Page 15 of Secrets Within Us

“Yeah,” I croaked. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated as I turned to sit down in the chair by the fire.

“Don’t worry about it, I was just lost in thought and didn’t hear you.”

He nodded curtly, something he did often in response to things like words weren’t his go-to.

As I settled into the chair, he disappeared once again, going about his normal routine without another word. Before sitting down on the couch and turning on a movie, he took the time to change into comfortable clothes and prepare a delicious dinner for us. I watched him silently as he filled a rock glass with bourbon and sipped on it while the movie played, though he didn’t end up drinking it all. At one point, I looked over at him from my chair and noticed him staring down into the glass, lost in thought, before he looked up at me, locking his gaze with mine until I looked away.

The heat that washed over my body from his stare was enough to leave me sweating. I tried to get back into the movie, but I could feel his eyes on me from where he sat. With the passing of time, I stole a quick glance in his direction, only to find him staring directly at me with an undeniable mix of desire and passion in his eyes.

Despite his usual scowl and brooding disposition, his eyes held a spark of something different as he stared back.

We were transfixed by each other’s gaze, while the movie credits slowly rolled in the background. Neither one of us was willing to surrender, even though there was nothing to gain by winning. What was he searching for in my eyes? What did I want to find in his?

There was an intense connection between us, I felt it literally the second I woke up in his bed after he rescued me. But we knew nothing about each other aside from our names and small tidbits we’d discovered through small talk.

But none of it was of consequence.

If he knew me, he’d run for the hills. I was damaged goods, and the look in his eyes indicated that he desired something from me that he would no longer want once he uncovered the whole truth.

And he would find out, eventually. If I stayed with him any longer, he’d work it out of me, or I’d just finally crumble under the weight of it all and tell him. And then he’d make me leave. He’d look at me with disgust instead of lust, and rejection instead of fondness.

And it would break me because, for some reason, he was the first man I ever wanted to think of me fondly.

Back in New York City, I was a paralegal in a prestigious law firm. I worked every single day under the direction and watchful eyes of powerful men who wanted more from me than just my brain.

But I never took that route, regardless of how much easier it would have made my climb up the ladder. I didn’t do it because no one there was worthy of having that kind of control over my life.

Yet, sitting in the wicked wilderness that nearly killed me, next to a roaring wood fire, in a beautiful log home, the lumberjack made me feel like I would do anything and everything I could to get his approval and understanding.

I felt like, if I could just surrender the power he so desperately desired, he would protect and provide for me.

But giving him all of that power was too much. I shouldn’t do it.

He moved with a gentle ease that mimicked that of a prowling lion as he stood up from the couch. He crossed the distance between us until he was standing in front of my chair, but he still had said nothing. His silence only added to his already infuriating mysteriousness.

He slowly leaned down, resting both hands on the arms of the chair, leaving him nearly face-to-face with me, his mouth just inches from mine. I could see the fullness of his lips under the whiskers of his beard, and I wondered what it would feel like to have them pressed against mine with the furriness in between.

And yet, he still said nothing.

Without looking away from me, he reached over and clicked the lamp off, leaving us blanketed in the darkness of the room apart from the moonlight glowing through the windows.

The shadows played off his features, hiding much of his expression in the dark.

I used to be afraid of the dark.

But I could tell that with him, the dark may prove to be where my soul glowed the brightest.

For the millionth time since I came to find shelter in his home, I found myself drawn to him sexually. I wanted so desperately to lean in and kiss him.

To feel his lips on mine. It was unsettling to realize that I could yearn for that so soon, as if there was a defect in me.

Right?

What was the normal wait time after what I went through for it to be socially acceptable to feel yourself aroused and wanting someone?

Was there a right answer to that?

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