Everything Between Us (9 page)

“Yeah, but—”

I put the knife down quickly. I hate that he can see how scared I was, that he sees me as unable to take care of myself. “I’m not a child,” I say, more harshly than I mean to.

And just like that, he’s next to me. His fingers nudge my chin up until I’m looking at him. “I know, Stella,” he says gently. “I’ve noticed.”

There it is again, that swooping feeling. It tickles, low in my belly, almost between my legs, and makes me feel restless, like I want to move. A shiver runs through my whole body, making parts of me tighten up. “You have?” My voice is all trembly. I sound like an idiot.

He gives me this resigned, sad smile. “I have.” He goes back to his array of crackers, and I nearly sink to the floor.

We get ourselves sodas and carry our bounty back to the enclosed porch, because there’s no better place to watch the blizzard. There’s plenty of light even though the heavy, wet snow is piling up quickly. Once we’re stuffed with carbs, we grab a flashlight and wander around the house. I show him my parents’ library, this dark-paneled room that smells magnificently of books—I actually wonder if it’s a kind of air freshener Willa buys, because it is just so perfect. “I was named after a character in this book,” I comment, aiming the flashlight’s beam at
Great Expectations
.

“Yeah?” Daniel says, pulling it off the shelf. “I think I read it in high school, or maybe just pretended to. What’s this Estella like?”

“She’s absolutely heartless,” I say.

“For real?”

“Pretty much. The main character, Pip, loves her all his life, but she claims she can’t love him—or anyone. It’s not really her fault. I mean, she was trained to be that way, to inspire love but never return it.”

His expression twists. “Why would they name you Estella, then?”

“My mom just thought it was pretty.” Or maybe she fantasized about molding me into her very own Estella, a girl she could make perfect, even though it hasn’t worked out that way.

He tucks the book under his arm. “I think I need to do more investigating. It’s not like we have much else to do.”

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he takes me by the hand. I shine the flashlight down the hallway as we head back to the center of the house, our fingers entwined.
I’m holding hands with Daniel,
I think.
This is really happening.

It’s heavenly and frightening, but in a good way. Because this is all I get. I can’t be out there in the world. I can’t go the places he goes or see what he sees. I’m stuck here. And right now, he’s stuck here with me, and there’s every reason in the world for him to stay, and I don’t have to feel guilty about it, because I’m not the one keeping him here. Let it snow, I say. Viva la snowmageddon. Bring on the snowpocalypse. As far as I’m concerned, this storm of the century can take its freaking time.

Chapter Seven: Daniel

Schools are closed, the co-op’s closed, my mom’s pre-surgical appointment was canceled, and basically the whole town’s shutting down. Yet here I am.

Not because I got stuck in the driveway, though. I was headed down the drive when I looked in the rearview and noticed the house had gone dark. And before I was even aware of what I was doing, I backed all the way up and parked on the edge of the driveway. If she looks outside, she won’t know it’s not stuck. Hell, in a few hours, it could very well be true.

As soon as I saw her face, I was so glad I’d come back.

  I can tell this storm is freaking her out a little. When I came in this morning, she looked frazzled, and there was this huge collection of flashlights and other supplies piled on the kitchen island. Like she went through the entire mansion and put them all here, not realizing that if she was somewhere else when the power went out, she’d have to grope her way to the kitchen. Stella’s smart, so that tells me she must have been on the verge of panic while she was doing her sweep of the house. She was so scared that she lost her logic. And her parents haven’t even called. Her dad’s in Europe, her mom’s in some spa who the fuck knows where, and both are too absorbed in themselves to even check if she’s okay. I mean, hell. I’m twenty-four and my mom—who has
cancer
, for fuck’s sake, the best reason in the world to get self-absorbed—called me, just to make sure I was safe. I had to lie to her, of course, because I was on the road at the time, but it was nice to know she cared. Stella doesn’t have that. If I hadn’t shown up, she would have been trapped in this house alone.

Now we’re trapped together.

I’m more okay with it than I should be. In fact, I’m working hard to smooth out this shaky desire for her that’s trying to claw its way out of my stomach.

 Right. I need to focus on practical things. “It’s going to get pretty cold in here if the power’s off for a while,” I say to her. “Maybe a fire …?”

“Family room,” she says, tugging my hand. Despite the storm, it’s not totally dark because this house is full of windows. But neither of us has snatched our hands back yet. She leads me into the huge sunken room with a flat screen TV that covers half of one of the walls. It’s surrounded by plush couches. On the other side of the room is the fireplace, with logs neatly stacked on either side.

In no time, I’ve built us a fire, though I have to go back to the kitchen to retrieve the matches. The logs pop and snap in the flames, and in this light, Stella is perfect, her cheekbones shadowed, her eyes dark and deep. I don’t know how I didn’t notice at first, how beautiful she is, but once I did, I couldn’t unnotice it no matter how hard I tried.

“What do we do now?” she asks. “I’d recommend a Star Wars marathon, but …” She gestures at the dark screen of the television.

I hold up the book I snagged from the library. “Let’s make like the pioneers and read by the fire.”

She gives me a skeptical look. “I think books were few and far between in the pioneer days.”

“Could you not bust my balls for maybe
one
moment?” I ask her.

“Busting your balls is extremely enjoyable,” she says.

“I can think of other things that would be more enjoyable,” I blurt. Her eyes go wide. She’s so freaking innocent-looking that it makes me a little crazy. I take a step back and laugh. “Like reading
Great Expectations
by the fire,” I say quickly.

“I think we should make a nest,” she says, apropos of nothing. “Would you like to build a nest with me?”

“Ah, I think it’s a bit too soon to be talking nests—”

She grins. “When I was a kid, my nanny used to let me. I’d gather up a bunch of pillows and blankets and pile them up on the floor, so huge that I wouldn’t hit bottom when I jumped in. My sister and I would camp out like that every once in a while, until she decided she was too old to enjoy that kind of thing. But really, it’s a crime to outgrow enjoyment of a good nest.”

She gives me a hopeful look. She’s serious. And—honestly, it sounds kind of fun. “Let’s do it.”

We jog through the house, holding hands and giggling like children as we rip pillows and comforters off of every bed we find—leaving Liza and Lou’s rooms alone by silent agreement. We raid the linen closets, where we find more pillows and thick down duvets. We grab throw pillows and cushions from couches and loveseats. We make a huge mess, then stand in front of the fire and argue about nest construction. Stella insists there’s a proper way to do it, and I keep tossing pillows in the wrong places, in part because she’s adorable when she’s pissed. But really, her nest-building skills are solid, and I let her be in charge, then get hypnotized by the way her body moves as she works.

“I’m doing all the heavy-lifting,” she complains, tossing a pillow at me.

It bounces off my head, knocking me out of my trance. “Sorry. You’ve done a great job, though. Can we go in it yet? Please?”

She bounces on her heels. “I think it’s ready.” She takes a sudden, running leap and dives into the massive mound of softness. “Come on in,” she says. “The water’s fine.”

“You asked for it.” I kick off my boots and vault over the side of her pillow wall, but I misjudge my own strength and land on top of her. She shrieks and puts her hands up. Her palms flatten against my chest, and the effect is instant and total. Desire cascades through my bloodstream as I catch myself, my arms caged around her body, my stomach muscles clenched tight and trembling. She’s on her back beneath me, her hair fanning out around her head.

Mistake
. Huge. Mistake. I can’t think of a single joke, a single sly comment, an easy remark, any way to make this light. She’s peeled that away with the simple pressure of her hands against my chest. She can see me now, exactly as I am. Exactly what I want.

Her gaze travels between my eyes and my mouth. Her breaths are short and sharp. I have to choose—move away or lower myself down—but I’m totally caught. There’s
what I should do
and
what I want
, and I can’t decide.

Stella decides for me. She moves her hand from my chest and touches my face. Her fingertips trace down my cheek and flutter across my lips, and she’s like gravity. I can’t resist. I sink slowly, and her fingers curl into my shirt. She looks so nervous, but she’s pulling me down. Suddenly, I’m sure she’s a virgin. I’m fucking sure of it, and that makes all this worse.

But I never claimed to be a good person, especially when all the blood in my brain has rushed south. I keep my hips to the side as I descend, not wanting to freak her out. My chest touches hers. My elbows hit the cushions. Our noses bump.

And then we’re kissing. Her lips are soft and yielding beneath mine, and I stroke her hair as our mouths meld. Stella’s hand is on the side of my neck, but as I nibble at her full bottom lip, she weaves her fingers into my hair and pulls me closer. Slowly, I deepen the kiss, testing, and she responds instantly, making this breathless sound and touching the tip of her tongue to mine. This is how we are, I realize—she always meets me halfway, pushes on me in a way that somehow pulls me in.

I can tell she doesn’t have much experience. Most of the women I’ve been with are aggressive, but also, they’re smooth. They know what they’re doing and what they want. Sometimes it’s almost like they’re showing off. Their movements are practiced; they want so badly to be desired.

Stella’s the opposite, and it’s so sweet that I want to drown in it. She’s a little clumsy. Eager and curious and irresistible. Our teeth clack together as she raises her head suddenly, but it’s because she’s seeking more, and I’ve never felt anything more rewarding. I inch my hand downward, and she squirms like she doesn’t know what she wants—but she wants
something
. I pull back from our kiss.

“You can tell me,” I whisper. “If I do something you like, if you want me to do it again. And if I do something that you don’t like—you
have
to tell me that.” But as soon as I say it, I’m asking myself
why
. Why would I say that, like I’m really doing this, like I’m going to do more? Like we’re … God, I don’t even know what.

Stella nods, her lips parted, lush like a bruise, luring me toward her again. I lose myself in that kiss, in the wet slide of our tongues, in the insistent tug of her hand in my hair, in the supple curves of her body as my hand glides down her side.
I won’t push this far,
I promise myself. But I have to feel her. I’ve been staring at her body for two weeks now, and I have to know. I only wish there wasn’t a layer of clothes between us. The swell of her hip is so addictive that I spread my fingers and squeeze, and she gasps into my mouth. She arches toward me, pressing her breasts against my chest, and I thrust my tongue between her teeth, hard and searching, my good intentions incinerated in the heat of my lust. My hand moves to her ass, and
oh I want I want I want
—

She spreads her legs a little, skimming her foot along my calf, but that’s when my brain finally sparks to life again. If I meet her halfway like she wants, if I pull her leg over my hip and rock myself against the soft center of her, she’ll feel exactly how far I would take this if there weren’t a billion reasons not to.

I’m supposed to be sleeping with her mother, not her.

She’s mostly likely a virgin and that is
way
too heavy.

She’s obviously got shit to deal with that doesn’t involve getting tangled up with a man-whore like me.

And, most importantly, I don’t
do
stuff like this. I don’t drop the act, and I never stop playing the game. I don’t share innocent, clumsy, desperate make-out sessions with inexperienced twenty-year-olds. Especially not this one, who makes me feel naked even when I’m wearing all my clothes.

I sit up quickly, and Stella pulls her hands from my body like she’s been caught stealing. “I’m sorry, Stella.”

Her brow furrows. “Did I … do something wrong?”

If you call
too fucking perfect
“wrong,” then yes. She’s as wrong as they come. “No, not at all. This is just … I don’t know. I think the nest is messing with our minds. We shouldn’t have nested. Or maybe we need to establish proper nest protocol. You know, nest boundaries.” There. Back on track. Light and easy.

An uncertain smile flickers on her face, and it makes me ache. I’ve hurt her, but she’s trying not to show it. She wanted this. She—no. She doesn’t know what she wants, and I took advantage of that. Now I’m going to fix it. I lean down and kiss her forehead. “We should read.”

“Right,” she says in a strained voice, then wipes her swollen lips with the back of her hand. “We should read.” She gets up and grabs
Great Expectations
from the floor in front of the hearth, then flips to the first page. She clears her throat. “‘My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip…’”

She reads until her voice is too raspy to continue, and then I take over. It siphons away the tension word by word, and as Stella’s body relaxes, mine does, too. I don’t know how or when this happened, but now there is this invisible thread that connects us, and if she’s tense, I can feel it inside.