"What's all this now?" He asks as she pushes past him into the sitting room. He can barely keep his mouth from hanging open so great is his surprise at her sudden appearance.
It does not go unnoticed by him that she's wearing what looks to be the same jeans as last night. She's wearing heeled boots this time, and an oversized, loose lilac jumper so sheer he can see her lacy black bra underneath it. Intentionally, he presumes, though he knows little of fashion trends.
"Where's Daisy?" She's going straight to the kitchen now, and she knows exactly where he keeps the short glasses. She pulls two out of the cupboard.
"At the Lattimers'," he replies, still a bit bewildered.
She nods imperceptibly, as if she already knew the answer, then she pours them each a finger of scotch and hands him a glass.
"Cheers," she says, holding her glass up.
"…Cheers." He clinks his glass to hers.
She throws some back, then walks past him again, back to the sitting room. He follows her, sipping slowly, never taking his gaze off her. She collapses on the couch in a way that is somehow elegant and utterly in control, then takes another sip.
"I went on a date last night, as you know, and he kissed me and I liked it."
He knows instinctively that she didn't. Or else she wouldn't be here. He's pleased with both this knowledge and his own perceptiveness.
"Why are you smiling," she interrogates, frowning.
He hadn't realized he was. He laughs, suddenly unable to even feignunhappiness.
"I know you're jealous," she says firmly.
He grins and nearly laughs again. "Do you want me to be?"
"That's besides the point."
"What's the point?"
"That you'rejealous," she insists, leaning forward intently.
"I'm happy for you," he says, suppressing a snort of laughter surprisingly successfully.
She gets up, frustrated. "Bloody wanker," she says under her breath as she begins to pace.
She's hovering by the window, sipping at her scotch, tapping her foot anxiously. He understands now that she fancies him at least as much he fancies her. Which, he would wager, is a lot.
She whips around suddenly. "You're still smiling."
He can't help it and he almost says as much before he thinks better of it.
"You're maddening," he replies, shaking his head, smile still plain on his face.
Her eyes widen, then narrow. "Maybe so but I look bloody good in a pair of jeans."
She turns away from him again, toward the window. He wonders if it's intentional, to provide him with a view.
"You certainly do," he nearly growls, raising his glass to his lips as his eyes remain on her.
He can feelher smiling even with her back to him. She throws back the rest of what's in her glass, sets it down, then swiftly exits outside. He does the same, then follows her, slowly.
She's staring out at the water, her back to him again, and he stands in the doorway. She's of another world in the moonlight and he feels a glowradiating in his chest when he looks at her.
"Ellie."
Hearing her first name from his lips should have knocked her off her feet but instead she whirls around and her eyes are glistening just so.
"Why has this taken so long?" She asks, eyes boring into his.
The question knocks himoff his feet but he steadies himself, and is surprised when the answer comes to him freely.
"Because we're friends," he replies simply.
She understands without effort, and hates that she does.
"Why did you leave?" Her question is stark, and honest. There's no desperation or bitterness in her voice.
"I came back," is his firm reply.
"For the same reasons?"
"Maybe I left because I knew you weren't ready," he says, hesitantly. "And maybe I came back because I hoped you'd be now."
"Maybe," she agrees, but it's a question, and she knows he won't answer it.
He takes a single step toward her, still much farther away from her than he'd like to be. "Are you?"
She looks down, shakes her head, then looks back up at him, open and glassy-eyed. She holds her arms out at her sides. "Look at me," she says, as if she can't believe she even has to answer that question.
He sees her, and now she can feel that he sees her. His eyes scan her body, hungry, appreciative, and a little moved by her. He's imagined what her skin would feel like every night for almost three years. The idea that he might actually find out sends a warm tingle up and down his spine.
"Maddening," he says.
"Infuriating," she calls him.
He can't decide whether he wants to kiss her or hold her and instead, he holds out his hand. She reaches out and accepts it, but neither moves beyond that.
Her mobile rings. Their hands fall apart, down to their sides. It takes a moment for her to fully shake out of the reverie and reach for the device in her pocket.
"Dad," she said to him sheepishly as she turns away from him to answer it.
He stays where he is, watching as she listens patiently to her father. Without hearing the words, he can clock the moment when her boys are put on the phone to speak to her. Her face lights up at the sound of their voices and she chatters away animatedly to them. The sudden phone call was a disturbance to him but not, he realizes, to her.
She's saying goodnight to Fred, he can tell, and then warning Tom not to stay up too late. He has a football match first thing. The phone call has warmed him as much as her. He hardly notices when she hangs up and puts it away, returning it to her back pocket.
She keeps her back to him, and he wonders if she's considering her options. Stay. Go. Jump in the river.
"The boys say hello," she says without turning around.
He's startled. "You told them you're here?"
"They're not bothered," she replies, and he hears a faint chuckle. "Mightn't say the same for Dad."
He takes a few steps toward her now, and the heat seems to rise from the ground between them as he begins to close the distance. She still doesn't turn around, and he realizes this is because she knows exactly what happens next. They've both waited so long for this moment, years of built up anticipation and tension, sleepless nights and fever dreams….
What if it fares better in their respective imaginations than it does when made manifest?
He's directly behind her now. She smells like…lavender and balsam, both somehow. The collar of her loose jumper is stretched out, hanging near the edge of her shoulder. He reaches out, fingers brushing her neck, fire on fire, and pushes the fabric out of the way so that it falls off her shoulder entirely. He stares at the exposed skin there for a moment, taking one last moment to imaginehow it will feel on his lips before he knows. He runs the tips of his fingers along the back of her neck and he can feel her shiver despite the heat emanating from her skin. He leans down, lips a millimeter from her skin, when he hears:
"Alec."
It's barely a word, barely out loud, a whisper of a feeling, but he waits to hear more until he instead feels her sigh, breath catching in her throat as she does so. It feels like permission and he brushes his lip across her bare shoulder. Then he dips his head further to press his lips more firmly into her skin, placing both hands at her hips, fingers curling around her waist.
She breathes in raggedly at first, electrified, then relaxes into him, leaning back flush against his body as he holds her in place and begins to suck at the taut skin of her shoulder blade. It feels right, somehow, that this is the first part of her body he should taste. He wants to take his time with her, catalogue the taste and feel of every inch. It's his reward for astounding patience and restraint. He can tell she's not in a hurry either. She's working hard to measure her breathing, but she's relishing every moment of it.
His rough hands slip further across her stomach, keeping her flush with him, and slowly his fingers brush the hem of her jumper and slip underneath. He bites her shoulder and then soothes the mark with his tongue.
"Ellie." His breath is hot against her ear, and he feels her inhale sharply. He gives her lobe a quick nibble and she emits a soft, unintelligible sound from the back of her throat.
He pauses, teasing her. He thinks he hears a faint whimper.
He smiles. "Come inside?"