Page 30 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
The man is a guardian angel.
“Anyone would have done it,” he insists, his tone nonchalant.
I don’t agree. “No,” I whisper. “They wouldn’t have.” Why am I whispering? Is it because I don’t trust my voice to not waver? Because the air feels thicker, the room warmer. I become aware of my skin starting to heat, and my desire to take off my coat becomes ever more pressing.
“If someone came running towards you, and behind them was a crazy guy with a gun, wouldn’t your first instinct be to protect them?” he asks, as if what he did was the most normal way to react.
“I would think of my own safety first,” I say slowly, considering the scenario. “It’s a basic human instinct to want to survive.”
A flash of pain flickers across Lance’s face. He seems to be reliving the moment. “I saw the fear in her eyes,” he tells me, as I see the anguish on his. “It was one of the most wretched things I’ve ever seen.” His face turns ashen. “It was raw fear. She looked like a hunted animal, as if she knew that this was the end, that she was going to die. I wasn’t going to let her.”
He runs a hand through his short hair, the color draining from his face fast. Then he closes his eyes. “I can still see her face, and I can still feel her collapsing into my arms.” His eyes open. Dark blue orbs of anguish fix on me. “I saw the rifle, and all I could think was that she couldn’t die. She was so young.”
He has a faraway look as he speaks, and I wonder if he’s thinking about Anna. I move towards him. “Lance.” I take his hand, my fingers instinctively stroke the back of it, trying to comfort him. His skin is harder than I expected, his hand big and smooth. Protective. I felt protected that night when he held me. “You saved her life. You should be proud of yourself.” I take a few steps towards him wanting to take away the pain I see in his expression.
There is a moment of silence and I have the chance to back away, but I don’t. My heartbeat quickens as we stare at one another, the way we’re standing, it’s eerily similar to that of eleven years ago.
I would give anything to know what he is thinking. But then his eyes fall to my lips and heat snakes around my body, twisting and coiling its way into my secret crevices. A throbbing sensation starts low in my belly, stretching to the place between my legs. I hunger for his touch. I crave for his hands around me. I want him to hold me like he did before.
He licks his lips, and I feel the pull again. It’s a spidery, sensual, invisible yearning that only this man can invoke in me. My heart hammers away in my chest. My knees are like jelly. My breasts tingle and there’s a fire starting low in my belly. Everything from that night, everything forbidden and off limits, is now within my grasp, ready for the taking. Looking at Lance Turner standing in front of me now, the lost connection reignites and the longing from my youth resurfaces. I lay my hand flat against his chest.
His arms slide around me.
“We shouldn’t,” I say, not meaning it at all.
“Why not?” He presses against me, and he is hard again. I groan inwardly at the promise of what is to come, of what could be, of where we could pick right back up again. My hands climb up and rest on his shoulders. Heat from his body warms me as our chests press together. I stare up at him and our lips are barely an inch apart. There’s a suspended moment where time stands still, where we can still make a clear-headed decision and pull apart but before I can collect my thoughts or process what’s happening, he dips his head and our lips touch.
It’s like our first kiss all those years ago; the memory of his touch, his smell, the way he feels against me, it all comes back. He growls appreciatively, low and soft in his throat. I feel the reverberation deep in my chest.
“I’ve got your pen,” I manage to say. The sentence sounds misplaced in the sea of emotion swirling around us.
“I don’t care about the pen.”
The insides of my body are in upheaval and I’m not sure if it’s because the past has come into my present, or if it’s because Lance’s searing gaze has melted my panties, or whether it is both these things. I can’t help but tilt my face up towards him again.
This time his mouth comes down hard, as if he’s done with pussyfooting around, as if it’s impossible to keep things at that level. His desire for me pokes against my body, igniting my senses. I try not to moan back but it’s impossible as I sink into his mouth. Our bodies press together, they have their own secret language, and I don’t want him to move away.
I give in because … oh … this man can kiss. He claims my lips as if they belong to him and I give myself willingly. Yet, my memories fight through the lust-laden haze and recall another time. A time that was dark, and hopeless and lonely for me. But I drag myself away, not wanting to make another mistake.
He frowns, his lips wet, his expression incredulous.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it, but falling into bed with him would be a mistake. My family blame him for the mess I was in at the end of that school year, what with me failing my exams and having to suffer the rumors around school. They also see him as an older man, a teacher, who preyed on me. He didn’t, but they believed the rumors because I will never tell them the truth.
I want closure. That's what I want, but kissing him wantonly, giving in, will only make me a prisoner to the memories I can’t stop thinking about. The truth is Lancedidleave me, and while I understand the reason he went to his family, I don’t understand what stopped him from getting in touch with me.
“Why didn't you ever contact me?” I ask, dragging my hand across my lips, needing to wipe every trace of him away.
“What?” he asks, disorientated.
“You left the school to take care of your niece, but that didn't stop you from getting in touch with me.”
He swipes a hand across his hair. “We've been through that.”
“One phone call, or even a letter, would have been enough to put me out of my misery.”
He steps towards me. “I didn't want to mess up your life.”
“You did it anyway, by disappearing.”
