Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  I lie there, my eyes adjusting to the now dark room. I consider saying something else, asking if he’s still awake or something. Instead, I bite my tongue and let the sounds of the park around us lull me to sleep.

  The bug-to-net ratio when I awake is significantly higher than my previous nights in Africa. There’s a particularly large brown bug crawling upward right over my head.

  “Adam,” I breathe in a hushed whisper as though the sound of my voice might alert this giant bug that I am aware of its presence.

  “Mmm,” is all I get in reply as I hear the rustle of his sheets.

  I keep my eyes on gigantor.

  “Adam,” I whisper again, just a fraction louder than the first time.

  “Hmm?” The slight rise at the end of his mumble signifies a question.

  “There’s a really big bug on my net.”

  I hear more rustling and the sound of his feet touching the ground. My eyes are still locked on the slow upward trek of the bug. I squeak when Adam climbs on my bed, straddling me, to get a closer look at the bug. He moves the net around, so he can get a look at the backside of the bug. He looks down at me as I clutch my sheets to my chest.

  “Harmless.”

  “Can you still get rid of it?” I plead.

  His mouth twitches. He eases off my bed and puts on his sneakers before slipping under the net. He grabs a magazine from the top of the dresser and approaches the bug.

  I sit up, eyes wide. “You aren’t going to kill it, are you?”

  He stops mid-stride and puts a hand on his hip. “No, I’m not going to kill it.”

  I feel too close to the bug and move over to Adam’s bed. He shakes his head at me before sliding the magazine under the bug, between it and the net. Once it’s all the way on the magazine, Adam calmly walks it over to the balcony and shakes it onto the railing.

  He sets the magazine back where he found it before ducking back under the net. I’m still sitting on his bed. He looks at me and shrugs before stepping out of his shoes and into my bed. He flops onto his belly, burying his face into my pillow.

  “That’s my bed,” I say, feeling silly for stating the obvious.

  He turns his head, so he’s facing me. “And you’re on mine.”

  He’s right. I am on his bed, the bed where he spent last night shirtless. I can’t help myself. I lower myself until my head rests on his pillow. I face him.

  He raises a brow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Does he want me to ask him for permission to be on his bed? “Can I lie on your bed?” I ask softly.

  His eyes widen. “You never have to ask that.”

  My breath catches in my throat.

  “I meant, are you going to thank me for getting rid of your bug?”

  “Oh…” I half laugh, half stammer, feeling like an idiot. “Thank you, Adam.”

  I relax further onto his pillow, quietly inhaling his scent. What did he mean by I never have to ask? He wouldn’t lie with me before.

  After the bungee-jumping incident, I started feeling less annoyed by him. Since the first night I met him, I’d found him attractive, but his bossiness put me off. Am I starting to like him?

  I peer over at him. His eyes are closed, and he looks like he’s already fallen back asleep in my bed. I envy that—the ability to turn off your brain and just sleep.

  Right now, looking at him, my mind races as I try to reconcile how I feel about him. My internal pro and con lists are interrupted by the sound of an alarm. I sit up and look on the bedside table as the noise gets louder.

  Adam lifts his head from my pillow and squints at me. Recognizing the alarm, he moves from my bed to his, lying across my stomach. His head and arms reach to the other side of the bed.

  I’m frozen. His weight is pinning me beneath him. Last night, he dropped his jacket and jeans on the floor next to the bed. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and turns off the alarm before inching off of me.

  “Sorry about that,” he manages, rubbing the back of his head.

  I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. I look away when I say, “It’s okay.”

  “Ready for a safari?” he asks, rubbing his hands together.

  I nod. “Do you want the shower first?”

  He leans back against my bed. “You can go first, so you can wake up,” he teases.

  I slide off his bed as he starts opening the net and using the ties around our bedposts to secure it. I slip past him and grab my toiletry bag before heading to the bathroom.

  I’ve just set everything out on the counter when I realize I forgot the shirt I’m going to wear today. I walk back out into our room and see him moving the pillow from my bed and switching it with the pillow from his.

  He turns to see me watching him. His eyes are bold and unapologetic as he tells me, “I liked smelling you as I fell asleep.”

  I say nothing. I just walk over to my bag to fetch the shirt I forgot before speed walking back into the bathroom. To say I’m turned on is an understatement.

  My solo shower might have been the most erotic of my life as I imagine his hands and his lips all over me. I touch myself, wishing he were in there with me. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as I shiver under the warm stream of water.

  Knowing that he’s waiting out there, I pull myself together and rush to get ready. I tug at my hair, willing it to grow long enough so that I can pull it back into a ponytail. Giving up, I tuck my hair behind my ears and walk back into our room.

  Adam is standing over by his bed, taking clothes from his suitcase and putting them into a white garment bag. “Grabbed an extra one for you if you need any laundry done,” he says, lifting another white bag.

  “Thanks.” I walk over to him and reach for the bag.

  Getting laundry done for us is a giant perk of this lodge. He finishes loading up his bag before heading to the bathroom. I’m still in awe of how little time he needs to get ready.

  We go have breakfast before meeting our tour guide. We ride in an open-top, almost military Jeep. Our guide carries a shotgun and rides in the front passenger seat. There’s a couple on our tour sitting on the middle bench. Adam and I are behind them.

  Chelle, the Mrs., turns around and asks us how long we’ve been together. Adam wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer to him, as he tells her we’ve been together for a year, and we’re here to celebrate our first anniversary. I start to correct him, but he covers my mouth with his hand.

  While the roads we travel aren’t paved, they’re smoothed by use. We head west toward a popular watering hole in search of zebra or elephants. Our only rule for the tour is to remain in the vehicle. They provide binoculars. I spend most of the tour looking through them, smacking Adam on the arm and pointing whenever I see something.

  An hour into it, all we’ve seen are more puku, the same deer-looking animal we saw the day before on our way up to the lodge. Someone on a walkie-talkie directs the driver to head north.

  My mouth drops as I see elephants through my binoculars. There are five of them—four large, one small. Our driver slowly brings us closer to them, keeping the front of the Jeep angled away from them. I assume it’s in case they charge. We stay there for twenty minutes, watching them and taking pictures until the driver is notified that zebras are west of us. After the four hour tour we return to the lodge for a late lunch.

  Adam is bummed because we didn’t see any lions. I am more okay with not seeing any lions in the wild than I thought I would be. It’s the elephants I really wanted to see. I can picture the image of them on Ally’s Better board. Seeing them like how they were in her picture made me feel close to her.

  I’m quieter than normal during lunch. Adam tries to get me to talk, but my thoughts are far away. I leave him to socialize with our guides as I go back to our room. I’m thrilled to see our laundry has already been returned. I start to unpack mine, but I end up lying down instead.

  Our sheets were changed while we were on our safari. I d
on’t know why this bugs me as much as it does. I expected to smell Adam on my pillow.

  I’m reading my book when he comes in to check on me. I set it down and look up at him.

  “Why did you tell that couple we were together?”

  “It’s just safer for you to have a boyfriend than to be single when traveling, so you can avoid unwanted attention.”

  “Unwanted attention?” I raise a brow.

  He shrugs. “Trust me on it, okay?”

  I nod. I’m not trying to argue. I’m just curious. He talks me into going back out with him. He says that there are a whole group of guests hanging out on the main deck.

  As we leave the room, he grabs my hand. I give him a look, but he just squeezes my hand and doesn’t say anything.

  Chelle waves as we walk up. “What do you want to drink?” she asks as she signals an attendant.

  I glance at Adam.

  “Want a beer?” he asks, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me to his side.

  “Sure. Whatever you’re having, hon.” I can play couple.

  I watch as he orders us each a golden lager.

  As the night goes on, we continue to be a charming couple. We share a table with Chelle and her husband, Matthew. After Adam playfully nips at my ear, my hand drifts down to rest on his thigh. His eyes widen, and I realize I’m not pretending. The thing is, I can’t tell if he is or isn’t. I lift my hand and put both of them on the table where I can see them before ordering water.

  When we walk back to our room, he reaches for my hand again. Instead of just palming it, he laces his fingers through mine. I focus all of my mental power on not tripping and willing my hand not to sweat and/or feel clammy.

  Chelle and her husband are a ways behind us. Their room is on the same floor. Instead of just opening our door, Adam turns me, so my back is to it as he presses up against me.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp.

  I shiver as he trails the tip of his nose from my earlobe down to my chin and then back again.

  “Just making sure everyone sees you’re taken.”

  I turn my head to see Chelle give us a thumbs-up before she and her husband slip into their room.

  “No one is watching now.”

  His eyes bore into mine. “Do you want me to stop?”

  I watch his tongue wet his lower lip as I lift mine to his in an answer to his question. His lips are soft, and his tongue instantly seeks entrance. I can taste him. I never want this kiss to end. My mind is screaming that this could end badly as my arms snake around his neck. With one hand pressed against our door, he coils the other around my waist, eliminating any negative space between us.

  The hand attached to the arm wrapped around my waist tries in vain to open our door. A combination of his other hand pressing the door closed and the key card being backward are to blame. He breaks our kiss, and I whimper at the separation.

  He opens the door and pulls me into it. His lips find mine again as the door swings shut behind us. He didn’t shave this morning, so his scruff feels rough against my chin. I’m in sensory overload from him—his taste, the feel of his hands as they mold me to him, his scent that I mourned the loss of earlier that afternoon.

  One of his hands slides up my back and into my hair. I laughed the last time he touched my hair. This time, I want to purr. He groans against my lips. I swallow the sound, taking it inside me.

  We kiss our way across the room, and there’s a moment’s hesitation as he decides which bed we should fall into. He goes with his, pulling me down with him.

  As my inner voice of reason rears its ugly head, I begin to wonder how many drinks Adam had as I doubt he could be into me in his own right mind. Do I just go with it? Not going with it doesn’t seem physically possible. I want to climb him like a tree. God, and the way his hands feel on my body, there is nowhere else I want to be.

  He pulls back, lifting himself off the bed. My mouth drops. Is he stopping? He catches my gaze, and his eyes scorch me. Our eye contact breaks as he pulls the hoodie he’s wearing over his head, and he tosses it across the room. Underneath, he is wearing a faded T-shirt that fits snugly over his arms and chest. My fingers itch to pull it off of him, but now, I feel the added heat my body doesn’t need from my windbreaker. I reach for my zipper.

  “Let me,” he rasps, placing his hand over mine.

  I surrender it to him, almost panting, as he lowers it in slow motion. I feel exposed despite my V-neck shirt as he parts my jacket and stares down at me hungrily. His hand slips under my neck, lifting me, as his other hand eases my jacket off one shoulder and then the other. As the material slides down my arms, I feel skinned, raw, a feast for him to consume.

  He pounces, covering me again. Only this time, when I drag my fingertips across his back, I can feel the heat coming off of him through his shirt. My hips twitch, and his hand tightly grips my waist to stop me.

  His hand moves up to brush my hair off my face. His eyes are tender as he lowers his lips to mine. His hand moves from my hair to cup my face. He’s slowing us down. I feel relieved and disappointed at the same time. I’m not naive, but it’s been a while, and I just assume it hasn’t been for Adam.

  “This is wrong,” he breathes against my lips before his tongue caresses mine. “I’m supposed to be looking out for you,” he continues, his lips moving to taste my neck.

  “You are looking out for me,” I argue, arching my back and pushing against his hand as it moves from my waist to mold my breast.

  I push my chest further into his hand. I want him with every fiber of my being, and I panic as his movements continue to slow.

  He rests his forehead against mine. His gray eyes slay me. “Aubrey, what are we doing?” His words drip with remorse, quelling the passion that pooled within me.

  But it doesn’t stop me from blurting out, “I want you.”

  His eyes close as he inhales, stealing all the air around us. He rolls to the side, falling off of me, to lie next to me. “I want you too.”

  I don’t understand the frustration in his tone. We both want each other.

  “Why did you stop?” I roll toward him, reaching out to turn his face to look at me.

  When he flinches from my touch, I slowly pull my hand back and sit up, my back to him.

  “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

  My shoulders sag as I glance back at him. “What about being with me is so wrong?”

  “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” he says.

  I stand and turn on him. “I am not a child.”

  He reaches his hand out to me. “That’s not what I said.”

  I push his hand away and glare at him. “Don’t.”

  “Aubrey, come on,” he pleads.

  “No. All you did tonight was mess with my head. You clearly need to figure some stuff out.”

  I turn and walk to the bathroom, needing to be away from him to pull myself back together. I just cannot understand why he even kissed me in the first place if he thought it was wrong. He’s here with me to help me make sure I don’t get lost while moving between countries. He’s not my babysitter. I close the door behind me and lean against the sink counter. I gaze up at my reflection to see my swollen lips and my chin reddened from his stubble.

  Turning the cold tap, I splash water on my face. I’m surprised I’m not crying. I should be feeling rejected right now. Instead, I’m pissed. Whatever happened tonight, he started.

  Now, I have to exist knowing what his lips feel like on mine and that he thinks it’s wrong somehow. I despise our shared quarters more than ever now. I do not want to sleep under our tent-like netting with him. I don’t want to watch his chest rise and fall as he sleeps. I also would rather walk across hot coals than seek his aid in large bug removal. What I need is my own room, the privacy to nurse my wounds alone and not under his watchful eye.

  Knowing I can’t avoid him forever, I walk back into our room. I need to change for bed. I should have grabbed my things on the way
to the bathroom. I don’t want to go in there again. I don’t want him to think I was hiding.

  Anger fuels me on as I change in front of him, my back turned. Maybe I think I can show him what he’s missing out on, what he decided is wrong. I slip off my jeans, knowing my shirt almost covers me. Almost. If I were truly brave, I would have taken my shirt and bra off before putting on the yoga pants I sleep in. I still feel a thrill, taking my shirt and bra off, my bare back to him.

  “Aubrey, are you going to talk to me?”

  I glance at him, over my naked shoulder. I try to look disinterested. “What do you want me to say?”

  He licks his lips, looking up at the ceiling, before looking back at me. “Are you angry at me?”

  My head dips back as I scoff. “I’m not happy with you.”

  I bend down to grab my T-shirt and drag it over my head, feeling somehow powerful in being unafraid of changing in front of him.

  “I feel really bad—”

  I turn on him fully, cutting him off, “You feel bad for kissing me? Shit, Adam. You can be a real asshole.”

  His mouth drops.

  I continue, “You made it crystal clear that you think kissing me is wrong. That’s awesome, really great, because I didn’t. So, now knowing how much of a mistake you thought it was sucks. Should be fun playing the happy couple tomorrow, seeing as how I don’t even want to look at you right now. If it’s cool with you, instead of me having to listen to you say again how kissing me was a mistake, I’d like to go to bed. Do you have any issues with that?”

  I take a step back when he charges me, pulling me hard against him and putting his lips on mine.

  I push him away, gasping. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He traps me, the post of my bed at my back. “Maybe I don’t care anymore if this is wrong.”

  He dips his face toward mine, but I turn my head.

  “Maybe I care that you thought it was.” He takes a step back, raking his fingers through his hair. “I feel responsible for you. There—I said it. But trust me, I do not think you are a child. I’m shit at this, and I am only trying to save you from me.”

  I push off the post and walk over to sit down on my bed, putting my elbows on my knees and rubbing my temples. He follows me but sits on his bed, right across from me, our legs almost touching.