Page 35 of Unspoken Words
“How ‘bout this one?” I asked, picking up the empty VHS cover ofSleepless in Seattle.Tom Hanks was all the rage.
Connor’s hands slowly slid around my waist, his fingers skating the underside of my breasts. “Sure. Whatever you want, baby.”
“Stop that. Someone might see.”
His chest rumbled against my back, an I-know-you-love-my-hands-touching-you kind of rumble. And he was right; I did love him touching me, just not in a very public video store.
As each day went by, Connor touched me more and more, both of us exploring one another’s bodies in a way no one else had. It drove me wild because, at seventeen years of age, I was still a virgin and slowly losing the will to keep my virtue intact, something I blamed on my body … and his damn, big, soft hands.
“Not here,” I whispered, despite my body tingling in response, my eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of seconds.
His lips found my neck, and my nerve endings surged to life. I loved when he kissed me there, when his warm, delicious mouth trailed from just below my ear to my collarbone.My goodness, he’ll be my undoing.
I swiped his hands away. “Please stop.” My voice was breathy and lacked conviction.
“I love it when you beg.” His voice was low and unashamed.
Squirming out of his embrace, I turned around and pushed against the muscle of his chest, my back pressing into the store shelving for leverage. “Connor,” I warned. My fingers flexed against his t-shirt.
His mouth quirked. “You’re adorable when you fight for control.”
“Ha.” I glared at him, playfully. “You mean I’m adorable when I pretend to relinquish it.”
He leaned forward to kiss me but stopped, our noses touching ever so slightly. “Can I kiss you, or might someone see that too?”
“You canalwayskiss me. Whenever. Wherever.”
“Is that right?”
“Uh huh.” My eyes flared excitement at the challenge in his tone just before his lips—like magnets—soared to mine: quick, firm, possessive and swift, the kiss over just as fast as it began.
“Good,” he said, drawing back, “because I will kiss you. Whenever. Wherever.” He grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me toward the cashier. “Come on, let’s get back to my place so I can finish what I’ve started.”
I giggled, my legs shuffling to keep up with the rest of my body. “Who says we’re doing anything other than watching the movie?”
Connor glanced back, eyebrows high, dimples as big as ever, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stopped ushering us out of the store, lifted my hand, traced a heart on my wrist with his fingertip, and then kissed the spot he’d just drawn on—his words, as per usual, unspoken.
My skin tingled, my cheeks heated, and tears prickled my eyes, because I couldn’t possibly love this boy any more than I did. The bond we shared ran deep below the surface, roots forever embedded.
*
“So, what’s this movie about?”Connor asked as he reached for a slice of pizza out of the box we’d placed on the coffee table in front of us.
He sat back and nestled into the cushions, resting his other arm across the top of the couch, behind me. I snatched his slice just as he was about to take a bite and shovelled it into my mouth, mumbling, “I think it’s about a guy who loses his wife suddenly.” I choked on my mouthful and giggled. Connor shook his head with amusement and grabbed another slice, so I continued. “His young son wants him to move on and find a new wife, so, unbeknown to him, his son rings a radio station and basically declares, ‘I want a new mum. Any takers?’ A lady (Meg Ryan) hears his story and writes a letter to him. I think she’s married though. Anyway, I’m pretty sure they fall in love and live happily ever after.”
“If you know what happens then why are we watching it?”
I sucked some cheesy, greasy goodness off my finger. “Because the true story lies within all the little details, silly. Plus,” I said, pointing the remote at the TV and nuzzling into Connor’s side. “I love a good romance.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, because it’s romantic, I guess.”
“Not always.”
Arcing my neck, I looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“Three words: Romeo and Juliet.”
