Page 37 of Zenith
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The next morningdawned bright and clear, and it was as if Thornfield had transformed overnight.
I lay in my bed in the suite, a warm body pressing against my back and a heavy arm over my waist. I nestled closer to Edward, delighting in his touch after such a turbulent night. After we’d met on the moor and made love under the stars, we’d returned to Thornfield and talked about all manner of things before touching again, then falling asleep in one another’s arms. It was something we’d never done before—remain in the same bed together—and it made me happier than I’d ever been.
Against all the odds, Edward and I had come back to one another, and it was in full and complete knowledge of each other. No secrets remained, and no terrifying truths hung over our heads. At least, none we knowingly held from one another.
This simplicity, this sharing of ideas and comfort was all I’d ever wanted. If this was a dream, then I did not want to wake.
Turning, I beheld his face, studying his features as he slept away the morning. The only other time I’d seen him this way was the night I found his bed set alight by Bertha. I’d had no time to stare at him then like a lovesick fool, for I’d been too busy saving him from the flames, but now I had the opportunity.
His lips were parted, and his eyelashes brushed against his cheekbones, and I couldn’t believe the change in him. Sleep made the enigmatic Edward Rochester look like an innocent boy, not a terrifying man. His vulnerability only served to make my heart ache for him even more.
Loathe to wake him, I untangled my limbs from his and tiptoed into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I pulled off the T-shirt I’d worn to bed and stared at my reflection in the mirror as the water warmed. Turning my head from side to side, I studied the bruises on my neck and was glad to find them fading quite significantly now. My voice had returned to normal some time ago, and my throat no longer felt scratchy. I began to wonder what had happened to Rivers, but I cast all thought of him aside, not wanting to think the man I had once trusted could be capable of such violence.
Every human being had a failing, for we were not perfect creatures, and his had been grave, indeed.
Leaving my memories of him behind, I stepped into the shower and caressed my skin with a bar of soap, the sweet scent of vanilla and goat’s milk filling my nostrils. I was determined to enjoy the simple pleasures life had to offer now more than ever, whether they are a sweet-smelling balm, the sight of a rare bird, or the gentle touch of my lover.
Edward and I had overcome a great hurdle to find ourselves in one another’s arms once more, but obstacles still remained. I closed my eyes and allowed the hot water to wash over my head, completely soaking my hair. I thought of Blanche Ingram and the promise she made to me at the gallery opening and knew the tests Edward and I had faced were nothing in comparison to the destruction the truth would cause.
Edward had to understand what was at risk, but he didn’t seem worried about it at all.
As if on cue, his voice muttered, “There’s my little bird.”
My gaze met his as he stepped into the shower beside me, his hands sliding over my hips. He was a fine specimen to look at when he was naked, his body toned, his chest covered in a fine dusting of dark hair, his manhood pressing against my thigh… I was entirely sure I would never tire of seeing him as he was now.
“You look worried,” he said, taking the soap from my hand and rubbing it over my back.
For a moment, I was dazzled by his sudden gentleness and was lost for words. The moody and hurtful man I’d first met was nowhere to be seen.
“Is this truly Edward Rochester before me?” I asked, laying my head against his shoulder.
“The one and the same,” he replied. “What worries you, Jane? Surely, it is not my ability to wield a bar of soap that perplexes you?”
“I worry about her,” I said, not wanting to speak Blanche’s name while we stood so familiar. “The things she said to me at the gallery, Edward…”
“You mustn’t allow it to unsettle you,” was his reply. “You forget the horrible manipulation I had embroiled the Ingram’s in. I am not proud of it, but I had been expecting some form of retaliation. This new threat is greater than expected, yes, but it shall be dealt with one way or another.” He sighed, his hands moving lower. “And I regret you were made a part of this.”
Grateful my chest lay against his and he could not see the scars from my stab wounds, I melted against his body, my mind unsettled as ever.
“What I would like to know is how did Blanche find out about Bertha in the first place?” I wondered aloud. “And how did she get past Grace to give her the knife? If she’s going to make these claims, then what proof does she hold? Could we garner some of our own? She is not blameless herself.”
“Jane,” Edward murmured, caressing my shoulders. “We are standing in the shower, naked as the day we were born. The only appropriate conversation to be had is none at all.”
“But—”
He pressed his fingers to my lips, silencing me completely. Then his other hand brushed across my breasts, his fingertips circling around each pointed bud before kissing me thoroughly, his tongue twining with mine in a slow dance.
Yes, showers were not made for discussion but for this.
Lifting me up into his arms, Edward pressed my back against the tiled wall and guided his length against me. His lips dragged heavily across my neck, his tongue laving the fading bruises, which still marked my skin, and then he thrust, tearing pleasure abruptly from my core.
He had me roughly, setting a punishing rhythm, and all was a blur of slick sensation. My arms wrapped around his neck, my fingers spearing through his hair, and I held on for dear life when he could bear it no more and poured his release into me. I gave him everything at that moment, just as I had the night before.
I’d never come apart so thoroughly under a man’s touch as I had Edward Rochester’s.
“Jane,” he said, moaning against my lips as my body shuddered against his. “My precious Jane Eyre.”
