‘And then I thought about you coming home and seeing they were gone, and it made me feel like a bastard. So I went and picked some more.’ He looked as confused as he felt. ‘I’m a dick, right?’
She shook her head. ‘No, they’re beautiful.’
Sam looked over at the vase, the furrows still deep in his brow. ‘They’re not enough.’
‘They’re not?’ She was trying to read him and failing miserably. Where was the man whose sarcasm had fuelled Cristiano’s car down the driveway only a few hours ago? It was hard to equate him with the one standing in front of her, so unsure of himself. And yet, like two sides of the same coin, somehow they formed part of a whole. A multifaceted man, one who could be strong yet fragile, and completely overwhelming. Her own little mystery wrapped in an enigma.
‘They’re just flowers, Cesca. They’ll be here for a while and then they’ll die.’
She licked her dry lips. ‘Then we can pick some more.’
Sam didn’t reply, though it felt to Cesca that his body and his expression was telling her all she needed to know. He was still staring at her, his eyes wide, his mouth open, and it was as if his body was being drawn to hers. Like a magnet, she could feel his pull, and from the way his muscles tensed she felt he could feel hers, too. The air between them seemed to shimmer, as if the strength of their longing was changing the very molecules there.
‘And when those ones die?’ he finally said.
‘We just keep on picking.’
She wasn’t sure what they were talking about any more. Not flowers, that was for sure. Whatever the stupid words escaping from her lips were, Sam seemed to be finding them fascinating.
‘We just keep on picking,’ he repeated. ‘I like that.’
Cesca tipped her head to the side, scrutinising him. Sam took a step forward, clearing half the space between them. When he spoke, his voice was like gravel. ‘How was your date?’
‘A flop.’
A chuckle escaped his lips. ‘Should I be sorry?’
‘I don’t know, should you?’
He looked stronger. More certain. ‘I’m not sorry.’
‘I didn’t think you would be. Strangely enough, I’m not sorry, either.’
‘That’s like fucking music to my ears.’ He cleared the final distance between them before she could say another word. Not that any came to mind. Her thoughts were too full of him, of his proximity, the smell of his aftershave, the way his hair fell over his forehead. She reached up, her fingers brushing his hairline as her thumb smoothed the furrows on his brow. Her action only made him frown harder. He looked at her as if she was a puzzle waiting to be solved.
‘Cesca . . . ’ He breathed her name as if it was oxygen. But she didn’t want to hear his words, she wanted to taste them. To savour them as they tipped from his mouth into hers. To feel them form on his tongue.
‘The way you look at me.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s fucking entrancing.’
Sam dipped down until his eyes were level with hers. She felt his breath on her face, fanning her skin. He blinked and his lashes tangled against hers. Soft, like a snowflake drifting down. Then his hand cupped her chin, his fingers digging into her cheek as he angled her face to the left. The next moment he was closer still, his nose sliding against hers, his lips pressed against the corner of her mouth.
‘Is this OK? Tell me this is OK.’
She was too mesmerised for a moment to answer. But then she felt him hesitate, his lips frozen against hers. ‘It’s OK,’ she said hurriedly, desperate for him to move them. ‘It’s more than OK.’
That was all it took for him to cradle her head in his hands, his lips sliding across hers as if it was the most natural thing on earth. Then their mouths were moving against each other, softly at first, then firmer, until the need he created was like a drumbeat in Cesca’s veins.
It was deafening, but she never wanted it to stop.
22
You have witchcraft in your lips
– Henry V
Sam slid his hand down from Cesca’s face, fingers feathering her neck as his lips moved roughly against hers. His other hand tangled into her hair, against her scalp, all the while kissing her hard, fast, as if he couldn’t get enough. Then he opened his mouth, his tongue teasing her bottom lip, begging silently for her to open hers, too.
‘Christ, you taste good.’