Page 33 of Breathe
Chapter 13
When she first opened the door, all Ellen could see were sunflowers. There must have been five dozen of them tucked into the crook of Kane’s arm. “Oh, wonderful,” she said, took them from him, and backed up to let him in.
She only got two steps before he had a hold of her. He threw the flowers on the table just behind her, then got both arms around her waist and crushed her against him as if she was the only thing holding him upright.
Ellen happily melted into him. She hadn’t seen him for five days, and she was just as desperate to get close as he was. She brought her hands up to his hair, pulled him to her, and kissed him hard and deeply, making him groan. He tightened his arms around her back. Even though he tasted like too many cigarettes, he still smelled amazing to her, and when he said against her lips, “Oh God, Ellen, I’d forgotten how delicious you are,” she could absolutely agree.
“I’d forgotten...” she got out between kisses, “how badly you... need a haircut.” Which made him laugh, but not let go. He ducked his head and shook his hair in her face, then brought up his own hand to run it over her hair, before he buried his face in it.
“You smell so good. I’ve smelled nothing but smoke and sweat and men for five days.”
She hid her face in his neck. In their few hours together she’d gotten used to how easy it was to fit herself to him; how she hardly had to drop her head to tuck into his shoulder, to kiss his collarbone if it was available.
Eventually he said, “I have to sit down before I fall down.” And he did literally pivot and fall backward into her couch. He made the couch, and her whole flat, look laughably small; with his feet stretched out, he almost reached the TV. Ellen gathered up the flowers and went over to the kitchen. She had maybe two vases to her name; the rest of the sunflowers were going to have to sit in the sink for now.
“How was the flight?” she asked from there.
“Fine.” He sounded completely spent. “No cabs though. Had to take the shuttle. This keeps up, I’m going to have to get a driver. I left my bag outside, by the way. Didn’t want you thinking I was making any presumptions.” He opened one eye to squint at her over the back of the couch.
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” she tried to joke. Mouth... breast...
The water overflowed the vase.
Penny might have made fun of Ellen for obsessing over Kane before she met him, but it was nothing compared to her thoughts these days. She supposed it had started when she saw him in that tux at the Queen’s Ball. The simple shawl collar jacket had fit him so precisely it emphasized that the breadth of his shoulders was all-natural, and he always looked especially edible in black. When he’d given her that special smile just for her, that crinkling of his eyes showing he was remembering their last kiss goodnight, Ellen had trouble recalling that she was at work.
And yes, okay, maybe he’d had a point about Darren Laing. But since he himself had unsettled her so much, she held him partly to blame if she’d overreacted. Kane was not safe, and yet she found herself wanting to be nowhere but in his arms.
While he’d driven her to the picnic a week ago she’d found herself staring at his hands whenever he changed gear. She hadn’t realized until then how sexy it was to watch a man drive a manual transmission. Maybe it was something to do with the flexing of his thigh muscles. Anyway, she’d been lightheaded the entire trip.
The next day, Kane had got the call about the fire in California just as he was about to go over to her place for dinner. Asking him into her sanctuary was a huge step for her, but in the end she hadn’t been tested and had almost welcomed the delay, even though she hated the reason for it. She still didn’t have her head on right about him.
He’d called her from the West Coast every night as he checked on his buildings, got craven assurances from managers, and read reports in the newspapers about the panic setting in. He told her that the company’s West Coast deliveries had finally been affected by the fires. The insurance adjusters weren’t being helpful anymore. The FBI agents were frustrated with hearing the same story from every mill: the security systems had been working, but had been bypassed, or the electricity shut down. There hadn’t been time to get cameras on every site, and the arsonists seemed to know this. Kane took it personally.
Ellen wanted to tell him to let someone else hear all the details. He didn’t have to talk about insurance or sprinkler systems; he didn’t have to tire himself out by personally inspecting every warehouse in the state. But if she delicately tried to suggest it, he would send a black silence down the phone line, so she had to let it go.
Tonight, she promised herself, was just about helping him relax. She didn’t have to decide on anything else, didn’t have to worry. Didn’t have to be stupidly nervous, changing clothes three times and straightening pictures, trying to make the spider plant and its offspring look less untidy. Didn’t have to have this constant running commentary in her head that said not to give in to all the signals her nerve endings were sending her. She could trust him. She was sure she could.
She put the two vases of flowers on the dining and coffee tables, changed the music from classical to Van Morrison, and got Kane a drink.
He had his head back on the couch, and his eyes were closed. When the tumbler of scotch touched his hand, he jumped. “Damn. I dozed off. Thanks.” Ellen tucked her legs under her and sat close enough to him that her knees touched his thighs.
He didn’t look well. His eyes were black from the shadows around them, and new lines had appeared on either side of his mouth. He was looking at her as if she’d disappear if he closed his eyes again. “Chin, chin,” she said, clinking glasses, trying to lighten the mood.
He smiled. “So many weird phrases, so little time.”
Eventually Leo Palmer, Kane’s PR man, had had to put out a brief statement saying that she and Kane were dating, after the calls to both their offices began to number in the dozens. Ellen understood why; better to be providing the information than have it ferreted out. But she hated the way the newscasters said, “Seen here with his current girlfriend,” as if it would be mere seconds before he moved on to a new one. They also usually began a sentence with, “Fielding, who was last seen with Holly Oladele at the premier of Wanting More ...” as if that was his rightful place, and being back in Boston dating a nobody was just an aberration.
If she’d sent out that press release, she would have begged the media for a little privacy, for a little room to grow into her new bravery, to learn how to trust her feelings for him and believe in his feelings for her. But it apparently hadn’t occurred to Leo or Kane, so she’d kept silent, and prayed that her parents didn’t have any other contacts in America.
She said, “Dinner’s whenever you want it.”
“What I want,” he said with his head back and eyes closed again, “is just this. Right here.” She leaned sideways so her head was near his. “Then I’ll probably spend the rest of the night trying to get under your shirt.”
She gasped, and he opened one eye, gave her that sideways grin. “Just kidding,” he said. “Mostly.” And Ellen got so caught up imagining his hands on her breasts that she missed his next sentence.
“Sorry, what?” she said.
“Why are you blushing? I said, before I forget, when are you leaving for Thanksgiving?”
