"Why?" he asks, squaring my shoulders to face him. Cradling my face in his hands. How many years have I longed for this moment? How long have I refused my heart what it wanted?
And for what? For a God who never heard the cries of my heart? My pleas and my prayers?
I want more than that.
I want James.
"I don't deserve you, James," I manage, closing my eyes, unable to look at him. Knowing his face is filled with nothing but devotion and not feeling like I deserve that sort of adoration. Not from a man like him.
"Shush, you don't need to cry. I'm here." He pulls my face to his. His lips are even better than I remembered. Soft and hard and here and now. Lips that press against mine and break something open. Wide open. My heart.
I sink into his kiss. His lips part, and so do mine, and he tips back my head, his arms around me, and I can feel how deeply he wants me. No, it's more than a want. It’s a desire. A craving. A longing.
"I love you," he tells me between kisses, and then his tongue finds mine, and I whimper against him, his words a balm to my broken heart.
"I don't deserve this," I tell him. "I made you wait for so long."
"You were scared," he says, kissing me again. "Are you still scared?"
I shake my head, pulling away, wanting his kisses but also knowing the reality.
"George is paying my father ten thousand dollars for me. My brothers and sisters... they need me here. And that money can help them. I can't just—"
James shakes his head, refusing to hear it. "We can make a life and come back for them."
"They will never let me just go with you."
"We won't tell them." He kisses my forehead. "I should have made you come with me a long time ago. Standing by only made you more scared. Scared of me. Of the idea of us."
"I'm not scared of you... I'm just scared of what you think of me, James." I pull back, covering my face with my hands.
"I think you are the only good thing in this place. The only good thing in this world. I love you, Abigail, and I'll cherish you forever. You chose not to go with me before, but when I heard that you were getting married, I knew in my heart I couldn't let this go on anymore. Let me be the man I was made to be. Let me take care of you."
"Do you have money?" I ask, knowing I have none.
He shakes his head. "I'll break into the office, find some. I'll get us a car. We can go tonight when it's dark."
He speaks with fervor, passion, the same intensity he had three years ago. He hasn't wavered in his choice for a moment.
Why am I so weak when all I want is to be strong?
"Say yes." He cups my face again, our eyes locked on one another. My body knows exactly what it wants, even though it feels reckless and dangerous. The men on the compound have guns and are vengeful. They don't let people leave without their permission. If we got caught I'd never be able to help my siblings.
But if we don't try what sort of life will they have?
"Do you love me?" he asks.
"Do you have to ask?" I bite my bottom lip, not believing he’s really here, holding my face and choosing me. Still.
"No," he says. "I know you've always loved me. The same way I've always loved you. Love is enough."
Part of me wonders if that kind of thinking is naive: to believe love will solve all our problems... but I want to believe in that sort of power right now. What else do I have?
An old man who will force me into his bed, have his way with me.
I don't want that.
I want James.
"Come with me," he says. "Please."
I lift my chin, looking at the face I memorized as a four-year-old, the face I have always known was mine.
"Where you go, I will follow," I tell him. "But first, kiss me again."
Chapter Four
She says yes, and as she does, it's as if nearly a decade’s worth of weight has fallen from her shoulders. I wrap my arms around her, unable to restrain myself from deepening our kiss, our embrace. Her hands are on my chest, tugging at my shirt.
I want her more than she knows, but I will let the woman I've always loved take the lead. I don't want to push her when she’s vulnerable, but I also know the love we have has blossomed over a lifetime, and damn, we've bided our time.
"I want you in ways you don't know," I growl in her ear. Her hunger is real as she kisses my neck, exploring more of me, returning to my lips and kissing them hard. Abigail may be a fragile flower, but she’s more than that.
The Abigail I fell in love with knew passion, knew the language of love because it was written on her heart strings and then plucked from her guitar every time she picked up her instrument.
"James," she whispers. "I think I know how you want me. And I want you that way too."