Authors: Elisabeth Wagner
Chapter 38
Samuel—Don’t Switch Off
Marseille, July 2012
Mia’s demeanor changed instantly. Her happy laughter disappeared as soon as she looked at her phone.
“It must be important. They’ve tried three times. And now it’s ringing again.”
She shook her head. But despite the running washers and dryers, I could clearly hear the vibrating sound. I cocked my head and looked at her.
“OK, you’re right. It’s ringing,” she admitted. “But I’m not answering.” She sounded stubborn. Testy.
I was sure the call was important. Why else would whoever it was be so insistent? Mia sat down on a folding chair and looked up at me. She seemed lost.
“It’s just my mom,” she said quietly.
“She knows you’re traveling by train, right?” I inquired carefully.
“Both my parents do. But I want to be left alone.”
There was more to it. Mia wasn’t a good liar. Chewing her lip always gave her away.
“You should talk to them. Don’t miss the opportunity. Things can change without warning.”
“OK,” she whispered.
After that, we drove to the hotel. I was shocked when Mia was the one to suggest sharing a room. “Are you serious?”
With her sweetest smile she answered, “Absolutely. I really don’t want you to pay for two.”
But her smile told me her decision wasn’t about the money. Even if she made me sleep at the other end of the bed, she wanted me near her. And I wanted that, too. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with Mia. She distracted me from thinking too much about my own issues.
We spent the days in Marseille walking. A lot. Mia dragged me from one narrow alley to the next. She didn’t seem to have a particular destination in mind, just a desire to find unusual places, off the beaten path. I’d never seen her smile so much. And she held my hand—often—squeezing it when she wanted to point out something. Her eyes sparkled. Her grin made my heart race. When we’d first met, I would have never imagined she could make me feel so happy. Gradually, her wall of self-protection was crumbling. She allowed more and more physical contact. I craved that contact. I had only to feel her fingers caress my skin, and arousal would grip my body. My muscles contracted. But I had to control myself. I knew she needed more time.
On the train to Toulouse, Mia sketched incessantly, a little frown appearing on her forehead as she concentrated. She drew, erased, grabbed her pencil again, drew again. Whenever I tried to catch a glimpse of her work in progress, she pressed the sketchbook tightly to her chest.
“Not even one little peek?”
“Not yet,” she said.
I gave up and returned to plucking on my guitar. Her cell phone rang, interrupting us both.
“Damn it,” Mia muttered and switched her phone to silent mode.
“Your mother?” I asked.
“Yes.” The calls made her distressed and irritated. With one hand, she massaged her temple. The phone had been ringing every few hours, and she never answered. It was always someone from her family.
“Why don’t you ever answer?” I couldn’t understand. She’d told me how important her family was to her.
She sighed quietly. “You know, I was very attached to my parents and am very grateful for their support. But I need to put some distance between us.” She sighed again. “They need to detach themselves from me even more.”
When her cell sounded again, with a mix of desperation and something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, she studied the screen. She leaned her head back. Closed her eyes. And answered.
“Christoph?” she said.
The conversation seemed very one-sided; Mia didn’t say much.
“Yes, I’m doing fine. Really fine.” She looked at me and blushed. “Extremely fine,” she repeated in a softer voice. Her eyes were sparkling.
“No, Christoph, I don’t want to. I should have known they’re in touch with you. What did they want?” She clenched her hand into a fist around the phone.
“No, Chris, please . . . No. There is nothing to talk about.” She sighed. “Very sure.” Then she hung up. She propped her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees. I carefully touched her shoulder. She flinched, but after she tilted her head to look into my eyes, she finally relaxed and leaned against me. I didn’t know who Christoph was or what he wanted—Mia had never mentioned him. But since talking to him, she seemed to have reverted to the Mia I’d met on the train to Budapest. Scared and upset.
She remained silent for the rest of the trip, plugged in her earbuds, and sank deep into her seat. After that moment of leaning against me, she’d moved away, and there was no more physical contact between us. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even look at me. She bit her fingernails and picked her cuticle. I wanted to stop her by reaching out my hand, but she flinched away. Her barriers were back up.
Later, in our hotel room, she tossed her backpack in the corner, then huddled on the bed. Every time I tried to talk to her, she cut me off. Every time I tried to touch her, she winced away and shot me an angry look. There had to be a way through to her! I had found it once. If I only knew what was going on. One short phone conversation had thrown her back into her old patterns. The same patterns she’d told me she wanted to change.
Wanting to stroke her hair, I squatted beside the bed instead, but when Mia didn’t even react to my presence, I gave up.
I sighed. “I’m going out to walk around the block for a bit.”
She didn’t even look over at me. She just nodded, her head buried in the pillows.
Chapter 39
Mia—Selfish
Toulouse, July 2012
I should have known better than to answer the phone. I was such an idiot. But it was a matter of habit. Christoph’s name appeared in the display; I hit the green button. How stupid. I should have guessed he was in cahoots with my parents, even though they weren’t on speaking terms with each other after he dumped me. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And I certainly did not want to speak to my mother, father, or sister. This was my life. They didn’t get to intrude. I’d hoped I could convince Christoph I was doing fine. Until a few hours ago, I’d thought I could put the past behind me and enjoy what remained for me.
Now I wasn’t sure anymore that going forward with Samuel was the right thing to do. Maybe I should go home so I wouldn’t end up hurting him more. But he made me feel so alive. I didn’t want to let that sensation go. With each touch, he lit a fire in me that was growing stronger every day. I didn’t want the flames to die. Maybe it was time to be selfish, for once. No matter what happened. What counted was I could feel alive again, if only for a short time.
It was difficult to treat my family this way. But it seemed like the best solution. I knew they would forgive me someday . . .
My headache returned, reminding me I was not healthy at all. I felt especially bad that day. I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling, massaging my temples with my fingers. It didn’t help the pain much, but it eased the worst of it.
A loud squeak sounded, and I bolted upright. I must have fallen asleep.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. But this damned door—” Samuel motioned to the bathroom behind him. Half-awake now, I rubbed my eyes. Samuel was wearing only his boxers. Water dripped from his hair. I couldn’t stop looking at his incredibly toned abs and the line of dark hair harrowing down below his belly button. His shorts hung low on his hips. I swallowed hard and pulled my gaze away.
“I’ll grab a sheet and sleep on the couch,” he said.
“No,” I protested. “Please, come here.” He didn’t move. “Please.” I hoped my eyes implored him.
“OK . . .” Sounding uncertain, Samuel tossed the towel into the bathroom and slowly approached the bed. Reaching it, he hesitated.
“You can sit down.” He sat as close as possible to the edge. I reached out my hand and waited for Samuel to take it. He seemed unsure whether he should touch me or not. No wonder, after I had pushed him away earlier. But I’d had to sort out my thoughts. I still wasn’t certain I’d made the right decision.
I smiled, hoping to convince him everything was fine between us. Cautiously, he put his hand in mine. As soon as he touched me, warmth filled my body. I intertwined our fingers and leaned in closer. His eyes scanned my face, from my hair to my lips, then they roamed over my breasts, down to my belly and then my legs. I could see a faint smile. My heart beat a tattoo against my rib cage. For the first time, I enjoyed the heat in his gaze. The intimacy. This moment belonged to us. Our gazes locked. I inhaled deeply. “I needed time to think.”
“Because of that call?” For the first time since we met, he sounded tentative. He always seemed so strong. At peace with himself. Cheerful.
“The call . . . It was Christoph.” I played with Samuel’s fingers. “He’s the ex I told you about.”
“You still answer that guy’s calls?”
“Old habit,” I said. “I know. It was stupid. Who would do that, right?”
We were sitting, facing each other. Samuel took my other hand.
I continued, “He reminded me of something I don’t want to ever think about again. I want to forget. Not waste a single thought.”
“What do you want to forget?”
I didn’t want to tell him.
“Does it have anything to do with your mother’s call?” He worded his question very carefully. After my behavior that afternoon, he was on guard. He’d managed to climb over the barricade I’d erected and find a place in my heart, and then, after one call, I’d pushed him away again. Maybe it was finally registering on him that I was crazy, after all.
He sighed. “Sweetie, you can tell me. I want you to be better. Do you really think burying how you’re feeling will help?”
“Yes,” I answered quietly. “Please don’t ask me again.”
“All right.” He flashed me his sweetest smile. “Come closer.”
My heart was still careening around in my chest. I let go of his hands and wrapped my arms around his neck. He whispered in my ear, “I want to be here for you. Even if I haven’t known you for a long time. I want you to be happy. I want you to live.”
This made me swallow hard. I looked into his eyes and saw pain and despair in them. “I want you to live,” he repeated. His warm breath brushed my lips. I moistened them with the tip of my tongue. His hands, which until now had rested on my hips, moved slowly and gently up my sides. My breath caught and I squeezed my eyes shut.
He pulled back from the caress. “Too much?”
“No,” I assured him. He cupped my face and leaned his forehead against mine. “Samuel,” I whispered. Our lips touched briefly.
“Mia . . .”
I reached out and pulled him closer. With one hand tucked between us, I caressed his bare chest and felt the rapid beat of his heart. His lips covered mine, then his tongue slipped along my lower lip, and I let my mouth open. I could taste the peppermint flavor of his toothpaste as our tongues danced together. Samuel’s hands caressed my back, and then they slipped under my T-shirt. Where they paused, waiting. Goose bumps broke out all over my flesh, and then there was fire. Only fire. Ignited by his touch. I shivered. The emotions raging inside me were new, strange. I wanted more. With a longing that grew so strong I couldn’t hold back anymore. I quit resisting and let it take over.
Our kiss grew ravenous. He pulled me onto his lap. My trembling arms fell around his neck, and my fingers sank deep into his dark, wavy hair. Tenderly, he stroked my naked thighs. My lusty moans must have heightened Sam’s arousal even more, as I felt his erection grow, press against me. His grip now strong, tight, he pulled me back with him until we were fully lying on the bed. My heart drummed in my ears.
Breathless, I interrupted the kiss. In one swift motion, I rolled off him, swung my legs out, and sat up on the edge of the bed. Although he’d been as careful as he could, the sensations were too much all at once. Too fast. I gasped for air.
Gently, Samuel wrapped his arms around my waist. “Breathe.”
I inhaled, then twisted to look at him. His expression changed from worried to relieved, and he moved around to sit beside me. I took his hand and kissed his fingers.
“We just need to take it slower, easier,” I whispered.
“No problem.” He pulled me close to his side. I leaned my head against his shoulder, and we slowly settled back onto the mattress. I nuzzled into his chest. He brushed his lips across my forehead, and I closed my eyes, my pulse returning to normal. Soon I heard only Sam’s steady heartbeat. “Really, it’s not a problem at all, sweetie,” he whispered again. “Sleep tight.”
Chapter 40
Mia—Morale Booster
Toulouse, July 2012
I woke up next to Samuel. His arm was still wrapped around me as it’d been when I’d fallen asleep. I watched him slumber. He looked content. At peace. I hoped I was doing the right thing; it all felt so perfect. But I didn’t want to hurt him.
I ran my fingertips across his naked chest, which rose and fell gently. I never would have imagined this could feel so good. Slowly, I caressed his throat and ran fingers through his beard, which tickled me when we kissed, then across his mouth. Sam opened his lips and drew in my finger. Oh wow . . . That stirred up things down below. My skin prickled as arousal overtook me.
Sam opened his eyes and grinned at me. As my hand fell, he captured it with his and kissed my fingertips.
“Good morning,” he said in a sleepy voice. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Far too early. The sun is just about to rise,” I whispered. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“No worries. Did you have bad dreams?”
I shook my head.
Still he eyed me. “Is everything OK?”
I smiled. “Absolutely.” I propped up on my elbows to better look at him. “Actually, I was having
sweet
dreams. Maybe that’s why I woke up.” I rarely remembered my dreams, though I knew when I’d had nightmares, because I woke up startled or worse, my heart racing.
“Sweet dreams, eh?”
I nodded and kissed his shoulder.
“What about?” His warm breath against my ear made my flesh tingle. Instead of an answer, I lowered my head and kissed, then suckled the skin of his throat. Softly, he gripped my waist to pull me closer. I kissed my way up to his lips. With an intensity equal to the degree of hatred I’d once felt for him for being a Winter, I wanted to make love with him now. I could no longer resist the chemistry between us and silenced my conscience, which protested I’d only hurt Samuel if I let this go further. I didn’t want to listen. I wanted only to revel in him.
Carefully, he answered my kiss. His hands wandered up my bared back until they slipped into the hair on my nape. Our kiss deepened. I stroked his arms, his shoulders. Heat built inside me, and the fluttering was back in my stomach. My heart was pounding.
I felt Samuel smile against my lips. Dreamily, I pulled away to look up at him, biting my lower lip. He bent his head and placed a tender kiss there, forcing me to stop.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the day I first saw you torture this perfect lip.” His smile grew broader, and his gray eyes shone. “Do you have any idea how hot it makes me when you do that?”
“No,” I whispered and bit my lip again.
Samuel ran his tongue over his lips, then devoured my mouth. I wanted more. I positioned myself on top of him. His breath caught, and he looked into my eyes, silently asking whether I was truly ready. His hands fell to my legs, and he caressed the soft flesh of my inner thighs with his thumbs as they slowly moved up to my hips. Head back, I was breathing heavily now. Then his touch moved to my belly. Hastily, I grabbed his wrists.
“Stop,” I gasped. “Please don’t go further there.” His hands dropped to lay loose on my legs. With my eyes on his, I drew his gaze to the scar on my arm and finally to my belly.
“May I see what you’re hiding?” he asked carefully. “I’ll keep my hands where they are now. Don’t worry. I won’t touch you where you don’t want to be touched. Just let me know.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I kept my eyes on his while I lifted my shirt. The scar was long and had healed poorly. The marks from the surgical staples were visible. How I hated this scar. It reminded me every day that nothing was OK.
“Thank you,” Samuel said quietly. Quickly, I covered my belly again with my shirt. Samuel sat up, with me still on top of him, and folded his arms around me. “Thank you,” he said again and kissed my forehead. I leaned my brow against his.
Just then, my phone rang. With a few smooth movements, I grabbed it from the bedside table and declined the call.
Samuel stroked my hair. “Maybe it’s something important.”
I shook my head. “I know it’s not.”
He snorted. “It’s your business. All I’m saying is it’s really important to stay in touch with people you love, especially your parents.” He looked at me with sad eyes. I thought I saw a glimmer of tears, but he quickly turned his head. “Talk with them before it’s too late.”
I wasn’t sure I understood what he meant.