Page 22 of Only You
Damien gave into the feeling, wanting to be as close to her as possible. He rolled them over, so they were resting on their sides, and Sabine tangled their legs together as she continued to kiss him. Damien chuckled against her lips as she trailed kisses over his chest, stirring his arousal again. He pulled her close and pinned her to his chest. She wriggled in his arms, but he kissed her again to calm her. She eventually settled down before biting his lip.
‘I’m trying to be nice,’ he warned her in between kisses.
‘Who says I want you to be?’ she teased.
He rolled her on her back and pinned her wrists. ‘Those are very dangerous words, princess.’
The playful light immediately vanished from her eyes.
‘Don’t call me that,’ she told him. ‘When we’re alone, I want you to call me by my name. I don’t want to hear you call me by a title or nickname.’
Damien softened at the request. ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘From now on, I shall only ever call you Sabine. With reverence to rival a priest and his god.’
Sabine grinned as she shook her head. ‘Ah, are you a devoted follower now?’
‘My prayers shall adorn you like silk from China.’ He leaned down to kiss her wrist.
Sabine giggled as he continued to kiss every inch of skin he could reach. His lips dragged across her cheekbones as he asked, ‘Will you accept my devotion, Sabine?’ Her breath hitched, and he pulled back, watching her pupils dilate.
‘With every breath I take.’ She sat up to run her fingers through his hair. ‘I’ll talk to my father.’
‘I’m sure he won’t object to you having a long engagement.’
‘No,’ she said.
A certainty entered her expression, and he was taken back to their first practice, showing the determination that drove him mad in the best way. It was a moment that had changed everything and now, here was the look again, ready to take more.
‘I mean… I’ll change his mind.’
‘You… do you think that’s possible?’
Sabine nodded. ‘You’re the beloved soldier of his closest ally with a steady income. That’s not without its merit. Not to mention, you can protect me. There’s no reason why I couldn’t have you. And even if there were reasons…’ She tightened her grip on his hair for a moment, her eyes darkening. ‘He already made me leave my home. He cannot make me leave you.’
‘Even if he tried, I would find you,’ Damien told her. ‘No one’s going to take me away from you. Not even if you wish me to be gone. I vow to be yours.’
Her eyes lit up at the words, and their lips met once then twice before Sabine hugged him, his head resting on her chest. He let her soft breathing lull him to sleep. Before he drifted to sleep, he heard her whisper, ‘And I yours.’
Chapter Nine
Washington, D.C.
July 2013
They say the best way to improve memory isn’t to try remembering every detail. Instead, they say to recognise a unique detail creating a mental picture of the best moment and then store it in a familiar place – a memory palace.
Jones’s friends thought it was a dumb term, but he had a soft spot for the whimsy of it. He appreciated the idea that a memory was a grand thing, something to be protected at all costs. After all, who was someone without their memories but a shadow of who they were supposed to be?
At this point in his life, Jones had many palaces. Some were humble, like his childhood home in Atlanta, filled with mental pictures of his friends and family. Others were as grand as a French chateau, pieced together through longing gazes and the scent of lilies and hyacinth. But what they all had in common was a soundtrack, a set of songs that held those moments together. When he couldn’t find a fitting song, he wrote one. He didn’t care if it was used for a project or tucked into a closet somewhere. The only thing that mattered was that he had it. That he had found a way to remember.
‘Whatcha doing over there?’ Jair asked. ‘Writing a symphony?’
The melody that was playing, the second movement of a flute concerto, disappeared as Jones’s eyes shot open, coming back to the present. He was in a burger joint with his friend, in the middle of jotting down a song idea when the waitress had passed by, her lilac perfume lingering behind her.
He swallowed, noticing his throat was dry as the memories of Sabine and Damien’s first night faded. He grabbed the water in front of him and took a long drink.
‘Haven’t tried that in years,’ Jones said, finishing the series of chords he was writing down before he got lost in his memories. ‘And no. I’m trying to figure out a song but it’s all over the place.’
‘Lemme see.’ Jair held his hand out and Jones passed over his notebook. A former drummer, Jair had great insight, which was probably why he was such a successful producer in New York. A few number one hit songs had made him big enough to have his own studio; Jones had become his go-to bassist over the years.
