76. The Red Shoes

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The day was breaking when Silvia found herself awake. Jim was sound asleep, flat on his back, one arm under her neck and the other stretched across the bed. She lay still against his side, his profile a dark line against the window opening to the receding night.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Waking up to such a man, loving him so much.

Her head was a mess of flashing thoughts and feelings and sensations that had no way to come together in any coherent idea.

The way he'd made love to her. Nobody had ever made love to her like that. It had nothing to do with his legendary skills as a lover, that she'd already been introduced to when she didn't even know who he was. His gentleness and attention, the emotions sparkling in those eyes of ice and stars, the way he'd given himself to her.

Her chill brought his arm to bend around her shoulders and hold her closer.

If over the last two days she'd been flowing from one moment to the next, never knowing what would happen within a minute or within an hour, now the blank was pitch black. And she was terrified to find out what time might have in store for her.

His fingers fell on her hair and scratched her head softly.

"Sleep, woman," he mumbled, hardly moving his lips.

Her arm moved to rest across his chest, her hand fighting the temptation of caressing that skin she'd always dreamed of touching again, now there for her to travel to her heart's content.

She kept still again, simply watching the morning take the sky over and turn off the last stars.

What would become of her after this weekend with him? Was she supposed to go back to her regular life as if nothing had happened? Was she supposed to turn her back to everything she loved other than him, leave it all behind and follow him wherever he might want to take her? Was she supposed to ask about it? Was she supposed to wait and see? Was she supposed to be the one to make a call? What call could she possibly make?

He was everything she'd ever dreamed and wanted.

And he was everything she feared.

The one that held her heart in his fist to do whatever he fancied with it.

It made her feel so exposed, so helpless. And so hopeless.

But he was also the one that made her feel alive.

Not the white whale wreaking havoc anymore but rather the magic dancing shoes, waiting to take her on a ride she would love and regret for the rest of her life.

"What the fuck're you thinking so early?" he mumbled.

She shrugged. "You?"

He let out a soft scoff. "Jesus. I'm right here. Sleep."

As she fought to keep her mouth shut and swallow the, "I'm afraid that's the problem," that scratched her throat like bubbles of cheap champagne, her hand escaped her watch and slid over his chest.

The muffled sound from his mouth, like a weary purring, seemed to pull her hand down his belly. That move brought her lips to brush his skin. Her hormones flooded her brain at the speed of light. She wanted to hear more of that soft purring. She wanted to taste more of his skin.

She would never have enough of him.

Enough of his soul, enough of his laughter, enough of his body.

He spoke in another sleepy murmur.

"If you're keeping me awake, you better make it worth, woman."

A giggle escaped her lips. She was pretty sure she knew what he meant. She slipped down, away from his arm that didn't try to hold her back.

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