Hot blood, hot thoughts and hot deeds?
– Troilus and Cressida
There was something satisfying about the way she fitted into the crook of his arm, her head nestled between his biceps and his shoulder. Her long, red hair was fanned out across his skin, the tendrils tickling his chest when she moved. They’d spent the rest of the evening talking, until neither of them had the energy to talk any more. In bed they’d made sweet love – so different from the sex he’d envisaged them having, yet so much more satisfying, too.
A shaft of moonlight had found its way through a gap in the curtains, lending a pale glow to the grey painted wall opposite the bed. It bounced off the glass covering the photo frames he’d fixed with nails there, and for a moment he stared at the black and white scenes beneath them, remembering where he’d been when he’d taken those shots.
Manila had been the first place he’d visited after leaving home, catching a connecting flight from DC to Seoul, and then on to the bustling city in the Philippines. They called it the Pearl of the Orient, and with good reason. It had been the duality of Manila that had struck him as soon as he’d arrived. Extreme poverty mixed in with ostentatious wealth in a way that he’d never encountered in the US before. And yet there hadn’t been the envy towards him he’d expected, nor the kind of animosity such a divide would spark in the west. Instead he encountered a set of people who loved life, who partied hard, and welcomed him with open arms. He’d spent his days taking photographs, wandering around Intramuros, the ancient walled city, setting up his tripod and waiting until the light was exactly right. And at night he’d meet with friends, go to local restaurants, dance with pretty girls who seemed all too willing to spend time with a handsome young man.
It was there, too, that he sold his first photographs, before landing a commission from National Geographic. He’d become friends with a local reporter who had connections, and for the first time Ryan had realised he could get paid for doing something he loved.
Pulling his gaze away from the photographs, he looked at the woman lying in his arms, taking in her pearlescent skin, and the way her soft pink lips formed an ‘o’ as she slept. She looked peaceful, unworried, so much more relaxed than when they’d walked in that evening. They’d agreed not to talk or think about what had happened at the steak house. After all, there was nothing they could do about it. Instead they’d closed the door and curtains, blocking the world out until it was just the two of them as he’d led her up to his room.
He’d cradled her as he slid inside her, keeping his eyes open in spite of the way her warm wetness overwhelmed him. And she’d stared right back, her eyes wide, her moans soft, her legs circling around his hips as she pulled him closer into her until he couldn’t work out where she ended and he began.
Their lovemaking made him feel raw, almost painful in his vulnerability, and it had left him shaken in a way he’d not felt for a long time.
The closest thing he could compare it to was the moment Charlie had come into the world, all red and screwed up and screaming, heralding his arrival to the world in the loudest way possible.
It felt like a beginning, but also an ending. If he was a romantic, he’d say it felt like love.
The shaft of moonlight had moved, slowly sliding its way, inch by inch, across the wooden floorboards. In less than an hour it would probably hit the bed, waking her up. He gently removed his arm from beneath her, laying her head back down on the pillow while she continued to sleep, then swung his feet to the floor, standing up to grab the shorts he’d discarded earlier that night.
Swiftly tugging the curtain back to cover the final sliver of inky night, he turned around, seeing her lying there in the gloom. Her naked body was curled up on the white sheets. Compared to the huge bed she looked tiny. And yet she had a strength, too. One she wasn’t even aware of. A steel core beneath that soft, supple skin, that would fight to the death to protect her daughter.
It was mesmerising.
Strange to think that when he first met her, he’d made so many wrong assumptions. He’d been taken in by her beauty, by her name, and in his mind he’d pegged her as a society wife.
But she was so much more than that. And as he watched her on the bed, he felt the urge to protect her, the way she protected her daughter. To ride in on his charger, sword aloft, and fight Thomas Marshall for her.
He climbed back into bed, and she stirred for a moment, before turning onto her other side. She didn’t need his protection, she didn’t need his support. She could take care of herself the way his mother never had. And though he was glad about that, a part of him – the same part that had slunk out of town all those years ago – was whispering in his ear, telling him he wasn’t needed. That everything between them was as fragile as the old Egyptian scroll hanging over his bed.
He lay back down next to her, pulling her warm body against his. Maybe she didn’t need his protection, but he could still hold her. At least for tonight.
Even if it didn’t feel like nearly enough.
‘Somebody’s looking happy.’ Ryan blinked the dryness from his eyes, waiting for the scene before him to come into focus. Juliet was standing there, wearing just his white shirt and nothing else, her long, lean legs uncovered from her thighs. She was holding a tray with coffee, orange juice and pastries on it, a big smile plastered across her face.
‘Well, maybe I got some last night,’ she teased. ‘There was this guy who took me out for steak, promised to love me seven ways ’til Sunday, and then held me all night while I was sleeping. So yeah, I’m not doing too bad.’
He tipped his head to the side, trying to detect any bravado underlying her words. But they seemed too simple and honest for that.
‘I think you’ll find I only loved you two ways. We still have five mor
e to go yet.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘But it’s already Sunday.’
‘Correction, it’s already a Sunday. Plenty more where they come from.’ Sitting up, he took the tray from her, sliding it onto the table beside the bed. Then he lunged for her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her onto the mattress, until she was straddled across his hips. She’d only buttoned his shirt up halfway, and from this vantage point he could see her breasts beneath the thin cotton. Her nipples were tight, pointing upwards, rosy and ready for his lips.
‘You look good in my shirt.’
She grinned. ‘Why thank you. I thought about bringing you breakfast naked, but it was too damn cold to try.’
‘Always best to keep covered when pouring out coffee, too,’ Ryan pointed out.
‘Health and safety before sex,’ Juliet agreed, nodding seriously. ‘After all, we’re responsible adults.’