Now, for some ridiculous reason, I wish my bed were made. I don’t want Ashley to think I’m a slob.
She doesn’t seem to notice, though. She takes the lead and pulls me into her embrace. “Tell me what you want,” she says softly.
What a loaded question that is. I want to be free of the demons I carry. I want to cherish the woman I love without baggage. I want to give her everything she deserves.
I want to make slow love to her. Gentle love to her.
But that ship sailed earlier.
I’m not capable of any of that.
“You know exactly what I want,” I say. And though she doesn’t know the whole of what I desire and can never have, she at least knows my momentary needs.
Her.
I want her.
“Tell me,” she says. “I want to hear you say it.”
I lean down to show her—
She backs away. “No. In words, Dale. Tell me. Tell me what you want.”
I love you.
Those damned words again!
Never will they pass my lips.
I want to kiss every inch of your beautiful body, find solace in your heart.
I want… I want… I want…
“You,” I finally say. “I want you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ashley
“Will you make love to me among the vines?”
My words surprise even me. Dale just told me he wants me, and I could be kissing him right now. Feeling his hands on my body, undressing me. His lips on my hard nipples. We could be a tangle of limbs on that messy bed of his, and I’d be in heaven.
Why do I choose this moment to push something he’ll never agree to?
“Not tonight,” he replies. “Tonight I take you here. In my bed.”
In my bed. Were any more delicious words ever uttered? Especially in that red-wine voice? The color swirls around me, cloaking both of us in its darkness.
Something dark lives in Dale. I sensed it the moment I saw him, but never was it more clear than that first night when he showed me the vineyards.
If only he could embrace everything about himself and learn to love what’s right in front of him.
Not me, though I want that more than anything.
No. That person he sees in the mirror each morning. Because though he’s brilliant and talented and he knows all this, something in his sense of self is missing.
Something inside him is broken.
I want so much to heal that part of him. It’s not his heart, I feel certain. He’s made no bones about the fact that he’s pretty inexperienced in ways of the heart, but that’s not the issue.
He’s broken somewhere else.
And he’s broken deeply.
I gaze into those mesmerizing green, symphonic eyes. So much to see in them.
Les yeux sont le miroir de l’âme.
The old proverb I learned long ago in French class. The eyes are the mirror of the soul.
I see lust and desire in those green orbs, but I also see sadness. Perhaps even some hopelessness.
I cup his stubbly cheek, let my fingertips scrape over its roughness—a roughness that seems so natural in Dale.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
I expect him to say, “fucking you,” or “nothing,” or something else that won’t tell me anything.
For a while, he stays quiet as I continue to thumb his cheekbone.
Then, “I’m thinking about how I’ll never have what I truly desire.”
I stop my eyes from widening.
How do I respond to such an enigmatic statement? My body is throbbing, reacting to his nearness. I drop my gaze to his crotch. The bulge is still there. He hasn’t lost his desire for me. So why open this can of worms?
He doesn’t pester me for a reply. Good, because I don’t have one.
Finally, I say, “Does anyone truly get what they ultimately desire in this life?”
I’m waxing philosophical, which isn’t my intention. But it’s a valid question.
He sighs. “I believe my parents have. At least my father.”
“Not your mother?”
He breaks our gaze and looks at the floor. “I believe she wants a different kind of relationship with me.”
I slide my hand from his cheek to under his chin and nudge his head upward to meet my gaze once more. “She adores you, Dale.”
“I know that. And I adore her. But…she always wanted us to be closer.”
“Then be closer with her. You have that power.”
He shakes his head. “Actually, I don’t.”
My body is still prickling with desire for him, but I don’t want this conversation to end. I’m willing to forego the sex I yearn for if it means Dale will open up to me, which he seems on the verge of doing.
“You do,” I say. “You have the ultimate power over who you choose to be.”
He scoffs. “I’ve heard all that before, Ashley, and it’s not true.”
“Of course it is.”
He sighs and brushes my hand from his face. “You’re so young. So innocent.”
I stop myself from guffawing. Young, sure. I’ll take it. Innocent? Not in this lifetime. You don’t grow up homeless and retain innocence for long. And sexually? I’m no innocent there, either.