Chapter Ten

Eames' POV

She had beautiful shoulders. I'd never had reason to take notice of them before, but now I could see that they were quite lovely, dappled with the sun that shone through the leaves of the oak that had provided us with shade while we picnicked. They were the sort of shoulders that beckoned to a man, the kind that made him want to lean over and press his lips against them, a soft and gentle caress, to show her that she was safe, that she was cherished, and that she was enchanting, so much so that it made his heart hurt just to look at her.

She'd gathered her hair in a ponytail, one that was held in place, just behind the crown of her head, with a large black ribbon. She'd taken a curling iron and created loose ringlets to fall down between her shoulder blades, the sort of curls that tempted me to twine one around my finger. They were the kind that called to me, and encouraged me to untie her ribbon, so that her hair would tumble down and hang loose all around her face, free to wave in rhythm with the wind. That would give me the perfect opportunity to run my hands through her silken locks, and then, to lift one to my nose and immerse myself in the scent, provided that she didn't chastise me for messing up her hair, that is…but I didn't dare.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it, Eames?" she asked quietly, turning to look at me over the shoulder that I'd been admiring. "I used to take all of this for granted, the sunshine, the wind on my face, a meal with a friend, but I'll never do that again. People always promise that they're never going to forget how fortunate they are, after something awful happens to them, but they do forget, after a while, and then they go back to the way they were, but not me. I know what it means to lose everything that you hold dear, and that's why I know that I'll never get tired of seeing the sun rise and set, of being free, to go wherever I want, whenever I want…of sharing each experience with someone who means so much to me."

I would have been happy to listen to her voice for hours on end; I would never tire of hearing the soft huskiness, and the varying tones and cadences. I could listen to her speak to me about everyday things, of her thoughts and her feelings, and never grow weary. She could read to me, while I lay with my head cradled in her lap. I could savor her tales and her memories, sitting behind her, brushing her hair for her and pressing my lips against her shoulder…..

Dear God, what on earth had come over me? I knew that I was taken with Sophie; I knew that she was important to me, precious really, but when had I become such a romantic? Granted, I had enjoyed my fair share of liaisons and dalliances throughout my life, but I could not recall another instance when I had experienced the sort of bond that I had with Sophie. I'd never been inspired to romantic thoughts nor constantly found myself mesmerized by any of the others, and I was beginning to fear that I was in very real danger of making a complete ass of myself, if I wasn't careful to keep a firm grip on my emotions whenever she was near.

"Eames?" she said, reaching out one hand, to lie on top of mine. "You're drifting a bit, aren't you? Am I really such boring company, or is there some other reason that you seem to be in a world of your own?"

How could she ever think that she was boring? Didn't she know the sort of sway that she held over me; couldn't she sense it in every word that I spoke to her, in each look that I cast her way, and with every touch of my hand? I met her eyes with my own, and felt the same zing of awareness that I always experienced whenever I immersed myself in her gaze and turned my hand over, so that our palms would meet, would caress one another, almost as if they were embracing.

"I did not mean to drift away, my dear," I said, closing my fingers and moving my thumb, in a slow caress, against hers. "And I did not do so because you bore me, I can assure you that you keep me in a constant state of fascination and enchantment, and how could someone who was boring manage to do that?"

She smiled at me and I was certain that I saw her blush as well, and then she turned her attention to our hands. She pulled away from me, and I started to tighten my hold, to thwart her attempt, but I knew that I had no right to do so, and I reluctantly allowed her to go, only to have her return to me a split-second later. I didn't receive the warmth and welcome of her entire hand, but the feel of the tip of her finger as it moved softly and gently against my palm, tracing out the callouses that I'd worn into my flesh, made up for any loss that I might have felt.

"May I ask where you went?" she murmured, raising her eyes to my face, and flushing even rosier than she already was when she found me looking at her, staring at her, if the truth were to be known. "Or is that a topic that is off-limits, or maybe even one that is none of my business at all?"

I wondered if she knew that the blush that had started on her face had spread, down her throat, then further, to color her collarbone and what I could see of her chest, before it disappeared beneath her bodice. It was a rare thing in this day and time, to find a woman who blushed at all, let alone one who did so as frequently as my Sophie did, but it was one more thing that I liked about her, one more thing that endeared her to me, and I just couldn't help but wish that I could see every last bit of the flushing of her skin, no matter how hard I tried…okay, okay, I really didn't put much effort into that, but I meant to, I promise you that I did.

"Do you really want to know, Sophie?" I asked softly, hesitating for just a moment, before I moved my palm away from the caress of her fingertip, placing it on her wrist. "Are you certain that you want to know where it is that I go, and what I am thinking, or would you prefer to leave things as they are? I can't take back the words after I've spoken them aloud….."

She raised her fingertip to my lips, the one that had been tracing a pattern on my hand, and it was equally gentle on my mouth, and that simple touch was sufficient to cease my ability to speak. I wanted to kiss her finger, I wanted to raise her wrist to my nose, so that I might experience the scent of her perfume, and then touch my lips to her delicate skin, but I didn't dare to act upon those impulses. I worried that I was pushing her too fast, I was afraid that she would flee from me, once she knew the truth, yet, at the same time, I felt that I had no choice but to be completely honest with her, no matter what the consequences for my actions might be.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know, would I?" she said, meeting my gaze directly, instead of shyly looking away, as she would have in the past. "I want you to tell me what you think and what you feel, I want to know everything about you, but only if that is what you want as well."

Hmm…what would she think of me, if I was to tell her the things that I truly thought and felt? How would she regard me, if she was to know that my eyes kept traveling to the bow that rested on the back of her neck, the one that was holding her bodice in place, and pictured my hand untying it and letting it fall free? Would she be scared, if she knew that I wanted to run my lips over her clavicle, would she run from me if I told her that I wanted to trace my fingers down the hollow between her breasts, followed closely by my lips, that I dreamed of teasing her nipples with the tip of my tongue?

"Do you know how special you are to me, Sophie?" I asked, running my fingertip over her wrist, just as she'd done to my palm, and I was pleased to note that she shivered in response to the gentle touch. "Have I shown you that you make me happy?"

"Y-yes," she whispered, moving closer to me, enough so that her dress was resting against the leg of my trousers, which had to have been a good sign, at least, that was how I was going to take it. "Is that what you think about, Eames? Are those the thoughts that distract you, or is there something that draws you even more?"

It dawned on me, in that moment, that she wasn't the least bit scared of the thoughts and feelings that were coursing through me. I was seized by an epiphany, one that told me that she knew exactly what was in my mind and my heart, and I wondered when I'd lost my talent for subterfuge. It seemed that it was impossible for me to hide anything from her, even when I knew that I ought to, but, then, why should I? I knew what I wanted; I was determined to have her for my own, so why would I want to keep the truth to myself?

"I always think about you," I confessed and my heart turned over when I saw her eyes brighten in response to my words. "You distract me in the best way possible, and you draw me in with everything that you do and say. I apologize for not being able to hide my preoccupation, my dear, but some things are simply too fierce to contain…have I frightened you, Sophie?"

I knew that I hadn't. I oughtn't to have known her as well as I did, but I could see that she was happy, not scared, but the question needed to be voiced aloud none the less. I needed her to know that I was concerned about pushing her too far, too fast. She had to see that I wouldn't take a single step forward until I was certain that she was going to be by my side, holding my hand tightly in hers, and that was why I had to question her, not because I couldn't see what was looking back at me from her eyes.

"No, you haven't frightened me, Eames," she said, sliding ever closer to me, until she was pressed up against me, arm to arm and leg to leg. "I was just thinking that it's a wonder, given how observant you are, that you haven't noticed I tend to wander a bit whenever you are near as well. Isn't it nice to know that we have that in common?"

She accepted my feelings, and, even more than that, she returned them, she shared them with me. I'd had the strength, until that moment, to hold back, to resist the urge to be bold, but how could I do that any longer, how could I stop myself from bringing what had only been thoughts and fantasies to life, now that I had been assured that I was not alone in what I wanted? This was my chance to give in, to experience a small taste of all that there was to know of her, and I was going to take it for myself.

I lifted her hand to my face and placed her palm upon my cheek. I rubbed myself against the softness of her hand, and savored her embrace, and then I turned and placed my nose against her wrist. I drew in her scent, that tantalizing, feminine bouquet, which followed me wherever I went, and then I raised my nose and brazenly pressed my lips to her flesh, marveling at the feel of her soft skin. This was our first kiss, save for those I'd placed upon her forehead, one that was so simple and so sweet, the first of many, I would imagine. It wasn't all that I wanted to share with her, it wasn't even close, but it was enough…for now.

Sophie's POV

Morris Raymond was trying to intimidate me, that much was clear to me, from the tenor of his voice, which had lowered, and roughened when he spoke to me, as opposed to the one that he'd used when he spoke to Dominic Cobb, to his body language and demeanor. I could imagine that the detective was accustomed to using his bearish size and unwavering gaze to unnerve those that he interrogated, but I wasn't going to be cowed so easily, because I was made of stronger stuff than that…wasn't I?

"If you're really who you say you are, then you should have no problem returning to the place where you were held prisoner. You should be ready, willing and able to provide me with the details of your abduction and help us piece together what happened to all of the women who occupied the other cells in that shithole with you. Why are you being so difficult, Miss Evans? Don't you want us to catch the fellow that was holding you captive, or, could it be that you don't want him to be punished because you didn't mind his company all that much and….."

"You will not use that sort of language when you speak to Miss Evans," Eames hissed, interrupting the detective with his words, and by slamming one of his fists against the table that we were seated at, while the other hand found, and held, mine beneath the cover of said table. "Perhaps you were not raised to know any better, Detective Raymond, but it is, as a rule, considered vulgar for a gentleman to curse in the presence of a lady. You will also show her the further courtesy of resisting the urge to insult her as you question her, and keep your tendencies to presume the worst of her character, for your own amusement, to yourself, if you please."

It amazed me that the bearish bully allowed Eames to speak as freely as he did, but I suppose that had something to do with the fact that he couldn't stop sputtering his disbelief. I clutched Eames' hand tightly; taking comfort from the familiarity of his flesh pressed against mine, and used that to reacquaint myself with the strength that still resided within me, in spite of the efforts of evil men to break me down completely.

"Listen here, Pretty Boy," Raymond growled, preparing the stage for what he undoubtedly hoped would be a stinging retort, but it was my turn to speak, not his, and he was going to hear what I had to say, whether he wanted to or not. "You've got a hell of a lot of balls if you think….."

"Would you like to know what I think, Detective?" I asked softly, my voice carrying easily enough without me raising it angrily, as Eames and Raymond had. "I think that you know exactly who I am, because your partner invested a great deal of his time in the investigation of my disappearance before he passed away. I know that he did this, because I have seen the paperwork, and I'm willing to wager that if I have seen it, then you have as well."

"Now, wait just a damned….."

"And since you have seen that paperwork, you know that a missing person report was filed by a coworker of mine, an older woman, named Lois McCall, who I am sad to learn has passed away. That report, which was included in the file of paperwork, detailed my walk home, the same one that I made each and every day, and Lois knew those facts very well, because she walked with me twice a week. I would imagine that there would have been clues left behind, ones that would have spoken to the nature of my abduction, and, possibly, to the identity of my kidnapper as well, had Lois not been given the treatment reserved for absentminded old ladies who were a little confused about the facts, because that was what happened, wasn't it, Detective."

"There was no reason to take her seriously. Who would buy the story of someone who can't keep the day of the week straight in her mind, let alone the details of a supposed….?"

"So she was brushed aside, and a story about me growing tired of city life and returning home, even though my family was all gone, was accepted instead…that was some brilliant detective work that your department provided, Mr. Raymond, you ought to be proud."

He started sputtering again, and his face had turned an alarming shade of red, but I wasn't about to allow him to get the upper hand on the conversation, not now, when I'd already come this far. "I am willing to return to the place where I was held, and provide you with every detail of the women that I met, not only for myself, but for them as well, so that everyone might know who they were, and not only that they were Garrett McGill's victims."

He relaxed somewhat and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, so that they rested on his stomach, the pose and mannerisms of one who thought that they might be getting their way, but were prepared, at any moment, to give themselves over to the urge to pout, if they were mistaken. It was something that was annoying in children past the age of three, on a grown man it was downright pathetic.

"Now, then, that's all that I wanted….."

"I wasn't finished," I snapped, raising my voice just a tad, and found that it felt good to do so. "I would also like to address your comment, the one that pertained to Jude." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, willing the tears that I could feel building more and more with each moment that passed to stay out of sight, so that I wouldn't be humiliated any further. "I don't know what sort of cruelty or spite would persuade you to suggest that I was protecting Jude, that my actions were meant to shield him, but I can assure you that nothing could be further from the truth, Detective. I live with the fear, each and every day, that he will find me, that he will take me away, back to that cell, so that he can finish what he started. I don't simply hope that he is caught, Mr. Raymond, I pray that he is, I even pray that he is killed, rather than caught, so I will know, once and for all, that I am safe…does that sound like someone who is suffering from Stockholm Syndrome to you, Detective?"

He didn't say anything for a moment after that, and when he did speak, it was to mutter an apology to me, but that wasn't what made me feel strong, what made me feel better. I was proud of myself, and more than a little amazed, as well, for standing my ground and meeting him head-on, rather than hiding, as I would have in the past. That was the thing that gave me strength, and assured me that I was going to be just fine, and I felt better because Eames hadn't let go of my hand the entire time, not even for a moment. As a matter of fact, he'd tightened his grip, and was rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand, and I knew that I didn't have anything to fear, not ever again, not so long as he was there to walk beside me.