Chapter 42

That night, Brook lay awake in her lonely bed, thinking about Lance and soul searching. Reaching a decision, she tiptoed to the blanket covering Lance’s bedroom doorway wearing only a shirt. Her pulse raced as she contemplated her next move. She hesitated a moment before pulling the curtain aside. Lance lay in bed, propped on his pillow, reading. He looked up as she entered and slowly laid the book on the nightstand, never taking his eyes from Brook.

 “Mind if I join you?” Her tone was playful, yet provocative.

“I was hoping you would,” he admitted, pulling the covers aside so she could lie next to him. His heart thudded as he looked up at her. She slid out of her shirt as she entered his bed, feeling Lance’s eyes feast on her naked body.

He threw the blankets over them both, and pulled her close. Lance reveled in the feel of her; her warm silky skin, her soft curves. He ran his hands down her sides, over her hips. She positioned herself on top of him and lowered her mouth to his. Her lips parted and she sought his tongue with hers, tasting him lightly, as if savoring a new and delightful delicacy. His response was immediate, stunning in its intensity. He cupped her face tenderly and deepened their contact, consumed by need.

“Lance,” she whispered between kisses. “I want you. I want you so badly.”

“Oh, Brooklyn, I want you too.” Desire lent an almost painful tone to his voice, a tone that sent molten thrills drizzling inside her.

Slightly breathless, she raised off him and began to unbutton his shirt. He helped her while still keeping one arm around her waist. Urgency filled him and he slipped from beneath the covers and stood, yanking at buttons and zippers. Soon his clothes were on the floor beside the bed and he was back under the blankets beside her, his body radiating heat.

Brook began trailing kisses down his neck and chest. He buried his fingers in her hair. Her hands traveled over his thighs and abdomen. When her lips reached his navel, he thought he would explode. He groaned as she ran her hand, feather soft, over his erection.

Then she just stopped, held still as stone for a moment. It was as if ice water had been thrown in her face. Her yearning for Lance, the wild abandon she'd felt only seconds before, had been replaced with sudden, crippling fear. Her flesh crawled the tiniest bit.

“Brooklyn?”

"It feels wrong," she whispered. "I can't do this. They ruined me."

"No." Lance shook his head slightly, kept his voice low and soothing. "You're not ruined."

“But, what if I have a disease?” she cried. “What if they infected me with something?”

“Oh, honey, I don't think you do. And besides, I’m willing to take my chances.”

She rolled away and lay stiffly beside him, her change of heart filling the room with a dark feeling of disappointment and failure.

“I can’t,” she said flatly. “I’m sorry.” She pulled away and rolled over.

“Its okay, Brooklyn.” Lance’s voice was gentle as he fought back the heat of passion. He wanted to reach for her, but didn’t know if he should. She began to cry softly. He doubted the wisdom of his action, but nevertheless pulled her to his side, facing away from him. She didn’t resist. “Brooklyn, it’s alright. We don’t have to make love. It's enough just having you near me.”

She yielded and rolled over, burying her face in his shoulder. He wrapped her in his arms and held her.

“Lance, I …”

“Sshh,” he said, his deep voice comforting her. “It’s okay. We’ll just sleep. It’s okay, honey.” His body thrummed with unquenched desire, but he slowed his breathing and compelled himself to relax. The feel of her next to him was all he needed for the moment. The rest could wait.

She hugged him closer and her tears subsided. They didn’t speak; there was nothing to say that would change anything. He smoothed her hair back from her temple, and kept repeating the soothing touch until her body relaxed. Before long they drifted into sleep, listening to the wind against the sturdy walls of the cabin and the ticking of the old wind-up clock in the adjoining room.

Brook dreamed that night of stabbing Jase with a jagged piece of glass, and cutting her own hands to bloody ribbons in the process. If I could hurt them like I wish I could, it would hurt me too. Though her dream thoughts were hazy, that much was clear.