Page 55 of His Perfect Bride
They whispered in the dark for a while, probably a few hours, until at last Sage’s yawns grew more frequent and her whispers softer, and she faded into silence. From her steady breathing, he knew she’d fallen asleep. Even though he regretted not having her companionship, he didn’t begrudge her the sleep. After all, not everyone could survive on a few hours of sleep the way he did.
With his eyes closed and his arms crossed behind his head, thoughts of her ran through his mind and filled every corner. He’d never had such long conversations with anyone, especially a woman. But he found that the equal sharing and listening had been pleasant, more than he could have anticipated, so much so he wanted to talk to her again.
Tomorrow. He tried to find satisfaction in that. He’d get to spend tomorrow talking with her again.
If only he didn’t wish he could keep talking with her forever.
Eighteen
Quiet wakefulness filtered through Sage. She couldn’t remember when she’d fallen asleep, only that eventually she had drifted off.
She’d plastered herself to the wall, and Jackson had lain as close to the edge of the bed as he could go, and they’d whispered in the dark for a long time. Sometimes the talking had turned serious, and other times they’d rambled about the silly things she and her sisters had done growing up or his voyages on Rupert’s Land and Vancouver Island.
She breathed in her enjoyment from the previous night. The frigid air hit her lungs and brought her to full consciousness. Even though the temperature had obviously dropped in the unheated room, she was warm and comfortable and strangely content.
With her eyes still closed, she pushed past the haze and exhaled.
In response, a nose nuzzled gently against her neck just below her ear.
Sage’s eyes flew open to the sight of bright daylight filling the room, revealing a plain white wall just inches away.
Before she could make sense of the state of the sleeping arrangements, warm lips grazed at the same spot below her ear.
At the connection, her eyes widened, and every part of her body zinged to life, suddenly aware of every part of Jackson’s body touching hers. The blanket was now tucked around both of them equally, and there were no barriers between them except her nightgown and his clothing.
His long, lean form was pressed against her from behind, curved and molded into her. One arm circled her from underneath and the other wrapped around her with his hand splayed across her stomach.
Her senses could only take in the way each finger pressed against her, flat and hard and possessive, and a swirl of new but pleasurable desire tightened in her stomach. She couldn’t deny how much she liked his possessiveness now and last night. She felt wanted, desired, even needed in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever.
As if hearing her thoughts, his thumb grazed her ribs.
The movement was so sensual and so unexpected that a gasp slipped out, and heat trickled along each nerve ending. What was he doing? And why?
His mouth pressed in again as soft as silk, but the stubble on his cheek scraped her jaw. His touch was a contrast of gentle and hard, the same as his personality. He was such a complex person—deep and soulful and sensitive. At the same time, he was honest about who he was, never hiding from her, never holding back.
His lips against her neck didn’t linger, almost as if he’d given her the kiss absently, maybe didn’t even realize he’d done so. Was he still asleep?
She hitched her breath and listened.
His chest rose and fell in a slow and even rhythm against her back.
Yes, he had to be asleep. He wouldn’t be crossing the boundaries of propriety if he were awake. He’d proven himself to be too much of a gentleman to do so. Most likely, he’d gotten cold, crawled under the covers, and had moved against her for warmth. Or maybe she’d been the one to move closer to him.
Either way, they’d ended up in the exact situation they’d tried to avoid. Even though they had to persist in the sham of a marriage, they didn’t want to stir up inappropriate desire. They needed to keep boundaries in place so that when they returned to Victoria, neither of them would feel despoiled.
At the same time, if the pull between them was this strong, then why were they fighting so hard against it? No, she didn’t want to become Jackson’s mistress or be a mere dalliance. But was it too much to think that something more could ever develop between them? That they could ever love each other?
Willow had believed love was possible.
It was easy in the moment, with the way he was holding her, to conclude her sister was right. Maybe Jackson did care about her. And maybe she cared about him too.
Did she love him already?
A strange panic pulsed through her. No, she didn’t love him, didn’t want to love him. The usual protest began to swell inside her—the protest that she’d never be good enough. But Willow’s words interrupted her runaway thoughts:You may have failed at one relationship, but that doesn’t meanyouare a failure and that you should punish yourself for the imperfections.
Sage breathed out slowly, trying to release the panic. She didn’t have to be perfect, perhaps couldn’t ever be perfect, not with her family, not in life, and not in love. She knew God didn’t expect it either.
Was it time to finally let go of her perfectionistic tendencies and accept that life was sometimes messy and unorganized and untidy? And sometimes love was messy and unorganized and untidy too.
