Whispered Prayers of a Girl

My heart hurts for him. His life has been affected by that one accident in so many ways. And it’ll continue to affect him for the rest of his life.

I put the towel down and turn off the water. I’m just about to tell him I should go, when his next words stop me.

“When you touched me….” He stops, and I look up at him. “I felt it when you touched me.”

My breath catches; I’m not sure how to take his statement. The look he’s giving me is intense but at the same time unsure. Like whatever he’s feeling is strong, but he’s unsure what that feeling is. I know just what he’s going through. The feelings running through me leave me confused and, if I’m honest, a bit warm.

My legs become jelly when the look in his eyes turns to something more intimate. It’s not crude or offensive, but it’s definitely not innocent, and not a look he’s given me before, but one that I find that I like.

I hold my breath as his eyes track down my body, and I swear every place his eyes touch, I feel a soft caress, as if it’s more than his eyes perusing my body. Tingles start in my belly and make their way down my legs. I grip the counter behind me because I seriously worry they won’t be able to hold me up much longer.

He’s only a couple feet away from me, so when he takes a step closer, the heat of his body and his scent engulf me. It leaves me dizzy, and goose bumps appear on my arms. He reaches out with his scarred hand, and the moment his fingers go beneath my hair, cupping the side of my neck, my stomach does somersaults. I close my eyes as intense sensations race through my body, heating it up twenty, forty, sixty degrees.

I feel the slight tremble of his hand against me, and I open my eyes. His gaze is on the hand that’s resting against my neck, then moves to my face. They hold both yearning and wonder.

“What is it about you that makes me want to be close to you?” he marvels in a low voice. His thumb rubs gently against my neck. “Why do I want to touch you so badly when I haven’t wanted to touch anyone in years?”

I swallow, mesmerized by both his questions and the reverence in his voice as he asks them. Not to mention the way his hand feels against my skin. I haven’t let another man touch me intimately since Will died. Except this… this feels like so much more than Will’s touch ever made me feel. We always had a very good physical relationship and we always found pleasure in each other’s arms. Our lovemaking was sweet but passionate, and I felt that tingle of desire up until the very last time Will touched me. The feeling I get from Alexander’s touch is different. Stronger.

I suck in a sharp breath when Alexander closes the small gap still separating us. My tongue slides out to wet my suddenly dry lips, and his eyes track the movement, then land back on mine with even more longing. I release the counter and lay my hands against his lower stomach, unable to keep them off him a moment longer. His eyes close for a fleeting second at the contact.

“Why is it you?” he asks, opening his eyes to reveal a tortured expression. “Someone so soft and sweet and good. Someone I don’t deserve, but for some reason I desperately want more and more each day.”

“Alexander,” I whisper, hating the agonizing pain I hear in his voice. I want to tell him he deserves so much more than he thinks. That whatever plagues him, which I know has to do with the loss of his wife and child, doesn’t prevent him from deserving love or happiness.

Before I get a chance to voice my thoughts, his head dips and he rests his forehead against mine. The scars on his face stand out from the tenseness of his expression. I lift my hand and rest it against his marred cheek, badly wanting to erase the uncertainty I see.

“I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve whatever could happen between us.” I want to object, but he continues before I get a chance. “But there’s something I want more than my self-loathing for wanting something I shouldn’t.”

“What?” I rasp.

“A chance to know what it feels like to kiss you.”

My response is immediate and without thought. “Please kiss me, Alexander.”

His eyes flicker back and forth between mine, and when he sees the same want in my eyes, he lowers his mouth.

The second our lips touch, a soft groan leaves his throat, and a moan leaves mine. My eyes close automatically and my fingers fist his shirt. His lips are soft and velvety as he gently rubs them against mine. The kiss is innocent by many standards, but it still sends my body skyrocketing, leaving me feeling like I’m floating.

As chaste as the kiss is, I want more, and from the tightening of Alexander’s hand around the back of my neck, he wants more too.

Tentatively, I open my mouth and offer my tongue, hoping I’m not being too forward. A shiver races through me when his tongue touches mine. Mint, that’s what he tastes like. Fresh and cooling. I love the taste and want more of it.

Taking over the kiss, he gently invades my mouth. I accept him inside and make soft mewling sounds. Using his other hand, he tilts my head to the side, giving us both better access. His lips leave mine and he nips at my bottom lip, then they come back and tenderly take my mouth again.

The kiss doesn’t last longer than a minute or two before he pulls back, resting his forehead against mine again. I keep myself from protesting and asking him to kiss me again. Even with the kiss lasting such a short time, the impact of it has both of us panting.

His eyes are closed and a small smile plays on his lips. “So sweet,” he whispers, then opens his eyes. The smile disappears and the pain is back. “So much more than I thought it would be.”

He pulls back, but my hands stay locked on his shirt. I’m not ready to let him go yet. The feelings he’s conjured in me… I’m not ready to release them. I want to hold on to them and him and never let go. I want more from this man than I’ve wanted in a long time.

There’s half a foot between us now, but his hands are still in my hair, the palms against my neck. His eyes close tightly, and I watch as he pulls in a deep breath before reopening them.

I dig my fingers into his shirt more, and he moves an inch closer.

Finally finding my voice, I tell him, “I know about your wife and daughter,” I say gently. “I know they drowned.” I want to take back the words at the profound pain on his face, but this is something I need to get out. “I can see the guilt in your eyes because you blame yourself.” I take a step closer to him and lower my voice. “I’m going to tell you what I’ve told Kelsey many times. It wasn’t your fault, Alexander.”

“You don’t know the whole story,” he says thickly. “If you did, you wouldn’t be saying that.”