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I smiled, feeling happy and sleepy and warm as his lips trailed down my jaw.
“Cymbals clash and cymbals bang…” he murmured. I laughed, and I felt him grin against the base of my neck. “Now you understand the metaphor, don’t you?”
I breathed out another laugh. “I do. I get it now. It’s brilliant.”
Gage smiled again and then twisted, reaching behind him and grabbing the comforter that had ended up halfway on the floor and brought it up and over us so that we were in a two-person cocoon. We snuggled for a few minutes, hands moving lightly over skin, tracing, discovering small nooks and crannies, some of which made the other laugh, and some that elicited a sigh. “What are the layers of rules?” I whispered, my mind reliving every moment since we’d collided on that roof overlooking the sunset.
“Hmm?”
“You said there are layers upon layers of rules. What are they?”
He looked slightly confused before he let out a long exhale. “I said that, did I?” He paused, seeming a little troubled even as his eyes were soft. “You seem to find a way to remove all my barriers.”
What did that mean? That he said things during sex that he didn’t necessarily mean to say? “Sex can do that,” I said with a tilt of my lips.
He let out a short laugh. “Not sex. You.” His leaned in and kissed one eyelid and then the other. “Canary blue,” he murmured again. He pulled me closer so that my ear was right against his chest. I listened to the drum of his heart for a few minutes, lulled by the steady rhythm, that sleepiness taking over as my eyes drifted closed. I could feel the slow gust of his breath and the way his muscles loosened as he fell asleep.
Did he realize he held himself so tightly, even when he’d probably describe himself as relaxed? You make me want to break the rules.
What rules?
Ones he’d imposed on himself, or those put upon him by others? Or a combination of both? What specific rules was he so afraid to break? Did he even know? Had he allowed himself to name specifics? I had a feeling I was at least a small part of some category he’d listed as off limits.
But not because we were potentially related.
Listen…Rory. There’s no reason we can’t continue to see each other.
Under the cover of darkness? Should I wear a disguise?
The conversation with Thaddeus wove through my memory, and I recalled the way it’d made me feel so low to know that he didn’t consider me good enough for him. Gage wasn’t like Thaddeus. Gage was kind and considerate. Gage rescued baby animals for their sake, but also for mine. But…he’d been born into a life where expectations were high, and status meant everything. And I very well might be the product of an illicit affair my mother had with the husband of one of the elites of Calliope.
No one was going to be happy when I solved the mystery of my parentage. No one—least of all Gage’s parents—were going to be overjoyed to see him with me in any context.
He had to know that.
Whereas I’d felt boneless with satisfaction fifteen minutes before, now I felt the doom of our inevitable end pressing me down. He’d never given me any indication that there was the possibility of anything long-term, but I suddenly realized, somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d allowed that hope to spark to life, and then kept the fire burning.
Small, mostly unacknowledged, but there.
Ugh, Rory. You’ve really gone and done it now. You’ve fallen in love with Gage Buchanan.
I sighed, and as if in response, Gage tightened his arms around me. “Stay,” he said, as if he’d sensed my distress. “Stay the night.”
The night. I would. I’d soak up the final hours that remained in his arms. I couldn’t bear to leave his bed just yet, even if it was inevitable that I did leave his life soon. My heart constricted with both happiness and the pain of what I knew was inevitable: our parting.
The sun slept, and so did we, waking in the deep of night and turning toward the other. We made love, slow and leisurely as if we had all the time in the world, as though it might pause just for us. We relished each stilted breath, and every soft sigh of pleasure. I thought back to the last time we’d spent the night together, stealing hours, knowing then what I still knew now—that he and I would always end with the rising of the sun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Gage
I’d woken and she was gone. Being that I had early meetings and was in a rush to get out the door, it was probably for the best. But still, not waking with her in my arms had been a disappointment.
Things were getting out of hand. I knew it and yet I couldn’t seem to stop craving her. My head was constantly spinning and the only person I wanted to reach for was her. And yet, she both calmed my inner turmoil and also made me dizzy in a whole different way. This wasn’t like me. I was inside out and upside down and nothing made sense anymore.
I both dreaded the idea of boarding a plane to London and wanted—needed—the protection of a vast ocean between us.
Protection, Buchanan? Protection from what? What does she stir up in you that you’re trying so hard to ignore? I knew though, didn’t I? She brought things out in me that I had long suppressed. Dreams I wanted to explore but couldn’t. It ached because the time had long passed where my life could be anything other than what it was. Just the acknowledgment made me feel sick with guilt. What was the fucking point?
