Page 81 of The Number of Love
Warm strength enveloped the shaking. His hands clasping hers. She’d forgotten her gloves, apparently. “I know. You told me.”
“But I didn’t. I didn’t tell you that Ididn’t.” She forced her eyes open again, forced herself to look up at him. “I wouldn’t. I was so angry. She was gone, and all I could hear wasEighteen. I told Him no. I refused to pray. The very day—probably the veryminuteyou were shot.”
His thumb stroked over her hand. “Good.”
“What?” He was supposed to be cross. Cross would make sense.Goodcertainly didn’t. “How could you—”
“I’m glad it happened the way it did. That I got sent home to recuperate. That I’m here now. With you.”
He was an idiot. But it didn’t make her itchy. It made her weak. Liquid. Blurring her eyes. She shook her head. “No. You could have been killed. I should have—”
“Margot.” He moved closer, tightening his grip on her hands. “Iwasn’t.Focus on that.”
“But—”
“Are you the only one in the world with faith enough to pray for someone when you don’t know why?”
Faith enough. She’d had it, then. She thought. But had she, if she’d let it go so easily? Turned her back on him? On Him? “I certainly hope not.”
“Do you know for a fact that no one else was asked to pray when you said no? If perhaps someone else’s prayers kept that bullet from hitting anything vital?” One of his hands dropped her fingers. Touched her cheek instead. “God was in it. I know He was. He didn’t abandon me.”
“But I shouldn’t have either. It should have been me.”
“Mi alma.” His lips pressed to her forehead and lingered there, warm and sweet. “I love knowing that it waseveryou. That our Lord wove that bond between us. It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t you that one time.”
“But itdoes. Of course it does.”
“It doesn’t.” His hand was so warm against her winter-chilled cheek. His face was so calm behind the mask of her tears. “Do you know what matters? That youwishit had been you.”
He shouldn’t be so kind about it. Not about this, when he could have been killed because of her stubbornness. Her anger. And she hadn’t even regretted it, not until just now, when she realized the dates had been the same. She hadn’t regretted it—she’d resented it. Her fingers went tight around his. “I’m sorry though. So sorry.” To think of the pain he was still clawing his way out of. How devastated Dot would have been if she’d lost him.
How emptyherlife would be right now if he weren’t in it.
“Margot.” His voice was just a whisper, bare and raw. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
It should have made her start. Jump away. List a few of the threats she tossed so easily at other men if ever they made the mistake of getting too close. But it didn’t. It just made her suck in a breath. “Why?”
His lips, a mere two inches from hers, smiled. “Because I don’t recall ever wanting to do anything more. Do you mind?”
“I don’t know.” She should. A kiss would lead to a different kind of courtship, wouldn’t it? One that was more than letters and codes and dinners with his sister. And she didn’t want a different kind of courtship. She liked this one. That wasn’t one. Except that it was. She’d always known it was.
His fingers moved on her cheek in an unfathomably soft caress. “I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t not want you to. I just don’t know if Idowant you to.” She wasn’t supposed to be like this. Befuddled and swamped byfeeling.
He eased another inch closer. “How about an experiment, then?” His fingers released hers, but they didn’t move far. Just to her wrist. “Scientific. Mathematical. We’ll examine the increase of your pulse. The change in respiration. Dilation of your pupils. To determine if you want me to. What percent of change do you think equals ayes?”
How could he make her laugh even now? It should have changedthe numbers, that laugh. Added in another element that threw off the equation. But somehow all it seemed to do was draw her closer to him. Perhaps it worked as a coefficient of the want, simply increasing the end desire rather than offsetting it.
Apparently it was heryes. Because in the next second his lips skimmed hers, and she didn’t want to pull away. She wanted to count the seconds of that first touch, how long her breath stayed balled up in her chest, determine the angle when he tilted his head and try to determine why it made the sensation that muchmore. She wanted to measure it all out and yet wasn’t sure if it was a second or a minute, whether she was tumbling or flying, leaning in or pulling away.
In. Definitely leaning in, because his arms slid around her. Hers slid around him. And it felt odd, because she’d never held a man like this. And yet it didn’t, because there was none of the unease she usually felt with a casual touch. Perhaps because it wasn’t casual. It was purposeful. Every contact—hand to back, arm to shoulder, lips to lips—meant something. And they all added up to one very clear conclusion.
Willa was right.
Blast. Now she pulled away, shaking her head as she backed toward the door. “No. I don’t want things to change. I like it how it is—how it was. Just ... pretend that didn’t happen.”
He lookedamused, drat it. “Impossible.”
