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I never did like being left behind. And I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be so now.
* * *
Despite our new proper marital status, little changed in our daily routine. That first night with Bryant sleeping out in the smoke shed instead of imposing his marital expectations on me was a bit of relief.
But as the days passed with Bryant ending each evening meal with a chaste goodnight kiss, then walking out the door, the chivalrous act was strangely becoming irksome, growing more and more dissatisfying with every night.
It was made worse by his many soft, intimate touches and casual brushes that teased and heated me inside and out. Hinting, but never asking. Suggesting, but never demanding.
This prompted another nagging question—did the man physically desire me at all?
Was the real reason that he left me to my own devices each night because he didn’t want to join me in his bed?
Of course, if he did want to, would I let him? Would I say yes? Would that cross the marital line from verbal contract into something deeper and more intimate?
Intriguing dilemma.
I tried not to think about it too hard, trying to tamp down my own itching, unsatisfied libido. The more I fought against it though, the more I found myself gravitating towards him. Secretly watching Bryant chop wood deliciously bare chested. Undressing him with my eyes as he worked around the stable or fished in the creep.
I would casually brush my fingers across his shoulder as he passed. His hand gently pressed the small of my back as he showed me something interesting in the burbling creek. The chaste goodnight kisses were becoming longer, bolder, more intimate and searching.
So yes, the slow burning heat between us was fanning into a full fledged blaze. At least with me. I swear that if this man didn’t bed me soon, I would go up in a frustrated conflagration and be burnt to cinders.
Physical craving aside, I found Bryant’s company enjoyable, conversations with him peaceful, satisfying and challenging.
Working alongside each other, there was a pleasant partnership developing between us. It wasn’t easy for two very independent and self-reliant people to team together, and there were a lot of rough edges and false starts and stops, but we eventually found our comfort zone and managed to team together well.
July moved into August, and neither of us brought up the subject that Samhain was only two and half months away. The first possibility of my leaving. For good.
It was an untouchable subject, a silent agreement not to speak of the reality that our comfortable living arrangement was only a temporary and would soon come to an end. Very soon. Too soon.
A dismal prospect for me as the days progressed. How could I return to my well-ordered, modern, boring, singular world and ever be as fully content as I was with Michael Bryant now?
Maybe I couldn’t.
Maybe I never would be. Not after this. Like it or not this experience, this odd marriage of convenience, this man had changed me. And in ways I never expected.
That’s when I began to consider the prospect of staying. At least a while longer.
That’s when I made my decision about other things as well.
“Goodnight, Callista,” Bryant said quietly, drawing me against him for his lingering goodnight kiss that spun my brains and raged my body out of control.
He dropped his hands and turned to leave, but I circled my arms around his neck to prevent him, whispering in his ear, “Stay.”
“Callista.”
“I want you. Stay. Please”
“Callista, we shouldn’t—”
I cut his words off with another heated kiss that made him growl in his throat, his fingers gripping my back. I tugged him towards the bed, and he broke away for only a moment to fix his eyes with mine.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“Don’t you want me?”
“God, yes, but—”
