THE DARK TIDE (The Adrien English mysteries): Adrien and Jake

 

 

A touch so light, so delicate, it was hardly more than a breath, a sigh tracing the length of my throat…bisecting my chest…and then, to my relief, diverging from the roadmap of scars, off-roading to flick the tip of my right nipple.

I arched off the bed. Not far, since my hands were tied to the headboard — tied loosely and with something soft. Silk scarves? I could free myself in an instant, but it wasn’t about freedom, was it?

The teasing touch moved to the tip of my other nipple.

I gasped. “That tickles!”

“It’s a feather.” I could hear the smile in Jake’s voice.

“Ah.”

The feather ghosted its way over my ribcage…down to my abdomen. I sucked in a breath as the feather dusted and danced still lower…

“How’s that feel?”

I nodded. Everything felt lovely, from the cool, crisp linen sheets to Jake’s warm breath against my face. The feather teased and thrilled as it brushed across my thigh…groin…thigh…

I wriggled one of my hands free and pulled off the blindfold.

The hotel room was nearly dark in the fading afternoon light. Jake gazed down at me, his mouth quirking. “I wondered how long that would last.”

“I like to look at you,” I said. “I like to touch you.”

He nodded, pulled the other scarf off, freeing my wrist. He lowered himself beside me on the wide four-poster bed, touched the tip of a drooping white peacock feather to my nose. I laughed and blew at the bobbing green-blue eye of the feather.

“How long before your mother’s knocking on the door again, do you think?”

“I’ve got the Do Not Disturb sign out.”

“Baby, you’re an optimist.”

“Maybe.” I smiled at him, looped my arm around his neck, pulling him down to me. He kissed me. I kissed him back. “Next year we’re staying home for Christmas. I don’t care who comes up with what plan.”

“Uh huh.”

He rested his head on my chest. For a time we lay there, breathing in soft unison, the muted sounds of London traffic providing a soundtrack to our thoughts.

“Regrets?” I asked at last.

Jake raised his head, studying me. He leaned back on his elbow. “No regrets.”

I smiled faintly.

He reached out, brushed the hair out of my eyes. “That’s not right. I have regrets. I regret the gutless, asinine things I did, the people I hurt. I regret hurting you. I regret the time I wasted. But if all those gutless, asinine things were somehow part of how I got to this moment, then no. I don’t regret anything.”

Considering what a painful journey he’d had to get to this moment, I thought that was a brave statement.

“You?” Jake asked. “Regrets?”

“Just the time we wasted.”

“We’re not wasting any more time.” He reached around, found the feather.

I could feel my smile turning wry. “Is this going to be enough for you?”

He looked puzzled for an instant. Then his expression grew grave. “This? No. The feather and blindfold routine in an overpriced hotel? No. I need more. I admit it. I need entire nights and entire days. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. I need breakfast and lunch and dinner and every dessert we can squeeze in. I need every minute we can get.”

“For as long as we both shall live?”

“Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”

I closed my eyes, smiling. “I guess that’ll work.”

His laugh was quiet. I felt him bend over me, felt his mouth graze mine… My eyes shot open at the soft tap-tap-tapping on our room door.