I enjoyed the sun as well, though the air wasn't quite enough like Phoenix's air for me to be completely satisfied. I would have liked to lie back, like I used to in Phoenix, and let the sun warm my cold face. But so then I stayed curled up, my chin resting on my knees, unwilling to take my eyes off him. The wind was gentle; it tangled my hair attractively and ruffled the grass that swayed around his motionless form.
The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, paled next to His Magnificence.
Hesitantly, always afraid, even now, even in this meadow-magnificent moment, that he would disappear like a mirage, too beautiful to be real... hesitantly, I reached out one fingle and stroked the back of his shimmering hand, where it lay within my reach. I marveled again at the perfect texture of his body, the way it felt perfectly: satin-smooth and stone-cold. When I looked up again, his eyes were open, watching me like I had been watching him. Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting. His quick smile turned up the corners of his flawless lips.
"I don't scare you?" he asked playfully, but I could hear the real curiosity in his soft voice.
"No more than usual."
He smiled wider; he flashed me his teeth, which also glistened in the sun. I immediately recalled the time we had a conversation about whether or not he scared me, and giggled lightly at the thought of all the strange things he had done in the car to try to get me to admit that I was scared of him. He seemed to be giggling too.
I inched closer, feeling so close to him in that moment of mutual giggleship at simultaneous memory that I stretched out my whole hand to trace the contours of his forearm with my fingertips. I saw that my fingles trembled beyond my control, and I knew it wouldn't escape his notice.
"Do you mind?" I asked, for he had closed his eyes again.
"No," he said without opening his eyes. "You can't imagine how that feels."
I lightly trailed my hand over the perfect muscles of his arms, trying to imagine how it felt. I followed the faint pattern of bluish, bulging veins inside the crease at his elbow, trying to imagine how it felt. With my other hand, I trailed my own bulging veins, which were more purple than blue, and more average than perfect. Overall, it felt like I was touching my own arm. With my other hand, I reached to turn

262

Chapter 13

←

→

main contents contact