“Sounds like someone else has some passion.” He reached around and draped his arm on her shoulder, not looking at her. Together, they looked out at the Metro sign, the multicolored tourists, the greens and browns of early summer. May could have sat like this all day.
After a while, he stirred and started rubbing her shoulders where they met her neck. “Ever considered curating?”
“Sure. Not much of a market for curators.”
“I’ve been thinking. Joki needs to be more involved with the arts. Maybe create a gallery, not here of course. But the collector, she could live anywhere, really.” He tugged the bottom of her ear, and she shivered. “Know anyone?”
She laughed. “Very funny. Joki is shooting its wad at the Antarctic already. I’d say wait until you have three more hit games under your belt before you start up another money-soaking venture.”
He brushed her hair as he stood. “Money-soaking?” She flashed panic that he’d go back on the expedition funding, but he was smiling down at her. His teeth were perfect. He was perfect.
He held out a hand and helped her rise. They cleared the table, and hands entwined, strolled off across the Mall.
By the time they got back to the hotel flat, May was emotionally and physically spent. Beau looked to be, as well. But he still held her hand as she went to put her leftovers in the fridge. She leaned against the counter. She needed to.
“I don’t think I’ve wanted to go to bed at seven since I was a baby.”
“It’s three a.m. in Scandinavia. Maybe you’re going native.” He lifted their entwined hands and kissed her knuckles. His eyes were warm and open, watching her. Wanting her.
Something had changed, between last night and now. She could read him better, and he certainly could read her. Deliciously scary.
She wanted this. Sure, he’d be gone in three days, but that just made it safer, right? Although it was a rather generous reading of Sadie’s order to make him happy and get him to the party on time. She pulled their hands closer and rested them on her shoulder. She watched his mouth, his most expressive feature. It opened slightly, closed, and that dimple appeared in the corner. He loosened his fingers from hers and spread them across her shoulder. Tension she didn’t even know she was carrying flowed away.
She wanted more. She reached for his hip, and guided him closer. He took the hint, putting his other hand on her hip. His touch pushed waves of delicious warmth through her abdomen, waking up her sleeping libido.
She traced his lower lip with her index finger. It wasn’t perfectly even, a shade wider on the left, but that just made it more delectable. His breath hitched, and his mouth opened a little. Hers matched it in anticipation.
Then it closed, as if in hesitation. She leaned in and kissed the wider edge, pulling his lip to open it again.
It worked. He took her lips full-on, his kiss hungry. She followed his lead, anticipated him, really, as if they’d been kissing for years. His lips felt as velvety good as they looked. When his tongue flicked hers, introducing itself, she melted. His hands, still on her shoulder and at her side, clamped on tighter, as if he’d never let her go. Good.
They had to come up for air. But instead of kissing her again, like she wanted, like she needed, he spoke.
“May, beautiful, fragile May.” The tone was wrong.
“No, I want this.” She sounded desperate. Well, that’s how she felt.
He pushed a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. “It’s been a long day, and we’ve weathered some stormy seas. Remember this morning?”
She frowned. She didn’t want to remember this morning. “You helped me feel better.” Help me some more, she wanted to say, but that would be needy.
“Don’t frown. It’s beautiful, but it hurts me.”
“You don’t want me?”
He groaned and pressed his forehead into hers. “How could I not want you? Of course I do.”
“But.” She wouldn’t look into his eyes. She could still see the sigh-smile grow across his lips. His underused lips.
“But I’m tired, and so are you. I want you to be sure, not regret anything. I never want you to feel like it was a mistake.”
“You think I’m so fragile?”
“I think I am. What if I can’t perform? I want you to think I’m perfect, but I can barely keep my eyes open. You don’t want that, do you?”
She kind of did. He could read her face, his smile said. He pressed his lips into hers again, too briefly.
“If we feel the same in the morning, look out.”
****
When May woke, rested but restless, the clock read just short of five in the morning. Then she remembered. They’d gone to bed at eight at night. She brushed her hair and teeth and wrapped herself in her terry robe before emerging from her bedroom.