Burning Moon (22 page)

Damien.

It was Damien.

In the flesh.

Standing no more than thirty feet away from me.

Damien. Damien Bishop—
and what the hell was he doing here in this house?

For some reason I immediately ducked and hid behind a large palm tree. I wasn't thinking very clearly right now. I hid and I gawked because he was…

Gorgeous.

Amazing.

Beautiful.

More beautiful than I had pictured him over the past 350-odd days or so. And he was shirtless. Someone should pass a law that required him to be shirtless all the time. I also thought I spotted a few more tattoos, but at this distance I couldn't quite make them out. His hair was cut into a strange style—half of it seemed to be shaved and the other side was longer and hung in messy wisps. He was wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, which he was still buckling up as he walked out…which meant that he had been pantsless just a few moments ago, a thought that almost made me stop breathing.

By now my mouth had gone dry and my heart was thumping violently inside my skull. The anticipation and excitement I was feeling in that moment was indescribable as I watched him pick up a shirt and slip it on, his stomach muscles rippling as he pulled it over his head. He then ran his hand through his black messy hair and slid his hands into his pockets.

God, he was so fucking cool.

And hot.

But then he did something that made everything change…he bent down and started straightening the cushions and moving the flowers around.

And then it hit me—excruciatingly:

candles + flowers + bed + champagne with two glasses = Romance and Sex

With a capital
R
and a capital
S
.

He was expecting someone. A woman. A woman that wasn't me.

I was totally, utterly, wholly, and completely embarrassed. The feeling was so intense that it made my cheeks sting and my skin crawl.

I had come all this way. I had ridden an elephant, canoed through snake-infested waters, and spent a fortune on a plane ticket to travel halfway across the world—only to find out that my feelings were clearly not reciprocated. Jess obviously didn't know Damien as well as she thought she did! Or maybe she didn't know he was seeing anyone. She hadn't seen him in four months. Maybe he'd met someone and hadn't told her yet? Whatever the reason, though, it was pretty damn obvious that Damien was with someone else. There was no other possible explanation for all this.

But embarrassment soon gave way to anger. Burning, blazing anger that could definitely kill. I was furious with Damien, with myself, with the world, and not to mention the flickering romantic candles and stupid scattered petals that seemed to be taunting me.

And finally…cue hatred. I hated him! I hated this stupid party, the fucking moon and the rotten steps that I'd just climbed, practically dislocating my gluteus maximus as I went, and I certainly hated elephants and airplanes and anything else associated with this total disaster.

Every synapse in my brain was firing on full steam, creating a horrible whirlwind of thoughts that I knew were absolutely irrational, but I just couldn't help it.

I bet he was planning a big, hot night of sex with some gorgeous, cool chick…maybe it was that German girl. Yes, she looked suspicious and positively slutty. No one can be that beautiful, it's not right, it's not natural, and it's not fair. But it looked like it was more than just sex. In fact, on closer inspection, all this romance could only have meant one thing, surely? Guys don't go to the effort of lighting hundreds of candles and laying flowers if they aren't planning something big like a…

A proposal!?

Oh my God! I'm so stupid. They're getting married and their kids will probably be supermodels. Clever, astrophysicist, supermodel children born with six-packs and great hair.

Of course he didn't love me. Of course he hadn't been curled up in the fetal position pining for me all year. He's probably been having the time of his life, shagging up a storm.

I hate him.

No, I love him.

Bastard.

God, my mind was a mess.

I needed to get away. Make a quick escape before he saw me. I didn't think I'd be able to bear the humiliation of a face-to-face confrontation, so I started inching backward—my trembling legs barely able to support my body. I'd almost made my way to the steps when something suddenly stopped me.

A thought.

I'd come all this way. I'd taken a risk, I'd been totally prepared to wear my heart on my sleeve and put myself out there in the most vulnerable way possible. And that is nothing to be embarrassed about. To walk away from this now without saying something to him…I would regret that for the rest of my life.

So, despite my screaming sinews, my churning stomach, and the loud, visceral cracking of my heart, I turned around and started walking back.

Damien was still standing on the deck fiddling with the candles in preparation for his shagathon. I had no idea what I was going to say to him. What does one say in a situation like this? It's not like there's a guidebook, a how-to manual, or
The Idiot's Guide to Confronting the Man You Just Flew Halfway Across the World to Confess Your Undying Love for When the Feelings Are Not Reciprocated
.

“Surprise, surprise, Damien.” My tone was acerbic to say the least, and perhaps it wasn't the most hard-hitting opening line, but it was all I could think of.

He looked up at me.

Surprised.

God, he was gorgeous. God, I wanted to smoosh his face into something.

“Lilly…I wasn't expecting you—”

I cut him off quickly. “Of course you weren't expecting me.” Sarcastic as hell. “But the question is…who were you expecting…
huh
?” The
huh
was probably a bit loud and overemphasized, and even more so when I put my hands on my hips in an aggressive and dramatic stance.

Suddenly I felt like I was channeling my mother. If I could be big and bold and dramatic right now, perhaps he wouldn't see that my heart was breaking.

I stepped up onto the deck and looked around with melodramatic disdain; I even picked up a flower for added drama before tossing it to the ground with a flurry of petals. I almost expected to hear the swell of dramatic music. I was the star of my own soap opera now.

Damien stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak. “I was actually expecting—”

But I cut him off again. “I know who you were expecting. I know all about you and your German hussy. You and your little…” I rapidly searched for an insult. “Your strudel!” (Probably not the best choice of insult, but this was no time to second-guess myself.)

“I know you're probably going to propose and get married and have gorgeous children with cute German accents and…” But as soon as those words were out of my mouth, my bravado melted away. The mere thought seemed to deplete me of the reserves needed to keep up the cool, calm, confrontational manner. The hard, sarcastic exterior had cracked…

“I can't believe how stupid I've been, Damien. I mean…” I started to pace now and my voice was probably two octaves higher than it had been before. “I mean…I flew all the way here, to the middle of the jungle, to find you and tell you, well, to tell you…” I could feel the tears starting to well up and the words get caught in my throat. “To tell you…um…to fucking tell you that I'm fucking in love with you, okay? I've been in love with you this whole time and when I saw Jess and she told me all this stuff, about you and feelings and…stuff. I thought that there might be a chance for us, but now I can see there isn't—”

“Lilly, just wait—” Damien tried to cut me off, but I wasn't having it.

“No you wait!” I could feel the warm tears starting to escape. “I came all this way because I thought that maybe, maybe, just maybe you were ‘the one.' My soul mate or whatever you want to call it. Because even though it's been a year, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you and—”

“Lilly, stop—”

“I'm still not finished.” The more he tried to cut me off, the more worked up I was getting. I think I was also half-mad and delirious from dehydration and exertion. “But it's okay, Damien. It's okay. In fact, I'm glad I've seen this. Because now I know for definite, beyond a reasonable doubt, that it's over.”

“Lilly!”

“Now I can move on with my life. And maybe I'll also find someone special and get married and have kids and a dog and a house in the suburbs with roses and—”

“Lilly, for God's sake—”

“So, I wish you and your girlfriend all the best, but I'm going to—”

Damien almost jumped across the deck and then…

He kissed me.

I froze.

The kiss was firm and forceful as he gripped my face between his hands tightly. It almost hurt.

And then he pulled away and looked at me, inches away from my face.

“Lilly. Shut up. Please, please,
pretty please
zip it for just one second so that I can explain.” For some reason he said that with a smile on his face, which I wasn't sure how to interpret. Was he mocking me?

“Hey.” I pushed him back. “Don't you dare tell me to shut up. And how dare you kiss me like that? It's not—”

And then he did it again!

He kissed me.

But this time the kiss felt tender. His lips were soft, softer than I'd remembered them. His fingers gently stroked the side of my face, while his other hand made its way around to the small of my back. He pulled me closer and despite myself, despite everything that my brain was screaming at me, I kissed him back.

It was a kiss over three hundred days in the making and it was amazing. Soft and slow and gentle and sexy. So, so sexy.

“Lilly.” His voice was breathy as he pulled away and looked me straight in the eye.

Melt.

“Lilly, this is all for you. Everything. I knew you were coming, I just wasn't expecting you to find me, I was about to come down and look for you.”

“What?” I was gobsmacked. “How is that possible?”

“Do you really think Jess can keep a secret?”

“Jess told you I was coming?”

Damien smiled. “Jess is incapable of keeping anything to herself.”

I still felt a little confused. Mainly due to the roller coaster of emotions I'd just endured. And then, as the shroud of confusion started to lift, I started to feel the familiar sting of embarrassment all over again. The things I'd just said. The deranged ramblings!

“So this…” I looked around the deck. “The flowers, candles, are…for me? There's no one else.”

Damien nodded. “It's only you, Lilly.”

“Oh crap! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say that stuff. Shit! I don't know what got into me, I—”

This time I allowed Damien to cut me off midsentence. “I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you from the moment I laid eyes on you with those stupid pink bunny-rabbit slippers. Lilly, you're the first thing I think about when I open my eyes in the morning and the last thing on my mind when I go to sleep.”

My breath quickened and I was overwhelmed by a strange sensation. My heart was swelling to dizzying proportions inside my chest. It was like that feeling you get when you're about to cry tears of joy—that strange happy ache right where your heart is. It was just like that—only multiplied by a thousand.

“You're my one, Lilly. And I'm not,
not
going to make the mistake of letting you go again. I've booked a plane ticket back to South Africa. I'm coming home.”

The sun was dipping below the horizon once again and the bright moon was starting its steady climb into the indigo sky. The purple twilight around us was tinged with a warm gold, which made Damien look softer and gentler than I'd ever seen him.

“I love you.”

“I…” I tried to say it back to him, but I'd officially been reduced to a puddle of speechless emotions. So I nodded and managed a “Ditto.”

Damien smiled at me, clearly amused. “Fuck I've missed you and your silliness.”

“What silliness?”

“Come on…who's this German woman I'm proposing to and having kids with?”

“Oh that.” I laughed. “She's this crazy-hot woman I shared an elephant with.”

“Mmm.” A boyish look glinted in his eyes and the mood suddenly changed. “But definitely not as hot as you. Especially with your new hair…what color would you call it?”

I ran my fingers through my hair. “Mmm, the stylist called it rose-copper-gold, I called it a total fuckup.”

Damien laughed. I had missed that laugh. I had missed the fact that someone found me so damn funny. Someone got me, 110 percent.

And then Damien's eyes darkened and his mouth curled into that crooked, mischievous smile that I'd fantasized about for a whole year.

“I think it's very cute.” He let go of my face and his hands found their way under my shirt and up to my bra strap. His voice was low and dripped with the promise of sex. There was absolutely no misinterpreting the situation now. I knew what was about to happen.

I felt my bra straps loosen and then Damien pulled my shirt off.

“I've thought about this every night for the past year,” he said, as my bra and shirt fell to the ground. I could feel his eyes moving over my naked breasts.

“Me too.” My voice was nothing more than a tiny whisper now.

“Come.” He took me by the hand and led me across the deck to the bed he'd made where he laid me down.

I looked up at the sky. It was a deep, inky purple and the stars were starting to come out in all their glory, while the moon crept higher still.

This was the perfect night.

The perfect moment.

Damien was perfect.

And I was never going to let him go again.

This was mean to be.

This was syzygy.

And those were my last thoughts as Damien pulled his shirt off and kissed me…