Текст книги "Thirty Nights"

Автор книги: Ani Keating

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Secrets

After dinner at Aiden’s home—it was that or renting out Andina’s private rooms—I stare at the towers of books leaning against the glass wall. To my horror, Aiden bought every book we touched. All 178 of them. How am I going to bring them all to England? How can I leave a single one behind? The sun dips behind Mount Hood. The stabbing in my stomach returns so I take his feather quill and a stack of books.

“What are you doing?” Aiden asks, still sitting at the enormous salvaged wood dinner table. He traces the lip of his wine glass with his thumb.

I perch next to him, setting my treasures on the table. “Signing my new books.”

He smiles and reaches for a lock of my hair. “More rituals?”

I nod. “I always sign my books so if they get lost, maybe I’ll be able to find them someday.” I dip the quill in the indigo inkwell and start with Pride and Prejudice. Aiden leans in to watch, twisting my hair. His warm breath tickles my cheek.

“Want to do it with me?” I ask, wanting his handwriting on these pages for when this all ends.

He must hear the desperation in my voice because he smiles. “Sure,” he says and picks up Byron’s Poems from the stack. “So how do we do this? You seem to have a system here.”

“Just sign your name on pages eight, twenty-four and eleven.”

He frowns once, then smiles. “Ah! For the date you came here.”

“Yes. And for the first date we have in common.” I dip the quill and sign The Brothers Karamazov. When I look up, something has changed in his eyes. A shadow over the turquoise depths. He controls it in seconds but it’s enough to trigger a strange itching on the soles of my feet. Like they want to run. I curl them under me.

“Sign another?” I ask, holding out the quill for him.

The shadow disappears. He picks up Fifty Shades of Grey and winks. “You can keep the quill, I’ll use my pen.”

We sign side by side, our thighs touching. He picks up his barrage of questions about me. Since Powell’s, he has bombarded me with everything from trivia to Rorschach analysis. As I answer his questions, I’m really wondering how I can wheedle information out of him. Despite my valiant efforts at Powell’s (“I’ve already read these books, Elisa, this is for you.”), on our drive back (“Benson needs silence in the car, Elisa.”) and during dinner (“It’s not advisable for one to talk while chewing, Elisa.”), Aiden remains more elusive than Element 115.

“Favorite vacation?” The interrogation continues as he signs A Tale of Two Cities.

“I plead the fifth.”

“You what?” he smiles.

“I plead the fifth. I’m not answering one more question about myself until you tell me something about you. And what’s more, I will quit my painting,” I threaten, using what little leverage I have.

“We can’t have that.” He signs The Secret Garden and sets his pen down. He takes a sip of wine. His eyes tighten but he smiles. “Fine, what would you like to know?”

I’m so stunned by the invitation that the quill drips on The Arabian Nights and the question fires unfiltered. “Why is there nothing personal about you anywhere?”

“Because by definition, such a thing would no longer be personal.”

“Where do you go when you want to get away?”

“I can’t really get away, as we’ve already established.” He taps his temple. His voice hardens so I move on to safer territory before he shuts down again.

“Who is your best friend?”

The smile remains unaffected. He picks up his pen and signs A Farewell to Arms.

“Marshall.”

I grin as I get the first real answer from him. Something as normal as a best friend. “Does Marshall live around here?” I have a strong desire for the answer to be yes. Not necessarily for me to meet him but because it means someone can break through Aiden’s walls and be by his side.

He takes another sip of wine and signs Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. “No.”

Oh! “Do you see him often?”

“Not like I wish.” He signs The Birth of Venus and stands. “Would you like your dessert? I’m sure you’ll find it more enriching than my friendships.” Without waiting for my answer, he strides to the kitchen.

“I doubt that,” I say, following him. He has moved so fast that he is already at the cabinets. I take a seat at the breakfast bar. I’m about to ask how long he has known Marshall when he turns with a smile.

“Not even Baci?” he says, holding a dome of silver chocolates, stacked neatly on a silver platter, framed by apple slices.

A gasp leaves my lips. How many Baci are there? One, two, three, four—

Aiden’s laugh drowns my arithmetic. He sets the platter in front of me.

“Thirty,” he says.

My stomach twists and burns, as though an ulcer erupted there. “What did you say?” I whisper.

He frowns. “Thirty? Er—I have more if you want? What are you thinking here? Sixty? One hundred?” For the first time since I’ve heard it, his voice is confused. The timbre is so endearing that I tear my eyes from the silver chocolate tower and glue them on him.

He is still frowning. “I can see if the company that makes them is for sale?” he offers, perfectly serious. It’s enough to make me laugh. Aiden Hale may have a genius brain but a girl’s obsession with him is clearly beyond his deductive powers.

I grip his shirt collar and kiss him.

“Let’s start with thirty,” I say even though “starting” has nothing to do with it.

He cups my face, his lips and tongue surpassing mine. His heartbeat is thumping under my hand. Suddenly, he pulls back and watches me. His eyes are utterly still. It’s not until I see them free of movement that I wonder whether for once he is not remembering.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “An errant thought. Would you like more wine?”

“Actually, some warm milk, if you don’t mind,” I mumble because my brain is fully occupied with deciphering the look on his face.

“Milk?” He smiles.

I nod. I have an ulterior motive for this. Milk helps me with nightmares and I am not having another one tonight.

“Okay, milk it is.”

He opens the fridge, pours milk out of the carton in two crystal tumblers and warms it in the microwave. I snap a picture with my camera.

He narrows his eyes. “Why do you take so many pictures, Elisa?”

“End of an era,” I answer truthfully.

He takes the glasses out of the microwave, eyes on me. It’s disconcerting that he never has to look at what he is doing. He sits next to me, hands me my glass and clicks his to mine.

“To new eras,” he says.

“And to the old ones.” I smile, unable to toast to the new epoch ahead of me. I reach for the Baci tower, picking the top chocolate and resolving to save the rest for each of my remaining days.

“Share one with me?” I ask him.

“Can you spare it?”

“Barely.”

He chuckles and takes a Baci. I watch his long fingers peel the silver wrapping and find the quote.

“What does it say?”

“‘All is fair in love and war.’” He reads the wax note quietly.

“Well, that’s not so fatal.” I’m secretly glad that the bewitched Baci didn’t say something like “a woman in a painting will fall in love with you” and terrify him for life.

“Isn’t it?” He looks at the quote again and sets it on the marble bar. “What does yours say?”

I peel mine, fishing the note first. “‘A kiss is a secret told to the mouth.’” Thank you, Rostand! That same surging emptiness ghosts in my chest as I wonder whether this is the only type of secret Aiden will share with me. Maybe I should stop reading these bloody notes altogether.

I swallow and look up. “Tell me a secret, Aiden.”

He leans in slowly until our lips meet. He tastes like milk and Baci. His lips move lightly, like he is whispering. Then his kiss changes. He stands up so abruptly that his bar stool topples behind him on the floor. He fists his hand in my hair and yanks my head back, his mouth inches from mine.

“You want to know a secret, Elisa?”

I nod, breathless.

“I never kiss on the mouth,” he whispers. “Too much taste, too much essence of a woman to remember. But I like kissing you.”

I’m so stunned by this revelation that I pull back but he pinches my chin, shaking his head. He picks me up from my waist, wraps my legs around him and saunters to the long marble kitchen counter. He sets me on it, reaches for my milk glass and takes a sip.

“There are better ways to drink milk.” He winks.

He looks wicked. There is a streak of purpose in his eyes, as though he is on a quest. I fist my hands in his hair and pull him closer. I caress his cheek, stopping at his scar. The compulsion to kiss it is so strong that I lean in, asking for permission with my eyes. He smiles and nods.

I blow on it gently. It’s shaped like an L. For love, I think wildly, high on Haleum. I press my lips to it. It’s a ridge, toughened by time. Its contours imprint the letter on my lips. I kiss it again.

He moans and starts kissing the familiar paths he blazed earlier. My jaw, my throat, my collarbone. “You want to know another secret?” he whispers against my skin.

I moan a “yes”.

He brings his mouth to my ear. “I like you in this dress because you look like you belong to a happy time.”

He unties the bow at the back. I’m too lost to decipher his words so I simply absorb them. Slowly, he undoes the zipper and peels the dress from my shoulder, raining kisses there. He takes it off and sets it on the counter. Then he steps back, gazing at me. I’m fully aware that the lights are on but his words from yesterday ring in my ear. Don’t hide from me. I fight my shyness until he smiles.

“More secrets, Elisa?”

I nod without any power of speech.

“No one looks like you in my memory. Not even you.”

With one of his magical moves, my bra comes off. I wish I could say something but the only sound I’m able to form is a sigh. His lips press on my throat and trail lower, and finally his mouth is on my right nipple. His tongue draws circles, and he weaves kisses and bites in a pattern that makes me shiver. I try to wrap my legs around his waist for contact but he spreads them apart, as far as they will go, spanning the length of the counter. I feel exposed, but my blood is boiling so I don’t quite care. Slowly, two of his fingers slide inside me. The effect on me is violent. My hips lurch forward, craving depth. He growls against my breasts.

“Behave or I won’t tell you any more secrets.” He circles his fingers once, twice. The only sound I can produce is another moan. My hips writhe feverishly against his slow, sure fingers.

“Here’s another one: I like the way you taste.”

He kneels on the floor between my legs, blows a gust of air on me, and nips at my pubic bone. His fingers are still stretching and circling. Everything inside me starts to quiver. It’s almost here. Closer. Closer.

“Now about that milk,” he says, and pours the still-hot milk between my breasts.

It inflames my skin and streams in one single rivulet down my body and between my legs where his mouth waits and closes around me. The heat of the milk and the pressure of his mouth send me over the edge. The explosion begins instantly. My arms give out as he sucks the last drop of milk, and I slump on the counter. Behind my closed eyelids, darkness is tinged with a reddish haze. His name echoes in the night. I hear it as if I’m underwater.

When I emerge, I can still feel his hushing kisses between my legs and on the insides of my thighs. I peer down at him. He is blurry around the edges. He stands up, smiling, and my vision focuses.

“Don’t move an inch,” he orders and strides in the direction of his bedroom. I only blink a few times, reeling from his secrets and his touch, when he comes back with a condom and stands between my legs.

“Take off my clothes.”

Oh, finally! I start unbuttoning his shirt but it takes too long so I rip it open like he did yesterday. I ignore his chuckle as I unzip his jeans and push them roughly down his legs. He steps out of them, hardened and powerful. My eyes are fixed on the sight, but he raises my chin until I look at him.

“Eyes on me again.” He lifts me from the counter, pulling me close to him and sliding very slowly inside. My body starts building. Just as leisurely, he pulls out and back in at the same pace. His eyes close and his jaw locks in restraint.

“Another secret, Elisa?”

“Yes.” The “s” lingers in the air.

“I like that I’m the only one who’s been here. No other memories like this for you.”

He moves again, and this time a groan whirls in his chest. The sound cuts my ties to reason. I want more. More secrets, more speed, more depth, more him. As though he knows, he puts more force behind his thrusts and my moans change into loud cries. His fingers dig and bruise in my back, his breathing faster. Another thrust. Two, three. I shatter. Everything inside convulses and everything outside throbs. The violent release sucks me under. The last thing I hear is Aiden’s final cry—not a groan, a cry—and then there is silence.

I have the vague sense that I’m being moved somewhere but I have no idea how, or when, or where. When I open my eyes, we are magically on his bed. I’m on my stomach, and he is half-lying over me, his weight pinning me on the mattress. He is kissing behind my ear, nipping at the earlobe.

“Are you coherent?” he says.

“Mmm.”

“Ready for more secrets?” he whispers and before I can answer, he grips my hair and turns my head to the side until our mouths meet. This kiss is different. Savage. Gone are the gentle gusts of air, the soft strokes of tongue. His lips have a possessive edge, as if the secret they’re telling is stormy. I match him as best I can, burying my fingers in his hair. His lips move down my jaw, back to my ear.

“I like the way you smell because I’ve never smelled it before,” he whispers, kicking my legs apart with his knee, and holding my head down against the pillow. His voice is dark. His hand grips my breast roughly. It hurts but it would hurt more if his hands were not on me. My skin starts zapping with a static charge. His hand travels down my body where the charge is at its most potent. Every rough circle he draws with his fingers sends jolts of fire surging in my blood. My lungs can’t keep up.

“Here’s the last secret, Elisa. The way you are right now, mine completely, this is what I’ll remember when I look at that painting.”

He grips my hips and raises them in the air. In the same move, he slaps his cock hard against me. I cry out at the zinging feeling. My blood is pounding in my ears. I hear him tear a foil, from where I have no idea, and then he thrusts about halfway in. I moan in relief. He pulls back. When I whimper, he repeats his game over and over, until the current on my skin turns into something else, an inkling of a different storm in the horizon. This one will finish me. Not because I won’t survive. But because with this claiming, he went beyond my body. There is something so capturing about it that despite my recent liberation, I’ve never felt less free. He rubs himself against me again and stops. I give up and beg.

“Please, Aiden.”

“I think it’s your turn for a secret.”

“I want you!” I shout. Wait—what? What did I just say? I search for him with my hips but he stills them.

“That’s a dangerous secret,” he says in my ear and slams inside me. Oh. My. God. Of all the thrusts I have absorbed, nothing—absolutely nothing—compares to these. I can’t feel any other part of my body except the relentless clenching inside. I’m calling, I’m crying, too loud, too soft, begging, ordering, praying. I can’t understand the words that are coming out of my mouth but I don’t care. The only thing that matters is not just him, but this sense of being his.

“Look at me,” he says through his teeth. My eyes fling open, lost in turquoise. The lightning strikes. For the first time, my release starts in my eyes. Tears gather there, and then everything, especially consciousness drains out of me. We collapse on the bed together. I feel him withdraw and wrap his arms around me, kissing my temple.

“Enough secrets tonight,” he murmurs. My last thought is of the heat of his skin against my back and the fact that it looks like I still have tomorrow with him. Then I disappear.

* * * * *

I open my eyes with a gasp. Aiden’s bedroom is dark except for the moonlight streaming through the glass wall. There is a race running in my brain. My skin is still tingling with static like remnants of a distant storm. I panic that I had another nightmare but no. The only thoughts in my head are Aiden’s whispered secrets. If he never kisses on the mouth, he must like me. But before I levitate off the bed, another secret quashes it: it’s dangerous to want him. Why?

I look at Aiden to calm the racing thoughts. His face is relaxed, his hair a mess of my doing. Despite the power he wields when he is awake, he looks vulnerable. But the tension of his shoulders never releases him even in sleep. I have an urge to hold him. I reach out to caress his cheek. His body heat warms my fingers and I press them gently on his stubble.

It’s instant. He bolts upright, his hand gripping my wrist. His frame begins to shudder. His head hangs on his chest as though someone is holding it down, and his spine is petrified. His shoulders and biceps strain like he is trying to break through chains. His neck jerks side to side as though on a noose or tight collar. His rib cage expands. A menacing sound starts building in his chest and the bed begins to shake from his tremors. His fingers dig into my flesh.

“Aiden!” I gasp in terror.

His head whips up and whirls to me. In the darkness, I cannot see his eyes but I feel his hot breath on my face. His breathing is harsh, wounded. His grip on my wrist relaxes a fraction, and his head jerks to the side as though repelling an invisible touch. Or as though a force is trying to rip him apart or choke him. My heart is pounding but in this moment, I understand my own fear. It’s not for me. It’s for him.

“Aiden,” I whisper, wanting to touch him but afraid of making it worse. Then I remember the way he soothed me yesterday. “You’re okay. It’s not real. Wake up. You’re safe.”

The tremors start slowing down but his head jerks away again. I have a mad image of the sinister force trying to tear him away from me.

I can’t let it have any part of him. “Aiden, please, it’s me, Isa—umm—Elisa. Elisa Snow.”

He gasps like he is emerging from water. Blindingly fast, he pulls away and turns on the bedside lamp. His eyes are wild, almost midnight blue. His hands hover over my face.

“Elisa? Jesus! Did I hurt you? Did I hurt you?” he demands frantically.

“No, not at all. See? I’m okay.” I raise my hands so he can see. His eyes scan my arms, my torso, my face, my eyes.

“It was just a bad dream,” I assure him though I know bad dreams and I have never seen something like this. “Do you want some water? Some fresh air?”

I scoot close to him. I want to hold him but instinctively I know that he will not want arms around him right now. So I just put both my hands on his face and kiss his scar.

“Shh,” I whisper. “It’s over. It’s over.” But as I say the words, it occurs to me: is it really over for him? Whatever this evil is, with his memory, can he ever escape it? “Aiden, will you tell me what’s wrong? Please? I want to help.”

Instantly, his eyes harden. A jolt of fury strikes there. He drops my hands from his face.

“Excuse me a moment,” he says formally, and before I can blink, he bolts up and blows out of the room.

I stare after him, trying to calm my breathing. My lungs were doing fine until now—for him. But at the sight of the shut bedroom door, they start shuddering. I breathe in and out, but oxygen is not working. I amble to the restroom and drink some water, trying to think. What happened to him to cause this? Because if there is one thing I know like I know the periodic table it is that he has had this dream before. That this is a part of him.

I hear the bedroom door open so I sprint out of the restroom. He is dressed in the same clothes as today, probably finding them on the kitchen floor from our time of happy secrets. I walk to him and take his hand.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Same polite voice.

“I am so, so sorry.”

His jaw locks and he closes his eyes. “Why are you apologizing, Elisa?”

“Because I awoke you. I only wanted to touch your face,” I mumble, caressing his stubble.

He guides me to the bed. His eyes are still closed. I don’t know if he is imagining something or repelling it.

“Look at me,” I plead.

He opens his eyes. They are controlled now, lighter but frozen solid. “Elisa, you didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me. This has nothing to do with you. The only thing I regret is that I frightened you. I’m very sorry. Now go to bed. I’ll be back in a while.”

Back in a while? No! I don’t want him to be alone and revisit whatever terrors he already must see with perfect clarity. I clutch his shirt collar and bring him closer.

“Stay with me. We can go to the Rose Garden if you want? Or talk? Or just go for a stroll? Or make love? Just…just stay.”

He pries my fingers from his shirt, pinching my chin. “Go to sleep, Elisa.”

When I don’t let go of his collar, he lowers his head until our foreheads almost touch and closes his eyes.

“Please!” he says in a low voice.

I realize now that I have never heard him truly ask for something he needs. Well, he just did. I nod and pull away with more strength than it took to board that plane four years ago. He inclines his head once and sweeps out of the room.

I lie on his side of the bed, feeling his warmth that is still trapped inside the comforter. I keep my eyes on the door, willing it to open. I focus only on the scent of his pillow, listening for any signs of the man on the other side of the wall. But there is only silence.

Hydrogen, 1.008…Oxygen, 15.999. Fluorine, 18.998. Neon, 20.180…Astatine, 210. Radon, 222. Francium, 223. Radium, 226.