Page 120 of Life and Death
She frowned and climbed back to her original position. My arms weren’t willing to let her go. As she slid out of them, my hands stayed on her hips.
“Your whole body is shivering.”
“I don’t think that’s from being cold,” I told her.
We looked at each other for a second in the dark.
“I’m not sure what I’m allowed to do,” I admitted. “How careful do I need to be?”
She hesitated. “It’s not easier,” she said finally, answering my earlier question. Her hand brushed across my forearm, and I felt goose bumps again. “But this afternoon . . . I was still undecided. I’m sorry, it was unforgivable for me to behave as I did.”
“I forgive you,” I murmured.
“Thank you.” She smiled and then was serious as she looked down at the bumps on my arm. “You see . . . I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough. . . .” She lifted my hand and pressed it to her cheek, still looking down. “And while there was still that possibility that I might be . . . overcome”—she breathed in the scent at my wrist—“I was . . . susceptible. Until I made up my mind that Iwasstrong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would . . . that I ever could . . .”
I’d never seen her struggle so hard for words. It was sohuman.
“So there’s no possibility now?”
She looked up at me finally and smiled. “Mind over matter.”
“Sounds easy,” I said, grinning so that she knew I was teasing.
“Rather thaneasyI would say . . .herculean, but possible. And so . . . in answer to your other question . . .”
“Sorry,” I said.
She laughed quietly. “Why do you apologize?” It was a rhetorical question, and she went on quickly, putting a finger to my lips just in case I felt like I needed to explain. “It isnoteasy, and so, if it is acceptable to you, I would prefer if you would . . . follow my lead?” She let her finger drop. “Is that fair?”
“Of course,” I said quickly. “Whatever you want.” As usual, I meant that literally.
“If it gets to be . . . too much, I’m sure I will be able to make myself leave.”
I frowned. “I will make sure it’s not too much.”
“It will be harder tomorrow,” she said. “I’ve had the scent of you in my head all day, and I’ve grown amazingly desensitized. If I’m away from you for any length of time, I’ll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think.”
“Never go away,” I suggested.
Her face relaxed into a smile. “That suits me. Bring on the shackles—I am your prisoner.” While she spoke, she laced her cold fingers around my wrist like a manacle. “And now, if you don’t mind, may I borrow a blanket?”
It took me a second. “Oh, um, sure. Here.”
I reached behind her with my free hand and snagged the old quilt that was folded over the foot of my bed, then offered it to her. She dropped my wrist, took the blanket and shook it out, then handed it back to me.
“I’d be happier if I knew you were comfortable.”
“I’mverycomfortable.”
“Please?”
Quickly, I threw the quilt over my shoulders like a cape.
She chuckled quietly. “Not exactly what I was thinking.” She was already on her feet, rearranging the blanket over my legs and pulling it all the way up to my shoulders. Before I could understand what she was doing, she had climbed onto my lap again and nestled against my chest. The quilt made a barrier between any place that our skin might touch.
“Better?” she asked.
“I’m not sure about that.”
