Thanks to everyone who is still reading this. :)
Ruth stands in the kitchen, absently stirring a cup of tea. She'd woken, still curled against Harry, with the events of the last two days at the forefront of her mind. She was finding it difficult to comprehend that the patient, gentle man who had made a tearful little girl smile was the same man who had confessed to murdering two FSB officers. Propping herself up on one elbow, she'd studied him. In sleep, he looked younger, the weariness that plagued him less evident; however, the lines and marks on his face couldn't provide the answers to her questions.
Eventually, she'd felt the need to get away from him; not because of any sense of revulsion but because of the lack of it. She feels strangely at ease with his admission, confident that whatever he isn't telling her will explain his actions. Paradoxically though, she still needs him to tell her everything.
She takes a sip of her tea, grimaces, and tips it down the sink. She turns around to switch the kettle on and is visibly startled when she sees Harry standing in the doorway, watching her.
"You made me jump."
"Sorry."
"It's all right," she smiles. "I didn't realise you were awake. Do you want any breakfast?"
"No, thank you." He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen. "I've got something for you."
In his outstretched hand is a small box, wrapped in shiny silver paper and adorned with tightly-curled thin ribbon.
"I-I bought it some time ago…" He stops, the uncertainty in his voice mirrored in his eyes.
Ruth dries her hands before taking the gift from him. His fingers are trembling and she gives them a reassuring squeeze. She carefully unwraps the package, revealing a midnight blue box with the name of a London jeweller neatly inscribed in gold lettering on the top. Her fingers are shaking now, and she fumbles with the lid before slowly unfurling the thick tissue paper to reveal the contents. She gently sets the box down on the worktop and removes the silver bangle it contains.
Harry watches her every move. "Do you like it?" he asks, quietly.
"It-it's beautiful." Her voice is choked with emotion.
He moves closer to her.
"You know what it is, don't you?" he offers after a long silence. "It's a Möbius band-"
"I know." She smiles at him but it's obvious tears are not far away. "And I also know," she continues, slowly turning the bangle around so she can read the inscription on it, "that it's so much more than that."
"Thou art my life, my love, my heart." His voice is barely audible as he speaks the words inscribed on the piece of jewellery.
"The very eyes of me; and has command of every part, to live and die for thee," she continues, shakily. "Hesperides."
"I knew you'd recognise the quote." There is no arrogance in his triumph; he is genuinely pleased his intuition was correct.
"When did you buy it?"
"Ah," he replies, slightly bashfully. "The er, the day after we went out for dinner. I…I saw it in the jeweller's window and I couldn't resist." He shifts from one foot to the other and looks down at the floor. "You know me," he continues, finally lifting his gaze to her again, "presumptuous to a fault."
Ruth chews on her bottom lip, willing herself not to cry. She knows how difficult it was for him to give those few words of explanation. She also knows how much she hurt him when she rejected his advances. Her fingers twist the bangle around and around her wrist and it's not until she hears him speak that she realises she's crying.
"I'm sorry. It wasn't meant to upset you." He tentatively places his hands on her face and gently wipes away her tears with his thumbs. "Please don't cry; you'll set me off."
His comment draws a small laugh from her before she pulls away from him, suddenly concerned about her appearance. "God, I must look a right mess."
"No you don't. You're beautiful. Always beautiful."
"Harry," she sighs, and he's not sure whether she's embarrassed or exasperated.
"I'm not trying to buy your affection," he says, "not with compliments or that," he adds, indicating the bangle.
"I know." She moves closer to him and rests her hands on his chest. "I can't believe you didn't return it to the jewellers…after everything I…after everything that happened."
He shrugs. "I bought it for you and I was determined that you were going to have it. Returning it would have been tantamount to admitting that I'd given up on you."
"Stubborn-"
"Tenacious," he cuts in. "I couldn't accept the possibility that I'd never see you again," he continues, more seriously.
She smiles and wraps her arms around him. Holding him tells him more than any words can.
He leans into her embrace, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I'm so lost without you, Ruth. So lost."
And now she understands why he's here, what he's searching for. She places a soft kiss on the side of his face, feeling his skin moving under her lips as he turns his head. The next sensation is his mouth gently pressing against hers. He waits, letting her decide what will happen next.
She knows this is where she has to choose, and she knows it's about more than kissing him. If she rejects him again, there won't be another chance. He will leave her in her new life and go back to London; she'll never see him again. That realisation is enough to quell her uncertainty and her lips slide over his, warm and sweet, encouraging him to respond, which he does, passionately.
They stumble slightly, each of them trying to get closer to the other. He moves one hand to the back of her head and the other to the base of her spine so he can press her more firmly against him as they kiss. Her fingers fumble under the material of his shirt, the need to touch his skin overpowering.
Without either of them suggesting it or taking the lead, they move to the bedroom.
"This is not the reason I came here, Ruth. You do believe me, don't you?" Harry asks, trying to focus on something other than his desire for her.
"Yes, I believe you." Her arms are around his neck and her teeth scrape lightly over his jaw line. "You want to though, don't you. I know you do."
The seductive tone of her voice fires up his lust again but he still needs to give her a chance to change her mind.
"You don't have to do this for me," he says, concentrating on every word as one of her hands works to unfasten his jeans.
"Maybe I'm doing it for me," she replies, backing him towards the bed.
He sits down on the edge of the mattress and watches Ruth as she starts to undress. He finds himself mirroring her actions and attempts to unbutton his shirt. He gives up when his co-ordination deserts him, tugging the half-opened garment over his head.
Ruth helps him remove the rest of his clothes and sits facing him on the bed. When he doesn't move, she shuffles closer to him until she is sitting between his thighs, and loosely wraps her legs around his hips. She takes hold of his hands and places them on her waist, applying slight pressure. His fingers flex a little and then still.
"Please," she asks, quietly.
His hands move again, tentatively exploring her skin, and she trembles. He looks at her, clearly uncertain, but she reassures him with a smile.
The hesitancy has gone now; his touch is still light but more assured. He leans back and, for the first time, looks at her, properly, taking in every detail of her body. She watches him, and waits.
When his lips connect with her skin again, all the emotion she has held back for so long surfaces. She holds him against her and whispers his name, over and over.
"Do you want to stop?"
She rests her hands on his shoulders. "No, I-I just need a moment…"
"We don't have to," he says, as her eyes brim with tears.
She shakes her head. "I want to do this." She shifts slightly, catching him unaware and making his body jerk. "I need to do this," she whispers, resting her forehead against his.
There is a moment of absolute stillness before she kisses him. At the same time, she settles more firmly onto him, causing him to gasp into her mouth. His hands move erratically over her back, the reality of being with her like this, overwhelming.
They establish the gentlest of rhythms, barely moving against each other, lost in sensation. When it's no longer enough for her, when his instincts tell him she needs more, his hands move to her buttocks, lifting her, fractionally.
"Now?" he asks.
"Now."
His mouth seeks out a taught nipple, gently sucking on it. She's distracted by this new pleasure until she feels the first long, deep stroke as he fills her, completely.
She gives herself to him; his touch, his body, his strength; wanting nothing more than for him to be part of her, and her part of him.
He surrenders to her; her touch, her body, her trust. She has never failed him, never forgotten him. He gives her the only thing he has; himself.
There will be one more chapter..