He shrugged. “It is not uppermost in my mind at the moment.” An edge to his words.
Reminded her of his cousins’ words of caution from earlier in the day. They felt like glass under her skin. She did not wish to hurt him.
She took a breath to soften her next words, to ease the bite from her tone. “Something weighs heavy on you. Tell me.”
He peered at her, his strong body leaning closer, tall as the tree, it seemed, his limbs lengthened by the shadows. A lock of hair, caught up in moonlight, fell across his eyes.
He dragged in a heavy breath, gave a slow nod. “I will. I think.” The corner of his mouth cocked up, and he turned his face to the sky. “Sharing my concern. Not tried that before. Might as well. Scientific process and all.” Words barely there, possibly not even for her.
The branches danced above them, a safer spectacle than the man before her who made her heart thump with feeling and her belly quiver with desire.
“I am… apprehensive about returning to Seastorm,” he finally said, speaking up into the starlight.
She swallowed. “Bad memories?”
“The opposite, little moon.”
She heard the odd endearment but chose to ignore it. “You never speak of them—your parents. Or your childhood. I always thought it might pain you.”
“Only because it was everything it should have been. And I did not appreciate it as I should have. My own blindness pains me. And the grief. I miss them. Still.”
“Ah.”
A step, his, brought them closer so that their hearts nearly beat against one another. Only the slightest sliver of space stilled between them.
She knew what would happen next. He would snake his hand behind her neck, demolish that space, and pull her against him. The warmth of his hand at her nape would drive her heart to madness as her shawl slipped from her shoulders, and she’d press her lips to his, tangle her hands in his moonbeam hair and pull him harder against her. The feel of him a glove that fit just right.
But one that had not been made for her despite its perfection.
She waited, her heart beating to the rhythm of the wordsyes,please, andfinally.
But he never came to her. His frozen body made lies of her visions, turned what she’d thought to be truth, unstoppable eventuality, into… mere wishes, easily lost to the wind.
He took a step back, and air made a universe of space between them.
Should she cross through it? Offer physical comfort as well as emotional?
And if she did, would he want more? Would he want more than she knew she should give any man?
She kept her feet firmly rooted to the ground, let the universe of air between them thicken, harden, and separate them even further.
“Thank you,” she said, using curt words to fortify her soft wounds. “For telling me. Can I help?” There. Focus on him, helping him, not on her pulsing and denied desires.
He grinned, a flash of straight white teeth in the night. “I fear you know what it is to be chased by ghosts, but I am not in need of help. Thank you for your offer. It is time I returned home. Past time. I’ll brave it.” A certain tenor made his voice ring in the darkness like a dare. He’d brave it. Would she?
Shewasbrave. She’d reinvented herself. Much good it did her days like today. When the past floated up from where she’d drowned it in the Thames, she always became small again. Small and shivering.
He stepped closer, so very close, rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, breath pushing in and out of his chest with stilted trouble. “Let’s try the direct approach. That’s a new one. Not really. I was rather direct that night in the tower. Doesn’t count, though, does it? We were pretending to be other people. I do not expect positive results, but—”
“Jackson, what have you been mumbling about all night? Results and things not tried before. I’m baffled.”
“But,” he continued as if she’d never spoke, “needs must. And I most certainlyneed.”
“Jackson—”
He lifted his head and put distance between them. “It should come as no surprise to you the way I feel. About you. I’m more than a little convinced”—the corner of his lips twitched up—“that you feel similarly for me. But…” He dragged a gloveless finger down her shoulder, her arm. “You do not trust me. So, what I want—what my cousins have, my uncle, my parents—a life of fulfillment, happiness, family… eventually. None of that aligns with what you want, ultimately. Whatever that is. I wish you’d tell me, Gweny.”
The desire to tell him she wanted what he did fell upon her like a landslide, almost bringing her to her knees. She could see every year stretched out before her if she gave in, all of them smiling and happy and echoing with laughter. Diligent, passionate work; warm, passionate nights; a companion and partner for every hour; a family to fall back on.
