My head spun as sensation swamped every single thought I had.
Slowly, delicately, he eased back, withdrawing a little to press light wet kisses on my lips. My breath billowed out of my lungs, but he sounded the same, thank god. I needed him to feel the same way as me.
Our gazes clashed. The mask that he seemed to wear was gone, and there was only contentment. He dipped down to taste me again, and then pulled away. “Okay?”
More than okay. I left okay somewhere back in the states. I was floating. The only thing keeping me grounded were his hands on my hips. “Wow.”
He laughed, an honest-to-goodness, throw-your-head-back-and-laugh laugh. The column of his throat was visible, and I leaned forward quickly, pressing a kiss right above his Adam’s apple. When he lowered his chin to stare at me, his gaze was so serious.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Where did you come from, Leo? And how is it I’ve come to care so quickly?”
Shifting, he moved me next to him so we were hip to hip, facing the rest of the room. The house was quiet, and the sun just coming up above the eastern moors.
“I’m glad you do.”
He took my hand, and I glanced at my lap. His hand dwarfed mine, and his fingers were twice as long. Linking our fingers, he studied our hands—the olive tan of his, the paleness of mine.
The back of his hand was scarred, and I touched one mark with the index finger of my free hand. “What happened?”
I felt his shoulder lift and lower with his shrug. “Whatever it was, it was so long ago I don’t remember. The question I asked is hanging in the air, Leo. I want to know.”
Did he? What I’d learned about people was that they liked the comfortable, sanitized version of a person’s life. Running my eyes over his face, I thought he was being sincere. “I grew up in Connecticut, not far from Boston and Harvard.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. How long had it been since I’d had this? Touch? And not touch with expectations—but touch for the sole purpose of connecting with someone? If I had to give this up…
I stopped that line of thought.
“I know where Connecticut is.” His voice rumbled in his chest, and he gave a short chuckle. “You don’t have to triangulate.”
“Well, I don’t know what you know, do I?” I teased, and he lifted our linked hands to his lips to kiss the back of my hand. My breath caught. “What was I saying?” That didn’t sound like my voice.
“You grew up in Connecticut.”
Right. “I have no brothers or sisters. After me, my parents decided not to have any more children. My father worked at Yale, my mother stayed at home. We were surrounded by green fields and stone walls. There was a barn with horses, though I never rode. Well, I did, but not well. Horses don’t like me. I spook them for some reason. My mother said it was my hair.”
He sucked in a breath then cleared his throat. “They probably sensed your nervousness. It makes them a bit skittish.”
Didn’t I know it? I remembered the very first lesson I had. My parents had gotten me a pony named Josephine. My mother had grown up with horses. I had been so excited until it was time to actually ride. I had been given boots, and an outfit for riding. It felt like dress-up. I wore it all day in anticipation of my lesson. On the way to the stables, Mom had thrown out casually,“Hopefully your hair doesn’t frighten them. I should have put your helmet on earlier. The pony will kick you right across the barn.”
And just like that, my anticipation turned to straight-up fear. The pony was just a little taller than me, but when I was supposed to approach it, I balked.
Then the pony balked. It was a theme repeated over and over until my parents gave up on my equestrian career.
I didn’t tell Pollux that story, though, I just left it, and replied, “Probably.”
“I’ve noticed something,” he said. “You get so quiet, and your gaze goes distant. You’re thinking about something. What to say. What not to say. What if I told you I want to hear what you’re keeping quiet?”
Huffing, I shook my head. “No, you don’t.”
He was quiet and I was certain I’d said the wrong thing. Again. But then he shocked me to my core. “I want you to trust me, Leo, but I know that takes time. If you want to share, I’ll share something, too. Ask me a question, any question, and I’ll answer it.”
Drawing up my knee, I slid to face him. “Really?”
He swallowed hard. “Really.”
We stared at each other for long seconds. He wanted me to trust him. He needed to trust me.
He didn’t know what he was offering me, and he had no clue how much I wanted it. But every time I had done it—personally, or in my career—I was betrayed.