It happened slowly; just enough contact, physical and verbal, to make Heinkel's face burn as she gradually became aware of Anderson's interest in her, and of her reciprocation of that interest. The three months preceding their first night had been a constant buildup for both of them, desire heightening between them until she could hardly sleep at night. Finally he had taken her by the arm, kissed her, and without another word led her to his room.
Before it had progressed any further he had given her a chance to stop. He had reminded her of the consequences; their vows, Enrico, and Iscariot's future. By that time, though, she could not imagine refusing him when he was finally so close. She had kissed him, and he had wept like Jacob with Rachael; perhaps out of happiness, perhaps out of inner conflict. He was unreadable, but impossible to resist, and his kisses were like sweet wine--addictive, heady and intoxicating.
She lay against him for a long time afterward, gazing up toward the ceiling as the dizziness left her mind. He was strong--less well-built than one would imagine, but still strong--and he held her as if he wished she would never leave. She could hear his heartbeat and his breathing resonating in his chest.
"Heinkel..." From her position his voice seemed to be echoing in the space between lungs and ribcage.
"Mmm..." His warmth and the rhythm of his body, combined with the sudden knowledge of her own exhaustion, were beginning to lull her to sleep. "Ja?"
"Do ye think it's wrong?" The look in his eyes was totally serious, and yet somehow desperate.
Heinkel looked into those eyes again, eyes that would make any normal woman quake at the knees. "Alex, don't argue with fate."
