My head connects with the doorframe on my way down. But before I can hit the floor, arms - strong arms - catch me.
"Whoa..." he says. I can hear the surprise in his voice. With his arms wrapped around me, he slowly walks me back into the cabin, over to the couch. I'm too stunned to argue, so I let him lead me.
"Hang on a sec," he says once I'm sitting down. He hustles back to close the door, shutting out the frigid wind that's already whipping through the trees.
He latches the door and turns back to me. Not a word, not a sound. He just stands there. Looking at me. Looking. Something is battling behind his eyes, but it's been too long, I can't read what it is. I can't read him anymore. Not like I could. Before.
Carefully, slowly, I stand from the couch and head to the kitchen to offer him something to drink. I need a distraction. I need something to do. I need him to stop looking at me. I can't think when he looks at me.
"Can I get you a glass of water?" I ask, over my shoulder, without facing him. "I'd offer you coffee, but I think I already know the answer to that one." My hands tremble as I fill the glass, spilling water over the edge.
I'm so focused on filling this damn glass with water that I don't hear his footsteps. I don't hear him cross the distance from the door to where I stand at the sink. It's not until he's directly behind me that I even register he's moved.
"Jennifer," he whispers. Right behind me. So close I can feel the heat of his breath on my ear. So close I can feel the heat of him. A chill runs straight to my core.
My hands shake even harder now, and I drop the glass in the sink. He grabs my elbow and turns me around to face him. Mere inches separate us, after more than a year and more than 1,500 miles, just a few inches separate us.
"Jennifer," he whispers again. I can't speak. I have no words, no breath. All I can do is look in his eyes, drown in them. The eyes I've looked into countless times. Eyes that have shown me deep love, pure happiness, intense anger, raw desire, and painful sadness. I've found everything in those eyes, including what I once thought was home. But now? I'm not sure what I see. And I'm not sure what I'm looking for.
I open my mouth to speak, to say something to him but his lips silence me. He kisses me softly, tentatively, his hand still holding my elbow.
It's too much. My mind is racing, my heart is racing, and I can't get my bearings. I pull away and turn back to the sink, white-knuckle grip on the edge. With eyes closed I try to slow my breathing, to get ahold of myself.
Sixteen months. Nearly 500 days. Not a word. Nothing. And now he's right here. He's right here. Right. Here.
With trembling hands, I pick up the glass and ask again. "So, glass of water then?" I try to sound light, unaffected, but even I can hear the tremor in my voice.
He hasn't moved. I can still feel him behind me. So close. And that scent. Goddamn it, that scent. How can anyone smell so unbelievably good? How can a smell be such an unbelievable turn-on? It's an unfair advantage and I feel my resolve crumbling.
The glass now full, I hold it, waiting for him to respond, to take it. I take a deep breath, waiting.
"Put the glass down." It's so quiet and so low, his breath right on my ear.
Water sloshes over the edges. Who am I kidding here?
He moves closer, his lips right against my ear. I gasp at the sensation. "Put. The. Glass. Down."
He doesn't move back after he speaks and his warm breath is brushing against my ear, my neck. If it's even possible, he moves closer to me, his front pressed along my back. My curves fitting perfectly against him like they always did.
With eyes still closed, unbelieving, I press back against him. I hear his breath catch as we come into deeper contact in all the right places. His hands come up to grab my hips, holding me tight against him.
