All of These Things (20 page)

“Come with me,” I order and stride briskly through the kitchen, exiting where we originally came from.

“What is it, love?” His brows furrow.

“No questions. Just trust me, okay.”

I march to the fire pit and stand firmly.

“This chair,” I point, “has become my favourite chair. If I had even a trace of Sofie’s kleptomaniac tendencies, it would be in the back of my car as we speak—not that it would fit, but you know what I mean.”

“So you want
me
to steal it?” he asks, puzzled.

“No. I want you to grab it, and bring it inside,” I say, and return to the house.

I hear an outbreath of lament.

“Move it, Alec!” I command.

Irked, I wait under the arch between the dining space and the living room as he hauls the chair indoors.

“Right, then. Where do you want it?”

“Upstairs,” I answer and head in that direction.

He exhales again.

“Stop pouting.”

He struggles slightly through the narrow stairway and reaches the top fairly bewildered.

“I’m not sure, love. Are we fighting? Are you displeased with me?”

I ignore the question. “Bring it to my room,” I say, stepping into my personal space for the week. I point to the foot of the bed. “Put it right here.”

Alec does as he’s told, regarding me shrewdly, and I stare daggers back at him.

I pick up again. “This is my room, Alec. In Maine, I finally have a room.” He’s looking at me quizzically. In his defence, I am a little like a nut job at this moment.

“Back home, I’ve shared a bedroom—no, scratch that—I’ve shared a
bed
for most of my life because I never had a proper room. I live in someone else’s dreams and her delusions,” I say. “Everything is placed just so in our apartment, and the colour schemes and styles are
her
inclinations. There is no
me
where I live, Alec, and here I have a room, and I have a favourite chair.” I clasp the back of it. “Here, I permit myself to deviate, and it feels so good, and a lot of that is because of you, you stupid, thick-headed man with a stupid accent.”

“Caroline…” he cuts in, clamping his lips together to swallow laughter.

“No,” I say. “Just listen, please.”

Alec appears bamboozled.

“You gave me space, but you were always there. You taught me how to swim! Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that? In Maine, it’s been confusing but also less confusing, if that makes any sense.”

I take a step closer to him.

“It’s also been scary, and honestly, I’m still scared, but I’m also exhilarated. When I told you I don’t want to forget who I’ve become here, I truly meant it. I want to peel off the last bit of pretense I’m holding onto. Peel off the anxiety, the guilt, the fear...” Even feeling this tense and anxious, I will not cower.

“I’ve dropped layers, and if you look close enough, you’ll find pieces of the old me by the fire pit and in the O’Malley’s pool and on the Ferris wheel or at your rental place.”

Alec looks intent and nervous as he organizes his thoughts, probably wondering what I’m going on about, or why we’re kidnapping a chair.

I retreat, thinking he is trying to gauge my mood.

“I need to get something,” I say, my voice deceptively soft. “Promise you won’t move.”

His eyes narrow.

“You are one maddening woman,” he sneers, looking heavenward. “You make my head prickle, do you know that, love?”

“Only your head?” I say, batting my lashes, and a corner of my mouth lifts.

Alec’s jaw goes slack. He’s blindsided by the lust and courage fueling me to abandon any lingering restraint and modesty.

“I’ll be right here, sweetheart.” Alec nods, indicating he’ll obey, his eyes glued to mine.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Another chair you’re fond of, love?” Alec teases, but I’m a woman on a mission.

I drag the white rocker to the center of the bedroom, dumping a pad of paper and writing materials on its seat. I toss the throw blanket onto the bed and return to my position between Alec and the Adirondack, stepping into my biggest moment of truth. Alec’s smile slips away.

His mouth is a hard line under a deliciously, overstated lip. Will I ever recover from meeting him? This must be record timing for anyone steering her life out from cruise control. It’s surreal to know Alec. It feels like I’ve known him forever, and I hardly remember when it stopped feeling dangerous to be alone with him. He’s stoic as my chest rises and falls with rapid breaths.

“You’ll sit there,” I say, and back in my heels, I’m closely leveled to Alec’s cool, tentative gaze.

“I get the rocker?”

“Yes,” I will myself not to freeze up. “You’ll sit there as you draw.”

His brow arches, fascinated.

“And I’ll sit in my chair,” I carry on, ignoring his curiosity.

“So, you want me to sketch you?” He places a lock of hair behind my ear.

For such a light, artful touch it’s astonishingly powerful. The contact is so delicate and inconspicuous, yet it alludes to absolutely everything. I whiz through memories of us at the bar and the first time Alec reached out to me that intimately on Main Street. Even in a crowded, busy place we were deserted, moving slowly and warily closer to crossing that enchanted line.

“Yes,” I swallow. “I want you to sketch me. I want to prove to you I won’t forget who I am here, and if I do, then I’ll find myself again when I look at your drawing.” I release a breathy exhale. “Just make sure you get everything I am after you helped me peel off the layers.”

The fluttering nerves in my womb turn tense. His expression is a positively perplexed one, his eyes searching and apprehensive. I take another step, and his mouth opens a tad. I’m lightheaded but determined, ready to bring us both out of our misery.

“Caroline,” he whispers, my name a desperate plea for an unleashing. Alec’s so contained it hurts.

I could combust from watching him this way. His gaping eyes call upon me; his sturdy, well assembled body begs relief. The crackling intensity between us picks up to a fire storm, smouldering us.

“I’m going to sit in
my
chair,” I say, “that’s in
my
room, and you can draw me—the
new
me.”

I make another solicitous step forward, my nose perched under his, our breath kissing.

Alec looks more and more disheveled. His chest puffs forward, broad and rigid. He’s in pursuit not to touch me until I’ve spelled it out for him.

I unclench my hands, arms remaining straight at my sides.

“Everything I need is right here in this room,” I murmur. “I don’t want to forget it, and that includes me and you.”

Alec toys with another lock of my hair.

“You forget you were already magnificent when I met you.” He breathes.

“That’s not true.” Locking my eyes with his, I urge him to understand. “Since I’ve met you, I feel like I’ve dropped one cloak after another.”

“
You
abetted
me
, Caroline. You moved me, love. I’m lighter without my burdens because of you.”

Heat tints my cheeks, and I’m certain they’re flushing a hot rosiness. Nevertheless, I entertain my resilient semblance of courage.

“You have to understand what you mean to me, Alec.”

He flinches, having difficulty recognizing or believing what I’m saying, and I yearn to relieve him from his discomfort.

I lean in, grazing my lips over Alec’s, his scruff softly grating my burning skin. I gather his beautiful hands in each of mine, pressing my thumbs in his palms. He stares, panicked, his attention hysterical. I encircle his arms around my waist, making his hands meet at the small of my back. I set them to the fastening of my skirt, pressing his fingers to the clasp and zipper.

He’s so painfully controlled, looking almost affright. I prop my heavy, prickling core against him, against Alec’s pure, virile goodness, and I rasp, expelling quick, packed, hectic breaths. My longing a tender and unrelenting craving, turns into hot flares of desire. We breathe with extreme difficulty, puffing out final shreds of self-control.

“This,” I say boldly, “is my last layer, and I want
you
to take it off.”

The inferno inside me is consuming. I marvel at what I can manage with this man as he searches my face for clues, deliberating if I’ll lose my courage or regret my boldness. I know this potent need means I no longer care about rights and wrongs, about giving gossipmongers further ammunition. I’ll rectify and remedy the deterrents in my life tomorrow. I’ll re-evaluate my restraints and limitations then because what I feel for Alec happens to be the unquestionable truth.

Alec’s face sobers.

“Bloody hell, sweetheart. How strong was that gin?” he rasps, his eyes still drowning into mine.

If he doesn’t do something quickly I may just faint.

“I can’t draw you naked, love.” He’s all but snarling.

“I won’t be naked,” I purr, offering mock solace. “I plan to keep my new heels on.”

Alec’s body grows against mine, responding much like it’s suppressing a convulsion.

My body swells, too, growing hot and heavy, and I urgently need to stabilize myself. I press further into Alec, my breasts delightfully aching as they firmly blossom, compressing at his chest.

His hands glide up to the hem of my top, barely dragging it up an agonizing inch. Alec stops in his track.

“I’ll get lost in you,” he says, “so I can’t chance you regretting this.”

Longing and affection congregate in my belly. I’ve been on the brink so many times that desire rips through me. I find the strength to summon him.

“I want you,” I whisper. I can’t contain this any longer. “Alec,” my voice is throaty, “Let go inside of me.”

He processes my words, raking me with a volatile glare, and relief finally suffuses his face. He soars in to nuzzle my ear, and I cock my head, granting Alec all the access he needs. His hands fist my top, slithering it up a little further. His sharp intake of breath is a sign of struggle, warring with himself if he should go on, weighing what I’ll think once we’ve crossed the line. I decide to make it easier on him.

“I want you upstairs where I sleep,” I hiss, reciting his words from when we were together like this only last night, “and I’ll devour you downstairs.”

When Alec’s lungs let out, his body admits defeat, and I see stars. His face sweeps harshly against my cheek, and I’m captured. I wrap my hands around his neck to pull him deeper into my mouth. Alec yanks my top over my head and uncorks his tongue aggressively from my clasp, retreating to stare me down. Awe transforms his face. A ravenous thrill runs through me as Alec assesses me hungrily. I’m breathing so hard I feel like I’m jutting out of my bra. His eyes scour my skin, and I peep down to see what I look like in his eyes, fairly satisfied by my white satin choice with black, lacy sides.

Alec swallows hard.

“Should I leave?” he wheezes. “Do you want me to go because I’m spiraling now, love?”

My mouth goes dry, and I can only faintly shake my head.

“Then what do you want, Caroline?” Alec asks, his hands returning to my waist. A shiver propels my skin to spike, and the hollow, throbbing channel in my womb has never had such insistent authority over me.

The span of Alec’s fingers engulfs me. Tucked into his chest, I feel so small as my breath labours. I can only manage a short, dim reply.

“You.” I breathe. “I want you.”

I writhe, feeling utterly deprived, and finally, I hear a primal mewl rise from Alec’s throat, a warning sign for what’s to come. I’m seized by another, historical, earth-shattering kiss—our ravenous passion can move tectonic plates beneath us.

He unlatches my skirt, dragging the zipper down through my crevice as I brace my mounds together. His hands widen, and the tips of Alec’s fingers skim in the cleft, his palms cupping the rounded flesh. He draws the skirt down, and it pools around my feet.

I whimper his name, and Alec groans.

“Do you have any idea,” he says, “how hard it is to practice such restraint around you?” My head is in his hands, and his forehead and nose bear down on my face. “Do you know what inhuman strength it entailed to be around you in the water or to even let you go last night? Do you know how much agony I willingly put myself through for you, Caroline? For you, my love.”

Panting, I lick my lips, and Alec swoops down to clip my tongue and lip.

I shudder.

A painful, lingering kiss continues down to my neck, succulently around my collarbone, and lowers to my heaving, sensitive breasts. I run my fingers across the nape of Alec’s neck, tugging at his hair, and my dizzy stature has me swaying, swinging my head back, and side to side. Alec’s fingers release the clasp of my bra, and I clench the apex of my thighs, so afraid it will defy me, moving too hastily into fitful, erratic outbursts. Pleasures blaze through me.

It’s hard to find my mind in this flurry of emotion. I want to match Alec and treat him as magnificently, but I’m a lost cause. The straps of my bra collapse, and the cups drop against his mouth, proffering fruit for his taking. He retreats slightly, inspecting my tingling breasts, and his eyes peek up.

“What do you want, Caroline?” he breathes heavily. “Do I stop, love?”

I grimace.

“No.” I gasp. “I want you,” I say and thrust his head into my budding heaps, stepping out of the confining skirt. It’s daunting to be the only unsheathed one here, so I start to tug away at Alec’s clothes, dragging his jacket off and slipping my hands under his shirt. Alec’s lips are back at my mouth, and I unwrap my glorious package, taking stock of the epitome of man.

Alec’s hands skate to my breasts, lifting them up for his scrutiny and consumption. It’s pleasing to know I can fill his large, masculine, beautiful hands as he tweaks them. Wildly, I bunch his thick, wavy hair in a fist, and I cry out.

After a muffled growl, he yanks my bra and flings it to the bed. I’ve never experienced such intensity, this unbelievable craving. It’s dangerous, but Alec’s both my weakness and my saving grace.

Little by little, I commence to creep backwards, almost imperceptibly at first, and Alec trails. Our tongues remain entwined, but when the back of my legs touch the bed, we crumple. It’s not an easy feat for my mind to crawl out of sweet oblivion, yet somehow I recognize how much I trust Alec to fly over the edge with me.

PASSAGES

Amalia
: I’m thinking too much. For one, I’m starting to think that this girl in my home is only pretending to be some kind of medical personnel or babysitter. I really don’t know what she is, to be honest—not that I care. But Angel Mae is the exact opposite of an Angel. I can tell she’s mischievous—very, very mischievous. I don’t like her here. She has that God-awful voice—a dreadfully shrill sound, like nails to a chalkboard, and she’s incessantly giddy—literally making me sick. Did that girl even think about
that
when she left me here with this scamster? She’s a tiny, skittish, wicked human being. She’s probably an imposter!

Oh, and I know my mind runs off a little bit, and maybe I do need that child of mine looking over me, but she’s the daughter!
I’m the mother
. What a cruel joke this is on me. If she’s going to be off living her own life and thinks she can leave me here with this featherbrain, well, Caroline has another think coming to her. So, fine. Sure I’m sticking to the charts and conforming to a schedule, but who says I’d defy the program if I were alone? I love being alone. Doesn’t anyone get that yet? But sometimes I can start to think too much, and that’s probably when they expect I’ll test the rhythm around here. So, I’m a tad anti-social and maybe even unmanageable, but honestly, how bad can it be? That dear, beautiful man seems to cope very well with me. Nathaniel values me. He gets it, and thank God that he does because honestly, after that child of ours, he’s the only one who can come into my space and not make it feel like a disruption. It’s not confusing for me when he’s here. I don’t feel overwhelmed or like I’m suddenly living in turmoil. That man is peace.

But I don’t feel very rested about that, either. I don’t know what to do with Nathaniel because my expectations are different than his—of that I’m sure. One minute I wish he never left that no-good woman and another I’m relieved he has. But when he was with her, I didn’t think about new plans or possibilities. I just went on with my day, and many days I never thought of him at all. I can’t help that. I’m not cut from the same cloth as everyone else. I’m
differently
-abled, is all. I know I was supposed to think about my child but most times I didn’t until she came back from school—or work as it is now. But lately, I can’t stop thinking of
him
, of Nathaniel, and of that desk. He needs a desk, damn it!

I know Mae’s up to no good. My lipsticks have turned dull and lacklustre. Even the glossy, luminous ones are suddenly, hopelessly bland. Everything comes on dry and matte. I sweep one tube after another, and they all make my mouth look desiccated. She did something to them, and now I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, and I can’t stop picturing her touching my things,
and Nathaniel needs a desk
. When does that girl get back, anyway? After tomorrow? This apartment is just horribly incomplete until we get a bed in the second bedroom and a blasted desk. I feel like the apartment is shifting, or maybe even shrinking, just thinking about it. I’m cold. I’m feeling stone cold, and that’s because everything is off in this place. The temperature is all out of sorts, too. The apartment is a nice place for two but
not
for three. With three, I can’t manage my thoughts. There’s too many voices and too much movement.

I asked my beautiful man to stay. I don’t want to be alone with that dingbat, but when Nathaniel retires for the night, he’ll have to sleep on the corner chair in my old dressing room. God, that room is just so empty, now. I can almost hear it wailing. I just hate it when there’s so much to consider. When my head is full my scalp itches. What if that nitwit gave me lice? I could be infested. I’ll have to talk to Dr. Toussaint. At least she has real medical training, unlike this ninny I was left to live with for the week. Why can’t I find a comfortable position? When I’m awake like this I work very hard not to get up from bed. My mind will think it’s morning, so better I relax—relax and count backwards with my eyes closed.