Release: Symbols of Love, page 10
I refuse to be lifted out and haul myself up. By the time I'm standing in the hallway, she's reading text messages on her phone. I walk over to stand next to her, and she puts her phone away as I approach. She looks up at me, an easy smile on her lips.
"Okay, macho man. We survived that ordeal. I'm exhausted, and it's late. Bambi's losing her mind worried about me. I'll meet you for breakfast tomorrow, okay?"
I nod as I watch her. Her lips look bee stung, and I feel a rush of satisfaction knowing that it was my kiss that caused it. "You sure you don't want to go upstairs with me?" I ask her. She groans and rolls her eyes.
"Yes, I'm sure. Tomorrow," she says as she starts to walk backwards down the hall.
She winks at me, gives me a little wave, and then she's leaving. I watch as she turns the corner and then turn to head to the stairs. I have to stop myself from calling out to her. I want her to stay. I don't know what happened tonight, but I liked it. As I climb the stairs to the top floor, I think about what she told me. Her father, her family, the disconnect that's happened and how they all seem to be knitting back together without her. I think about what I told her. I don't think even I knew how deep my resentment toward Zara ran. I don't know if I really hate her, but it felt good to get it out. I know I didn't treat that relationship properly, but now I know it was because it was forced on us and not one I chose. I'd accepted that because I was the heir to my father's title. I had to give up the things I wanted to be worthy of it. But my father hadn't. He'd married my mother despite the fact that her family wasn't English. Granted, she's a French blue blood, but I know it still caused a stir.
I wonder how they would react to her. She's American. She's biracial. I think, anyway. I don't know anyone like that in our circles. Inbreeding is more the order of the day than anything.
I give myself a mental kick. None of that matters. I want to fuck her, I want to spend time with her. But the likelihood that I'll see her again once we leave here is slim to none, especially given how reluctant she is even to kiss. I frown at this and unlock the door to my suite, not liking the way that thought settles. Leave it to me to meet a woman I'm interested in halfway around the world and have her live on a different continent.
But then I remember that I'm the first man she's kissed in five years and that it was a fucking amazing kiss.
11
Lilly
"Morning, gorgeous." A hand comes to rest on my shoulder and I can't stop the flinch it causes. I’ve been dreading this since my eyes opened and I replayed our conversation last night. I said too much. And letting him kiss me only made it worse. Now, I can’t get the feel of him out of my head. I'm wearing sunglasses even though the morning sun isn't high or bright enough to really warrant it. He already sees too much. They are my protection from his keen eyes.
He drops into the seat across from me and studies me with a concerned frown on his face. He’s not going to make this easy.
"What's wrong?" His deep, rich, oh so soothing voice travels across the short distance between us and coats me in all of the comfort, desire and camaraderie we shared last night. All of the things I've longed to feel for someone but didn't think I would again.
"Nothing. I'm here, right?" I return curtly before I take a sip of my coffee. I know it’s wrong - the way I'm behaving - but it's for the best. Last night was more than it should have been. This exposure, this trust is dangerous, and the last time I let myself feel it, the consequences were disastrous and life-altering. I haven't even told him the entire truth and yet I wanted to.
"Are you?" he asks me, his voice just as curt.
I let my eyes slide to him and see he's leaning back in his chair. His posture is relaxed, his arms crossed in front of his chest, but he's glaring at me.
"Yes. Look, last night..." I start and trail off. I pluck one of the packets of sugar from the container in front of me and tear it open. I pour it into my already too sweet coffee and stir.
"What about last night?" he says shortly. "I'm not going to fill in the gaps for you. Say it," he says, his tone low and slow. I force myself to meet his eyes and flinch inwardly at the expression of disappointment in them.
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin in a show of confidence that takes all of my strength to force.
"I'd had too much to drink. I was tired and scared. I don't want anything beyond what I already have."
His eyes shutter, even the anger is gone.
"What do you have?" The mocking sneer in his voice stings.
"My life. My work. My family," I say, counting them out on my fingers, trying to convince myself, as well as him.
"Really? Yesterday, it sounded like you didn't really have much of anything."
My hackles rise.
"One conversation doesn't mean you know me, Harry, and it doesn't give you the right to qualify or define things that you don't understand."
His hand snakes out so fast that I don't see it until it's grasping mine. The fire is back, his dark eyes, the flecks of amber that light a spark in his chocolate brown irises. His grip is tight but not punishing, and I have to stop myself from turning my hand over and linking our fingers.
"I know that I kissed you and you loved it."
I’m grateful for my sunglasses, so I that when my eyes flutter at the memory, he can’t see. Because I did love it. Too much.
"I know you fucking melted into me the minute I touched you."
I shake my head as I feel the betraying sting of frustrated tears behind my eyes.
"And last night, we shared something."
I try to pull my hand back, but he doesn't let me.
"I'm not scared."
"Liar," he whispers. His voice is gentle, but the insult hits me where it hurts.
I bristle at it and hold my ground.
"I don't think any of this is a good idea. I mean, we're going to have to go our separate ways. What's the point of more?" My voice has raised, and the couple at the table next to us stares. I lower my sunglasses down my nose and return their rude stare with a narrowed-eye. They hastily return their focus to their breakfast.
"You’re right. We are going to go our separate ways. You to America, me back to England. So, let's just have a good time.”
Harry lets go of my hand, and I miss the comfort and safety of it right away. I grasp it with my other palm and put both of them on my lap.
"I'm thirty-two, I have a twin sister and a younger brother. My family lives in England, and I manage my family’s business. I'm a farmer, a landlord, hate cheese and apples and I only like music with no words."
I sputter a laugh and look up at him.
"Who hates cheese, apples, and music with words?"
"I do. Cheese is basically one big ball of cow pus. Apples make my mouth itch, and if your music needs words to sound good, you need to rethink your music."
"All of that is absurd. And weird." I wrinkle my nose in distaste.
"I can see you like cheese." He looks down pointedly at my cheese smothered eggs and the big hunk of brie that's sitting next to the crusty French bread they serve with every meal here.
"Of course, I like cheese. Who doesn't like cheese? That's like saying you don't like ice cream."
"I don't like cheese, and ice cream gives me a bubbly tummy. I like it, but I don't eat it."
"TMI, man," I grimace even as I chuckle.
"I want your TMI," he says, and my laughter dies.
"I told you everything last night." My eyes drift from his.
"No, you didn't," he says quietly, but there's an edge in his voice that makes my nerves tingle.
"Fine. I wear those headphones because I have an extra piece of cartilage in my ear. Ear buds don't fit."
He leans close and pushes my hair off my shoulder to reveal my ear.
“Hmm, so it does. How interesting,” he murmurs and leans in close to study my ear.
His breath tickles my ear, and I have the sudden urge to turn my head and kiss him.
“I’ve got to go." I push my seat back and stand up.
"Where?" he asks, even though he doesn't make any move to stop me. Not that I want to be stopped.
"To listen to music with words," I quip.
"What about your breakfast?" he asks, tipping his head down to my very full plate.
"I'd say you should eat it, but you hate cheese." He laughs, a delighted, happy laugh. I scowl at him. “I'm full and tired of twenty questions."
As I walk past him toward the door, I let my hand trail over his shoulder. He puts his own over it and holds it there. And despite my racing pulse, I make my eyes look as disinterested as possible.
"Yes?" I prepare for more questions, but his eyes are soft, his mouth curved in an alluring smile.
"Meet me on the beach tonight," he asks, his eyes imploring.
"Why?" I ask him with an exasperated tone. But, my defenses are flagging.
"I want to spend time with you. But only if you want to. I don’t want to push you or coerce you. I can take no for an answer." He says simply and the naked honesty in his eyes is my undoing.
The wall I'd spent all night constructing sustains a direct and fatal hit. His eyes, the memory of his kiss, the earnestness of his plea, are more than I can resist.
“I want to.” I respond and feel a burst of happiness at how good it feels to say that and mean it.
He grins up at me. "So, let's spend time together. Just two people who like talking and kissing and who will go their separate ways and never see each other again."
The last words in his sentence pinch me in a place that’s already tender. I have the ridiculous urge to ask him to take them back. Instead, I ask, "What time?"
His smile is all triumph and desire.
"I have a meeting that will probably take all day. So, maybe at sunset. It's so beautiful then. So, maybe half past five?"
"That's fine. As soon as you're back, Bambi will disappear with Kojo."
Harry chuckles. "Yeah, he drives faster than he should now, desperate to get back to her. But today, I won’t complain. I’m already impatient for the day to be over," he drawls, his eyes holding mine. He turns his head to kiss my hand that's resting on his shoulder. His lips linger, and I feel their caress all the way up my arm.
I turn and walk away slowly. If I had half the sense I was born with, I'd be running.
That trouble I knew was coming but couldn't see? It's arrived. In the form of a walking, talking, breathing definition of tall, dark, and handsome.
My body is waking up and it’s screaming, “I offer myself as tribute.”
I want him. There's no harm in indulging myself here. I can still be in control. And when I’m done, I’ll go to my real life with this memory, this delicious moment, as a little bit of sweet to make all of the bitter more bearable.
12
Lilly
I’ve only been swimming once since that night. The smell of chlorine on my skin had made me violently ill. But, I love the water so much. It’s one of the things I’d vowed to reclaim while I was here in Ghana.
This morning after agreeing to meet Harry, I thought this was the time. If I’m going to go on a “date”, then I felt like I needed to conquer this first.
At three that afternoon, when the pool closed for the day and everyone left, I snuck back in despite the bouts of anxiety that had me questioning my sanity.
All of my doubts had dissipated as I discarded my clothes. One by one, all the reasons I’d had to avoid this for the last five years fell away. A final flash of doubt had threatened as I’d stood there in my bra and underwear, more naked than I had been outside my own bedroom in years.
But I didn’t stop.
I stand on the edge of the pool and dive headfirst into the water. It holds me in the sweetest of embraces as I start to swim. My muscles immediately cry with relief at the exertion. Tension seeps out of my fingertips with each stroke, anger pushes out through my toes with each kick. The pool is short, not even half a length, but I swim leisurely until my shoulders protest and my legs burn with the exertion.
That’s when I start to push myself. I swim faster, push harder. The pain is like an astringent, stripping me of the cloud of misery that’s clogged my mind for so long.
I can’t think of anything but how blissful it feels to be nearly naked, alone and safe in the water. Each lap brings a clarity that I haven’t felt in a long time. I think about the book I read on the five stages of grief. It listed denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I know that my experience is not a linear one. I’ve bargained and suffered a stunning loss. I’ve been angry and shut out everyone. I’m angry now, after five long years of denial, of stewing in it, of feeling it in the very marrow of my bones and having to pretend that it has not exhausted me.
My family has been in the midst of a crisis for the last fifteen years, and I was able to use that as an excuse to keep my distance and stay away. But all of that is over now. My parents have repaired a marriage that was tested by a prolonged absence. My sisters are both in committed relationships. My youngest sister is engaged, my older sister is headed in that direction. And then there’s me. What am I going to do with myself?
I don’t know what stage of my grief is next, but I pray I skip the denial and depression and go straight to acceptance.
I finally succumb to my muscles’ cry for rest and pull myself out of the pool. I stare into the dark water. I survived. No, I did more than that.
I got into the pool feeling afraid, self conscious, and more than a little sorry for myself. Now, I feel proud. I did it. My body sore, but it’s the delicious after burn of setting some of my demons free.
The sob escapes me. A gush of happy tears follow and I cry in relief.
Porsha’s right about one thing. While I’m here, I don’t have to be anyone I don’t want to be. Determined to leave my maudlin thoughts here too, I grab my towel and start to pick up my clothes. I’m wrapping my towel around myself when I hear footsteps.
“Stop!” I yell into the dark, panic welling up fast and hot. “Don’t come any closer.”
He stops, but I can see he wants to come closer. My heart races, even though I know my fear isn't rational. I know this man won't hurt me, but I can't put my arm down. He's already closer than I'd like.
"What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at five thirty?" My voice is pitched and panicky.
He clears his throat and loosens an imaginary button around his shirt collar. I glance down at myself. My towel is completely covering me, but I have no idea what he saw and when he got here.
"How long have you been here? Have you been watching me?"
"What? No! I mean, yes. But not on purpose. I--" he’s flustered, but he doesn’t try to avoid my eyes.
"Not on purpose? How do you accidentally watch someone swimming?” I push.
"I was going down early to find a spot for us on the beach, Emma," he says, and I know I’ve offended him.
His voice sounds like I'm used to. Arrogant, annoyed, slightly bored. None of the warmth I've found myself so hungry for in it.
"Fine. Can you please turn around so I can get dressed?"
He peers at me and rolls his eyes, but turns around. I admire his broad back, clad in a white dress shirt that fits like it was made for him.
I drop my towel and pull my shorts over my hips and my blouse over my head. My hands tremble, and I fumble over each button as I try to hurry. All of this is so bizarre and frightening. I can’t wait to see his face when he turns around. Will he even notice that I’m not covered from head to toe?
"Tell me why you were crying." My hands stop, and like they were weighed down by stones, they fall to my side. I stare at the ground through a blur of tears.
"It's none of your business."
"Emma," he prompts, and I don't have to look up to know that he's turned back around.
"You weren't supposed to see that!"
His eyes soften as he looks down at me.
"Do you get off on seeing me angry or sad?" Knowing that he may have witnessed what I thought was a private moment, unsettles me.
He watches me for a moment before he steps closer to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks down into my eyes.
“Leave it alone," I groan, embarrassed at how petulant I sound.
"I can't leave it or you alone. Believe me, I've tried," he says. I pull myself out of his grasp. I turn around and pick up my flip flops and turn back around to face him.
He's watching me, an infuriating tenderness in his eyes. He he doesn’t deserve my anger. So I force myself to get over myself and apologize.
"I'm sorry. I thought I was alone," I stammer, but I make myself look him in the eye.
“You don’t need to apologize for your reaction.” His eyes scan the pool area, “I don’t understand why you’re out here alone, though. Anyone could have happened by,” he chides.
"You're right,” I admit with a small shrug. “I wanted to swim when I knew no one would be here.” I throw my bag’s straps over my shoulder and smile at him, trying to dispel some of the lingering tension. “The sun's setting. If we hurry, we can try the fried yam and choffee those women are selling. It’s almost time for them to start shutting down. I'm starved." I start walking.
"It's early for them to be calling it quits."
"They're not calling it quits. The beaches are deserted at night, so they're going into town to set up on the busy corners."
"What's choffee?" he asks, and I walk down ahead of him, drying my hair as I walk. As soon as I leave the cobbled path that leads to the beach and step onto the sand, I pull my shoes on again. The sand here is rough. It's not the fine white sand that sifts through your toes on most beaches I've walked on. This sand is chunky; you can see the sediment and shells and bits of glass that it's made of.
"It's fried turkey tail, and it's delicious." I grin at him over my shoulder and then stop so he can catch up. "Have you eaten any street food while you've been here?" I ask.
He grimaces and gives a dramatic shudder. "No. I'm trying to go back with my digestive system intact."
