//all you had to do was stay//

Chapter 14

Taylor finds out that he's at the same hotel, and right then she knows that he's aware that it's where she's staying. She finds out his room number and knocks. He opens the door, gives her a sort of half-look before letting her inside.

He doesn't waste any time. Maybe he asks her how she is or something generic like that - she can't really recall, honestly - but then he immediately grabs her, hard, by the shoulders. And he kisses her. It's warm, just like she remembers, but hard and rough, far from the sweet kisses she's used to.

She likes it. A lot.

"I love you." he says

He moves his hands down and lifts her legs around his waist, gripping her firmly beneath the ass, and moves towards the bed. When he puts her down she sees the urgency in his face. It's jarring, shakes her a little, because she really isn't used to him being like this. He is supposed to be gentle with his hands and mouth, no matter where they roam; he isn't supposed to be grabbing her like she's some kind of toy. Something he can chew up and spit out.

She doesn't have time to think about that too much, because he's moves his fingers north again, pulling her shirt up to reveal her bra. He's quick to unclasp it and quick to latch his mouth around what was underneath, biting and pulling and - shit. It feels so strange and unnatural yet good, so fucking good. She pants his name into his ear, and he trails his lips, down, down - until he and her skirt are on the floor and she's bucking her hips upwards, breath heavy, stars behind her eyes.

Then he stands, unlatches his pants, moves swiftly and is inside of her. She groans out his name again, voice ragged. For a moment, she feels strange, questions herself, then looks up at him. The empty look on his face is gone and he looks full, finally, satisfied.

They keep on.

After they finish he crawls back onto the bed, barely glancing at her before falling asleep. She stares at him for a while. She knows that this could mean one of two things. The first is that now they're back together and serious. The second is that this was a one night stand, and judging by how rough he was, something out of pure lust, nothing to do with their former relationship. She knows which one is true. And she knows that he's going to tell someone about tonight either way. He'll tell his friends, at the very least, and the press if they badger him enough. It's not worth it.

She stands, pulls her clothes back on, and leaves him behind.

****

Paige's husband has been, if not always present, then always dutiful. This time, when he rejoins her side, he does not leave it. She can't remember when she last spent so much time in his company. Paige marvels at his presence, so foreign to her now compared to his absence. She assures him that he need not be so attentive, but he insists. His hand rests on the small of her back when they are out in public. His fingers find hers in sleep. And yet even this newfound serenity cannot abate her fears. Doubt festers under her skin like a disease.

But she can rest her head against the warmth of his shoulder, and he will not protest. It is enough, sometimes, in its own way.

"Can you make me a salad?" she asks one afternoon.

The request is odd enough that he gives pause. He draws the refrigerator open regardless. "What kind?"

Paige licks her lips. "Mixed greens and tomatoes. Walnuts, too. There's a bag of them in the cupboard. For the dressing, um... Chocolate syrup?"

His eyebrows reach for his hairline. This is an utter desecration of his favourite food. "You're serious?"

She flushes, chagrined. "Cravings are natural in the first trimester!"

"So this is what the baby wants?"

"I don't know," Paige admits. "There are a number of theories about cravings." Her hands flutter to her stomach. "It's possible my body knows what nutrients the baby needs, but asks for them in foods my taste buds already know."

Harry is silent as he wraps his mind around the information. "Aa," he says eventually. "I'll make your ridiculous salad."

She laughs, stepping to join him at the counter. "There's no need to be mean about it."

"This is my part." He grabs the ingredients from the fridge. "For the baby."

She watches Harry put the meal together. It is disconcerting to see him being so domestic. There is a wildness in her husband that is glaringly at odds with the cozy trappings of their kitchen. She sees the raw power in him, the apex predator that thrums just under his skin.

It is perhaps this that she craves most.

"Harry."

He is pouring the chocolate syrup into the bowl, and his incredulous distaste remains on his face even as he turns to face her. Smiling, she reaches up on her toes, her lips seeking his. He obliges her, a hand rising to cradle her face as they kiss. And this, too, is disconcerting. Not for its tenderness, not even for the way it makes her heart race. Paige is so used to kissing Harry like it is the last time, like she does not know when she will see him next. This kiss is more lasting than that, carries with it the promise of tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that...

The pleasure of an everyday kiss is something Paige has craved as long as she has waited for him.

It is not an indulgence she can afford to get used to.

........

Harry takes long walks in the mornings and evenings. Sometimes, he will allow Paige to join him. Most times, however, he insists he does not need her company.

She often catches him staring out the window in the middle of the day, the blue of the sky reflected in green of his eyes, his fingers drumming uneven rhythms on his knee. She wonders what goes on in his gypsy heart. If the strain of staying is too much on his wanderer's feet.

Paige is strong enough to level mountains, but it is on days like this she wishes she had the strength to tear down the sky.

For you, she would say. For you.