+18 - eps 28-32 - On the sixth installment of the Blackbird series, Cassidy sends Gillian and her team with Brock and Russel to Tampa, Florida, to look into the death of a girl while winter storm Jonas beats the East Coast. But this seemingly ordina...
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"Of course I trust you, Gillian. How wouldn't I?" he said, his voice lower than usual, almost a whisper. "Why do you think I'm here with my daughter?"
Gillian had some trouble finding an answer, mostly because Brock's hand on her face had frozen her. Well, not exactly frozen. Rather the other way around. Her brain was a muddy field of meaningless signs of warning she wasn't able to understand. All she could do was hold his eyes, feel his hand, acknowledge what it stirred inside of her. Something that was sick and tired of warnings and logic. It surfaced to kick the signs down and take the steering wheel for once. It turned her face against his hand so she could close her eyes and brush his palm with her mouth.
Another hand materialized to rest on her other cheek. She didn't open her eyes as he gently made her face him. She didn't dare, too afraid of becoming fully aware of what she was doing and stopping. Too afraid of what would happen if she didn't stop. But she only had two heartbeats drumming in her ears to register that. Because by the third heartbeat Brock's lips found hers.
Her knees dropped to the floor as she grabbed the armrest, her face up to him, lost in his kiss. Just like that afternoon back in Savannah, she felt overwhelmed by his gentleness and his intensity. It wasn't just a step to get to the part of struggling with buttons and zips. It was a fact in itself. A whole statement. A way to express all she wouldn't allow him to say. Everything she was terrified of was there. Everything she longed for. Everything she was sick and tired of fighting.
She let her tongue meet his and brought one of her hands up to his face. And that thing inside of her wore the Stupid Smile of the Year when she touched his stubble. Gosh, how she loved this man, down to the last little detail she knew of him. Even his bristly skin scratching hers as their kiss deepened. The readers grasping to balance astride his nose. The Perfect Knot of his tie. His eternal scowl and the bright smile that lit up his face every now and then. His deep voice. His wits. His temper. She couldn't imagine her life without him anymore. Even if he changed his mind or realized he was wrong, and he actually didn't want to be with her. It didn't matter. As long as she knew him around, it'd be fine.
He brushed her lips together, pulling an inch apart from her. She risked a glance and saw him looking down at her mouth, as if trying to decide whether he should kiss her again. Oh, well, stupid bitter man. About that. She would've liked to grab his tie and tug from it, but she didn't. She just moved her face the inch he'd retreated, her lips slightly parted. Like drawn by a magnet, Brock tilted his head to meet them again.
Her kiss seemed designed to melt him away, a quiet calling to his heart and his understanding. A rush of warmth and tenderness that could take forever to pour out on him. Something that reached straight to a part of him he'd thought would never find an answer. His own need of understanding and comfort. His loneliness and his ghosts. His own weak side. She knew all about them, and embraced them as a living part of him. She loved that part of him too, and she needed all of him as a whole. It was breathtaking.
He meant to make it last as long as she wanted, feeling he would never get enough of it—of her—and loving the feeling. But the second time he had to stop his hands from pulling her to sit on his lap, fighting back his need to cuddle her in his arms, he decided he didn't want to embarrass himself, nor risk her rejection. So he broke the kiss gently and waited for her to look at him. He almost chuckled when she did, because she just couldn't be so adorable. Her face was such a lovely mix of doubt, as she tried to make up her own mind about what she wanted to happen next. And if he knew her a little, the options went from jumping off the window out of shame to let's go to Vegas.
He didn't want her to think he found it funny that she was at such a loss, so he kissed her forehead and murmured against her warm, soft skin, "I think you're right about the shut-eye."
She only nodded, and stood up. She turned to go back to the kitchen. She had about five steps to decide if she'd change her course to go to the window and jump out. Then she heard him move behind her and turned around again. She didn't feel like killing herself over what had just happened. At all. She was surprised at finding out she felt relieved. She'd never expect it. And she wasn't about to let go of that sensation.
Brock stood by the couch when she faced him again. He saw the daring spark in her eyes and flashed a mild, hesitating smile. It was his turn to be at a complete loss. But he just couldn't stand there like a fool, waiting for her to say or do something. So he nodded at her room.
"May I, then?" You don't dare to invite her, Brockner?
She smiled back instantly. "Of course." And now you do need to lock the door, else I'm so gonna assault you in your sleep.
"Wake me up if anything happens or you need anything." Like another kiss.
Meaning if I feel a sudden urge to cuddle? "I will."
