Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (201 page)

Our lips touch.

“…that easily.”

And completely unflinching against my ice-queen stare, he kisses me.

I try to fight the feelings that immediately burst to life within me: The joy, the happiness, the sheer bliss of being wanted by a man like this. The lust, the passion, the energy that flows into me right away from his scorching touch. The arousal that blossoms in my stomach and quickly moves to all other parts of my body. The
need
. The all-consuming, soul-scorching, obliterating
need
that James’s kiss rips open in me.

I try to fight it, to deny those most-natural feelings, but I already know it’s a lost cause.

My lips part for James by themselves.

It’s natural, it’s spontaneous, and it’s what
feels right
.

My lips part, and he deepens the kiss. His hands stay firmly around my waist. Mine itch to explore his body, but I can’t—I can’t give in to sensation more than I already have. I can’t be a slave to arousal.

Yet arousal tears through me like a river bursting over the edge of a cliff. James’s heated kiss, so full of passion, so full of need and lust, it fills me with life.

It’s the precious nectar I need to keep going.

So I kiss him back. I kiss him back, and for the moment, say
fuck the consequences
. I don’t care. Fuck everything else. More is said in his kiss than in the combination of all the caring words he spoke to me. I know of his passion here. I can feel his love.

If I fight, I’ll only lose out on
this
. And if he wants to tie himself to a dying woman…? Well fuck. Maybe in that case, I won’t try to hasten my descent into the grave.

James breaks away gasping. His eyes are glazed over with lust. My cheeks are flushed, and my lips feel battered and bruised.

“Do you see now?” he whispers. “Do you see why I can’t let you get away?”

“No,” I tell him. He begins to scowl, but I quickly follow up. “No, James, I fucking don’t, and I think you’re an absolute idiot for not wanting to, but I’m…” I reach up and scrape my nails over his back. “I’m not about to protest anymore.”

19.

I suck in a deep breath as James enters me. He slides into my slick folds slowly, obviously holding back. And even though I’m turned on, even though I
want
this, my body is not quite ready given all that I’ve been through.

I squeeze my eyes shut and hold on to his shoulders. He pushes his hips forward, his cock tight against my walls. I hold on to him tighter. I don’t want to show my discomfort. I know how important this is to him, given all that
we’ve
been through.

He won’t fuck me hard. I know he won’t, because I know he knows my body better than I do. He can tell when it’s receptive to him and when it’s… not.

When it can’t possibly be because of the cancer.

But without any way of truly telling how many days we have left, I want the experience to count.

“You okay?” James whispers in my ear. He’s all the way in, now.

I bite my lip and nod against his neck.

“I’ll go slow, baby,” he promises. His hips draw back then press forward again in one long, smooth stroke.

I moan.

He does it again. I sigh into his ear. My hot breaths against his skin make his cock twitch and harden.

He starts building a rhythm as I lie there on my back, clinging onto him. I want to lose myself in the bliss, but just accepting him is hard enough as it is.

My whole body feels strung tight. It’s frail and weak, and on the verge of breaking. Brittle.

But I compartmentalize all that discomfort to grant myself—and James—the one precious moment. It’s not about pleasure for me, because that is not within reach in my current state.

Not in the heightened way I felt it with James before.

It’s about intimacy and trust and love, now. I trust James to treat me gently. I trust him with my body—even in its most vulnerable state.

Even at my absolute physical worst.

“Still okay?” James whispers.

“Mhmm,” I say. I squirm against him. His chest and abdominals are hot against my skin.
That’s
all the pleasure I’m going to find with him tonight. The simple, honest, still-accessible warmth that comes from his flesh on mine.

“Okay.” He kisses me. “If it ever gets too much—“

“Just go,” I say. “I can take it. I
want
to feel you, James. I’m not going to—I’m not going to let this disease win.”

“That’s my fucking girl,” he murmurs.

He presses his forehead against mine and builds on the ebbing rhythm. He kisses me, then backs off to let us both breathe, then kisses me again. He takes each one of my hands and connects our palms. Our fingers link together. His cock continues pulsing in and out of me in a slow, deep rhythm.

I want him to go faster, but I’m too afraid to ask. I’m too afraid of being unable to handle it. So he just continues fucking me, slowly and fully… but I know that neither of us is going anywhere.

It continues on like that for a long time. I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the moment. In the heat of James’ body, in the feel of his skin, in his masculine scent, in his amazing, delicious taste, but it’s…

It’s just not working.

He feels me withdraw and stops. He pulls out. “Celeste…” he says.

“I’m okay,” I say. “Keep going. Don’t stop. I want you to…” I swallow, “…to fuck me.”

“You’re not ready.” He shakes his head and rolls off. I close my eyes and fight back tears.

Will I ever be ready again?

“Come here,” he says. He locks an arm around me. I find comfort in that hold. “Celeste, hey baby, it’s okay. I’m not mad. I’m not disappointed. Hey,” he tilts my chin toward him, “don’t cry.”

“But what if… what if we can’t?” I say. I start to blubber. “What if we can’t, James? What if we can’t do it, ever again?”

He looks at me, deep in thought for a long moment. Finally, he says, “Do you love me?”

I want to punch him and smile all at the same time.

“Stupid man. You know I do.”

“Will you fight it?”

“No,” I say. “No. I won’t, because I know it’s pointless with you.”

“And I love you,” he tells me. “I love
you
, Celeste. You above all, I love
you
more than I love
fucking
you. I love
you
more than I love the passion we share when we’re together. I love
you
more than… more than anything on this damn planet, to be honest.”

“More than your pet tortoise?” I ask.

He frowns. “I don’t have a pet tortoise.”

“I know,” I say. “But if you did. Would you love me more?”

“What an odd question.” A smile plays on his lips. “But yes, Celeste. Of course. Anyway.” He shakes his head. Then he barks a laugh. “What the fuck, a tortoise? Really?”

“Tortoises live a very long time,” I tell him solemnly. “You get one, and it’ll probably outlive even you.”

“Hey. Hey.” He takes my chin again. “I don’t want such moroseness out of you. No more talk about life expectancy or whatever, you hear me?”

I give a smug smile. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

“Tortoises.” He laughs. “How does that even come to you, Celeste? What were we talking about?”

I snuggle up to him. “Doesn’t matter,” I say. “I just like hearing your voice. But I think…” I smile. “I think you were telling me how much you love me.”

“Yes, that’s right.” He begins tracing a circle over my hips. “I love you very much, Celeste. You above all else. I’m perfectly happy sharing with you all that you can give me. Even this—just this—“ he looks at our intertwined bodies, “—fills me with so much joy it’s unbelievable.
You’re
unbelievable, Celeste. So don’t worry. And don’t think that we never can. We can and we will. You’re beating this thing. And once you do, you’re coming with me, and we’re setting off to explore the world. Where do you want to go first? Pick a spot, we’ll go there. We’ll learn their culture and their language and experience life brand new. We’ll go to Paris, to Spain, to Crete…”

I let him ramble on without giving much more than a “yes” or a murmur of agreement here and there. Let him dream. Realistically, let him dream. If he has a vision for our future, who am I to deny it?

Besides, all
I
really want is what I have right now, to be wherever James is, to be wrapped up in his arms, and to let his deep and sexy voice lull me to sleep.

Every single night.

For however long it’s possible.

20.

I jerk to in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

My heart’s thundering in my chest. Something’s wrong, I think. Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong.

I do a quick rundown of my body but everything seems stable. There’s no nausea. No white worms of light. No pain, no headache, no internal pressure.

No dizziness.

Nothing, really, aside from the sweat. Nothing aside from stark apprehension.

I look at James. He’s calm in his sleep. I reach out and touch him. He’s here. He’s real.

Then why the hell do I feel so
worried
?

I slip out of bed. I need to change out of this nightgown into something fresh.

I’m halfway to the closet before I remember it’s empty. I don’t live here anymore, and Summer is on her way out.

It’s a wonder my bed still had the sheets and covers I’d left on it when I moved into James’s place.

I ease the door to the hall open and gently close it behind me. My hand trails across the wall for the light switch. I find it, flick it up.

A faraway bulb turns on.

I wait for my eyes to adjust to the light then wander to the living room. That feeling at the back of my skull that something is wrong hasn’t diminished one bit.

I glance at the entrance door for signs of Summer’s return. But her shoes aren’t there.

I guess she decided to spend the night with Alfred.

A tinge of sadness touches me at that thought. How long has she pretended to be someone she’s not? How horrible it must be to live life feeling repressed and unable to express yourself.

But maybe she’s not
really
with Alfred. I kind of hope not, given what she told me earlier. It’s just feeding into her inability—into her fear?—of being true to herself.

Fuck, but I wish I knew about her sooner. I wish she’d told me earlier.

And her strong feelings for me… well, that would certainly explain her behavior. She acted like a spurned lover not because of James, but because of me!

That certainly sheds a new light on things.

If she told me, I would have helped. I would never have abandoned her.

I sigh and walk to the kitchen. I pull open the fridge and take out a cold bottle of water. I untwist the cap, take a little sip, and go sit by the table.

I try to relax. To clear my mind of any worries and dispel this discomforting tension.

But for some reason, I can’t. I can’t shake the feeling that something, somewhere is horribly wrong. No, that’s a cop out. Something somewhere is always wrong. What I feel is that something important to
me
is wrong.

But it’s not my body. My body is fine… relatively. I don’t feel like puking. I’m not weaker than usual. Everything is operational.

What else could it be? Am I anxious about the hospital tests tomorrow? That could be it. When I return to the hospital I’ll get the scans and firmly know whether the cancer has spread. I’ll know my prognosis.

But that’s not frightening. It’s not what is causing the anxiety. If anything, I’m excited at the prospect, because it’ll lend some clarity to where I stand.

Am I worried about James? Could I be apprehensive about what happens to him once I’m gone?”

No. I shake my head. I warned him what would happen if he stayed with me. He knows the risks. I tried pushing him away, but it only solidified the knowledge of how much I need him. I need him to breathe. I need him to exist. I have no idea how I survived without him before.

I’m giving in to all the girly fantasies and make-believes that I despised for so very long. But I’m not fighting that either, anymore. James wants to be with me. He’s a grown man, he can make his own decisions. It would be patronizing to try to change his mind.

Patronizing and exhausting and absolutely useless.

What’s more… I don’t want him to change his mind.

I sip the cold water and try to figure out what could be wrong, but nothing comes to mind.

In the end, I chalk it up to regular old stress. Too much cortisol in my blood and such. If I were a yoga girl, now would be the perfect time to do some sun salutations. Or whatever the calming exercises are called.

I end up pulling the kitchen chair to the window. I watch the snow fall. Everything looks so clean and white and pristine.

I love the crispness of it all, and I’m extraordinarily sad that I won’t see it next year.

21.

James wakes me gently in the morning.

I feel his hand on my shoulder and roll my head toward it. I rub my cheek over his strong knuckles like a cat wanting to be petted.

“Hey babe,” he says softly. “Why are you out here? I woke up alone and was scared you’d run off again.”

I smile at him and give a soft laugh. “Where would I go?”

“I don’t know. But you’re resourceful. I’m sure you would have figured something new out to infuriate me.”

He smiles to let me know he’s kidding.

“Nah,” I tell him, yawning. “I gave you your one free out, sexy. You didn’t take it, so you’re stuck with me. Till death do us part, just like a married couple,” I joke.

He scowls, and I’m reminded again how he hates when I bring that up.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Brain’s not fully functional this early.”

“I’ll let it slide,” he says. “But hey,” he perks up. “You called me ‘sexy.' That’s a new one from you.”

“Oh, like you need my help reminding you,” I say.

He gives a sly look. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“Okay. In that case…” I stand up and press my body into his. I look up into his gorgeous green eyes. “In that case, I think you’re the sexiest man alive. You’re smoking hot and so fucking sharp and you have the most glorious eyes… lips… mouth.” I trace my finger over each of those features. “You’ve got an enormous heart that you’ve opened to me, for reasons I still can’t comprehend, and I’ll never hurt you or betray you or lose that trust by pushing you away again. I won’t rebel, because you’re just so damn amazing. Magnificent. Beautiful. Spectacular.” I smile wide. “And above all else, James, you’re mine, and mine alone, and I won’t let anything that
I can control
come between us.”