by T. K. Leigh
Her cheeks flush, unable to hide the effect I have on her. But she’s never been able to. Even when she fought her attraction to me in those early days, I could feel the desire building inside her. This isn’t the type of thing that happens every day. We share a connection that goes beyond meeting in a Chicago diner. That goes beyond that fateful night when both our worlds were turned upside down. And hopefully, when the time comes, Nora will see that, too.
“There’s something so…intimate about undressing a woman,” I continue, snaking down this body I’ve become quite familiar with yet still have a lot of exploring to do. “It’s like a present. A present wrapped up just for me to open. To touch.” I run my hands down her midsection, and she arches her back, her heavy breaths echoing around us. Meeting her gaze as she peers down at me with yearning, I bunch the hem of her sundress around her waist, revealing her yellow panties. “To taste.”
I press my mouth to her center, tasting her through the silken fabric. A moan falls from her throat, her fingers digging into my scalp to a point it’s almost painful. But I don’t tell her to stop.
I ease her underwear to the side, floating my gaze toward hers. “Do you want more?” I ask, circling her with my thumb.
She squeezes her eyes shut, succumbing to the sensations, words seeming to escape her. Grinning, I return to her, swiping my tongue against her before pulling away. Her breathing only increases, hips thrusting, thighs clenching.
“More?” I ask again.
“Yes, Anderson,” she pants. “More.”
I hook my fingers into her briefs and drag them down her legs, dropping them on the floor. I take her foot in my hands, my motions languid as I kiss my way up her leg, not wanting to miss a single inch, single dip, single freckle.
When I reach her apex, I steal a glance at her, the anticipation driving her wild with need. I’m ready to fall apart, too. But not yet. Our remaining time together is limited. I’m not going to waste a single second. Not anymore.
I move from one thigh to the other, completely ignoring her center, then kiss my way back down her opposite leg. When I reach her foot, I rest her leg back on the mattress, then kneel in front of her on the bed, pulling her into a kneeling position with me.
Her eyes don’t waver from mine as I lift the flowing, cotton dress over her head. When I reach behind her body to unclasp her bra, she remains motionless, allowing me to slide the straps down her arms, leaving her completely bared to me.
My hand splayed on her lower back and the other digging into her hair, I pull her toward me, our mouths colliding in a wanton and revealing kiss. For the first time, I actually feel like I’m kissing Nora. I finally know all her scars, all her fears. And she’s willing to face all of them for me.
A small voice reminds me I’m only making matters worse by continuing on with this charade. That every second I spend with her and don’t tell her the truth is another lie I’m saddling her with. But this woman is a drug. I need just one more hit, despite the devastation I’ll leave in my wake.
Curving toward her, I delicately ease her onto her back, my lips never straying from hers. I revel in the sensation of her lustrous skin beneath my hands. Skin I have no right to touch, but I can’t stop. Can’t pull myself away. I doubt I’ll ever be able to, even when this ends. Even when the truth rains down on us.
Gripping her thigh, I hook her leg around my waist, gently thrusting against her.
“Anderson,” she moans into our kiss, my name coming out as a cross between a prayer and a plea.
With torturously slow movements, I skate my hand along her waist, her breathing increasing the closer I get to her sex. As I slide my finger along her clit, she releases a noiseless gasp.
“I need you inside me,” she murmurs against my mouth. “I need you to make love to me.”
I lift myself from the bed, pushing down my shorts in one swift movement before returning to her. Kneeling between her legs, I take a moment to admire her beauty, brushing her hair out of her face.
Whenever I peered at Nora today, I saw the woman I pulled from the wreck. Saw her desperate eyes. Heard her anguished cries. But right now, I don’t see any of that. In this moment in time, that’s not part of our story. At some point, we’ll have no choice but to make it part of the fabric of who we are, but right now, I see the Nora who decided to meditate in a busy Chicago diner. Who made me stop at every run-down gas station between Chicago and here. Who’s given me the adventure of a lifetime, one I’ll always cherish, despite the inevitable end.
“I know it’s kind of late to be asking you this, considering we’ve already had unprotected sex, but are you on birth control?”
“It is kind of late.” She smirks. “But yes, I’m on the pill. After Hunter and Ember, well… It kind of ruined me for wanting kids.”
I drape my body over hers, pressing my lips to hers, wanting to take away the memory of everything she lost. “Not here,” I whisper. “Not now. It’s just us.”
She melts into my kiss. “Just us.”
I reach down and ease my way inside her, slowly at first, reacquainting myself with this woman I’ve grown to know so well, even in such a short period of time. I keep her head held tightly in my hands as I continue moving inside her, our eyes never straying from each other, the tether binding us unbreakable.
The sex last night was incredible. Watching her let loose with me and release all her inhibitions was truly a sight to behold. But this moment is so much bigger than that.
We don’t need the distraction of heavy breathing and loud moans. Not here. All we need is to lose ourselves in each other. To bare ourselves to each other. To be scared with each other. To fall into each other.
And I have fallen. Hopelessly. Mercilessly. Impossibly. This woman walked straight into my life and possessed my heart, like she always owned it. She tore through the walls I’ve hidden behind and breathed air back into my lungs.
Our lives may not fit together. Our story may end tragically. But for now, I find comfort in the fact that our hearts beat as one, even if for only a passing moment.
Chapter Thirty
Nora
Sunlight seeps through the plantation shutters, and I release a contented sigh. For once, I’m at peace. I’m exactly where I need to be. Anderson is exactly where I need to be.
Once we were able to keep our hands off each other for more than a few seconds last night, we ordered room service, not wanting to leave this suite for anything, not even food. But shortly after we finished our dinner of lamb and paella, Anderson got dressed and told me he needed to take care of something. It made me nervous, worried he was pushing me away again.
But he returned a few minutes later, knocking on the door, despite having a key. When I opened it and saw the bottle in his hand, I realized he was keeping with the tradition we started at the beginning of this adventure. Knocking on my door with a smile and bottle of wine, hoping to spend more time together.
All throughout the evening, as we savored our wine and I lay snuggled against Anderson’s firm chest, the love story between Terry McKay and Nickie Ferrante playing before us, I couldn’t help but reflect back to the first night we’d watched An Affair to Remember. Anderson had remarked on the similarities between their story and ours. At the time, I thought the only similarity was that we’d both formed a friendship while away from home.
That’s no longer the case.
Now I understand all too well the heartache the characters must have experienced when the boat arrived in New York City and they were tugged in two separate directions, the only shining light their promise to meet again in six months. I hate the idea of being away from Anderson for more than six days. I doubt I’d survive six months.
A supple mouth feathers against my shoulder blade, and I sigh as Anderson tightens his arm around me, pulling me closer. He pushes my messy locks over my shoulder, moving his lips toward my neck, shivers rolling down my spine.
“This is what I’ve been fantasizing about,” I murmur,
my voice scratchy from sleep.
“What?” He playfully circles his hips against me, making his need for me known. “Morning sex? Pretty sure we checked that off our list yesterday.”
“No. Not morning sex. Although I’m certainly looking forward to that.” I wiggle against him, and he grips my hip with hungry fingers.
“Then what have you been fantasizing about?”
I roll over, brushing his hair out of his face. The more I look at him, the more I see Prince Gabriel in his features. His eyes. His dimples. His wicked smile. But I also still see Anderson North. My Anderson.
“This is the first morning you’re beside me when I wake up. Every other morning, I’ve woken up alone. Even yesterday. Sure, you were in the room, but you weren’t with me. I like that you’re finally with me.”
“There’s no place I’d rather be than with you, Nora.”
He captures my lips in a teasing kiss before he retreats, propping himself up on an elbow. He runs a delicate finger along my ribs and a thoughtful expression crosses his face, brows pulled in, mouth pinched. Then he peers down at me. “How much wiggle room do we have in your schedule?”
It’s a little thing, but my chest expands at his use of the word “we”, like we’re finally in this journey together, instead of two people on their own trajectory who crossed paths for a few days. We may have to go our separate ways when this comes to an end, but for now, this is our journey. Our adventure.
“Why?”
“Instead of hitting the road, what do you think if we stay here another night? Explore Santa Fe. Go to some art galleries.” He waggles his brows. “Stop for some food where I’ll get under the table and make it impossible for you to talk.”
Feigning indignation, I playfully slap him, although I like the idea of him making it impossible for me to talk.
His chuckles fade, expression becoming serious once more. “What do you say? Let’s spend the day together.”
“We spend every day together,” I remind him.
It’s barely noticeable, and if I blinked, I wouldn’t have seen it, but I catch Anderson’s eyes flick to the desk where I’d placed the canister containing Hunter’s ashes.
My heart falls, my stomach churning. “Oh.”
I can’t imagine what’s going through Anderson’s head. No wonder he was so distant yesterday. Why hadn’t I realized it before now? Of course he’d be aloof. We slept together, yet the instant we were back on the road, my focus was on Hunter and spreading his ashes at every spot on the list without a single regard for how it must make Anderson feel. If I were in his shoes, I’d question things, too, keep my heart guarded, wonder if there will always be a ghost between us.
Rolling away from him, I slip out of bed and pad across the floor, the hardwood cool on my feet.
“It’s okay if you don’t, Nora. I just…” He trails off as he watches me grab the ashes from the desk.
As I flash him a slight smile, I walk toward the bed. Confusion flashes on his face before I turn to the ottoman where my suitcase sits. Unzipping it, I do something I’ve refused to do since I started on this journey. I bury the reminder of Hunter, placing the canister in my suitcase, hiding it beneath my clothes.
His stare traces my motions as I rejoin him underneath the duvet. Caressing his mouth with mine, I kiss him fully before pulling back. I cup his cheek in my hand, relishing in the scratching of his facial hair against my skin.
“Anderson, I’d love nothing more than to spend the day with you…”
I push him onto his back and straddle him, his pupils dilating as I circle my hips, reawakening his desire. He groans as I rub his arousal against me, then ease him inside. Leaning down, I breathe into him.
“And only you.”
Anderson’s fingers intertwine with mine as we stroll along the streets of downtown Santa Fe later that afternoon. I’ve never seen anything quite as remarkable as this city. The pueblo architecture. The bright colors. The art. It makes me wish I had more time here.
“Guilty pleasure?” Anderson asks, glancing at me.
Throughout the afternoon, we’ve taken the opportunity to learn more about each other. Our upbringing. Our families. Our fears. All things I’ve gotten a taste of, but we never discussed in detail. It’s refreshing to share these things and not hide behind a mask. Everything’s out in the open. For both of us.
“Sex with a hot prince,” I answer without a moment’s hesitation.
Lust in his eyes, he pulls me to a stop and leans toward me, his breath warming my neck. “Glad you think I’m pleasurable.” His finger grazes a sliver of exposed skin along my hipbone, fanning the flames of my desire. Then he retreats. “But I hope you don’t feel guilty about this.”
I raise myself onto my toes, brushing my lips against his. “I don’t. Do you?”
He shakes his head. “Not for a second.” He kisses me again, then grabs my hand, leading me along the busy street that’s overflowing with tourists enjoying the beautiful weather. The sun is shining. Birds are chirping. And I have a hot guy beside me. Could life get any better?
“How about you? What’s your guilty pleasure?”
He smirks. “Sex with a beautiful American woman.”
I playfully pinch him in the side. “You stole my answer.”
“No. You said your guilty pleasure was sex with a hot prince, not a beautiful American woman. Although I’m willing to accommodate if you’re into that.”
Yanking his hand, I pull him toward a clay building. I lean my back against it, forcing his body against mine. “Are you telling me I don’t satisfy you on my own?” I rub against him. “Doesn’t feel that way to me.”
“Oh, gorgeous, you do more than satisfy me. You drive me wild.” His tone is gruff, sending a thrill through me. “The mere notion of being deep inside you has me hungry for another taste.” He nuzzles my neck, running his tongue along the length.
I no longer care that we’re in public on a very busy street with dozens of people sidestepping us. A few give him a second glance, most likely finding his appearance familiar. But as has been the case throughout our journey, they brush it off, probably thinking he’s simply some celebrity doppelgänger.
“Makes me want to lift this skirt and fuck you right here.”
“Bad boy,” I tease in a breathy voice.
“Only with you.” He pulls back, the fire in his depths transforming into something more meaningful, but still as vivid and intense. “You make me want to break all my rules, Nora. Hell, you make me want to set the rule book aflame and start over again from the beginning. With you.”
His words cause my heart to swell, the hairs on my nape standing on end. “Some things are worth breaking the rules for,” I murmur.
“And I get the feeling you’re more than worth breaking my rules for.” He seals his mouth over mine, his kiss gentle, like that first snowfall of the year. Innocent, beautiful, serene.
He gradually releases his hold on me and links our fingers, resuming our leisurely stroll. Neither one of us speaks for several minutes. There’s something magical about not polluting the silence with words. I don’t have to focus on what comes out of his mouth, listening to his body's distinct language instead.
“Let’s go in here,” I suggest when we come upon an art gallery.
We’ve passed quite a few, but this one catches my attention. The display window in front showcases a large photo split between three canvases of a Native American woman overlooking the plains. The lower saturation and vibrancy of the colors make it appear haunting in its simplicity, reminding me of some of the images I’ve seen Anderson export onto his laptop and tweak.
“Sure.”
We walk into the large, open gallery, more images of Native Americans hanging on the plain white walls. I read a placard explaining the exhibit is to showcase the connection between Native American traditions and modern society. The photographer certainly captured it. There’s an image of a young man in traditional Native American headdress standing
between the shelves at what appears to be a college library. Two women holding hands, draped in cloaks with tribal markings, their son between them. A teenager wearing Indian-inspired jewelry, as well as a sash declaring her the winner of a beauty pageant. A clash of two distinct cultures.
“Have you ever considered showing your work?” I ask Anderson quietly as we study a young man in war paint, a cell phone visible in his outstretched hands.
“Nah,” he responds, brushing it off, averting his gaze.
“Why not? I’ve seen some of the stuff you’ve shot. It’s really good.” I nod at the image in front of us. “Just as thought-provoking as this.”
He turns from me, grabbing my hand and continuing through the gallery, admiring antique Native American jewelry on display in the center of the room. “I have considered it before,” he admits. “In fact, I once had an exhibit booked.” A nostalgic smile lights up his face. “Kendall actually encouraged me to do it. To step outside my comfort zone.”
“What kind of exhibit?”
He looks forward, keeping my hand clutched in his as we head into another room. “In my…position, I do a bit of traveling.”
“I imagine.”
“I started a foundation years ago,” he continues, his voice barely more than a whisper. “A clean water initiative. We both grew up in countries where clean water generally isn’t a problem. But it is for so many. And without clean water, health complications abound. Every so often, I travel to one of the places where my foundation hopes to provide locals with resources to deliver clean water. The people always fascinate me. They have nothing, Nora. Absolutely nothing.”
The more he speaks, the more impassioned he becomes. I can tell this isn’t simply a charity he slaps his name onto for the positive publicity, but something he genuinely cares about. Another piece of the Prince Gabriel Anderson puzzle.
“But they’re always so happy. They invite me into their village, prepare this huge feast. Even slaughter the pig they’ve been raising for years. Just to feed me.”
