“You miss home?” he asked.
“Yes. And no.” I shifted on the mossy log we were sitting on. “I just bought my first home. I miss that. I miss its worn, honey-hued walls. The sound of the river as it flows by. I miss my little book nook. The sheep-dotted hills. Fields of lavender. June roses tumbling over the fences. Small, wild strawberries growing through cracks in the flagstones. I miss the church bells, the tall, elegant spires. It’s home, you know? We traveled a lot when I was younger. I’ve looked for a place like that my whole life, a place that spoke to my soul.”
“It sounds beautiful.” Jack turned to me, elbows resting on his knees.
In the silence that followed, I smiled ruefully. After Sarah, he had vowed to never ask another woman to live on the farm with him. And I had just ensured that even if he changed his mind, that woman wouldn’t be me. We both had places of permanence that we weren’t willing to give up.
“And Africa?” he whispered, staring into the flames. “What do you think of Africa?”
I will always think of you when I think of Africa.
“It’s beautiful and heart-wrenching. It heals you, it destroys you. It’s the place that claimed my sister.” And my heart.
The fire threw our flickering shadows against the tree trunks. The heat of the day had dissipated, and our breaths were turning to vapor.
“We should turn in,” said Jack. But neither of us moved. Because there was only one tent, and it had been flashing in our faces all evening, like a big neon sign on the Vegas strip.
I went in first, while Jack secured the fire. It was a fair-sized tent—until Jack entered because everything just seemed to shrink around him. I closed my eyes and huddled under the blankets as he slid in, next to me. I kept my back to him, but the air-inflated mattress shifted under his weight, so I ended up clinging to the edge, to keep from rolling toward him. I really was on a slippery slope when it came to him.
“Rodel?”
“Yes?”
“If you dig your nails into the mattress any harder, you’re going to rip a hole through it.”
“I . . . I’m not—”
“Let go.” He propped himself up on his elbow and loosened my grip. “What are you so afraid of?” His eyes searched mine. “This?” He swept me into his arms and held me snugly. “See? It’s not so bad,” he said, as his warmth seeped into my body—so male, so bracing.
“They’re just arms.” His fingers trailed slowly up and down my arm. “And legs.” He traced the curve of my thigh. “And this spot right here, that I’ve been dying to taste since I washed your hair.” He kissed a spot under my ear lobe. “I crave you, Rodel. In the most innocent ways. I lie awake in my bed at night, thinking of you down the hallway, wanting nothing more than to hold you. I want to stroke your hair until you fall asleep. I want to give you forehead kisses when you’re down. That’s all I allow myself. I don’t go any further.”
He stopped trailing patterns over my skin and shut his eyes like he was struggling with something wild and powerful.
“But right now, Rodel, now that I’m holding you, and touching you, and breathing you, all I want to do is take you like no one’s taken you before.” His gaze burned when he looked at me. “I want to take you like I hate you. Fiercely. Completely. Because you resurrected me, only to relinquish me. I don’t think you have any idea what you’ve done. You see this?” He rubbed his hand over the scruff of his beard.
“After Lily died, every time I picked up the razor, I thought of ending it. The only thing that kept me from doing so was the thought of Goma having to bury me. When you showed up that stormy afternoon, it was like grace stepping on my porch. I didn’t want to look at you, I didn’t want to see you or hear you because there was no place for grace, or hope, or virtue in my world. They had been snuffed out.”
I held my breath as he continued baring pieces of himself. I couldn’t have spoken even if I’d wanted to. Lying next to him, our bodies touching under the blanket had turned me into a mess of quivering sensations.
“I thought you were well intentioned but naive.” His eyes were on my lips, and I marveled at how he could make them throb with a glance. “And that day, by the fire, I thought you were beautiful. But then you were more. You were smart and funny. And brave. And every time I look at you, I see something new, and interesting, and compelling. You make me feel like I want to go on long trips with you. To the sea. To the mountains. You make me feel things that I had stopped feeling, and I don’t know what to do with them, or where to put them. Every time you’re around me, I feel like I’m going to explode, trying to contain it all. You opened me up again, Rodel, and you had no right to, damn it! You had no right.” His grip changed, all the wound-up tension snapping in a hot breath.
Everything shattered as he took my mouth with savage intensity. One large hand gripped my waist, drawing me to him as if he couldn’t stand the distance anymore. Blood pounded in my brain as his hand glided under my top and fondled my breast, turning its pink tip marble hard. His body was rough and insistent on top of mine, our breaths uneven, limbs entwined.
“Touch me.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head, heat rippling off his skin. My pulse raced to my fingertips, as I traced the corded muscles on his chest, the light mat of hair in the groove between his pecs. When I slipped my hands into his boxers, he reclaimed my mouth, surging into my palms with a groan.