Page 62 of Into These Eyes
I shift my gaze to the house he once called home. My chin trembles and I’m so fucking close to completely losing it, I blink harder, faster and draw in a deep breath until the quivering subsides.
“I wish you wouldn’t fight it,” he says, “because … I can’t.”
When my eyes snap to his, I catch sight of a tear sliding down his face just before he turns his head away and places his hands on his knees. His back heaves as he tries to breathe through it.
“Ah fuck, I’m sorry,” he manages to get out, his voice thick and ropey with raw emotion.
I stare in awe at the bravery of this man. I don’t see his vulnerability as anything but strength, even though I berate myself for being weak when I break down. There’s something different about a man unafraid to let go, and I wonder if this is the first time he’s cried over his father’s abandonment.
Overwhelmed with the need to hold him and give him the comfort he gave me, I move closer, but the way he’s bent over makes it too awkward to wrap my arms around him. Instead, I place a hand between his shoulder blades, absorbing the slight tremble vibrating through his body. Rubbing in slow circles with the heel of my palm, I gradually work my way down his spine, wanting to show him that I understand, that I feel his pain. Right now, I want to connect with him on a purely emotional level that has nothing to do with trying to clear his name.
When my fingers reach the bottom of his t-shirt and connect with bare skin, his body stills, the shudders beneath my palm calming until they stop altogether. This is what he needs. Contact. To be touched. To be shown the kindness and understanding he’s shown me.
Wanting to give him just that, I slip my hand beneath his shirt and glide my palm back and forth across his warm, muscular back.
“Fuck, Jamie,” he murmurs on a long breath.
He straightens, forcing my hand to slip away.
Oh, God. I’ve done the wrong thing.I shouldn’t have presumed to know what he wants, what he needs. I shouldn’t have touched him like that. It crossed a boundary, it—
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest. I’m so surprised, I grip onto the sides of his t-shirt. “I … I shouldn’t have—”
“Please don’t say that,” he murmurs.
So relieved I haven’t offended him, I remember a hug is what I actually wanted to give him in the first place. Leaning in, I wrap my arms around his waist. Why does this feel so damn good? Really, I can’t even tell if I’m comforting him, or if he’s comforting me. This time, though, I want to be here for him. He’s hurting and I want to ease that pain.
Can I?My heartbeat doubles. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s an act of giving, that’s all.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip my hands under the bottom of his t-shirt and splay my fingers wide. Beneath my cheek, his chest rises on a shuddering inhale, and he tightens his hold a little. This skin-to-skin contact is an unfamiliar intoxication I had no idea I craved. And clearly, so does he.
My fingertips explore his smooth skin, the restrained strength of his muscles on either side of his spine. Although my intention is to acknowledge what he’s going through, I hadn’t counted on how wonderful it feels to be the one doing the touching.
Against my ear, his heart thunders. Wanting more, I move a little closer. And bump up against his erection.
He instantly steps back and turns away. “Shit,” he grunts. “I didn’t mean for that—”
“It’s fine,” I blurt. It wasn't his fault. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine. God, I’m so embarrassed with myself. What was I thinking? “Come on, let’s get going.”
I hurry around the rear of the car and climb in. Only when I start the engine does he follow. He won’t look at me. Which I’m thankful for, since I’m sure my face is about the same shade as a Red Delicious apple.
After I follow his directions out of the estate and onto the main road, I finally brave a glance in his direction. He’s tense, his hands fisted on his thighs, his gaze fixed on the traffic ahead. This can’t go on for the hour-long drive ahead of us.
“Gavin, I didn’t—”
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick and strained. “You must think I’m a total creep.”
He’s apologising? “Gavin, that’s the last thing … What I think, is that you haven’t been touched in so long … the sensation … well, your body just reacted. I understand.” Though I don’t knowif that’s true. For all I know, he’s probably been making up for lost time since he got out.
He’s quiet for a long moment and I know he’s looking at me. I keep my eyes on the road.
“How is it you understand that?”
Now I’m the one who tenses. The answer to that question is pathetic. Worse still, I care what he thinks of me. So, I simply shrug and leave it at that, hoping he won’t push for more.
“Whoareyou?” he asks.
I give him a quick glance, noting his fingers are now splayed on his thighs, his body relaxing.
