Chapter 24 - It's a Miracle for Anyone to Find Love
Tick, tick, tick. It was the sound that followed him everywhere these days. Harry wondered if the subtle noise still permeated his office. He had not been there much of late. It may have stopped. The car engine slowly ticked as the vehicle cooled down. The weight of the day sat heavily on his shoulders holding him in the driver's seat. The evening was melting away, sliding into a deeper night. It had been a very, very long day. Just when he thought he had done with everything, he had been summoned back to Thames House and subjected to an interrogation by the DG. How had Section D missed the assassination attempt on the Home Secretary? It was a question that Harry had been hard-pressed to answer. What possible explanation could he give for such an egregious breach of security? He had hedged and prevaricated, unable to divulge his actual movements. His ears still rang with the words that Towers had spat at him in the hospital. What bloody use are you?
When the devil calls the tune sooner or later he demands his due. After the events of the day, there would no doubt be a royal reckoning. As well as the security breach with the Home Secretary, Jim Coaver was dead. An ignoble end; tossed out the back of a truck. His friend deserved a better fate. Harry hung his head, overwhelmed by guilt and shame, fearing that when his end came he would deserve no better. Admittedly, there was a sense of relief that his old friend had not been running Elena. But it was small consolation.
Knowing that he had to eventually leave his car, Harry glanced up at his front door, It only served to remind him of his uninvited guest. Gavrik had shown up, bottle of vodka in hand. It was as if the Russian had known every setback that Harry had encountered that day and had come to deliver one more kick to a downed man. Sitting in a chair, sanctimoniously highlighting how fulfilling his life was compared to his British counterpart. Alone, no family, rattling around in a giant house. Harry had sat and listened feeling the sting of Gavrik's observations but giving no indication that they mattered. Now that he was alone, indignity surfaced, ire swelling within him, and his fingers curled into a fist. The final kicker was that Gavrik had known all along. He had known that Harry had run Elena. He had known about their affair. Harry slammed his fist on the steering wheel. Who was behind it all? Whoever it was, they had cranked the vice one more turn and soon Harry would be squeezed out.
Digging down to the pit of his being, Harry searched for motivation to move. Can't go on, must go on. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door and hefted himself out of the vehicle. His house should be a refuge, but it loomed before him an empty and uninviting shell. Made even more so by Gavrik's comments. He trudged up the path. Keep moving, one foot in front of the other. He couldn't give up yet. His back had been against the wall many times before. There must be a way out of this, something that he was missing. The key clicked as he turned it in the lock, its lonely echo vibrating in the vestibule. It made his heart ache for Scarlett. How he missed the mutt; her sharp bark, the patter of her feet as she ran to meet him, her slobbering kisses. The only girl who had ever truly loved him, flaws and all.
Once inside, Harry removed his overcoat, thankful to be rid of the heavy garment. He hung it on the hook, his hand resting on it for support. Make it through the night, he counselled himself, take the next day as it comes. Though he secretly wished tomorrow would never come. The hall lamp was ignored, as was the switch for the living room light. He knew the layout of the house, after all the was no one else around to misplace things. The curtains were still open, allowing light from a street lamp to spill into the room. The mullions on the window cast a shadow across the floor, a grid of intersecting bars. Harry quickly looked away, the symbol of the lines too acute. The outside light reflected off a row of cutglass decanters, waiting on the little credenza, their contents calling to him. Harry licked his lips in anticipation; balm to soothe a weary soul. Loosening the knot in his tie, he walked over to the tray and picked up a tumbler. Outside, the street was dark but for the odd pool of light. Shadows grew and receded, playing with Harry's mind. Something was off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Chastising his paranoia, he shook his head.
A prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck. Someone was in the house. He should have sensed it sooner. Obviously, his faculties had become dulled; the fallout from his preoccupation with the day's events. He frowned, his nose twitching slightly. Perhaps it was the unctuous odour left over from Gavrik's visit. No that wasn't it. His first thought was Sasha. After all, the man had previously entered the house. Perhaps he had discovered something on the stolen laptop. Before Harry could decide on a plan, the intruder spoke.
"I hope you don't mind that I helped myself.
Harry spun around. "Ruth?"
Wrapped in a black coat, his former analyst sat in an armchair, legs elegantly crossed, a glass of scotch in her hand. "I wasn't sure how long you would be. I keep bankers hours now. That is when I'm not breaking into embassies."
Gavrik had sat in the same chair, but Harry had to admit that she was a far more welcome and alluring guest. He blinked at the turn of events, his heart tentatively filling with joy.
"How did you..?"
"You broke into mine. I thought I'd return the favour."
Harry stood for a moment, empty glass in hand, taking a beat to process her presence.
"Is this a social call?"
"It's a call," she replied enigmatically.
The sense of joy proved all too fleeting and it was quickly replaced by a sense of dread. Why was she here? Hoping to mask his unease at her visit, Harry picked up the decanter and walked over to where Ruth sat. He raised the bottle offering her more. She nodded her assent, and he topped up her glass, pausing a moment to fill up his own. Ruth took a sip, coughing as the liquid burned down her throat.
"I'll never know what you see in this stuff."
"I remember you had quite a fine bottle in your house once."
Even in the darkness, Harry could see her eyes narrowing at him. What was she thinking? He reevaluated his tactics, deciding to stay away from the personal. For now. He sat down and placed the decanter of scotch on the low table that sat between them.
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to your house as you instructed."
"Ah, yes," he recalled. "When you had the laptop."
"I didn't realise that it was a prerequisite for admittance." She took a large swig of her whiskey.
"It's not," Harry hurriedly assured her, belatedly realising that he should not have voiced the last part of his thought.
They sat for a moment in tense silence, Harry deciding that it was better to wait for her to speak and not risk inadvertently stepping into anything else. He studied the woman who sat in his chair, drinking his scotch, holding his heart whether she knew it or not. A strange energy emitted from her. The foot of her crossed leg swung with barely suppressed agitation. She looked away from his scrutiny, glancing around the room.
"It's been a while since I've been here."
"That's not by my design." The personal again. He couldn't help himself.
Her foot ceased its agitated motion. "Harry, this has to stop."
Thoughtfully tapping his glass, Harry evaluated her comment, wondering if she meant their relationship, and then quickly concluding at that point there really was no relationship between them to stop, so she must mean his parallel operation. He bristled at the fact that she was still trying to thwart him.
"Events have not unfolded in the manner that I anticipated-"
"There was an attempt made on the Home Secretary's life," she cut him off. "And neither of us were there."
"There may have been some gaps in intelligence."
"His driver is dead, Harry. Tariq is dead. Jim Coaver is dead."
"Have you come to point out the bodies that lay at my feet? Because I can assure you that I am well aware of the damage that I've caused."
"Are you?"
It was Harry's turn to take a large draught of his scotch. He rolled the liquid around in his mouth while he reflected on her words. Not knowing how to defend himself against her question, he said nothing. Frustrated by his silence, Ruth continued to turn the screw.
"Isn't it fortunate though, that you've got me in the Home Office?"
Harry raised a cautious brow. Her caustic tone indicated that it was anything but fortunate that she was working with Towers. In fact, Harry was starting to get the distinct impression that this visit was not solely a call to get him to stop his operation.
"What do you mean?"
"It's obvious. You've placed me in a position where you can just call me up and I can get access to anything you want."
Harry sputtered. "I didn't place you there. You left."
"I wasn't going to leave until everything was resolved with the Russians. But you told me to go."
"For your own protection."
"But you pulled me back in." Slamming her tumbler on the table to make her point, Ruth leaned forward. "That's what you do with your assets, isn't it? Lie to them, find their weakness, exploit it."
Spurred by her accusations, Harry fired back. "How can you say that about me? I've never exploited you."
She shook her head at him. "That is not true."
The statement momentarily derailed his argument. She was right. In the beginning, he had used her numerous times. Her connections, intelligence, familial ties. But that was before the fall. He had no choice but to pull out his ace.
"I gave up a national secret for you."
"You made a choice between two of the country's intelligence assets."
His own words hit him like a slap. How many times would that line come back to bite him? It was unfair. He had done it for her, and she knew it, she had accused him of doing so. He raised a finger of warning, trying to contain his temper.
"You are twisting my words."
"You prayed on my loyalty. My feelings. My weakness. The Home Secretary's car was bombed and I wasn't there."
"I'm glad you weren't there."
She appeared not to hear him, her voice rising in pitch as she continued. "And for what? The laptop is gone. Everything is gone. But that's alright, I'll just scuttle back to the Home Office until you need me again."
"Ruth, that's not what I wanted."
"Oh, yes, that's right," she agreed sarcastically. "You also wanted me to crack the encryption."
Harry inhaled deeply, doing his best not to growl. "You, of all people, know that I don't always share my motives but you have to understand-"
"What, Harry? What am I supposed to understand?"
Pursing his lips, Harry kicked himself for not acknowledging how profoundly everything was affecting his former analyst, the attack on Towers, the break-in at the embassy, Sasha stealing the laptop at gunpoint, the return of a former lover. One of these things would be enough, but all of it in quick succession was a death by a thousand cuts. He should not have been so cavalier in his dismissing of her worries as reading too much into things. He retreated slightly, trying to keep his voice calm.
"I know the lives that I have ruined."
"Do you?"
The crack in her voice stung his heart. He had ruined her life many times. He knew that. He was not lacking in awareness. He was not a limited man.
"I have tried to the best of my ability to be truthful with you."
"I don't know what's true anymore. Between the secrets and the lies." The volcano of her frustration erupted, propelling her to stand. "I can't do this anymore."
Galvanized by her movement, Harry sprung from his seat, stopping her exit with his body, unable to think of what to say. Was this it then? The last knock-down drag-out fight to signify the end of it all. Everything that she had been holding back for weeks, possibly months, now coming to the fore. Anger and resentment, all the emotions that he had told himself that she did not possess or wilfully ignored. She was human. He was human. Couldn't she see that?
"You have to believe me-"
"Believe you? Why should I believe you?"
Inches away, she stood before him, chest heaving with anger, her eyes blazing. Beautiful and so very alive. Fingers twitching, Harry was overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and touch her, feel the beat of her heart against his, feed on her intensity. His hand clenched in a fist. It was all slipping away. So intent was he on keeping a hold on the past, he had let the future slide through his fingers. And for what? To end up alone in an empty house. He couldn't let her just walk away. He needed her. She had to believe him because….because…
"Because I love you."
The words fell from his mouth without premeditation. Time, the force that Harry had fought for so long to hold back, finally stood sill. A giant weight lifted from his chest, the breath in his lungs flowing a little deeper. The tension that had gripped him over the past weeks eased, and he stood amazed that the confession had fallen so easily from his lips. Ruth stared at him, frozen, her mouth open in surprise. For a moment, Harry believed that his declaration had served to de-escalate the argument, but he could see the wheels turning in her head. He held his breath waiting for the mind that was always in overdrive. Thought by thought, her original surprise turned back to outrage.
"You have no right to use those words."
But he did. He had every right. He had never used them before.
"It's the only thing I know to be true."
Her lips formed a rebuttal but nothing came out. Anger still emanated from her being but it fought with another emotion. She looked away from him, but she did not close him out completely. Perhaps there was still an opening for him. He only wanted to be understood.
"I sent you away to protect you. You've been used against me so many times. Mace. Mani. Lucas. And every time that I have lost you, by a stroke of good fortune you returned. I fear someday that may not happen. This time, you wanted to leave of your own recourse. I had to let you go."
Ruth shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looking past his shoulder. The fuel of her anger burned lower, but fumes still lingered, combined with the impulse to flee in the face of naked emotion. He didn't blame her. The weight that he had lifted from his heart had been transferred to her. It was a heavy burden for her to carry if the feelings were not reciprocated. She made no declaration in return. It didn't matter. He spoke plainly from his heart. An unsettlingly vulnerable place, but he was a man with nothing left to lose. She had already rejected his proposal, he was prepared for her to reject his heart, but he would say his piece. The distance between them shrank as he stepped closer. Her eyes widened, skittish, wary of his intent. Leaning in but not touching, his voice dark and liquid, he spoke near her ear.
"You are my weakness, Ruth. You bring me to my knees. Every time."
A fragile puff of air escaped her lips, and for a moment Harry worried that she would break down entirely as if her anger was the only thing holding her together. But she didn't unravel. Instead, she closed her eyes and inhaled a tremulous breath.
"I've left you many times. In my head," she whispered. " But I've never left you in my heart."
He wasn't sure who made the first move. Perhaps it was the forward pull he always felt toward her or the gravitational force that kept her in his orbit. In the space of a breath, she was in his arms. The intensity of the embrace took him off guard and he reeled, his senses overwhelmed by the feel of her next to him after so long apart. The scent of her hair, the way her head fit into the crook of his neck, each curve of her body that moulded so perfectly against his. His chest swelled with powerful emotion, and he dared not breathe for fear he might drown in it. This was the woman he wanted to hold, not a former lover from his distant past. This woman, who knew him as the man he was now. Her hands clutched at the back of his suit jacket, gripping and releasing, searching for support. His fingers grasped at her overcoat, assuring himself of the reality of her presence, fighting with the desire to remove the bulky impediment altogether. She spoke into his chest, her words slightly muffled.
"I'm sorry."
"You've got nothing to be sorry for," he assured her, his voice hoarse from suppressed emotions.
"I'm sorry for being so cold to you."
"No, don't be sorry for that."
"I'm sorry for not being stronger, for not being braver."
"You are incredibly brave."
As her words spilt out, Harry could feel the remaining tension leaving her body, as if she too had carried a great weight around. Confession was indeed good for the soul.
"I'm sorry for wasting what little time we had," she whispered.
Harry pulled his head back slightly. Her words set off an alarm. He couldn't help but ask. "Do you know something?"
She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him, apologetically. "Towers is absolutely livid. He's not going to intercede on your behalf."
Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. She didn't have to elaborate. The Americans would not let Jim Coaver's death go unpunished. No stranger to their tactics, Harry had saved others from their clutches in the past. It was the type of dilemma he relished, his mind usually ripe with ways to outmanoeuvre the Cousins. He looked down at Ruth. He had nothing. Mind blank, no plans or machinations, his only thought was to stand with her in that place forever. Ruth tilted her head, her eyes running over his face, sussing out his thoughts.
"This isn't going to end well, is it?" she asked softly.
Harry remained quiet, his hand rubbing slow circles over her back, comforting her, comforting himself. His lack of an answer prompted her to speak.
"I think it's alright if you lie to me this time."
He pulled her in closer, his lips brushing the top of her hair. "It's fine. It's all going to be fine."
A small noise halfway between a laugh and a sob escaped her throat. His arms tightened about her. It was all he could do. They continued to stand in the middle of his living room, the aloof personas that they had carried around for weeks slowly falling away. Walls that they had built to protect themselves from each other finally crumbling. Such a waste. His finger dug into her sides, pressing through the heavy fabric of her coat. He wanted to know her again.
Resting his cheek on her temple, he let the moment wash over him. Nothing need happen between them, he only wished for her to take off her coat and sit with him. They could reminisce. If they could not be happy in the present they could talk of a time when things were simpler. Well, relatively simpler. Harry inhaled deeply. Nothing was ever simple with them. Sadly he conceded, they could not stand there forever. His hands fell to her waist, creating a small pocket between them. Face soft in the dim light, Ruth tilted her chin up as she looked at him, her lips so very inviting. Harry lowered his head, his nose brushing hers, lips a breath apart. It would be so easy to steal a kiss. But one kiss would lead to another and another and he wouldn't stop. He would keep her all to himself. If she stayed, she would be aligning with him against the establishment. It wasn't fair to ask her to sacrifice her career. She had only started her position with the Home Office. She deserved a future. He let out a long sigh.
"Were you followed?"
"I don't think so."
"I know that I have people on me."
"No one knows I'm here. I came through the back door."
Proud of her stealth, but not ready to admit it, Harry made a mental note to check the security of his back door. He had thought the jumble of his unkempt garden was enough to deter intruders.
"If anyone sees you here…."
He trailed off leaving Ruth to fill in the rest. The lines of her face betrayed conflicting thoughts. She knew what he was hinting - it was safer for her to leave. She raised her hand, and placed it along his jaw, her thumb gently stroking the rise of his cheek. Her eyes were dark and deep, the usual blue eclipsed by enormous pupils. The dimness of the room? Desire? Harry did not know. She subtly raised herself and drew his head down. Her lips brushed against his in a not quite kiss. He tried to interpret her meaning. An invitation? A farewell? He collected his willpower and pulled back.
"You should go," he quietly urged. "You still might be able to have a proper life if you distance yourself from me."
Harry let his arms drop away and reluctantly stepped back. She watched him with a furrowed brow, eyes softly pleading. He looked back at her, equally melancholic, eyes beseeching her to understand.
"It's not what I want," he admitted. "But it's the right thing to do."
She let out a low breath but gave him no words of argument. He took her silence as agreement.
"I'll go upstairs, turn on the light. That might distract them. You can leave the way you came in."
He had given her up before, he could do it again. Harry retrieved his glass from the table and raised it to her in a rueful salute.
"Consolation."
Carrying the tumbler, he turned away and headed towards the stairs. Reaching the vestibule, he flicked on the lamp and checked the front door. The chain slid into its notch, links clattering in the silence. Returning to the lamp, he stood for a moment fingers lingering on the switch. It wasn't too late to stop her, turn around and ask her to come upstairs. With an air of finality, he tugged the chain, turning off the light. The pretence done, Harry walked up the stairs with a heavy step. Her life would be better without him, she had made a lovely home in Cyprus, she could build one again.
The hall was dark, the bedroom less so, streetlight dappled the room, filtered through the swaying trees. As promised, Harry flicked on the lamp, letting the light telegraph his location. He paused, his ears attuned to the creaks of the house, wondering if she had left. Setting down his glass, he shrugged off his suit jacket and laid it over a chair, taking a moment to appreciate the ritual, acknowledging that it soon may end. Taking up his tumbler once more, he walked to the window and looked out over the midnight street below. He couldn't discern any surveillance; that did not mean it wasn't there. A tiny bolt of adrenaline surged through him; the remembrance of standing by windows in similar rooms, frayed nerves, awaiting assets, drop-offs, lovers. An ancient hunger stirred in the pit of his stomach, the pull to prowl the streets and satiate it. Strange to feel it now, amidst disappointment and despair. He silently cursed whoever was watching him. A man with an unknown fate deserved to have one last night of pleasure. He pulled the drapes closed with an angry tug.
Harry turned back to the room, the glass almost slipping from his hand. Barely discernable in the darkness of his hallway, stood Ruth. Dazed, and a bit confused, Harry wondered if his appetite had conjured up a mirage. Not wanting to scare it away, he whispered into his empty room.
"I thought you left."
"You told me to go, but you never asked me what I wanted to do."
Harry placed his glass down, assuring himself that she was not an alcohol-induced hallucination. She took a step into the room, revealing that she was indeed a corporeal form. Somewhere along her journey, she had removed her outer layer.
"Where's your coat?"
"Downstairs. On the hook beside yours. Where it belongs."
He couldn't help but smile. Perhaps the first in a long time. He held out his hand to her.
"This is where you belong."
She walked over to him, her fingers sliding between his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Her pact was with him, she had chosen sides. She had come back. She always came back to him. A hint of optimism surged over Harry. With this woman at his side, things might turn out for the better after all. Perhaps the gods were not so heartless. Perhaps the night could offer up more. His eyes drifted over to the bed. It would be so easy to sweep his arm around her and drag her into the sheets. But he wasn't certain of the wisdom of that move. Rationally, he knew that they should talk about the past few weeks; resolve the lingering issues of trust and jealousy that lay between them. But he didn't want to. Talking always got him into trouble. He could parry with a politician, hold his own with any adversary, but for some reason with this woman, his words fell like clumsy bricks. He would have to work on that. Besides, if they talked she might have a few choice words for him that he did not want to hear. But their inability to have a normal conversation had led them to the predicament where they now found themselves. He mustered his courage.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asked, though she was well aware of the numerous infractions he had committed. It seemed it was part of his penance to list them all.
"I'm sorry for not listening to you. For telling you to leave. For not confiding in you about-"
"Shhh," she pressed a finger against his lips. "Let's not talk about it."
Relief flowed over Harry. Perhaps she too realised the minefield that their conversations created.
She leaned into him, her lips moving along the underside of his jaw as she murmured against his skin. "I just want to forget everything. Make me forget it all, Harry."
He stood for a moment, lost in the feel of her lips against his throat. He could do that, make her, forget. Hands pressing against the small of her back, his fingers curled as desire coursed through him. They could both forget. Each kiss ignited tiny sparks along his skin, stoaking a fire, warmth pooling in his abdomen and flowing lower. He dipped his head and tasted the corner of her mouth, placing kisses along her cheek, leisurely drinking her in. She was water to his aching thirst. A refuge where he could forget everything. He wanted to erase every image of that day. Jim's death, the meeting with Gavrik, all of it. He wanted to wipe his soul clean and be with her. That would take an eternity, and he had only been given a night. He would make it last as long as he could. His lips brushed against her ear.
"I missed you," he confessed into the tiny shell.
"I haven't been gone that long."
"You know what I mean."
And she did. The connection, the contentment of being held in another's arms, the comfort in knowing they were not alone.
The light of the room was too bright, too revealing; they were creatures of shadow. He shifted away from her and flicked off the lamp. The room fell into a welcoming darkness. Now, they were hidden from the world. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he moved, drawn in by the subtle scent that was uniquely her. Brushing against her, his hands found her waist, tugging at the belt that held her jacket together. Fingers sliding under the fabric, his thumbs brushed the curve of her breast, rising up to skim along her collarbone and trace over her shoulders. Imprinting all in his memory. He slipped the garment off, his first instinct being to let it drop to the floor, but he stopped himself. He was in this mess because he hadn't treated things as they deserved. With a careful motion, he folded the jacket and placed it on the chair to lie beside his. He wished that it had been there every night of the past few lonely weeks.
"Where it belongs."
She gave him an indulgent smile. "If we take this much time with all our clothes we'll never get anywhere."
"Hmm," he agreed and stepped back to her.
His lips ghosted over her throat, tasting the tender spots that he remembered, savouring her skin. She shivered, and he paused to suckle her flesh, igniting the same fire in her belly that she had set within him. He travelled to her mouth, teasing kisses, pulling away as she drew near. With feigned petulance, she grabbed his tie and gently tugged him in for a deeper kiss, mouths opening, tongues brushing. Her breath a little faster, as her fingers slid up the knot of his tie.
"Do you always were ties?"
"Only with you," he teased, though she knew he didn't. Stealing into her house after Albany, he had come to her in casual clothes. Free of the chains of his office. If he had his way he would do so again.
The knot released, Ruth slowly pulled the tie from his collar. Holding it in her hand, she rubbed the silk between her fingers and rightly assessed its value. She moved to place the tie on the chair, but Harry stopped her. It didn't matter, he had dozens of ties, and like she said if they devoted time hanging up their clothes they would never get anywhere. They had been standing still, going backwards, why waste time when there were other pleasures to be had.
"Forget about it," he whispered darkly.
The tie slid from her hand.
The buttons of his shirt opened as she released them one by tortuous one. The adam's apple in Harry's throat bobbed as he kept himself in check, torn between enjoying the languid pace of their disrobing and the desire to have her naked now. Her fingers glanced across the exposed area of his chest, his midriff, tugging the shirt free of his waistband, brushing against the skin above his belt buckle. Breath a little faster, skin pulling a little tighter, he looked down on her with hooded lids. She gave him a secret smile. She knew the effect she had on him. He inwardly bemoaned the small pleasures they had denied themselves. Stubborn mule. Obstinate man. It was his turn to reel her in, a little too forcefully, a little too fast. He met her lips hungrily, body colliding with hers, his arousal evident. They teetered for a moment, her balance thrown off, his legs not grounded enough to hold them. They toppled into the bed. Unperturbed by the fall, they took advantage of their horizontal state and continued to explore each other. They kissed until she pushed at him gently.
"I've still got my boots on."
He gave her a roguish grin. "I don't mind."
Ignoring his hint, Ruth moved to the edge of the bed. The zipper of her boot rasped as she pulled it down her leg, sending a frisson of lust down Harry's spine. She pulled it off revealing a shapely calf, and Harry sat mesmerised until he remembered his own shoes. Fingers fumbling, he cursed the knot in his shoelace and gave up in frustration toeing off his shoe instead. A small laugh bubbled from her lips and he could not help but smile in return. She tilted her head, gazing at him fondly, finding no fault in his awkwardness, relishing its normalcy. If only his lack of grace could guarantee more of these moments. The intensity of the physical slightly diminished, Harry's heart swelled with emotion. He reached out and cupped her face.
"If by some miracle this all works out…"
"Don't think about tomorrow." She leaned her cheek into his hand.
"I'm not asking you for anything."
"I know."
Her voice was soft and gentle, eyes full of adoration. Pools so deep, he fell into them, losing himself. The rise and fall of her chest grew more pronounced, and the smile faded from her face, lips parting in unspoken want. The moment ricocheted from bittersweet to infinitely charged. He wanted it all to last, but time tapped him on the shoulder and pushed him forward. He didn't want to take his time, he wanted it all right now. The adrenaline, the euphoria a release no matter how fleeting. In one sinuous move, he pushed her back onto the bed, covering her with his body. Lips tasting, coming together, parting. Her top, his shirt, swiftly removed and tossed aside. The garments landed beside each other on the floor, resting by his rumpled tie. His hand searched in the folds of her skirt, looking for a snap, a zipper, anything. He pushed the material over her thighs, meeting another barrier.
"Do you always wear tights," he asked, his mouth against hers.
"Only with you." Her lips smiled against his.
Acknowledging their limitations, they pulled apart slightly, and he left her to wiggle out of her skirt and tights while he removed his trousers. More clothes piled unceremoniously on the floor. Half sitting up, Harry slid his finger under the strap of her bra, sliding it down as he kissed her shoulder, his hand sneaking behind her back to release the clasp. She nodded and he removed it entirely. Her skin soft under his rough hands, he was struck by the notion of how vulnerable she was before him. He had sworn to protect her, yet he had sent her away. He must do better. He moved the sheets back and pulled her under with him, shielding her from the outside world. They lay for a moment, lips and limbs entangled, enjoying the feel of skin against skin. Hovering over her, he propped himself up on his elbow and looked down.
"What is it?" she softly asked.
"I do love you, you know."
"I know." Her fingers trailed up his spine and back down again. "I know what we are to each other."
His fingers traced along the delicate skin of her breast. He could feel the tattoo of her heart, beating for him.
"I want to know that you'll be alright."
"Don't think about it, Harry," she whispered silkily. " It's just us, here, right now."
Pulling his head down, she moved her mouth over his, arching her body, distracting him from his original intent. If they had been in such a position when she had cautioned him about being compromised, he would have gladly acquiesced to her demands. He returned her kisses, losing himself once again. Moving down her throat, the crook of her neck, across the swell of her breast, tongue encircling a nipple, taking it between his lips. Rewarded by her low moan, he gave his mind over to giving her pleasure. Free of tights and skirt, his hands roamed over her exposed flesh, hot and supple, He would make her forget. Fingers sliding between her thighs, he lost himself in her sighs and the quickening tempo of her breath. The heat of her skin burned against him, and the need to possess her grew, as her body ground against his.
This obsession, addiction, maddeningly infuriating woman that he could not live without.
Hard against her flesh, he dragged himself up her body, parting her legs. Opening to him, she nudged against him, the friction almost his undoing. Sliding into her, he let out a heavy breath, searching for control. Finding her hands, he gripped them, thoughts evaporating, all concentration drawn to the place where they were joined. Gently moving, he made every attempt to draw out the experience, indulging in deep, long kisses. In vain, he slowed down, his body moving of its own desire, friction and heat overwhelming him. He could find no reason to deny himself. Letting go of her hands, he drew her hips closer, her legs wrapping around him. Finding leverage, he thrust into her, panting, driving deeper. The edge drew near. Breath suspended, he thanked the gods for giving him this beautiful woman, imperfect man that he was. Hips rising to meet his, she urged him on, whispering his name. Nothing mattered, only her, Not the past or the future only this exquisite moment. Searing need overtook him and with long slow strokes, he spilt himself into her. She had taken everything from him. Spent, he collapsed
He lay on top of her, muscles too liquid to move. Uncaring of the weight, Ruth's hands gently ran over his sides, pressing soft kisses against his shoulder. He wanted to sleep in her arms forever, but he feared he might crush her. Through the pull of inertia, he managed to roll over. They lay beside each other, the room filled with the soft sound of their panting breaths. He found her hand lying between them and took it in his own, bringing it up to rest on his chest. His heart still thundered, and he was sure she could feel it. It was for her, all because of her. She turned on her side, and he adjusted his arm so she could lay on it. Sheets tangled around them, he worked the edge free and pulled them up over top of her. She nestled in closer. He kissed the top of her head. pleasantly satiated.
"Are you okay?"
She hummed the affirmative. Her leg found its way over his, trapping him. He was hers as much as she was his.
"I'm glad you didn't leave," he admitted huskily.
She adjusted herself and rested her chin on his chest."We always find our way back."
Playing with a strand of her hair, he gazed at her. She inhaled deeply, making herself ready to speak.
"I just wanted you to know…"
"What?" he softly prompted.
"I was thinking perhaps…"
Somehow he knew that she was going to talk about the future. She had cautioned him about doing that. So much uncertainty, everything hung in the balance, he felt that he should save her the pain of false hope.
"It would be foolish to make plans, wouldn't it?" He ran a finger along her cheek. "Until we know what's going to happen."
Licking her lips, she struggled for a moment with the desire to tell him what she had intended. After a moment, she nodded, silently agreeing with him. Shifting back down, she whispered words against his chest.
"I love you, Harry."
His heart swelled and his arms tighten around her, awash in a feeling of contentment. For once, he did as she asked. He closed his eyes and refused to think about tomorrow.