You Changed My Story

Chapter 23

"I can hear her heartbeat for a thousand miles, and the heavens open every time she smiles..."

 —Van Morrison

OLIVET

"Where are we going?"

He reached out to take my hand, and our fingers intertwined. My eyes searched his face, just soaking in his strong profile.

There's a kind of peace in his voice that rattled all doubt and uncertainty, "You'll see when we get there."

I liked the way the wind whipped through his hair and the slant of sunshine, lighting up his eyes. They were full of feeling and depth as though they wrote their own story, one I wanted to be a part of. His scent reached my nostrils: elegant masculine cologne and the faintest whiff of wild Jasmine.

He's that little jolt of excitement when I first see someone that brightens my soul that I hope never goes away.

"Have you any idea how long I've waited for you to notice me?"

His usually composed shoulders bowed, and he squeezed the steering wheel, raising the lovely veins in his forearms. He takes a sharp intake of breath, and just maybe, I'd put more weight on than needed. He was a handsome man with littered dark hair and eccentric dark eyes framed with long, thick lashes.

"I.." his word catches in his throat and his Adam's apple bobs. "I've noticed you from the first time you waltzed into my office. From the way you nervously picked at your wrinkled sleeve to the way you dragged your eyes curiously over my body."

A smile tilted his mouth, and my face heated a degree. I knew what I had with him was special, an undying passion flickered about in my stomach when he stroked the top of my fingers with the rough pad of his thumb. There are many waiting for love, praying for it to happen, some have withered away before the light of it.

I can't believe how blessed I am to have met a human being like him. Two ships out there on the restless waves, they are very vulnerable to the changing tide. They both set out under a silver moon. Never to break or to be shaken.

He mussed my hair, "You better learn how to play that violin."

I breathed deeply, the oxygen burning my nostrils. With my music, I've always hoped to touch as many hearts, but my father made it clear that I'll never make it with a dream like that.

"Looks like you're carrying the world on your shoulder. Talk to me."

My pulse hammered in my temples, and my chest throbbed. The f--king pain was unbearable. Tears burned my eyes, "I'm tired. I've been holding it all in, but I'm so tired." I rubbed my eyes sore. I'm trying so hard, God knows all the shit I've been boxing, piling them up on shelves. I'd stuff everything back into place and patch myself up, lock it away with all the other memories.

The car slowed to a stop.

We were overshadowed by trees, but I was overshadowed by him. His hands were on my face, his wide shoulders blocking the rest of light before us. He looked like art. Art wasn't supposed to look good. It was supposed to make you feel ... something.

He can easily span my neck with his palm, he's roughed up all over, just raw and fully man, when he pressed his hand on my clavicle, I bit back a satisfied groan. Monitored and carefully calculated, his strength was unparalleled. That firm yet tender hand made me blush and squirm. I needed more of him, more skin to skin contact. I wanted to lick his lower lip, taste the bitter coffee on his tongue, and knot my fingers in his well-groomed hair.