Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
“Of course.” His eyes are shut. I kiss them.
“When’d you know?”
His chest rises as he sucks in air. He rasps, “Eleven.”
“When’d you know you wanted to do what you do for a living?”
“Always.”
Fuck. I’ve got no words, so I just kiss his lips. He looks like a fairy tale—like sleeping beau. I move so I’m half on top of him and run my hand back through his hair. “You’re a good one, Skywalker. Taste good, too.”
My kisses wake him up, and for a while, we’re flesh and bone and blood, all twined together, consecrated by the water and the moonlight.
He breaks away, running his hands down my arms as he lies below me. “I have to leave soon.”
I drop down beside him, and we hold onto each other, kissing till we’re breathless again and then panting chest to chest, our eyes locked. I press my forehead to his head and shut my eyes so I can memorize the feel of him.
“What’s your favorite place, Sky?”
“Zakynthos Island,” he says. “Greece.”
“Time of day?”
I peek my eyes open to see him smiling like he’s amused by the question. “Morning.”
“Did school teachers like you?”
His lips twitch, making his left dimple show. “Of course.”
“What’s the biggest stress you’ve got going right now?”
“The foundation. Charitable giving. Trying to motivate change while avoiding politics.” His brows lift.
“That sounds near impossible.”
“I don’t like politics.”
“No?”
He shakes his head and kisses my mouth again. “It’s…unduly tiring.”
“Say that again.”
“What?” He makes this funny face—like this exaggerated frown that’s sort of on the verge of turning smile.
“Unduly.”
He laughs. “Making fun of me?”
“It’s fucking sexy.”
He swallows…cut his eyes at me. Smiles a little. “Unduly.”
I can’t help myself. We’re kissing again. I’m straddling him again, letting my hands and mouth say what I don’t have words for.
Don’t forget about me.
Cover up your fucking ears to that shit.
Love is love is love…is love.
He groans there. Then he bites my lip and turns me over so he’s on top, his hands framing my face, working painfully through my hair.
“Vance Rayne—you’re a sickness.” His mouth—hard and fast. His breaths faster. “I had you and it’s…still…not enough. What am I gonna do?”
He’s leaning over me. He’s breathing hard. His hand in my hair loosens, and I pull him down beside me. His big shoulders give a jerky shudder. For a second, I think he might cry or something, but he’s only breathing. I’m holding his head against me.
“Beatles song?” I whisper.
“All of them.” But then he gives me, “‘Strawberry Fields Forever.’ ‘The World.’ ‘All You Need is Love.’”
“Favorite Dali?”
“The Temptation of Saint Anthony…followed closely by Galatea of the Spheres.”
“What’s the best smell?”
“The ocean.”
“Are your fancy preacher suits uncomfortable?”
“They’re tailor made.” My hand is on his face, so I can feel him smiling.
“Take them off sometimes and go down to that boat of yours.”
“I will.”
“Tell me one thing about God,” I whisper. “Your God.”
I feel him swallow. Breathe. He lets the breath out as he whispers, “God loves you.” My fingers trace his closed eyes.
“Vance?” he whispers.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve gotta go.”
I hug him hard and kiss his forehead. Fuck, he smells so good. Wanting him for longer rips at me. I push the ache away. I kiss his hair again. Rub my palms down his arms.
“Get some sleep, okay? Don’t be going back to Pakistan.” He tilts his head up just a little, like he’s trying to see my face—but he can’t with his cheek on my chest. “I read about that.” People tried to kidnap him once when he worked with UNICEF. “Scary shit,” I say. “Don’t do that scary shit, you promise?”
He can’t promise, but he hugs me harder. Then he sits up.
“Lay back down, man. Look up at the stars and let me row you in.”
He does as I say, his arms propped behind his head—but his pretty tiger eyes aren’t on the stars. They’re drinking me in. I roll up the blanket, then pull up the anchor and set it between us. As I row us back to shore, I hold his gaze, and we’re both smiling just a little by the time the boat’s bottom brushes the shore.
He gets up, and somehow we both climb out, our shoes sinking into the cold sand. We step into the woods, and he hugs me, his face pressed against my neck. “Thank you.”
“Thank you more.” I rub my fingers through his hair. My chest feels kind of tight and weird. “If you ever needed someone, would you call?”
He hugs me tighter.
“Look up something called PanX, for when you fly. Every message you preach, turn around and say it back to yourself. Promise?”
I wrap my hand around his as we move toward the rented car. We get to it, and I open his door for him. When he’s in, I crouch down and take his hand and press it in between mine. “Call me. If you need me. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’ll hang on the line with you. You don’t have to call at all, unless you really need to. But if you do, you have to promise.”