Chapter 25

Hermione wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. Viktor's heart jumped, afraid she was gone again, before he noticed a slit of light under the bedroom door. He put away the food he'd bought, then knocked lightly and opened the door.

She was snuggled down into the pillow, with the blanket up to her chin, curled on one side. Her beautiful hair scattered around her face in curls. The glow from the bedside lamp illuminated her face; she would fill Botticelli's angels with envy. He stood in the door staring at her, his chest tight. She was here, she was real, and she had been waiting on him. He wanted to hold her, to let his heart pretend she was really his. He wanted to breathe in her scent and feel her soft skin. He just wanted to be close to her for hours, as if she were here every night. He wanted to warm himself in her light.

Tomorrow she would be gone again, and he would be falling toward the sea, his wings ruined.

But for tonight, he was going to fly toward the sun.

With a start, Hermione woke. She looked around the room, blinking, but nothing seemed out of place. Viktor was beside her, an arm around her waist, snoring slightly. For some reason, she found that light snore adorable. How strange; she'd always hated Ron's snoring.

The room was suddenly filled with light, and a roll of thunder sounded. That must have been what woke her up earlier. She closed her eyes, and she could hear the slight tip-tap-tap of rain on the windowsill.

Viktor shifted, tightening his hold on her, and nuzzled her hair. She whispered his name, but his eyes didn't open; he was still asleep.

Oh, she shouldn't.

She really shouldn't. She knew better than to attack a man while he was asleep.

He looked so good, with his hair ruffled and a dusky shadow on his jaw. The blanket was pushed down to his waist and his chest was rubbing against her body. She slid her hand down the clean line of his back, so smooth.

She felt hot, swollen. She kissed him, once, twice, three times, and he began to respond, slow sleepy kisses growing more insistent. She ran her hands up his chest, tangling her fingers in the hair, and he pulled her closer, dipping his mouth to her neck with a growl. He rolled her up on top of him, kissing her roughly, passionately. She could feel him growing aroused underneath her, and she broke the kiss and traced her tongue down his neck. His hands moved over her, caressing her back, her butt, slipping up under the shirt she'd worn to bed again, skimming lace panties. He moved a hand to cup her breast, and thunder boomed loudly above them, making him jump. His eyes opened, wide, surprised to find himself tangled up with her body.

He moaned slightly. "Oh, svetlina, beautiful girl, vhat are you doing to me?"

She didn't say anything, just pressed more hot kisses against his neck, his chest. He cupped her bottom with one large hand and stroked her back with the other, moving it up to stop her fevered kisses and tender caresses. He caught her mouth with his, kissing her deeply, then looked her in the eyes.

"Are you staying, love? Really staying? And do not say it unless you mean it."

She looked deep into his beautiful, drowning, midnight eyes, lit up by flashes of lightning, and saw her own need reflected there.

But her pride still wouldn't let her promise she could stay. Even after everything, she couldn't make a firm decision. He kissed her again, softer this time, and shifted her to his side. He murmured into her hair, "Go back to sleep, svetlina. I love you."

She was safe here, cradled beside Viktor, but outside, the storm raged on.

Viktor woke slowly to the sound of gentle raindrops on the window and noises in the kitchen. He lay in bed with his eyes closed, thinking of her, thinking of how perfect life would be if it were like this all the time. He imagined her waking him up in the night to make love (and actually being able to go through with it) and hearing her in the kitchen in the mornings. He knew just how he would tell her good morning, every day.

He got up and went to the kitchen. She had stolen his bathrobe off his closet door and was wrapped up in it. He would bet money she didn't have anything but that darn t-shirt on underneath it. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzled her neck, and whispered, "Good morning, svetlina."

She turned her head and he stole a kiss, cherishing the feel of her body cradled against him. "Did you sleep well? I don't remember when you came in, but I saw the groceries this morning."

"I vas sleeping vell, but somevone voke me up in the night with lecherous intentions."

Her cheeks reddened slightly. "I'm making up for it with crispy bacon."

"It better be darn good bacon," he said teasingly, letting her go so she could cook. "Vhat should I do?"

"What do you usually do in the mornings?"

"Sit at the table and ogle vhatever beautiful voman is fixing my breakfast that day." She shot him a skeptical look and he chuckled. He sat at the table and watched her. "Vell, that is vhat I vould do if I had beautiful vomen to fix me breakfast every day. Usually I skip it."

"Would you rather not have breakfast, then?"

"Oh, no! Is my favorite meal, actually. Vould like it even better vithout the robe."

She glanced at him, an indecipherable look, and brought the food over to the table. "Just out of curiosity, do you date much?"

"No. Vhy bother?"

"Why bother?" She seemed a bit stunned at this. He didn't understand why; dating seemed pointless to him. He didn't want anyone but her, and she was currently unavailable, although he was hoping that wouldn't be the case much longer.

She looked at him a long moment, then cocked her head and said, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

"Really? Who says?"

"Jane Austen."

"She must not know me very vell," he laughed. "I think she is vrong about most men, but I do happen to be in vant of a vife. I just happened to choose her a very long time ago." The last part was spoken softly, but he knew she would understand who he meant.

After breakfast, Hermione dressed for work while Viktor did the dishes, wonderful man. When she was finished, she went back to the kitchen and hugged him the way he had hugged her before breakfast. She pressed her cheek against his back, feeling the smooth skin and the muscles moving as he washed. Eyes closed, she breathed him in, letting the feeling of being close to him overwhelm her senses. In a perfect world, she would drop her no-good husband in a heartbeat and spend her life right here, like this. She wanted to. She needed to accept the fact that she was a failure at marriage and move on.

"I should probably tell you about last night," Viktor murmured.

"Probably," she answered, fascinated at the way his skin pebbled in goosebumps from her breath.

He wiped his hands on a towel and turned, wrapping his arms around her, being careful of her back. He had run his hands over it in bed last night, less than gently, she remembered. Funny how she hadn't even felt it; they were pretty bad bruises.

Viktor pressed a kiss against her forehead. She loved the way he was always touching and kissing her. It made her feel cherished. "Vould you like to go sit down for this story?" he asked.

She sighed. It was bad enough she'd have to sit down to hear it? No, he probably just wanted her to be comfortable, considerate as he was. She followed him to the living room and snuggled into his arms and his heavenly sofa. She took his hand between both of hers and played with it, tracing the long fingers, stroking the broad palm, testing the roughness of the calluses. Such sexy hands, so much texture to caress her body with. A woman's body, she corrected herself. She just wished it were hers. She brushed a kiss across his knuckles. There were strange little cuts on them.

"I vent to your home—" he started.

"Ron's home," she interrupted, and he smiled, lighting up his serious face briefly.

"I vent to Ron's home, and he vas there. Ve…had vords."

He had to be joking. She wouldn't believe that was all there was to it. With a pointed gaze, she said, "Ok, now tell me the rest of it."

He sighed. "How do I do it gently?" He looked lost in thought for a moment; finally, he said, "Shall ve say that Dionysus vas over for a visit?"

"He moved in quite a while ago."

"The girl from the party answered the door, vearing…vell, I do not know vhat she vas vearing, but she vas not vearing much. Very scary girl, that vone. She invited me…" he shuddered. "Anyvay, I vent inside vith her, and she vent to bathroom to vomit. Veasley and I had vords, and he threw a bottle at me. I caught it, of course, and then he jumped at me. I giff him a few hits. He deserved them, though. And I let him make the first move."

"Did it feel good?"

A huge grin spread across his face. "Oh, yes." She laughed, and he joined her, their voices forming a sweet, melodious sounded that seemed to echo home.