Pocketful of Sand(37)

But that could be over. I could go the rest of my life and never feel this way again. Never get butterflies of excitement. Never melt with a look. Never burn with a touch. Never crave with such intensity. All because I was afraid. I let someone who can’t hurt me anymore hurt me. And he’ll keep on hurting me if I don’t get over this.

Now.

I look around me, at the way the fingers of light stretch into the dark shadows around the room. Or is it the dark shadows encroaching on the light? It mimics the power struggle within me. My past–black nothingness, lurking, stalking, mocking. My present–warm, golden, promising. Alive.

Without even stopping to think about what I’m doing, I shove my feet into boots, creep in to check on Emmy and then head straight for the door. I don’t even grab a coat. I just lurch out into the cold, snowy night and head for the street.

I clomp through the drifts, oblivious to the wind whipping at my hair and the flakes wetting my cheeks. I have one thing in mind–Cole. I need him. I need him to come back. I need him to make me forget rather than remember. I need him to replace the ugly with the beautiful.

I march up the steps and knock on the door. He might answer. He might not. But I’m not leaving until he does. Because I need him. And I think he needs me.

I jump when the door jerks open. I wasn’t expecting such a rapid response.

For a few seconds, I’m struck speechless by the heat in his wildly blue eyes. They’re the most amazing color, and the way they hold me…the way he looks at me…it’s like he’s touching me. Through and through.

Cole shakes his hair back. He has great hair. Sexy hair. The longish locks lay like a hairdresser fixed them and then messed them up just the right amount. The bangs hang nearly to his chin, effortlessly framing his gorgeous face.

My heart stutters in my chest when I take in his naked torso and his low-slung jeans. Rather than taking the risk of saying something stupid, I just bend and grab the boots by the door and hand them to Cole. I hold my breath as I wait. What if he’s not interested since I freaked out? What if he starts asking me questions that I have no answers for? What if this is all a huge mistake?

I bring myself up short. There’s no turning back now. There’s just not. Not for me.

Cole’s brow furrows, an expression that I’m learning to love. I think for a second that he’s going to resist, or tell me to get lost, but he doesn’t. Instead, he wordlessly takes the boots from my hands and drops them on the porch. My heart sinks for a second, thinking that’s as far as this is going to go, but then, with his eyes on mine, he steps into them.

Hesitantly, I reach for his hand and tug. My stomach flips over when his fingers curl around mine and he reaches back with his other hand to close the door behind him.

I waste no time crossing the street again. My determination is still at fever pitch, but now my nerves are kicking in and I’m jittery, which makes my steps even more hurried.

“Eden, what’s wrong?” Cole finally asks when we’re nearing my front door.

On the porch, I turn to face him. I look up and up and up until I meet his fathomless midnight eyes. “Last night I woke and you were gone,” I explain. “It felt wrong. So wrong. And today…”

Unmoving, he stands watching me, his big hand still gripping mine, his frown still firmly in place. “I couldn’t sleep last night. At all. That’s why I’m working tonight,” he finally confesses.

My soul sighs in relief. Maybe he can overlook my crazy. Maybe he can love me despite my issues. Maybe he’s the one. And maybe this is the first step.

And the second step is to get closer. To him. So I do. I move in and don’t stop until my chest is brushing his. I rest my palms against his cool, flat stomach. I feel the jerk of his muscles. Then I feel the answering twitch of my own. “I need you, Cole,” I whisper. “I need you to touch me again, to kiss me again.” I hear his sharp intake of breath. “I need you. Please.” I rise onto my toes to kiss his chin.

As gently as the wind tosses the falling snow into a swirl of white mist around us, Cole sweeps me off my feet. Slowly, he carries me up the steps and inside. He pauses only to kick off his boots, his eyes never once leaving mine. They hold me as securely as his strong arms do.

When we are once more in front of the fire, mere inches from the exact place where we stood last night, he sets me on my feet. “I will love every inch of you until you tell me to stop,” he declares. It’s as much a sensual promise as it is a pledge that he won’t do a single thing that I’m not comfortable with. What I don’t tell him, what I’ll show him instead, is that I won’t stop him this time. I need this more than he does.