Chapter eight:
Jack had held a woman. He touched them within his arms, in a passionate embrace. But there seemed to be nothing which had prepared him to hold onto a woman such as Rose. Once she had consumed two dark beers, and unveiled something of the truth about herself; he had felt himself slowly slipping into something of a bliss with her. There was something luminous about her; just the way of her face at the beach was beautiful, and so now, as he was walking her up the steep stairs of the Black Bull to the room which she had secured for one more night, Jack could only feel his stomach pull knowing that they would have to part ways, with no idea of whether or not they would meet tomorrow. Or meet again. Rose, seemed to be out of sorts, chattering about something or other, which had divided Jack a million ways to keep up with her talk. It was nonsensical, as though her nerves were blinding her as much as his own were.
"This brings to mind a biography I read recently, about Roger Bacon, a Franciscan friar of the Middle Ages. My father was a great admirer of his work. Friar Bacon did a great deal of mechanical experimentation, which of course led some people to accuse him of sorcery. It was said that he once built a mechanical bronze head...'' Rose stopped abruptly, realising she had been chattering, and she reached the top of the staircase, entering a darkened abyss with only the gas-lamp in the hallway as a source of light. "There, you, see? This is what I do at balls and soirées. It's one of the reasons I'm not very good company, and why I am often encouraged to be quiet.''
Jack had begun to smile. "I thought talking was encouraged at such affairs."
''No, not the kind of talking that I do.'' She went on ahead, quietly and taking paces slower than intended. ''I find myself enthralled with literature and art. Perhaps, that's my escapism from the life in which I am so used to leading. If I discuss such a topic at dinner, Cal or my mother are quick to shush me as though I am a screaming child.'' In the dimness, she found his sparkling eyes and how set his mouth was.
''I would encourage it.'' Jack told her. Upon seeing her face, soften, he sensed that she was about to say something off topic and so, he silenced himself to allow her to speak freely.
"I must go soon from Southampton," Rose said uneasily. "My mother will be very distressed to find me missing without even so much as a word." Rose sighed. ''And, Cal...'' she didn't finish what she was saying, perhaps there would not be a care of what he thought. Felt. Must he care?
The blonde-haired stranger contemplated her for what seemed a very long time. "I'm not finished yet," he said with stunning casualness. As if no one ever refused him anything. As if he planned to keep her with him for as long as he wished.
Rose took a deep breath. "Nevertheless, I am leaving, tomorrow," she said calmly, and went to the door of the room which she was occupying.
He reached it at the same time she did, one flattening against the door panel. Alarm jolted through her, and she turned to face him. A swift, frantic throbbing awakened in her throat and wrists and the backs of her knees. He was standing much too close, his long, hard body nearly touching hers. She shrank against the wall, partly of fear. Of strange expectations. Of everything which had occurred and it all swam about in one huge circle within her mind. It was like she was drowning in something. Perhaps his eyes. Or the softness of his voice.
"You cannot stay here, alone," he said softly, "I have to know you'll be all right.''
Rose stiffened. "This is reputable hotel," she said. "I have nothing to fear.''
''Maybe not.'' Jack stilled. His voice ever so soft. ''But I fear it for you.''
''Whyever should it be-'' Rose started, but as soon as he had come closer, she lost her nerve to speak. Suddenly, she was aware of how her dress exposed her shoulder. How her heart was beating within her chest. How shallow her breathing was. How she could feel the warmth of Jack breathing against her. It was all some sort of strange torture. ''Why should you be concerned with such a trivial matter, I thank you for the help and guidance of yesterday and today. I have trusted you with my inner most thoughts. I am thankful for your discretion and hope that when we part ways it shall be with fondness.''
Jack exhaled, sighing, leaning his hand against the wooden doorframe near her cheek and she felt the heat from his, just right there.
''Rose, you're no picnic. You're a spoilt little brat. I know how most of your life would have been so sheltered that you struggled to even order a room. Order a beer. Speak to someone without taking so much offense-''
''-Jack, I-'' Rose moved away from the doorframe but Jack took her hands, carefully to centre her and rest her against it. Suddenly, she was trapped. His eyes, darker in the dimness sparkled, gazing into her own to gauge and extract everything from her. He already seemed to read her insides.
''I know how this world works. I know how you must have looked at me.'' He exhaled. ''Yesterday, you said that you knew what I was thinking. That I had thought of you as some poor, little rich girl, without a single thought in her head but the truth is, I never thought of that. I thought of you. What made you wish to move away from the ship. What made you feel that you were so crowded and confined that you had to leave. Even for one second.''
Rose darted her eyes about the darkness, before settling them upon Jack, with a slight hesitance knowing just how well he would watch her. With a dampness coming to her eyes, she raised her chin. ''Well, now you do know.''
Inside, she was shaking. The cards were stacked against them both; a first-class lady and a lower-class, bohemian boy who seemed to be more than enchanted by her, just as she was him. She wished to run; felt her feet itch to move, but there was something about the way he watched her, with such a beautiful vigilance, as though he was waiting for her. To speak. To move. Her breathing became hitched, and she was suddenly aware of just how close he had grown to her.
''Yes, and I know that everything which you have waiting for you has made you unhappy.''
''Yes.''
''And I know that I have nothing to offer to you. I could never be rich. Never be anything other than a travelling artist.''
Listening, intently, she responded without meaning to. ''That would never matter.'' But that shouldn't even be a point. She was engaged.
The air turned slightly awkward and Rose felt the discomfort. Her reply had sent waves down Jack's stomach. Her heart was now open, wider than she had ever believed that it could be. Slowly, her gaze wavered downwards to where her hands rested upon the rope she had been leaning against and Jack's hand was just beside her own. There had been a dawning realisation and perhaps even a pivotal point of her relationship with the stranger beside her. Jack Dawson fascinated her; from his stories of travelling the world so freely, he was almost a speck of dust which barely had time to settle before it would be blown onto its next adventure. Her attempts to feel as though she had experienced anything other than becoming an ornamental figure were feeble and the vast spaces between them seemed to be dawning upon her but then, she could almost feel his breathe upon her cheek. It caused goose bumps to run across her chest, her arms and she shivered.
She should say goodnight—or goodbye. For they could never be anything other than two opposites who met aboard by complete chance and had a shared interest in art, in expression and having fun. He had allowed her to dip her toe into another world and whilst she had relished in it, been able to act as the way she had wanted and what felt natural to her. Inside her mind, she felt as though she was a modern woman. A woman who wished to smoke, to drink and to dance as she wished to.
And before she could think, or move, or breathe, he bent his head and took her mouth with his.
Stunned, Rose went motionless beneath the soft, burning kiss, so subtle in its demand that she wasn't aware of the moment her own lips parted. His hands came to her jaw, cradling, angling her face upward.
One arm slid around her, bringing her body fully against him. With every breath, she drew in an enticing scent, an incense clean linen and male skin. She should have struggled in his arms . . . but his mouth was so tenderly persuasive, erotic, imparting messages of peril and promise, layering sensations like silken gauze until she shivered and arched away from him.
"No," she said weakly.
Jack gripped her chin carefully, forcing her to look at him. They both went still. As Rose met his searching gaze, she saw a flash of baffled animosity, as if he had just made some unwelcome discovery. Jack let go of her with great care and she went to the door. She was stiff. Breathless. Motionless. What else could she be?
"They've got you trapped, Rose. You've got such a fire in you. Your spirit. Your wild nature. Your passion. It's not meant for that world."
Rose wished to laugh, hard. How could a mere stranger have such an evaluation of her after just one day. How could he seemed to have read every single facet of her mind and soul. Yet, they had spent the entire day together; speaking of their dreams and passion. She had shared thoughts with him that she never would dream of to Cal for it would cause him to laugh, to mind what she read from that moment on and accuse her of owning such a vivid imagination for a girl so young and educated to such a high degree. It was as though having an interest which differed from Cal's, or one that didn't involve needlework or the pianoforte was the Devil's work. Cal could offer the quiet, ordinary, sane life she apparently had to long for within her world. He was aboard the Titanic, without her. He would find her again and their engagement would resume it had to, hadn't it? There was no other option for her.
Jack saw her chest rise and fall and, in that moment, knew she felt something, her eyes had glazed over. He took another step back and as he went for the stairs, he felt as though he couldn't leave. She was trying so hard to not meet his gaze.
Jack had spent the whole night before combing over fine details of the evening whilst he lay beneath the stars. Sleep refused to come to him while his mind was so heavy with thoughts of her. She was intoxicating, simply been so close to her made him feel a rush of things he never had before and partly that was why he didn't want to just allow her to walk away. The sheer thought of kissing her had nagged at him and now that he had...
"Mr. Dawson, please don't take this as an affront, but you don't have the qualities I seek in a husband."
"A husband?'' He queried, completely overcome.
Rose gave a shaky laugh. "I think you could talk a fish out of its skin," she told him. "But still, I don't-" She felt the imprint of his mouth even after he drew back, her reluctant sensation. He could feel the adrenaline which had once kept him driven to the point of madness now turn to nerves. He didn't fear doing the wrong thing for he knew he had to tell her how he felt. He simply feared rejection. She wouldn't run away with him, that was a stupid idiotic dream. He wanted to see her safe that was the main thing. He wanted her to accept him help to escape the chains of upper class. The day had been spent laying the foundation of a great friendship but he couldn't help but think there could be more. That was the main thing which had niggled at him through the night and into the early morning.
''God, I don't even know anything, other than the fact that I care about you.'' Jack stroked his thumb over her skin. It was soft to touch. He was in too deep with her and telling her such things he knew he was at risk. ''I hear you talking about your life. Filled with this misery that has consumed you for how long.'' He sighed, not giving her a chance to answer. ''Life is too short for that.''
''It's not up to you to save me from any of that, Jack.''
Rose raised her hand to touch his. It lingered as she searched his face. He was offering her a way out. One which she never had been given before. He was serious; she could see so in his face.
''You're right, that is something that only you can do.''
His voice was etched with hopefulness. She grasped his hand tighter. His closeness left her paralysed to the spot. He had such an effect on her it was frightening.
She couldn't breathe; his face was an inch or so from hers. If she stayed any longer, the tension would grow stronger. She had to stick to her word. Her eyes met his, glancing to his lips and then back as her stomach sank at the utter realisation of one thing; she could never leave her world. Whilst she still had some rein on herself, she found her voice.
''I think you should leave.''
Jack swallowed harshly and loosened his grip on her delicate hand. He sighed, running his right hand through his hair as a sign of his frustrations. Rose lowered her lashes; she couldn't even look at him. Why did it feel as though she was forcing herself to do this?
''Rose?'' His voice was laced with the same soft hope.
''No!'' She sharply lifted her face to his. ''Jack, you have no right to be here.''
Why was pushing him away the easier option?
"Spend an afternoon with me," he urged. "Tomorrow.''
"No, Jack. I'm-"
She came towards him just once, a small and hesitant step.
"An hour?" he whispered. He bent to her again, and she turned her face away in confusion but he kissed her neck instead, just once.
No one had ever done such a thing, even Cal. Who would have thought it would feel so delicious? Dazed, Rose let her head fall back, her body accepting the steady support of his arms. He searched her throat with devastating care, softly. His hand cradled her nape, the pad of his thumb tracing the satiny edge of her hairline. As her balance faltered, she reached around his neck. He was so gentle, teasing colour to the surface of her skin, chasing little shivers with his mouth. Blindly she followed, wanting the taste of him. As she angled her face toward his, her lips grazed the un-shaven surface of his jaw. His breath caught.
She was so lost in his face, those eyes that she trusted so much. His heartbeat grew stronger and quicker. He threw caution to the wind and placed his left hand on the flat of her face, she closed her eyes for just a second to take in the moment. He stroked it against her soft skin, she felt the flutters, the beautiful feeling which she knew she would only ever have with Jack. Rose went weak, melting against him as he kissed her slowly. The tip of his tongue entered, played gently, and the feel of it was so strange and intimate and tantalising that a wild tremor ran through her. His mouth lifted at once.
"I'm sorry. Did I frighten you?"
Rose couldn't seem to think of an answer. It wasn't that he had frightened her, more that he had given her a glimpse of a vast erotic territory she had never encountered before. Even in her inexperience, she comprehended that this man had the power to turn her inside out with pleasure. And that was not something she had ever considered or bargained for. She tried to swallow the heartbeat that had ascended in her throat. Her lips felt stung and swollen. Her body throbbed in unfamiliar places. Jack framed her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her crimson cheeks. The outside world seemed to disappear.
"I don't want to scare you." Jack lowered his hands, setting her free.
Rose stumbled; her knees astonishingly weak. Jack grabbed her in a swift reflex, pulling her back against him. "Easy." She heard him laugh softly. "My fault. I shouldn't have kissed you like that."
"You're right," she said, her sense of humour tentatively reasserting itself. "I should give you a set-down . . . slap you or something... what is the usual response from ladies you've taken liberties with?"
"I don't kiss ladies very often.'' Jack told her, quietly, and she believed him. ''I think girls encourage it.''
"No," she said. "I'm not going to encourage you."
Jack softened, his face growing serious. ''Honestly, I haven't taken liberties like this before.''
They faced each other in darkness relieved only by the slivers of light shed by upper floor windows. How capricious life was, Rose thought. She should have been dancing with Cal tonight aboard a ship. But now she was in the shadows with a stranger.
Interesting, that she should be so in love with one man and yet find another so compelling. But Jack Dawson was one of the most fascinating people she had ever met, with so many layers of charm and drive that she couldn't fathom what kind of man he really was. She wondered what he was like in his private moments. Wondered if he had truly never lain with those French women. Wondered if his heart had ever belonged to another woman. So much wondering of a stranger who she seemed to know so well, and he know her in return.
She was almost sorry she would never find out any of her wondering.
"Give me a chance," Jack urged. "I'll do whatever you ask."
As their gazes caught and held in the shadows, Rose realised that he actually meant it. "How large of a chance?" she asked.
Jack tilted his head a little, studying her intently. "Ask for anything."
"What if I wanted a castle?"
"Done," he said promptly, clearly joking.
"Actually, I don't want a castle. Too drafty. What about a dance?''
"Certainly. I can't promise that I won't stand on your feet. I don't know many steps but I can make dance with you.''
Rose began to smile, when a few minutes earlier she had thought she would never smile again. She felt a surge of liking and gratitude. She couldn't think of anyone else who would have been able to console her in these circumstances. But the smile turned bitter-sweet as she looked up at him once more.
"Thank you," she said. "But I'm afraid no one can give me the one thing I truly want."
Rising on her toes, she pressed her lips sweetly to his cheek. It was a friendly kiss. A good-bye kiss.
Jack looked down at her intently. His gaze flicked to something beyond her, before his mouth came down over hers with smouldering demand. Confounded by his sudden aggression, thrown off balance, she reached out for him reflexively. It was the wrong reaction, the wrong time and place. wrong to feel a surge of pleasure as he tasted and sweetly delved inside her mouth . . . but, as she was discovering, there were some temptations impossible to resist. And his kisses seemed to wring a helpless response from every part of her, a bonfire of feeling. She couldn't catch up with her own pulse, her own breath. Her nerves lit with sparks of sensation whilst stars cascaded everything about her.
''I can't just walk away and leave you alone.''
''All right.'' She managed, ''one day.''
The engagement ring upon her finger seemed to be forgotten temporarily...
