Erasing Faith(22)

I didn’t flinch or flee. In fact, I stood so still, I barely breathed as two fingertips landed gently on my cheekbone, skimming like the lightest flutter of a butterfly’s wings against my skin.

Stifling the involuntary gasp that threatened to escape my lips, I felt the electricity of his touch coursing through me like a current, from the tiny points of contact where the pads of his fingers smoothed away the worry lines on my face, all the way down to the soles of my feet. He traced slowly up the bridge of my nose, across my forehead, and down my temple, circling my eye in a caress so delicate I had to stop myself from leaning into his touch.

“You’re right,” he whispered.

My thoughts were honed so intently on his featherlight fingers, I couldn’t string words together to form a response.

“I’m not a nice guy,” he told me in a hushed voice. “I’m not going to give you a free pass when it comes to doing things you’re afraid of. If that makes me an *, so be it. Phobias, fears — either they own you, or you own them. Whether you let them rule you — that’s your choice, Red. I don’t live my life hiding from the shit that scares me. I don’t believe in running from fears; I believe in facing them.”

My lips parted in an exhale and I stared into his eyes, totally transfixed, as he spoke on.

“And, if it makes it easier… If you need me to…” He swallowed roughly. “I’ll face this one with you.”

He held out his hand for me to take and, without hesitation, I slid mine into his grasp. I didn’t know why, I couldn’t begin to explain it… but I trusted Wes implicitly. I looked into his eyes and thought, for the first time in a long time, for the first time maybe ever, someone had finally taken the time to look beneath my surface. To understand who I was deep down, where no one could see.

Except him.

He saw me.

Not the Morrissey’s youngest child, or Saffron’s little sister. Not the homecoming queen or the honors-level history student.

Just me. Just Faith.

A flurry of nervous butterflies erupted in my stomach — and they had absolutely nothing to do with heights.

“If I die on this bridge, I’m gonna be so pissed at you,” I whispered.

“Aren’t you the one who’s always saying you just need to have a little faith?” he reminded me, that devilish, crooked smile playing on his lips. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

I laughed. “Thanks for the reassurance. And, speaking of faith…”

His eyebrows arched in question.

“My name.” I paused for a beat. “I’m Faith.”

He was silent for a moment, a slow grin dawning like a glorious sunrise as he stared at me. My heart turned over at the sight.

“Of course you are,” he eventually murmured.

“What does that mean?” I asked narrowing my eyes at him. I wasn’t sure whether he was complimenting or criticizing me.

“Just that it suits you.” He squeezed my hand in his. “Now, are you coming, or not?”

My eyes drifted back to the bridge and my apprehension, lost momentarily as I stared into comforting, chocolate eyes, returned with a vengeance. “Um…” I swallowed against the lump that had lodged itself in my throat. “I, well, uh… See, the thing is—”

Before I could voice the excuse hovering on the tip of my tongue, Wes laced his steady fingers through my shaky ones and pulled me close. My words dried up altogether as our bodies collided — interlocked hands trapped in the sliver of space between us, faces mere millimeters apart, eyes locking together in a heated gaze that made my heart race. For one crazy instant, I thought he might bend down just the slightest bit, close that final gap of distance between us, and kiss me.

Slowly, so slowly, he moved closer.

My eyes dropped to his mouth and I watched its progression as the breath caught in my throat.

Closer.

A fraction of an inch apart. Suddenly, I was longing for his lips to brush against mine. Praying for it. Fighting my innermost instincts, which were screaming to rise onto my toes and crush our lips together.

Closer.

A centimeter of space. Achingly near to tasting him. I licked dry lips in anticipation.

Closer.

His mouth was practically on mine, now. If either of us moved even the slightest bit forward, we’d be kissing. And I knew it was stupid and reckless. I was fully aware that I knew virtually nothing about Wes Adams, that running off with a stranger in a foreign city was, by far, the most idiotic thing I’d ever done. I recognized my stupidity easily — heard all the internal rebukes, saw all the red flags.

Still, I was going to let him kiss me.

No — I had to let him kiss me. There was no choice, any longer. Because if he didn’t close that final bit of space between us, I’d shatter into a million sexually-charged pieces. I’d crumble into a pile of what used to be Faith Morrissey — splinters of a girl caught between the cobbles at the mouth of the Chain Bridge, blowing down the ancient avenues, floating in the Danube like grisly flower petals.

His lips parted; like a mirror, mine opened as well.

His eyes stared into mine with a burning intensity; I had no idea what emotions were swirling in the depths of my own gaze.

And, finally, after a small eternity of waiting, he moved that fraction closer. My heart pounded a mad tattoo in my chest as his breath ghosted across my lips…