Kate Hewitt - The Chatsfield - Series 2

“Right now? I feel as though you control me.” They were some of the hardest words she had ever spoken. One of the most difficult admissions she had ever made. “I feel like you’ve taken my body and made it yours. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want.”

He gripped her chin, tilting her face up so that her eyes met his again. “Liar. You know what you want.”

“Does it matter what I want? Does it matter when nothing can come of it?”

“I have been lost in the past for a while now. And I have done nothing but plan for the future. Perhaps for this moment you and I can enjoy the present.”

His words echoed in her soul, reverberated through her. Because they were true for her, as well. The past had informed what she wanted for her future, and she had spent very little time actually in the present. She had always been looking ahead, using the things behind her to keep her moving.

But in her life, there had been no now. There had been no moments where she had simply existed.

But in this moment she wanted it. More than anything, she simply wanted now.

“It won’t fix anything,” she said, her voice small.

“A great many things are unfixable. Are they not?” He shifted position, cupping her face with his hands, sliding his thumbs over her cheekbones, wiping the rain from her face.

“I suppose so. Although, it could be argued that we are just making more problems.” She didn’t know why she was playing devil’s advocate in this, because all she wanted him to do was lean in, touch his lips to hers. And it didn’t matter that it was crazy. It didn’t matter that this could never become anything. Didn’t matter that he had forcibly dragged her to his country. Didn’t matter that she had simply been using him to try and help Isabelle. None of it mattered. Because if those things mattered, it meant the rest of the world existed, and she was certain, in this moment, that it did not.

“A great many things could be argued. For one, that I should not touch you for your sake. For another...” He let his sentence trail off, and she allowed it. Because she didn’t want to know what he’d been about say. She had an idea, but she didn’t want the reminder.

“I’m a lot stronger than I look.”

And that was all she said before he dipped his head, pressing his mouth against hers. Their lips were slick with rainwater, and he angled his head, sliding his tongue across her upper lip and her lower lip, sipping the water from her skin. She shook, the decadent contact washing through her like a raging river devastating everything in its path. Reshaping the landscape, uprooting the anchors that had always held her fast.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then the center, moving to the other corner before going back again. “Kiss me,” he said, his lips moving against hers.

She realized then that she was frozen, simply letting herself be washed away on this tide of pleasure, on this wave of need. And while it was a wonderful feeling, she was not the kind of woman to allow herself to drift out to sea.

She would swim against the current.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself more firmly against him, parting her lips and allowing him deeper access into her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers. It was like the darkest, smoothest chocolate dessert. Imbued with the kind of richness that made you feel as though you couldn’t possibly take another bite, while at the same time making you feel as though you could go on tasting it forever.

That was what kissing Zayn was like. Like too much and not enough, all at once. Like something she needed more of, while needing badly to break away, and take gulps of air.

But she continued to indulge, because he was holding her tight. Because he was so firm and sure. A pillar for her to cling to in the storm.

He was stability, and desire. Strength and heat. And she wanted nothing more than to cling to him until it all subsided. Though now, she could not tell if the greater storm waged above them, or inside of them. Between them.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight and kissed him with all of the ferocity in her body. Because she wanted to, and because she wanted him to know that he was okay. That he was not a terrible man, but a man who was worthy of this moment. Of being the only man she had ever wanted to kiss in this way. She didn’t know if her admiration was worth anything, but she would give it to him, if it would only take away that terrible haunted look in his eyes.

When they parted, they were both breathing heavily, both soaked through with rain. “We should get back to the tent,” he said.

She didn’t want to go back to the tent, because she feared it would break the spell they were under right now, right here. Back in the tent, sanity may return, and she didn’t want it to come back. She didn’t want reality to intrude at all. She would rather stand in the rain and nearly drown in it than go back where it was dry and warm and lose this connection they had found out here.

He must have sensed her hesitancy, because he traced her upper lip with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers. “I will not pretend this didn’t happen.”

She nodded and he moved away from her, walking back in the direction of the tent. She stood for a moment and watched him, before going after him.

She followed him inside, suddenly very aware of the fact that her clothes were sticking to her skin. That she was cold. That she was shivering. She had not anticipated being cold out in the middle of the Surhaadi desert.

Of course, she hadn’t anticipated being caught in a downpour, either.

Her teeth chattered, and Zayn looked at her. The concern in his eyes made her warmer. And she wondered when the last time was that she’d been looked at that way. If she ever had been. When last someone had wanted to take care of her. When last she had wanted to let someone.

“You will freeze in that.”

She lifted her shoulder. “I suppose I might. It is very cold.”

“You could take it off.” His voice was rough, and it brushed against her nerves, sending a shower of sparks through her.

She nodded wordlessly, catching the hem of her top and tugging it over her head before she could think twice. For some reason, it did not seem embarrassing. For some reason, it seemed as natural as breathing.

She pushed the linen pants down her legs, and stepped out of them. She was only wearing her underwear now, Zayn’s eyes sharp, intense, as he looked her over.

Her hands shook as she reached around behind her and unclasped her bra, discarding it along with the rest of her clothes.

Zayn bent and picked up a blanket, holding it out to her. “Get warm.”

It was a command, and one she felt compelled to obey, even though she thought it was strange he wanted her to cover up now that she had uncovered.

She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, closing it in the front. And then she looked at Zayn, her mouth drying. He had pulled his shirt off, leaving him standing half-naked in front of her, his broad chest and slim waist on display. Every muscle was clearly defined, brushed lightly with the perfect amount of dark body hair. She’d been around half-naked men at pool parties, of course, but for some reason she had never been quite so conscious of all the skin on display. Perhaps because she had not been standing less than a foot away from them completely naked. Perhaps because she had not kissed them.

And perhaps because they hadn’t looked at her as though she was dessert and they were starving.

She started trembling again, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.

He turned away from her, and pushed his pants down to the floor, her eyes widening when she saw his backside, the fabric of his dark underwear clinging tightly to his skin. Some mature, sensual part of her recognized that he was a work of art. While a much more prurient side of her nature only registered that he was hot and she wanted to touch him.