Impulses (85 page)

“Get yourself showered and dressed. I’ll wait for you outside,” his voice cracks and splinters through the lonesomeness of his words. And with the light reflecting off the wall of water in his eyes, he strides toward the bedroom door, closing it tightly behind him.

The cool spring breeze brushes through my hair as I stare blankly out of the window. Driving alongside Golden Gate Park with the hood down, I watch the trees rapidly passing by, along with my contemplations; here one minute, gone the next.

It seems every day I am warring with myself as I feel the
want
to grasp simple moments–– where my first thought isn’t about the past few weeks––with both hands, but guilt seeps through as a result of knowing that it’s all I should be thinking about.

How can I find a way to function and segregate my needs and musts? Even the notion of attempting to find a way to divide the two makes me feel like I am being disloyal.

I turn my head from the passing world, and study Hayden as he casually clutches the steering wheel with the fingertips of his left hand, his elbow propped up onto the door edge. He has his aviator sunglass perched on the bridge of his nose, his thick, rich brown hair pushed aside, and the chocolate curl hangs decadently over his brow. Not only can I sense his anxiety, it’s there for me to see as he automatically nibbles the thumbnail of his right hand.

Hayden. I know it’s me causing you to be like this. I’m sorry I just need…time.

He’s still the man that I feel in love with; he is still the man that I want to marry, he hasn’t changed one iota. It’s me…I don’t want to push him away. I need to try. I need to let him in…before it’s, too late. I know that.

Within twenty minutes we pull up in the parking lot. He shuts off the ignition and presses himself back into the exquisite, spicy-red leather seat. He twists to face me and flashes an unperturbed grin. “Take your time. There’s no need to rush, okay.” But the tone in his voice and the remote look in his eyes tell me that it’s all pretence.

Hearing the sound of the waves, and allowing it to fill me with happy memories of my sparse childhood vacations, I smile and exit the car.

As the leather straps of my white sandals swing in my grasp, I stroll leisurely along the shoreline, feeling my bare feet sinking into the sand, the salty sea breeze tickling my senses and whipping my hair around my head. I gather my haphazard tresses and sweep its length over my right shoulder.

Strolling along the length of the sands, I am flanked by rock faces along my right, the waves lapping in to my left, and The Golden Gate Bridge resides in the distance before me. Coming to a standstill at the very edge of where the waves begin to recede, I tip my head up to the spring sun and close my eyes. My body is overcome with sensations: the warmth of the sun heating my skin, the cool breeze whipping my ankle-length, white travelers skirt around my legs, each coarse grain of sand grazing in-between my toes as I flex them into the heating shoreline and the gushing, rough sound of the lapping waves coming up to meet me before slipping away. I am one with nature, reveling in her beauty.

I envision Hayden’s arms slipping around my waist, his chin resting upon my shoulder, his warm, minty breath upon my skin, and his husky luring voice as he whispers sweet nothings in my ear.

I need to let him back in. I must let him back in.

Heaving a sigh, I throw myself off the precipice I have been hovering over for what seems like an eternity, hoping and praying that he will catch me, like he did before. Opening my eyes, I fumble in my purse and retrieve my cell. I type a quick text to him.

Come and find me.

I drop it back into my maroon purse, and wait.

Minutes pass before I watch him as he saunters toward me, the wind combing through his mane. His silver cross hangs over his black V-neck sweater and gleams as the sun’s ray’s reflects from the smooth metal surface. His sweater accentuates the broadness of his shoulders, his jeans hanging low on his hips, and together, they emphasize the inverted triangle of his frame. It’s an intoxicating sight, to say the least.

“You found me,” I snigger, shouting over the raging sounds of the reaching tide as he approaches.

“I will always find you, Samantha,” he shouts over the ripping waves. “Even if I have to search every day for the rest of my life…” he takes four extra steps until he’s standing in front of me, towering over me with his tall, muscular physique and inebriating scent. Wide-eyed he adds, “You are far too precious for me to lose.”

The conviction behind his words thaws my heart and revives it again. I smile shyly, and resume walking the span of the shoreline.

We talk about everything and nothing, and by the time we know it, The Golden Gate Bridge stands less than hundred-metres away, drawing an end to our travels. Scattered rocks surround us like tiny landmasses. There isn’t much room to escape the beating waves as they wash along the once dried sand which causes your feet to sink in its unevenness.

“Shit––” I shriek as I observe the incoming surf inching its way towards us. There is nowhere to escape.

Hayden tips his head back and releases an unrelenting laugh. Grasping under my arms, he lifts me effortlessly and sets me on a rock, my feet no longer at risk of getting wet. He joins me on the rock-podium, and together, we watch the whitecaps submerge the ground beneath us with white foam from our own secluded island.

As the water retreats, I glimpse up at him, his eyes are full of every emotion that I feel, but too apprehensive to demonstrate. I have completely withdrawn. I feel like I have reverted into the girl that brushed off every compliment bestowed on her during the first few weeks. I’m nervous and awkward.

I know what I
have
to do, what a part of me
wants
to do, but I’m scared to accept it.

If I accept it, does that mean that I am choosing to forget my loss? What my body went through? What my heart and mind have and is still experiencing? I don’t know how to move on and not feel inundated by guilt––guilt for showing my love to my fiancé, but powerless to show it to my daughter.

Quelling my nerves and anxiety, I lift my right hand and fist it through his hair, subsequently pushing back that sexy lock which rests on his brow. I trail my hand down the side of his face, over his stubble, and brush my thumb over his lips. He gasps, and I can feel the power he is commanding to suppress the urge, and
not
lean into my touch.

“I’m ready to go now,” I mutter, dropping my arm heavily to my side.

“Okay.” Hayden steps down from our tiny island with poise then holds his arms out to me. I lean down to grasp his hands, but he seizes my underarms and pulls me down instead. I giggle as he twirls me around twice before setting my feet firmly into the wet sand.

“Ladies first,” he gestures for me to proceed.

Looking down at his hand, I grin. Instead of proceeding, I charily fit my hand over his palm. His eyes widen and I breathe in profoundly.
Everything starts with a stepping stone.
Lacing his fingers between mine, he tightens his grip and grazes his thumb over the back of my knuckles as we retrace our steps hand-in-hand.

Replete from our Chinese banquet, I lean back against the leather and cord surface of Hayden’s couch and take a warranted sip of Prosecco. Hayden sits opposite me with his legs crossed. He looks gorgeous as always with his hair still damp and slicked back perfectly from the shower, and both of us sporting our black fluffy robes thanks to our homeware shopping excursion.

The coffee table sits between us, the flames of four small candles flicker and glow romantically from each corner.

“Pick,” Hayden holds both his hands out, palms upward with a fortune cookie resting inside.

Pointing between them indecisive, I finally say, “That one,” and recover the one from his right hand. Squeezing it over the surface of the table, I straighten the slip of paper, read my fortune and stuff it in to the large front pocket of my robe.

“What did it say?”

“Something I already knew.” Not wanting to press on the subject, Hayden purses his lips and nods.

We throw each other the odd, gauche glance over the rim of our glasses as we sip at the golden liquid. The soft voice of Diana Ross croons through the speakers about reaching out to touch somebody’s hand. Hayden places his wine glass on the counter, and pushes himself up from the flooring with ease.

Holding his hand out to me, he murmurs darkly, “Dance with me.”

I gasp and fight the tears of profound love and desire that I have for this man, his voice, his commanding tone that weaves around his words, his appearance; it’s a heady combination.

Mimicking his movements, I place my glass on the surface, before placing my hand in his. Leading me around the table, he positions his free arm around my waist, holding the small of my back, while my hand rests snug in his large, masculine clutch. We sway and he twirls me in time with the music. As the song fades and is replaced with a sweet, innocent voice of an adolescent purring
Who’s Loving You,
I feel his hold on me strengthening, pulling me flush against his body with such intensity, such feeling, that all I can do is sink into his hold, and snuggle up to his chest as we rock gently in a lovers dance.

Tipping my head back, I gaze into his eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I completely lose myself in his loving scrutiny, and I don’t feel guilty. Swaying rhythmically, he lowers his head down to me until his brow is resting against my own.

He moves in and tenderly brushes his lips against mine. As soon as that briefest of connections is made, I feel him physically tremble as he forces himself back, and I hear a gasp pass his lips. It’s like he’s combatting his every desire, just for me, to not rush me…understanding me, even if it’s not clearly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, struggling to form two simple words that shouldn’t need to be said.

Gazing up at him under fanned-out lashes, I see a wet streak trailing down his cheek. I slip my right hand free. Raising my arm, I dry the dampness from his cheek and cradle the side of his face in my hand. Moistening my drying lips, I pull in my eyebrows and shake my head very slowly as we continue to rock to the music.

“Don’t be…” I whisper. Drawing his head down to me, I seal my mouth over his briefly. “I’m ready,” I breathe against his mouth.

Hayden withdraws and stares down at me with fixed, curious and expectant eyes. His brow wrinkles while his mouth twitches as he tucks my hair behind my ear.

“I’m ready to let you love me again.” And with that I push myself up onto my toes, and press my mouth to his, allowing myself to get lost in his touch, his caresses…to get lost in his love.

Without warning, he scoops me off my feet, and carries me down the hallway to the bedroom.

With his mouth still tenderly yet rapturously claiming mine, he sets me on my feet at the side of the bed. His stubble grazes me, but I welcome the burning sensation it leaves in its wake, like I always have done. Teeming with nerves, we untie one another’s robes and push it off each other’s shoulders, letting it fall heavily from our naked bodies.

Our eyes may be transfixed, but our hands reacquaint themselves with the shape and texture of one another’s surfaces as I glide my hands down Hayden’s neck, his shoulders, chest and sternum. Then down the crease that separates each bulging abdominal muscle. I tenderly press feather-light kisses down his neck, his throat, and chest and heart, while my hand slip through his trimmed, dark pubic hair.

Gasping and shuddering at the contact I make below his hips, he dips his head to splay sensuous kisses down my body. He guides me so the back of my legs press against the bedstead behind me, and carefully lowers me onto the mattress.

He’s hovering over me between my parted legs, his mouth and hands caressing every inch of my body. I flinch as he sinks his finger into me, but I adjust to the forgotten sensations after he eases inside me twice and circles me.

Gazing down with hooded eyes, the corner of his mouth twitches, “Are you sure?”

I cock my head minutely, pushing his wayward lock off his brow, and hold the nape of his neck to wrench him closer to me. I kiss him gently, meaningfully.

“Love me, Hayden. I need you to love me,” my pleading travels on a whisper against his parted lips.

I can’t remember the last time I was so nervous. I think Hayden understands because he seizes both my hands, interlocking his fingers between mine at the side of my head. His grip tightens with white knuckle force as he very carefully pierces through my entrance, and it’s like having my virginity taken all over again––this time, with a man worthy of such a gift.

The soft, innocent voice of the adolescent repeats itself yet again throughout the apartment. Hayden watches me raptly from above, as he pulls his hips back and eases into me again, and again and again. I’m lost as I study him from under the shield of his body, his lower lip trembling, his eyes burning, his body beginning to sheen.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he pants, his hands still locked in mine.

“I’ve missed you, too. I love you, Hayden.”

“I love you, beautiful. I’ll always love you.”

His commitment and devotion behind his words, the way his body slots into mine and works against me lovingly and tenderly after weeks of minimal physical and emotional contact, is my unraveling. I let go, yielding to my body’s demands as I climax around him, and in that one moment as I spiral down from my blissful release, my face irrigated with a barrage of warm, salty tears, I’m admitting to myself that I was lost, that I wasn’t me, and now I’m ready to begin the next chapter in my life.

I curl up in the protection and heat of his arms, my head rising and falling on his chest along with his shallow breaths. My body arches as he skims his fingers up and down the length of my spine, and over my sensitive spot at the midway point.

“How do you feel, beautiful?”

I smile wearily against the smoothness of his chest as I attempt to assimilate exactly how I am feeling. Lifting my head to face him, I draw tiny spiral shapes over his heart.