Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(118)

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Elisa, no—”

“Yes. I want you to,” I say with conviction.

He watches me for a long moment, then cups my face with both hands. Slowly, he breathes on my forehead like I did with his scar. I shiver but not in pain. I shiver with pleasure. Then light, like butterfly wings, his lips brush on my forehead once. Somewhere deep, I feel the past sealing.

I bring his mouth to mine and kiss him. Hard and fast like the new life ahead is not long enough. He groans and, abruptly, sits back on his heels. He watches me with burning eyes. That flicker of light is blazing there, strong and wild. Then he grips the hem of my T-shirt and peels it off in one move.

I tense. The bruises!

The snap of his teeth is audible. For a long moment, he is frozen, tension ripping through his body, hands in fists, teeth gnashing, eyes burning.

My first instinct is to cover myself but he bends over me, blowing a gentle gust of breath on my face. Then, slowly, he leans closer to the bruise on my arm. He blows on it too. Like he’s trying to chase it away.

He kisses every contour of his grip, every patch where I slammed against the door. His lips flutter over my skin, across my ribs and to my hips. He peels off the rest of my clothes and rolls me gently on my belly, as he kisses and blows across my shoulders, down my spine. The bruises are swarthy there too. His lips don’t stop. When we’re face-to-face again, there is no part of me he hasn’t kissed and consumed with his eyes. His body covers mine, a balm to my skin.

“Look at me,” he whispers, his voice strangled in my ear.

Our eyes meet as he slides inside me. I welcome him in spasmodic tremor. He buries his face in my hair, covering every inch of me, and starts moving with slow, deep thrusts. I’m lost in Aiden. He’s all I can smell, feel, touch, taste, see. He picks up his hard rhythm—my body molds to him instantly, and I come the only way I know how. Fully and for him alone.

He doesn’t stop. His heart’s craggy rhythm magnifies in my ears as he beats in and out of me. I come again but he keeps going. Like I want him to. No words, only sharp tempests of breath over my skin. He finds my lips. Mouth to mouth, we come at the same time with a violent shudder.

In the afterstorm, he lies with his head on my chest as I cradle him in my arms and legs, playing with his hair. I don’t know for how long—time has stopped having meaning. No more clocks, days, months. Only this road ahead of us that, despite the bruises, from where I’m lying, looks long and beautiful.

At length, his breathing steadies.

“Since this worked out, I think I’ll go stay with the guys at the cabin for a while.” His voice is still husky.

In the depths of my body, two things happen: a chill prickles at the base of my spine and the warm ember kindles between my lungs. “Good. You’ve earned a real vacation since I ruined it in every way.”

“You’ve ruined nothing.”

“How long will you stay?”

“Not long.”

“When are you leaving?”

He inhales behind my ear and kisses my throat. “A few more hours.”

I lock my arms and legs tightly around him. I’ll miss him like air but he needs this.

*

“Be safe,” Aiden says as Benson stows his suitcase—a reassuringly small weekender—in a navy-and-white Bell 430 helicopter with HALE HOLDINGS printed across its fuselage.

I force a smile but the chills are returning. “I miss you already,” I say, walking into his arms. They wrap around me tightly.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs in my hair. “You’ll get over it in a couple of hours.”

“Not funny.”

For an instant, his eyes shift. It’s too fast before they still again, gleaming with a new focus. More intent—the way one might gaze to decipher something on the horizon.

“Benson will be around,” he says. “If you need something, tell him. Promise?”

“Promise.” I melt to his chest.

To my surprise, he tilts my face up and kisses me hard. This kiss is hungry like the one this morning. And it sweeps me off my feet like our first one. I fist my fingers in his hair but he releases me too soon.

“I love you,” he says with unblinking eyes.

“I love you too.”

He kisses my forehead and tears himself from my grip. With an odd, stern look at Benson, he climbs agilely inside the Bell 430.

“Semper fidelis, Aiden,” I call as Benson closes the door and signs to the pilot—a Jean-Luc Picard look-alike—some aviation gesture.

As the Bell lifts Aiden to the heavens, a warm gust of air floats from my mouth as though chasing after him. Biologically, I know it’s just a breath but the instant it leaves me, I feel empty. Adrift. So maybe it’s not just breath. Maybe it’s the soul.





Chapter Fifty-One





The Free and The Brave


They say it takes the soul time to catch up with the body. It lags behind motions, schedules, intents, means. Mine is still chasing after Aiden as I burst through the door of my apartment to pick up my passport for Bob.

Reagan comes running down the hall in her LONDON CALLING T-shirt.

“Isa, what the hell are you doing here?”

I launch myself at her. “Oh, Reg, I tried calling you. Bob’s finished! We’re clear!”