continued their frenzy explorations, there was no turning back; he seemed to understand that before I had.
He ended the kiss once more, the cold slipping between us again.
“Time for bed, Ballerina Girl,” he whispered. Then without warning, he swooped me up, a surprised whoop! coming from my mouth, and set me on the bed. He moved the covers back and we both settled in, him wrapping his arms around me, me melting into his warmth.
We were both quiet; I listened to the beat of his heart again. The sound of it lulled me to the brink of sleep.
Just before I drifted, I said, “I love you, Brando.” No hesitation. No holding back. The truth had been there for years, unable to form and release the words. To say them now felt natural. I could’ve been saying them all of my life.
His arms came around me tighter, pulling me even closer, like he wanted to absorb me into his skin. Minutes continued without a noise, a reaction, a response, and my eyes grew heavier.
“It’s all right,” I whispered through the veil of sleep. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
I did know. He was, just as he had said, under my skin, in my blood, in the very marrow of my bones. The humming in my blood didn’t lie.
I heard him swallow as his hands opened and closed. “Love is a lie, Scarlett.” The tone of his voice felt like satin against my skin, but I got the feeling having to share these words felt like barbs to him. “The word. It’s a lie—it doesn’t come close to what I feel for you. What do you say when ‘love’ just isn’t enough?”
“Always?” I whispered.
He kissed my forehead. “Always, always, always.”
Only a few candles still burned in sconces against the darkness.
Instinct whispered that it hadn’t been that long since I had fallen asleep. It had become a habit for me to get up off and on throughout the night. After Elliott’s death, I woke in a panic, dreading the chaos that had followed the knock on our door at 3 a.m. on that morning.
A total loss of control haunted me.
The thought alone, the reminders, made my heart accelerate, my palms slick with sweat, my body tremble. Though I had slept better than I had in a long time, Brando’s presence a safety blanket, the ghosts of the past came back to haunt me.
Gently removing his arm from my waist, I set my feet on the floor. The wood beneath me felt cool, my toes pale against the night, all of the tendons and bones highlighted by the soft light, giving a better impression of a skeleton than a human.
I watched him sleep for some time, just to be sure that he was really there beside me. This isn’t that night, I reminded myself, forcing myself to believe the truth. It’s not snowing. He’s not leaving.