They were stretched out casually on her bed, his leather-clad legs lazily crossed at the ankles. Her head was on his chest, under the crook of his shirt-covered hook arm, his leather vest warming under cheek.
Killian was absently playing with her hand, knitting their fingers together and circling his thumb over her skin and palm.
From her vantage point she could see his long leather coat and sheathed cutlass lying across her bright cushioned window bench. Strangely it didn't look at out of place. It just fit like it had always been there. Her style and his, a touch of dark and light.
It was impossible for her to say how much time had passed since her meltdown. He was warm, distracting. She had been gently lulled by the steady sound of his heartbeat against her ear.
Tentatively she tilted her gaze to look at his face, admiring the relaxed way he seemed mesmerized by her hand.
"You have such delicately beautiful fingers, love." He opened the palm of his hand against hers, their fingers splayed out finger to finger, thumb to thumb. His were a little rougher and a little larger but they fit together well. "They're small and fine but striking and strong, much like the rest of you."
He pressed her palm to his lips and sighed, creating delicious waves of tingles though her hand and arm. Even as he pulled it back the impression of his lips lingered on her palm like a brand. Her knees and thighs felt a little weaker. It was a good thing they weren't standing up.
"All this time in my bedroom and that's the only move you make?"
He emanated a deep chuckle from his throat that she felt rumble through his chest. He gently flipped to his side so they were face to face.
Pillow talk without the preamble? Pity. It was like he could hear his innuendos in her head at all times.
His fingers laced through her hair and brushed her cheek.
"I don't generally take advantage of lovely damsels when they are in moments of emotional distress, Emma. I think a little too highly of you to saunter in here bent on conquest rather than to see to your overall well being." His eyes bright with affection, his fingers traced the edge of her cheek to her chin and then her bottom lip. "I was genuinely worried about you."
"Thank you. But I am an idiot."
She shifted her gaze to somewhere just below his eyes because the intensity of those dark-rimmed orbs were more than just a little overwhelming.
She sighed the resigned sigh of the eternally doomed and flipped onto her back to stare at the ceiling.
"I am a gigantic idiot."
He propped himself up to loom slightly above her. "Don't retreat backwards, love. Feelings are feelings. You're allowed to be brooding and difficult sometimes. It's part of your particular charm."
He kissed her forehead.
"A little stormy like the sea."
He kissed the tip of her nose.
"Unpredictable, sometimes choppy."
He kissed her top lip ever so gently. It twitched.
"Feisty and passionate."
He kissed her bottom lip and nipped at it slightly with his teeth. Her stomach did this flip flop, whoosh thing reserved for carnival rides or rapidly descending elevators from the 87th floor.
Was that loud panting her actual breathing? Who turned the thermostat to 150 degrees?
Her entire being seemed to be straining itself toward him, like magnets or gravity or some other force you try to resist but simply can't. She'd work on a list if her brain was actually working.
He thrust his fingers into hair, cradling the back of her head. Inches from her face, he looked directly into her eyes, his lips hovering above her mouth.
"But Emma. Oh Emma. You are the most beautiful thing to behold no matter what state you are in."
Fiercely, he claimed her mouth with this. It was deep, rough, but also soft and tasted like spice, rum and salt. It had promise and lingering questions. It was like taking the first full breath after surfacing from a deep underwater dive. Their mouths moving in tandem, tongues touching, limbs intertwining set her entire body humming. She was grasping fistfuls of his shirt, pulling on the back of his head.
Her soft moans made him quiver, made it hard to pull back. But he did.
They were gasping, chests heaving. She was arching towards him trying to place her lips back on his. He was looking at her mouth but keeping agonizingly just out of reach.
"Sorry, Emma, I didn't mean ... We have to stop."
"Wha..? Huh?" Her head fell back on the pillow with a thud as the air left her lungs with an utter whoosh. "Are you kidding me?"
Had they fallen into an alternate universe? Was there some kind of magical vortex at work? All the blood must have completely rushed away from his brain.
"Emma, love, now is not exactly good timing for this. Sadly."
His comment was instantly followed by a knock at the bedroom door. He groaned and pressed his forehead to hers while cursing under his breath.
"Killian?"
"Just another moment!" He called over his shoulder.
"What is going on? Killian?!"
"Sorry, Emma." He heaved himself up clumsily. "You have no idea how sorry I am. But our public awaits."
"Public? What public?" He stood, straightening his shirt and vest. Out of confusion and a measure of spite she wasn't sure she would tell him about the clump of hair sticking straight up on the back of his head. He looked down at her.
"Emma. You have to trust me. We need to get out there." He proffered his hand and helped her up.