But that was then. And then is long gone.
I let my heart beat once. Twice, Three times. Ten. The silence between beats is excruciating. It feels like an eternity, with Mom watching Steve with shrewd eyes that are zeroed in on him now that he’s maimed, and she’s waiting for him to bleed out enough to go in for the kill.
And then another space between beats. Another. One more, all with Steve giving me that look. The one that holds expectations—thousands of them, carefully cultivated over years together, his well-worn reflex of knowing I’ll jump right in and—what?
Save him?
Silence. Heartbeats. Spaces between.
I need to save me.
I look him in the eye and say the exact same words he used on me, more than a year ago, when he broke up with me.
“I’m sorry, Steve. It’s just that you were never really up to par for what I need.”
One corner of Mom’s mouth tips up and her fingers twitch. She wants to high-five me, and the muscles in her neck tighten. She wants to say something but breathes through her nose instead, captivated but uncharacteristically quiet.
Steve has this expression of patience that melts into disbelief, as if his brain is on a three-second delay. He’s finally realizing that I’m not going to rescue him. Coddle him. Prop up the mythology that says he’s the center of the universe, that his emotional core is radioactive and therefore must be protected from exposure at all costs. He’s trained me to believe that it’s my responsibility to buy into his idea that he’s above criticism, and anyone who dares to confront him is ignorant and worthy only of derision.
Silence and non-movement are my weapons now. And while I’m clumsy and unskilled, I’m using them to protect my core.
Finally.
This is what Declan meant about Steve. Not letting him make me feel inferior. Except Declan was wrong.
Dead wrong.
It wasn’t that I let Steve make me feel lesser.
It was that I let him convince me that the order of the world demanded that I am lesser.
And I’m seeing now that the way the world works isn’t some pre-defined set of rules that other people get to make and impose on me.
Steve finds his voice. “I’m done.” And he just walks away with fisted hands and a tight jaw.
“So am I,” I say in a clear, but calm voice, pushing the ice cream away.
Mom’s speechless.
Which means I won in so many more ways.
Chapter Seven
The slide of his hands, soft palms with squared fingernails moving out of my vision as he cradles my face, makes me inhale slowly, devouring the taste of his breath. We’re in bed, nude, skin against skin and heat against heat, the combination turning us into a fireball of sensual desire.
Desire that will soon convert and combust into a licking flame.
I’ve waited so long for this, the press of his fingertips into my belly, the slow crawl of his mouth over my breast, the warm wetness of his mouth, his tongue tracing circles that make me taut with a craving for his taste. My body is a landscape for him to explore and I sink my hands into Declan’s hair, the long strands a surprise. He’s growing it out, a stark contrast to his short, clipped look, and when he catches my eye with a jaunty grin, one half-curl pops over his eyebrow and makes me fall in love all over again.
Again.
As if there could be more.
The space between us is so small you can’t fit a heart in there, much less two. We’ll have to share one that beats enough for us both as his mouth finds mine and says, “I’m here.” The next kiss says that he’s here to stay, and then that turns out to be a tiny white lie as he travels the valley to the sweet, supple parts of me that are so achingly ready for his mouth, his fingers, his throbbing flesh, our pounding need.
He’s back, in my bed, and it’s like he never left. Bright green eyes with tiny flecks of brown and topaz at the edge of the pupils are so close that I can read the colors. If I had the gift of second sight I could tell you what his orbs tell the world about all the dimensions of love we share, but I’m woefully incapacitated as he captures my red nub, enticing and teasing, mouth exploring where I tremor with anticipation.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs in a voice I know so well, using words I’ve heard before, in the limo, on a lighthouse floor, in my own bed.
My own bed, where I am right now.
With him.
“I’ve missed you. Missed—” My breath hitches, the words broken in half as he splits me with an expert touch that does exactly what he wants, that draws all the blood from my inner self to the surface, giving him a wonderful playland to use as he pleases, for pleasure and joy.
“Missed me?” Declan pulls up, then murmurs in my ear, tongue loose and leisurely on my neck, the gentle kisses he peppers down the side turning into fiercer love bites. I’ll have marks in the morning, little notes that play the melody of these minutes, hours in bed together.
A relief map of sorts. A cartographer’s plot, charting the way to join me in ecstasy.
And yet…a chart for one and only one man to follow.
Ever.
“You never need to miss me again, Shannon. Never.” His kiss makes me clench, the friction of belly against abs like he’s already in me, touching deep and unleashing a release so strong I can’t hold back.
“I love you so much, Declan,” I whisper.
My own hands become greedy, needing to accumulate more memory of his hot skin, wanting to memorize the contours of his marbled back, his muscled thighs, the soft skin where leg becomes sex. In the inner curve of his hip I find a place only I can excite, one that he reserves for me—and only me—and his next word echoes my own thoughts.
“Mine. You’re mine, Shannon. Forever. Don’t ever doubt me, please. Trust me. Give over to me. Let me love you. Let me show you how much I love you.”
Declan’s eyes have gone dark green with desire, the color of emerald velvet, like a cape spread out on a mossy hill in Ireland for two lovers to enjoy an afternoon frolic in the sun, the coast and the rush of the ocean surrounding us. He’s all sea air and crash and rolling hills, dotted with the sunshine of homecoming and love everlasting.
In a flash, I’m on my back and he’s over me, poised to claim me, my legs opening of their own will, my body so primed. So ready. So—
Beep beep beep.
My heart pounding, my hands fisting the sheets, and a puddle under me the size of Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg (yes, it’s a real lake in Massachusetts), I wake up mid-climax, thrashing a bit and shaking myself out of what is, disappointingly, just a dream.