Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(105)

I pull a blanket over him gently. His shoulders flex.

“I love you,” I whisper the words for the first time.

“Oveutoo,” he mumbles.

I stare at his lips. Did they move? The silence is deep again, as though the words were never spoken. The only evidence they existed is my heart clawing against my chest. For the first time since the watch left Peter’s wrist, I stop it. 10:03 p.m. I take it off like Aiden did a lifetime ago and set it on the nightstand by the frame I gave him. Then, I curl next to him slowly, leaving the side lamp on. The bed is warm from his body heat. I reach with my index finger, touch the back of his hand once and pull it right back. Instantly, his eyes open.

I suck in a sharp breath.

“Hey,” he murmurs and slides his arm under me, pulling me on top of him. He kisses me slowly, as if each kiss should last a thousand years. His fingers fist in my hair and his lips flutter over my jawline to my ear.

“I love you,” he whispers.

I freeze in his arms, a sigh lingering in my ear. “Aiden? Are you awake?”

He tilts my head back, brushing his fingers over my lips. His eyes shift to that same powerful emotion I first saw at his Alone Place. The nameless one.

“Yes, I am.”

I expect another whisper or murmur but his timbre rises above our heavy breathing, sure and confident.

“I meant to wait up to tell you. I want you to know it when you walk into Bob’s office tomorrow. No matter what he says, or what this will mean for us, I love you.”

I stroke his cheek and caress his scar. “I love yo—”

“Shh, don’t say it back.”

“Why not?” I try to ask but his lips dominate mine, leaving no space for words or air.

He rolls me on my back, covering my body with his. He touches me without complexity, without design. He takes off my clothes and I take off his. Perhaps because we are both thinking the same words, our bodies love as one too. His breath in my mouth is my breath. His hand on my breast is my hand. I touch where he does, and our fingers lock. We caress together; my skin is his skin. We hold our hands locked, as he thrusts inside me. His moves are slow, like a litany. It’s as if our bodies are keeping a different time in secret. As the blood thickens, we move faster, deeper. His fingers lock tight between my own, and his iron grip is making my hands numb. I could stop him but I won’t, because his need is my need. My body builds and burns, and we come forcefully, silently, mouth to mouth. His teeth clamp down on my lower lip. I relish the sting of his bite that tells me he is real. That tells me what just happened was not a dream.

The moment my mouth is free, I say loud and clear, “I love you.”





Chapter Forty-Five





Choice


He loves me, I repeat like an incantation in my head as Benson drives us to Bob’s office. He loves me. I love him. And love always wins. Right?

But because—to my knowledge—science has not tested love’s power against ICE, I clutch Aiden’s hand, shivering under his arm.

His hold tightens around me and he tucks my face into his neck. “Hey, shh,” he murmurs in my hair. “We’re still fighting, love.”

Love always wins.

He runs his fingers through my tangles—I can’t even remember if I combed them. “Do you want me to recite the periodic table in Russian?”

I shake my head in his neck. I’ve tried it all morning, backward, forward, in Latin, Italian and Spanish. It didn’t work. “Just tell me something else…anything. I just want to hear your voice.”

His arms flex around me again and a hard swallow echoes from his throat. His body has turned to granite but I find the hard panes comforting. His lips brush over my hairline to my ear. “Do you want to hear a little story?” he whispers.

I nod.

“You have a birthday you don’t know about.” His whisper is almost a smile. I try to look at him but he keeps my face in his neck. “It’s April thirteenth, the night after the battle of Baghdad. At ten minutes past midnight. In a sand ditch. I was covered in mud, trying to get some sleep but the images in my head…well, you know. And there was Marshall next to me, flashlight in his mouth, scribbling a letter to Jasmine, this moronic smile on his face. I was pissed. What the f*ck was he doing? He’d get us all killed with that damn flashlight. But then I realized I was just jealous. Marshall was going to make it through Iraq. He had something to live for and something to die for. He had Jasmine. I didn’t. Never wanted one. But I did that night. I wanted someone back home waiting for my letters. That’s when the fantasy of you started. You were perfect in my head, but you’re so much better in real life. And you kept me company all those nights. Now, what’s ICE going to do about that?”

Take you away from me.

I look up at him, tears dripping from my cheeks into his charcoal jacket. “Not a bloody thing,” I sniffle.

“Not a bloody thing.” He smiles and tucks me back in his neck. I focus only on his scent until Benson stops at the curb and gets out of the car, probably to give us a moment. Or escape.

Aiden wraps his hands around my wrists. “What are you going to remember when you walk in there?”

“That you love me.”

“That’s right.”

“And that I love you too.”