His finger brushed against her cheek, his grey eyes swirling with emotion. ‘I know it doesn’t feel like you did and you’re right—all the time in the world would never have been enough. But for your mother to go to her grave knowing how much you all loved her is the greatest gift you could have given her. For that, you were blessed with all the time you needed.’
Even through the pain of her grief, Emily could feel the sorrow beneath the empathetic tone of his words. Her hand moved on its own accord to touch his face. Dark stubble had slowly spread along his jawline throughout the evening, a roughness to the touch that felt impossibly comforting.
She shifted a little, moving her face up his chest so her cheek rested on his shoulder. ‘Are you thinking of your father?’
His jaw clenched but he nodded. ‘I never got the chance to say goodbye or to—’ He cut his own words off, tilting his head back to look at the sky thickening with clouds once again. ‘I never told him how much he meant to me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
He looked back down at her, his usually composed features raw.
Emily had been there at the end, holding her mother’s hand when she’d slipped away. They’d all been there. It was a comfort knowing her mum had been with the people she loved most when the end had come, that she hadn’t left this life alone.
All Pascha had was regrets. She could feel them as keenly as she felt their mutual sorrow.
She had no idea how long they sat there gazing at each other, his hand nestled in her hair, her fingertips tracing his stubbly jawline.
She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel those wide, firm lips upon hers and learn for herself what they’d feel like upon her mouth. And from the deepening of Pascha’s breath and the growing intensity in his eyes she could tell that he wanted it too.
His head dipped at the same moment she raised her chin, their lips coming together in a whisper of movement. He exhaled at the same moment she expelled the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and, inhaling again, she breathed him in, a dark, masculine essence that filled her with such deep longing.
She pulled back to stare at him, recognising the same puzzlement in his own stare as she knew must be in hers.
But then their lips came together again, his strong arms enveloped her and he was kissing her properly, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, filling her senses with his exotic taste.
As if they had free will, her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and she pressed her hands to his skin. It was smoother to the touch than she could ever have imagined and she traced her fingers over it in circles.
The deeper his kisses, the more she wanted, soaking in as much of his taste and touch as she could consume.
Time slipped away, the world shrinking just to them, a mesh of hungry lips and tongues devouring each other.
His hand swept down her back to clasp her thigh over the restriction of the blanket she was nestled in.
Her blanket.
For the first time, she considered how cold he must be in the whipping wind.
While she was all snuggled up in the fleece blanket, Pascha was sat in nothing but a pair of shorts.
It wasn’t just the wind lashing around them either; the rain had started again, not as fierce as earlier but picking up quickly, big, fat droplets of it.
‘We should go back inside before we get pneumonia,’ she said, disentangling her arms from around him, swallowing hard.
Pascha hadn’t noticed the rain. He’d stopped feeling the cold.
One kiss and he’d forgotten himself.
He’d forgotten his health.
For the first time since the age of five, he didn’t care.
How the hell had that happened?
Emily slipped off his lap—when had she climbed onto it?—and got back to her feet in such an unsteady fashion he grabbed her arm to stop her falling.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, stepping back with wide, pained eyes before disappearing back into the shelter.
Pausing
Even through the pain of her grief, Emily could feel the sorrow beneath the empathetic tone of his words. Her hand moved on its own accord to touch his face. Dark stubble had slowly spread along his jawline throughout the evening, a roughness to the touch that felt impossibly comforting.
She shifted a little, moving her face up his chest so her cheek rested on his shoulder. ‘Are you thinking of your father?’
His jaw clenched but he nodded. ‘I never got the chance to say goodbye or to—’ He cut his own words off, tilting his head back to look at the sky thickening with clouds once again. ‘I never told him how much he meant to me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
He looked back down at her, his usually composed features raw.
Emily had been there at the end, holding her mother’s hand when she’d slipped away. They’d all been there. It was a comfort knowing her mum had been with the people she loved most when the end had come, that she hadn’t left this life alone.
All Pascha had was regrets. She could feel them as keenly as she felt their mutual sorrow.
She had no idea how long they sat there gazing at each other, his hand nestled in her hair, her fingertips tracing his stubbly jawline.
She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel those wide, firm lips upon hers and learn for herself what they’d feel like upon her mouth. And from the deepening of Pascha’s breath and the growing intensity in his eyes she could tell that he wanted it too.
His head dipped at the same moment she raised her chin, their lips coming together in a whisper of movement. He exhaled at the same moment she expelled the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and, inhaling again, she breathed him in, a dark, masculine essence that filled her with such deep longing.
She pulled back to stare at him, recognising the same puzzlement in his own stare as she knew must be in hers.
But then their lips came together again, his strong arms enveloped her and he was kissing her properly, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, filling her senses with his exotic taste.
As if they had free will, her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and she pressed her hands to his skin. It was smoother to the touch than she could ever have imagined and she traced her fingers over it in circles.
The deeper his kisses, the more she wanted, soaking in as much of his taste and touch as she could consume.
Time slipped away, the world shrinking just to them, a mesh of hungry lips and tongues devouring each other.
His hand swept down her back to clasp her thigh over the restriction of the blanket she was nestled in.
Her blanket.
For the first time, she considered how cold he must be in the whipping wind.
While she was all snuggled up in the fleece blanket, Pascha was sat in nothing but a pair of shorts.
It wasn’t just the wind lashing around them either; the rain had started again, not as fierce as earlier but picking up quickly, big, fat droplets of it.
‘We should go back inside before we get pneumonia,’ she said, disentangling her arms from around him, swallowing hard.
Pascha hadn’t noticed the rain. He’d stopped feeling the cold.
One kiss and he’d forgotten himself.
He’d forgotten his health.
For the first time since the age of five, he didn’t care.
How the hell had that happened?
Emily slipped off his lap—when had she climbed onto it?—and got back to her feet in such an unsteady fashion he grabbed her arm to stop her falling.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, stepping back with wide, pained eyes before disappearing back into the shelter.
Pausing
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