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It was late but the storm woke her, she tossed and turned and finally got out of bed and looked out the window. The wind was blowing hard, the rain coming down in sheets, the lightning streaking the sky. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.
She started to get in bed, but she saw a light was on under the door.
Curiosity got the best of her, and she opened the door.
She followed the glow from the sitting room and saw Lance sitting in the semi-darkness.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
He saw her standing there in the pale light and his head jerked with surprise. The gown was so thin, and she had no idea he could see her silhouette through it. He stared, his throat went dry, his body alerted.
"No, why are you up?"
"The storm woke me. It's really raging out there."
"Yes, I know."
She stood there, wondering if she should go back to bed or join him. But he made up her mind for her when he patted the place next to him for her to join him.
She came and sat down, putting her feet under her. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. "Are you afraid of storms?"
"Not usually, it's just that everything here seems bigger, louder, ominous."
He grinned.
"Are you worried about going to Boston?" she asked.
"Strange as it might seem, no, I'm not. You see I– " he stared at her a moment, "already know how I feel. I'll not enjoy telling her, but it has to be said in person, I know that now."
"You do?"
"Yes," he said looking away.
She raised up off his shoulder, "Well, how do you feel."
"I'm in love with you," he told her quite frankly, as he stared into her blue eyes.
"How can you be so sure it's love?" she asked.
"I guess that part might seem strange to you. But it runs in my family. When it comes to women, we usually know what we want, right away."
"But how do you know it's love and not lust… "
"I guess because I have lusted after women before. Lust is an immediate need, unexplainable, unreasonable, but there. It's easy to obtain and satiates you for the time being. Love is so much more. It's the kind of thing that tears at your insides, messes your head up, and no matter how much you argue against it, it doesn't go away, and it's never enough. Just like your kisses, I can't get enough of them, every kiss invites another. It's infuriating, it's hell, but it's also the most wonderful feeling a man can have. I've been in lust many times, but it's only temporary. But a man can actually forget lust when he finds love. Love is much more powerful, and ten times more fulfilling."
"How can you sit there and make love to me with words?" She asked almost as though to herself. "It isn't fair."
"It's better than not making love at all, isn't it?" he grinned.
She moved so she could look at him better, "I don't know I've never made love. But the things you say, it's like poetry to me."
He smiled. "Better than listening to the storm, isn't it?"
"Much better," she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. He took a blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over them and laid her head in his lap.
"Better." He whispered.
"Yes," she trembled.
