Page 160 of Into These Eyes
A few minutes later, the door opens and closes. Footfalls stride across the floorboards, then the mattress wobbles as she gets in and wriggles closer.
Really close.
So close that an arm snakes over my waist and a large, warm hand comes to rest over my heart.
“I hear you need to be held,” Gavin whispers close to my ear.
I’m sure my heart swells to the size of Phar Lap’s. Although I’d thought I was done crying, my tear ducts have other ideas.
“Can I slobber on you again?” I murmur.
“I’d love that.”
Turning to face him, I rest my head in the crook of his shoulder and fist my hand in his t-shirt. He pulls me in tight, tangling his fingers in my hair, his lips and nose nuzzling the top of my head. Absorbing nourishment from the touch of our bodies, we remain silent for a long time.
“Thank you,” I finally whisper. “Anika?”
“Yeah. She told me you’d read some of my letters, and that I’d better get in here and cuddle the shit out of you … since it’s my fault you’re upset.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Hmm. You sure about that?”
“Okay, it’s totally your fault. For being …you. Amazing, incredible, wonderful … there aren’t enough words.”
“And that brings you to tears?”
“Not sad tears,” I explain, letting my fist relax so I can feel his heartbeat against my palm. “You just … overwhelm me.”
“Is that another one of your exceptional compliments?”
Lifting my head from his shoulder, I find the shine of his eyes in the dark. “Yes, it absolutely is. And speaking of compliments, why didn’t you tell me you were an artist? From what I saw, you’re brilliant.”
He shakes his head. “I’m no artist. Pathetic as it is, I’ve only ever drawn your eyes.”
“I think you’re the exact opposite of pathetic.” I cup his face, tenderly tracing his ear with my fingertips. Swallowing over the lump rising in my throat, I choke out, “You’re my Shawshank.”
A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Done with the compliments, then?”
“Thatisa compliment.”
“I don’t know if being referred to as a prison qualifies.”
“I’m not talking about theplace, I’m talking about the heart of that story …hope. My beautiful man full of hope.”
He lets out a long breath, and when he draws in another, I feel the hitch through his entire body. “Christ, woman. I don’t know what to say to that,” he murmurs, “so I’m just going to kiss you.”
And he does. One of those loving kisses that promises safety and comfort. I sink into him, this contact between us becoming familiar, yet no less potent. Then he slips his knee between my thighs, and I snuggle right up against him, heat flooding my body as reality seeps in. He’s in my bed, holding me, kissing me and, from the hard length pressing against me, most definitely wanting me.
And I can’t get close enough.
Just as I’m about to slip my hand beneath his t-shirt, he breaks the kiss and presses his lips to my forehead.
“I had an interesting conversation with Anika earlier,” he says, trailing his hand down to my backside and squeezing.
“Oh? When I came into the kitchen and you both stopped talking?”
His lips smile against my skin. “Yeah. Shed a light on why she’s enforced this torturous rule on us. She doesn’t want to hear hermotherhaving sex.”
