by Shayne Ford
As she leans in, the sound and light and everything else in the room, fade away. I inhale the scent of her hair and drink in the loveliness of her features.
I feed on the caring I see in her eyes for me, and I can’t think of anything that makes her do this to me. I don’t believe in second chances, and maybe this is not even it, yet she pushes herself against me, her body glued to mine, tender and warm, and then she angles her head and kisses me softly, her lips quivering with emotion.
It feels like a dream. I freeze, unable to lay a hand on her, or move my lips. And then she kisses me again. Longer this time, still I can’t muster the courage to respond to her.
Then she breathes in me.
“Thank you, River.”
She pulls away slightly, her face bright with the candor of a loving smile.
“For what, baby?”
She tips her head to the side and grins. There’s no regret in her eyes. No lingering sadness.
“For saving my life... For changing my life... For teaching me and loving me.”
My teeth grit again as I shift my gaze away. She turns my face back to her, her thumbs delicately brushing my lashes, thinning the layer of tears pooled in my eyes.
“I almost killed you...” I say the words that have been crushing me for so long.
“The only thing that almost killed me was the thought you no longer loved me.”
Blinking back tears, she looks down.
“The thing is... You gave me something I’ve always wanted... And it was perfect... You were perfect... for me,” she says and then looks up at me again. “But you were right... I wasn’t ready for you or the love I craved. I wasn’t strong enough, or wise enough. You took the chance, anyway... and I’m glad you did. I don’t regret anything, River... Not even that dark day, as tragic as it was. I would’ve never learned...”
She takes a long breath and then continues.
“That day made me realize I could’ve easily slipped out of this world, without anyone noticing. There was nothing to leave behind. No words. No stories. No memories of me. No one to shed a tear. I lived like a shadow most of my life, and I would’ve easily slipped away as one. And then I learned how blind I was. I couldn’t see you because of me. And that’s the only thing I regret.”
She leans on me and kisses me again before she pulls away.
“I love you River. I’ll always will,” she says her hand sliding off me, desperation pouring in my blood.
“Wait,” I say and grab her wrist.
She stops and looks at me, surprised.
“I want to take you home,” I say, my voice soft and filled with hope.
17
“You want to come in?”
She pushes the door open and walks inside while I freeze in the doorway. The place is small and cozy and inviting. It looks like the kind of space that makes you feel like home.
“I shouldn’t. It’s late,” I mutter.
“Please...”
With a gesture and a smile, she invites me in.
She lights up a few candles and picks up pillows from the floor. A black and white cat rolls off the sofa, greeting us.
“He’s Marcus Aurelius,” she says, smiling.
“The Roman cat?” I say, trying an old joke, but I can’t make myself grin.
“Yup, that’s him.”
I pet her cat. The little ball of fur starts purring.
“He’s friendly,” I say.
“That’s surprising, considering you’re the only man who’s ever entered this apartment,” she says sincerely, and I cut my eyes at her.
Pulling her gaze away from me, she heads to the kitchen.
“I’ll make a tea. I don’t have alcohol in my house... Unless you want coffee.”
“Tea is fine.”
I peel the jacket off, drop it on a chair and walk in the small kitchen.
She sets the kettle for tea as I lean against the window sill, and start observing her in silence. She looks the same, yet something has changed. Her moves are smooth and calm, a soft smile clinging to her lips. It feels as if I’m dreaming. I still can’t believe I’m here with her.
My gaze rolls down on her, and then I notice the tremble of her fingers.
“It’s a nice apartment,” I say, breaking the silence.
Her cheeks turn red.
“Oh, thank you. You’re kind.”
A smile spills in her eyes.
“I mean it. It captures your spirit.”
“Which is?”
My eyes set on her hands again as she fills the cups with tea.
“...hard to define,” I mutter.
“That’s a first,” she tosses at me over her shoulder, grinning as she walks to the living room.
I push myself off the windowsill and follow her. She places the cups on the table as I pull the chair out for her.
Moments later we sit at the table.
“What’s a first?” I ask.
“You... not grasping my essence. You used to live in my head,” she says, stretching a smile as if she’s talking about happy times.
I dip my eyes to my cup, unable to share her feeling.
“It’s not that easy anymore. You’ve changed,” I say softly.
“So did you,” she says, and I raise my eyes.
She looks at me, serious, and I feel as if she opens her heart to me again. Barreled by emotions, I fail to hold her gaze. I look back at the cup, my jaw tensing.
“I’m sorry for everything that happened. I really am...” I say, barely plucking the words out of my throat.
“We can’t change the past, River,” she says, her voice calm and soft. Filled with wisdom. “We have to live with it...”
“Can you?”
The words shoot out of my mouth like bullets.
I flick my head to the side, my gaze swinging to the window as I’m trying to hide my emotion.
Tall buildings glowing with little dot lights fill the panoramic view streaming through the window.
She stays silent.
“I wish I knew more about you,” I say bringing my eyes back to her before I set them on my cup. “I know your story now, but I should’ve known it then. I know about your mom, and how you grew up, and why you were so lonely and distrustful... I know about the man who broke your heart, and why you were so fearful...” I mutter.
I raise my eyes and catch sight of her tears.
“I didn’t know much about you either,” she says.
A sad smile tilts my lips.
“We did it all wrong, didn’t we?”
“I think... it was the only way...” she says, her eyes glinting with unshed tears.
“Was it?”
I push back in my chair, my fingers combing through my hair, a sad chuckle rolling off my lips. More tears come to her eyes, and my smile dies out.
I place my forearms on the table and start staring at my cup.
“Maybe it was...” I murmur after a few moments, a sharp pain jabbing at my heart. “I’m not... I don’t expect any of that... to come back to us... But I don’t want to part ways with you either. I’d like to see you, spend some time with you... if that’s okay with you...” I say, humble and hopeful and fearful at the same time.
She looks at me, sad and somewhat surprised.
A few moments fill with silence, and I almost lose hope, and then she speaks again.
“Yes. We can do that,” she says.
There’s no smile on her face, only a wince. My heart sinks.
“What is it?” I ask, unable to hide my nervousness. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” I say, rushed.
“No, no. I want to see you too,” she says, giving me an endearing smile, her hand sliding onto mine.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” she says, her eyes glinting.
“Okay, then... There’s a photo shooting tomorrow...” I say and stop, waiting for her reaction.
“Okay.”
“It’s for my clothing line.
I have a photographer, and she’s good, but I’d like you to come and take another batch of pictures.”
“Sure, I can do that. What’s the address?”
“I’ll pick you up,” I say, already pushing out of my chair.
“You don’t have to,” she says, her gaze following me as I rise.
“I want to.”
She pulls out of her chair and for a moment we find ourselves, face to face, inches away from each other. Her eyes lock mine, and it takes me a tremendous effort to pull away from her.
Somewhat rushed, I pick up my jacket and head for the door. She walks with me, unlocks the door and holds it open.
I turn to her, my gaze sweeping her face briefly.
“Ten o’clock, then?”
“Okay.”
I wish I could just go.
Instead, I erase the space between us, and tenderly cup her face as I gently run my thumb across her cheek. A soft blush rolls over her skin, her eyes filling with the ghost of a smile.
She’s just as soft and fragile and full of love as she always was, and my heart beats for her just as strongly if not stronger.
She grabs my arm and looks at me. So many words come to me, none of them making it to my lips.
“Tomorrow, baby,” I say softly before I give her a light kiss on her cheek.
More light and life come into her eyes, making my heart jolt in my chest as I walk away.
Hands roll up and down on me. Some work with my hair, some spread moisturizer on my hands, and some brush my eyebrows.
I go through several outfits, people inspecting every detail before I finally sit in front of the camera and start to pose.
Layla observes everything from the side.
We work for a couple of hours before the photographer and her crew wrap it up. Some of the people clear the room as Layla sets her camera and her equipment.
The stylists and my people are still nearby.
The studio is big, the windows letting in plenty of natural light. By the time her turn comes to take pictures, the light vanishes behind the clouds.
Having no other choice, she uses the artificial light, and for a few minutes, she takes snapshots of me as I do my routine.
Posing, changing clothing and posing again.
She checks the photographs on a computer screen.
“Can we work alone for a few minutes?” she asks.
“Sure.”
I nod to the people who quietly, slip into the adjacent room.
She shows me to a lounge chair by the window. I sprawl on it as she sets a light nearby. She examines me, her gaze going down on me, inspecting me with critical eyes.
“Can you bend your arm under your head?”
I do as I’m told, at the same time realizing that I’ve completely lost my touch. I bend my elbow under my head and study her instead of focusing on my job.
She purses her lips, dissatisfied.
“We have to do something about this,” she says.
“About what?”
She sets the camera on the side and sits on my chair. This time my gaze rolls down on her. She’s too preoccupied to notice my wandering eyes.
She leans forward, and my temperature spikes.
Focused on my shirt, she works her way through my buttons, popping them one by one. My heart jumps up and down, my body stiffening under her touch.
Her fingertips brush my chest a few times, setting small combustions on my skin. Her eyes follow her fingers as my gaze sets on her lips. Hot like an oven and stiff as a broom, I’m hardly photography material.
She lets the shirt fall open and slides it down my shoulders, revealing my torso. She flicks her eyes up and connects with mine, and all I need now is a cold shower.
“Is that what you need?” I ask.
“I need you. You’re not there, River.”
And she’s right, but there’s a reason for that. I haven’t fully lived in my own skin for a very long time.
Her hand slides down my thigh, and my blood runs faster. I push my knee up the way she wants it and open my legs. Her eyes dip and as much as I want to suppress my reaction, my body warms up even more.
“That’s good...” she says, somewhat satisfied.
Her fingers slide to my waist as she flicks a couple of buttons open and tugs my jeans lower. Her eyes set on my groin, and I bite my lips. She checks my hips, my fly and she drifts her gaze up at my abs.
“You used to like this...” she says.
“And be good at it...” I mutter, trying to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. “You can say it.”
A grin lights up her eyes.
“Yeah... You were good at it,” she mutters, amused.
“I wasn’t that good before you, baby,” I say, flirting with her.
She catches the nuance, and a light flashes in her eyes.
“You don’t have to flatter me,” she says softly, leaning toward me again, her breasts almost touching my lips as she raises her arms and tousles my hair.
I’m getting hard as she works on me, yet soon sadness rolls over me, getting the good feeling crushed.
“You can’t get that look out of me, Layla...”
“Which is?”
“The just-fucked look.”
Our eyes connect again, our lips inches apart.
“Why’s that?” she asks softly.
“I haven’t been with someone in that way for a long time,” I murmur.
“In what way?” she asks.
My heart begins to race.
“Feeling something...” I say quietly, drinking in her features as if I see them for the first time.
“You wanna try?”
A gentle smile rolls on her lips. There’s not a tremble in her voice or hesitation in her touch. There’s not a shred of fear.
Her fingers splay over my chest, her touch confident, unfaltering. Every fiber in my body responds to her as if I’m hers. She leans to me. Cupping my face, she lowers her lips.
Without much thinking, my hand goes up to her neck and weaves into her hair. Our lips almost touch when I whisper.
“I don’t deserve this, Layla.”
Emotions break through in my voice.
“I don’t think it’s up to you,” she murmurs.
Our lips part and our tongues touch and fire flares in my blood. My fingers tighten on her hair as I sense the reaction in her body, and mine fills with carnal hunger.
Without the slightest reservation, she pours her heart and her passion in her kiss and lets me hold her, trustful. She’s famished, and so am I, and for a moment we’re drifting away, her soft moans making my blood boil.
We slip faster than we thought, almost impossible to stop. She’s hot and tense, and I’m barely controlling my body.
And then she tears away from me and fast, I peel my hands off her body.
My chest is heaving, my skin burning.
“I’m sorry,” I say, breathing heavily.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she says, trying to catch her breath.
She looks at me again with the photographer’s eyes, her eyes lighting up as if she’s finally gotten what she wanted.
Her hand flicks up.
“Don’t move. And don’t think about anything right now, especially bad things. I want that sparkle in your eyes,” she mutters and then snatches her camera off a table. “Now give me a smile,” she commands, and I give her what she wants, hot and hard and unable to move.
“That’s it,” she says, and the camera goes off.
The winter evening is cold, the sky sprinkled with stars. I take a turn, and Ron’s house comes into view. You can tell it’s a big party.
The widows gleam with light, and the place is covered in Christmas decorations. Cars fill the parking space and the driveway.
I park on the side and enter the house. I spend about fifteen minutes or so with the guests when Steve motions me to the studio. I take the stairs, leaving the music behind me.
As I push the door ope
n, my eyes fill with the sight of a dim room, and her silhouette, standing next to the window. She looks outside. She doesn’t turn. The bay glimmers in the distance.
“You don’t like the party,”I say, my arms closing around her.
She spins around, a smile rolling over her lips.
“Not without you,” she murmurs.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing at the bay.
“Remembering that night...” she murmurs, and a smile comes to my lips. “The stormy night I took your pictures,” she says, turning to me, her fingers fanning over my chest.
The memory comes back to me.
“Mmm... That.”
“You were quite a piece of work.”
“I was??” I say, chuckling.
“Were you doing it on purpose?”
I cock my head to the side, crushing a smirk.
“Hmm... You were. So you were checking my ass...”
Pushing back a tell-all grin, I nod.
“You were so bad,” she says, smiling, amused.
“No, I was not.”
“Yes, you were. You were driving me crazy...” she says, her eyes glittering with a smile.
“That was the whole purpose, but if it makes you feel any better, I was hard the whole damn time, and losing my voice.”
We both start laughing.
“I made it really easy for you, didn’t I?” she asks.
My smile dies off.
“No... You did not,” I say with a different voice, serious, and her expression shifts as well.
Her love gleams in my eyes gleam, still intact. Her arms curl around me as I gently wrap my fingers around her neck, and kiss her softly.
Breathless, she responds to me, her body trembling, her hands gripping my arms.
It’s the first time we kiss since that day in the studio. We take our time, exploring each other, looking for all the things we so much missed.
Her heart pours into our kiss and so does mine.
Smoothly I break away, and her eyes set on mine, burning with need, her lips glinting with desire.
“I want you. River... All of you,” she says quietly, and my heart jumps with joy, and then a bittersweet sensation rams through me.
“I’m not that man anymore, baby,” I mutter, my voice carrying so much sorrow. “I no longer trust myself...”
Splaying her fingers over my face, she tenderly strokes me.
