“Not with me.”
“I don’t mean that.” I’m surprise by my desire not to offend him.
“No?” Did he move closer or did I? It must have been me. A moment ago I was by the windows and now I’m only a step away from him. How did that happen? It’s as though a magnetic force has propelled me forward.
I frown, my forehead crinkling. “I just wanted a day on my own. Away from here. This.”
“Me?”
I swallow, my eyes dropping, the anger that has been incinerating me for days dissipating slowly. I shake my head.
“Amy?”
I keep studying the floor between us as though it’s a piece of unique artwork.
He presses his finger beneath my chin, lifting my face to his. Emotions barrel through me.
“You’ve been ignoring me.” The words emerge wholly without my permission. I don’t want him to think I care – or that I’ve even noticed his absence!
“Not ignoring you,” he responds gruffly. “But avoiding you, yes.”
My stomach twists at that distinction. “Why?”
“Why do you think?”
My breath is trapped deep inside of me, unable to escape. I shake my head rather than risk speaking; I don’t know if I could, anyway.
“You are all I can think of, Amy, and I knew that if I came to you, I would do something I’d regret. Something that stands outside the bounds of what we’ve agreed to.”
My eyes find his, sensual heat slamming into me like a stack of bricks. I hesitate, torn between my head and my heart, the hatred I tell myself I need to feel for him and a non-stop whirlwind of feelings that are warm and addictive. I swallow hard, aching to press up onto the tips of my toes and kiss him. Only the kiss would be a prelude to sex – there’s no way it wouldn’t – and I know I can’t give myself to him. It would be too much of a betrayal. I need to remember that.
He drops my chin and steps away and despite what I’ve been feeling, disappointment is at the forefront of my mind. Damn him. Damn me!
“You should change into something more comfortable – it’s a long walk through the caves.”
6
Amy
THAT WAS AN UNDERSTATEMENT. It is not just a long walk through the caves. We’ve traipsed for miles, each step making it darker, the smell dank, like wet clay and sand, the air thick and hard to breathe without tasting salt.
At one point, the caves narrow so that we have to walk single file, him in front of me as he knows the way, his hand holding mine as a guide. It’s so dark that were it not for his hand I worry I might stumble and fall, yet with his guidance I’m safe.
He stops walking abruptly, so I bump into his broad, strong back.
“What’s the matter?” For some reason, I whisper.
“Can you see them?”
I frown, because I see nothing right now.
“Look.” He moves closer to me, his hand lifting to turn my face, his other hand grabbing my hand and using it to indicate a direction. “Over there.”
I follow his gaze, squinting into the darkness until tiny little pinpricks of golden light begin to dance in the distance. “What is it? We’re too deep for sunshine?”
“They are harshiali, a type of firefly native to these mountains.”
My eyes become accustomed to the site, so their frenetic, somehow happy movements become more familiar, and suddenly I am aware of them everywhere, all over the wall, tiny, buzzing little bodies that glow in the darkness of the cave. “They’re magical.”