Page 94 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
I know I’m on fragile ground with him here. I also know I’d do anything—anything—to make him feel better, even if it’s only for a little while. I decide to go out on a limb.
“Have you ever considered the possibility that maybe you’re being tested?”
He turns his head. I see him in profile, straight nose and thinned lips and a hard, unyielding jaw, softened by candlelight.
“I’m not saying by God; I don’t even know if I believe in Him. Her. Whatever. But I do believe in Fate, A.J. I believe things happen for a reason. And everything that’s happened in your life, and mine, has led us to this moment. Right now. Us, in this room together. Would you ever have predicted something like this would happen to you? That you would feel this way for another person?”
His throat works. His lashes lower. After a long time, he says, “No.”
I touch his strong, bare back. “Me neither. Maybe, in a way, that line from scripture is actually true. Faith doesn’t necessarily have to mean faith in God. Maybe being sure of what you hope for, and certain of what you don’t see . . . maybe that’s about us.”
He turns and stares at me.
“Maybe it’s not about religion at all. Maybe it’s about love. Because I’ve hoped for something like this my whole life, and now here it is. Here you are. And honestly—please don’t think this is stupid, but it’s the only word that fits—it kind of feels . . . holy.”
There are no words to describe the expression on his face. His eyes, though, I’ve seen that look before. His eyes are haunted.
I crawl into his lap. He holds me, and as I always do in his arms, I feel utterly safe. I rest my head in the crook of his neck, and listen to the sound of his breathing.
We stay like that for a long time, not speaking. Finally A.J. exhales, and presses a kiss to my hair. I tilt my head back to examine his face. He looks calmer now, but there’s still something behind his eyes, some worry or pain that hasn’t been relieved by either his confession, or my reassurances.
With a little shiver of anxiety, I wonder if it’s because he still has secrets left to tell.
I whisper, “What are you thinking?”
While he strokes his hand over my hair, I hold my breath, praying he’s not going to shut down, shut me out, or run away from me for good.
“I’m thinking we need to spend some quality time in the bathtub,” he says, voice husky. He traces his thumb over my lower lip, and I can’t help but smile.
“Oh, yeah? You need a good soak?” I tease, relieved.
His eyes flash up to mine. The darkness recedes, and they kindle. “It’s your hair, Sunshine. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re starting to look like Ziggy Marley’s little sister.”
“Hey! I’ve been sick!”
He stands, lifting me with ease in his arms as he rises. He’s smiling now, and my heart soars. He carries me into the bathroom, sets me on the toilet lid, and bends over to turn on the water to get it hot for the bath. When he straightens, he says, “Be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
Looking down at me, his hair falling into his eyes, he smiles at me so tenderly my breath catches in my throat. “Bath time calls for music, baby. I’ve got the perfect thing.”
He goes into the other room. Moments later, above the sound of running water, I hear a song begin to play. It’s “Take Me to Church,” by Hozier.
A.J. returns with his arms full of unlit pillar candles. He sets them on the floor in the corners, around the sink, on the ledge above the tub. From the medicine cabinet he takes a matchbook, and lights all the candles, one by one. When he flicks off the overhead light, the room glows gold.
He steps into the bathtub, turns to me with eyes like fire, and holds out his hand.
“Don’t move.”
“I promise I’m trying not to.”
“You’re not trying very hard.”
“You’re not making it very easy for me.”
A.J. presses his erection against my bottom. “For you, it will always be hard.”
“Not funny,” I gasp, gripping the sides of the tub.
