Unravel(66)

“Playing with fire.” He jerks his wrist and the fire dies out. “I’m trying to lighten the mood.” His deep voice is closer and my heart starts to speed up. “Remember you used to always blow the matches out?”

“I remember,” I say softly.

I look at the open living room and in the dark I picture all the furniture gone. The wood floor drops out and is replaced with fresh, green grass. Two young people appear. Their heads are bent, backs bowed as they huddle together. Their lips move rapidly. I can’t hear them. And I don’t need to. Their words are seared into my brain. I watch with rapt attention as the boy says, “I got one more firework. Wanna light up the sky?” He holds a match in between them.

And the girl nods and smiles at him. Her heart shines in her eyes. He hands her the match. She takes it.

I close my eyes. When they open, Lachlan has a lit match in his hands. The boy and girl are gone. Furniture is back in place. Those two people have evolved. That girl can now act out her feelings. And that guy still smirks at her but his eyes are white hot.

Something settles deep inside me. It spreads throughout me, making my blood hum, and my body tingle. Lachlan keeps walking until I’m pressed up against the window. The cold glass on my back and his body warming me from the front. I tilt my head back to look at him. He lifts a single brow, daring me not to touch him. That’s the last thing I see before he blows out the match.

I know this is a little game that was meant to lighten the mood, but now a sexual tension has filled the room. I know Lachlan isn’t done and I know he won’t be done until I’m practically a puddle on the floor.

His cheek brushes against mine. I hear the match drag against a coarse surface. My hands curl into fists against my thighs. My fingernails sink into my palms, creating crescent moon indents.

The match is the one thing keeping us separated. It lights up his features. His lips are sensuous and his eyes are brilliant. The stubble on his face looks almost golden.

“You’re perfect,” I say very quietly.

Lachlan tilts his head and smirks. “No, I’m not. It’s just the lighting.”

“You are,” I insist.

He brushes his hand across my throat. My pulse jumps wildly against my skin.

“You wanna know how you look right now?”

I nod.

I thought he would blow out the match, but he doesn’t. He brings the match close to my face, going over every feature slowly.

“Your eyes are bright. The fire almost makes them look violet. Your cheeks are red. And all that blonde hair looks golden”—his hand drags through my hair—“hanging around your shoulders. And your lips are wet and slightly parted.” A single finger grazes my lip. “If I move my face just an inch closer, I could suck on that bottom lip…” And right when I think he’s going to do just that, the room goes black.

His hand drops from my face. The two of us are quiet. Both of us breathing rapidly.

“This is my last match,” he says in a sexy whisper. “Do you want me to light it?”

My breath comes out shaky. “Yes.”

The match drags across the matchbox slowly. And then there’s an amber glow. Lachlan holds the flame between us. “Hold it, Naomi.”

The flame travels downward, racing toward his fingertips. He still holds it, waiting patiently for me to respond. He’d let the fire reach his fingers. He’d take the pain for me.

My hand shakes as it reaches out. Lachlan’s eyes go half-mast the minute I grip the match.

“Now take a breath and blow it out,” he says gruffly.

He’s not asking me to blow out the flame. Lachlan wants me to blow out the pain, tears and destruction from my life. And more than anything, I want to do the same thing. So I lean my face closer to the flame. I look Lachlan in the eye, and with one big gust, I blow the flame out.

The room goes dark.

The match drops to the floor.

The sound echoes around the room. I stand perfectly still, breathing rapidly. The room may be dark but the fire hasn’t died. It’s just transferred to my body. It spreads throughout my veins. It suffocates my fears. My insecurities. My sadness.

I find myself shifting closer.

And then I feel his lips touch mine. His mouth moves so slowly. My eyes close. Lachlan’s hands gently rest against my neck. His tongue glides along my lips. My lips part. His thumbs brush against my throat.

This kiss is gentle yet firm.

This kiss demands to be felt.

This kiss makes up for all the time lost that I’ll never get back.

He moves back an inch. I can’t see his face, but I can feel his eyes on me. “Let me touch you,” he says.

I’d do anything he asks of me. I tell him yes and before I’ve even finished speaking, he reaches out and hooks his index fingers through my belt loops. He doesn’t stop guiding me forward until our bodies are touching. I feel his fingers encircle my wrist. I spread my hand, palm up, waiting for his hand to lace with mine, but his lips made contact with my palm, moving to my wrist, where my pulse pounds against my skin. His fingers move up my arm and grip my elbows. He guides my hands to his neck.

I’ve grown confident underneath his touch and I kiss him. I kiss him knowing that he is the best kind of therapy I will ever have.

Lachlan guides us across the room. We move down the hallway and through a doorway. Out of the corner of my eye I see a large bed. I sit on the edge and raise my eyes to his. He reaches behind his back and grips a handful of his shirt and pulls it over his head.