Confucius Jane (43 page)

The tense silence endured until they were finally standing outside of her apartment. Sutton gripped her key tightly between two fingers, not wanting to waste a single second by dropping it. Carefully, she slotted it into the lock, acutely aware of Jane hovering mere inches behind her. This was it, she thought as the tumblers shifted. Finally, they would be alone. She gestured for Jane to precede her, then stepped over the threshold and closed the door firmly behind her.

When Jane wasn't immediately there, pushing her up against the hard surface, Sutton's uncertainty came screaming back. She watched Jane cross the room to stare out the window that looked down onto Spring Street. Quashing her impatience, she removed her boots slowly, wanting to give Jane as much time as she needed.

“Are you okay?” she called softly when Jane still hadn't moved a few moments later.

“I'm … I'm a little nervous.” Jane turned just enough so that her profile was visible. “I want you so much, but…”

“But?”

“But I don't want to fall back into the same rhythm as before.”

Sutton thought she understood. “Because before, we weren't on solid ground.”

Jane nodded, finally facing her. “I need—” Quite suddenly, she fell silent.

“What do you need?” Sutton asked into the hush, determined to provide whatever it was, by whatever means necessary.

But Jane was pointing to the table. “Wait, where did those come from?”

It took Sutton a moment to realize she had never cleared the fortunes from the tabletop. She had thrown away the cookie pieces and the wrappers, but in the interminable week that had transpired since her visit to Sue, she had often found comfort in rereading the tiny slips of paper. They reminded her of the depth of Jane's feelings. When she read them that way, even the most despairing of the fortunes had given her a roundabout hope that if she could prove herself to Jane, she might be able to get another chance. And now, here they were.

“I was desperate to hear your voice, but I couldn't talk to you. So I bought a bag of cookies from Sue last week.” She moved across the room to stand next to Jane, who was hunched over the table and frowning. “They made me feel closer to you.”

“But these—I never gave these to my aunt.”

“You didn't write them?” Sutton couldn't believe it. “I was so sure—”

“I did, but…” Jane shifted back and forth on her feet, clearly uncomfortable. “It was while you were on Long Island with your mother. You were so distant, and I missed you so much, and I couldn't sleep. So one night, I started writing in my journal. Not arranging sound bites, just writing. Which is pretty rare for me.”

“I remember you saying that.” Sutton reached out to rub comforting circles across Jane's lower back. It hurt to hear the remembered pain in Jane's voice, and to know she had been the cause. But she wanted to hear this. She needed to. And then, she needed to convince Jane that they could move forward together. “So then, how did your poem end up in the cookies?”

“When I went to Brazil, I left my journal behind.” Jane shot her a sidelong glance. “I was trying to escape.”

“I understand.”

“My aunt and uncle put Minetta in charge of the fortunes, and she freaked out.” Jane smiled at a memory. “She was so nervous that she kept on calling me for advice. Uncle John's going to flip when he sees her phone bill with all those international charges.”

“I bet.” Sutton curled one arm around Jane's waist. “Were you able to talk her down off the cliff?”

“I finally suggested that if she couldn't come up with anything, she should use lines of poetry from the public domain.”

Sutton wanted to laugh, but she bit down on her tongue to hold it back. She knew how sensitive Jane was to other people reading her work. “Looks like she took your suggestion to heart, in a manner of speaking.”

“I think I'm going to have to explain that ‘public domain' doesn't mean, ‘your cousin's notebook that just so happens to be lying on the nightstand,'” Jane said dryly. “Though since her nosiness also resulted in my fellowship, I'm not sure I have a leg to stand on.”

“Don't be too hard on her.” Sutton leaned forward to press her lips to the soft skin just below Jane's ear, thrilling at the sharp intake of breath that greeted her kiss. “It's a beautiful poem. I'm glad I was able to see it.”

Jane drew Sutton close. The gentle pressure of her hands made Her go molten inside. “That isn't all of it.”

Overwhelmed by her body's reaction, Sutton struggled to focus. “Will you let me see the whole piece sometime?”

“If you really want.”

“I want.” Sutton reached up to brush her fingers through the hair at Jane's temple. She had let it grow out a little bit, and the shagginess was endearing. “I think you're brilliant. I love your work. I love you.”

Jane's answering smile was completely unpremeditated, bursting across her features like a shooting star. In that moment, seeing how much joy those three words brought her, Sutton fell even more in love.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

Jane leaned down so their foreheads were touching. “Maybe just one more time?”

“I love you,” Sutton murmured. “And I'll tell you as often as you like.”

“Maybe you should tell me again in bed.”

Sutton stepped back, reaching for Jane's hand as she moved. “I'll tell you wherever you like.” She tugged gently. “But right now, there's nothing I want more than to show you. Say yes.”

“Yes.”

The syllable didn't waver. Jane's eyes had darkened into forest-green pools, broken only by the occasional fleck of gold, like a ray of sunshine filtering through the trees. Slowly, Sutton backed down the short hallway, never breaking her gaze.

“I know you've walked this stretch of floor a dozen times,” she said as she reached her doorway, “and that the same holds true for being in my room.” Pausing at the threshold, she reached up to cup Jane's face in her hands. “But this time is different. I need you to believe that.”

“I do.”

Jane dipped her head to claim Sutton's mouth in a fierce kiss that made Sutton's head spin and her nerves ignite. Cleaving to Jane, she surrendered control, glorying in the possessive clutch of those strong arms around her waist, bending her body back. Lost in the conflagration, Sutton whimpered involuntarily when Jane suddenly pulled away.

“I need to see you.” Reaching down to caress Sutton's thigh, she rubbed the hem of the dress between her thumb and index finger.

“Then help me.” Raising her arms, Sutton waited. A moment later, the dress was gone. Her lacy bra and bikini had been chosen with this very moment in mind, and she was gratified to see Jane's eyes widen. With a slow smile, Sutton smoothed her hands down her stomach until they encountered the waistband of her stockings. “These, too?”

“Everything.” Jane's chest rose and fell rapidly, and Sutton could actually see the pulse in her neck.

“Only if you do, too.”

In a surge of frenzied movement, Jane tore off her shirt and pushed down her pants, stepping nude out of the heap of clothes and stalking across the brief space that separated them. Seconds later their bellies were pressed together, hot and firm and already slick with sweat. When Jane's fingertips ghosted up along Sutton's spine, she shivered.

“Oh, please.”

“Please what?”

Jane's eyes gleamed in the dim streetlight that filtered through the window. Gone were the shadows of her doubts, her sadness, her insecurities. In this moment, with nothing between them, they existed in perfect harmony.

“Make love to me,” Sutton whispered.

“Yes. I will. Yes.” Jane lowered her onto the bed, pressing her firmly into the mattress as her kisses stole Sutton's reason and seared her skin. This time there was no waiting, no teasing, as Jane staked her claim, one hand cupping Sutton's head as the other slid between their bodies. The confidence in Jane's touch sent a wave of dizziness through Sutton, and she dug her nails into the muscles at the base of Jane's neck.

Only when Jane's fingertips encountered the wetness at the juncture of her thighs, did she pause. Sutton couldn't suppress the sharp cry that left her throat. “Please,” she gasped again. “I need you.”

But Jane didn't move. “I don't just want you to love me,” she said, the words choked with emotion. “I want you to be mine.”

“I am. I am yours.” Sutton captured Jane's lips with furious momentum. “Come inside,” she whispered against her mouth. “Let me show you.”

With a hoarse groan, Jane obeyed, swallowing Sutton's sharp gasp in a bruising kiss that went on and on in synchrony with her slow, twisting thrusts. “I love you,” she murmured brokenly, over and over. “I love you, Sutton.”

Immolating from within, Sutton barely had the presence of mind to reach for Jane, dipping into the exquisitely soft well between her legs as she felt her own body begin to spiral out of control. “L-love you back,” she whispered, circling frantically. “Oh god, Jane, come with me,
please
—”

And then she was shattering from the inside out, surging up against Jane's body like a wave, muffling her cries in the hot curve of Jane's shoulder as Jane's fingers tightened in her hair and her hips thrust erratically and she breathed Sutton's name like a prayer, over and over and over.

When at last their bodies had quieted, Jane rolled to one side and gathered Sutton tenderly into her arms. Sutton buried her face in the crook of Jane's neck, feeling more at peace than she had in the past … ever. The thought made her smile.

“I can feel that.” Jane nuzzled the top of her head. “What are you thinking?”

Sutton pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “I'm thinking that I'm happy. Plain, old, uncomplicated happy. It's a new sensation for me.”

Jane kissed her nose. “How can I keep you feeling this way? Because I'm already addicted to that smile.”

The answer was suddenly so clear. “Come to Sweden with me.”

Jane blinked owlishly. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it. Come with me.”

Jane arched one eyebrow. “I thought I just did.”

“Oh, stop.” Sutton tried to frown, but dissolved into giggles instead. “You're impossible.”

“You love this. Admit it. You love the way we are together.”

Abruptly serious, Sutton nodded. “I do,” she said quietly. “I really, really do. Which is why I want you to join me.”

Jane frowned. “Are you sure you don't just want me for my language skills?”

Sutton couldn't believe her ears. “If you're asking whether I love you because you're a cunning linguist, then the answer is yes.”

“Oh, hell. I blundered right into that one.”

“You did.” Sutton kissed her lightly. “So? What do you think?”

She watched indulgently as Jane made a big show of considering her request—frowning, sighing, squinting—opening one eye and then the other in an exaggerated performance of contemplation.

“I think I'd better,” Jane said finally.

“Oh?”

“How will you survive, without me there to interpret the language and keep you warm during those long, arctic nights?”

“An excellent question.” Shifting her weight, she pushed Jane down into the mattress and rolled completely on top of her. “Fortunately, you're now my prisoner. I'm never letting you go. So. End of discussion.”

Jane's answering smile was incandescent, and she hummed softly in the back of her throat in a clear sign of contentment. “Okay. That works for me.”

Sutton knew her heart wasn't really going to explode, but that's what it felt like. Smiling broadly, she surrendered herself to love and gravity.

 

E
PILOGUE

S
UTTON SMOOTHED HER HAND
down the left side of the poster, gave the adhesive at the corner an extra pat, and stepped back to admire her work. A baby penguin gazed back at her, black eyes bright in its fuzzy gray face. Sutton smiled. Her cheeks didn't feel tight anymore.

“I think this one's my favorite,” she said, looking across the room to where Jane was stretched on her tiptoes, affixing a J
UST
S
AY
N
O TO
S
TYRO
bumper sticker to the wall.

Jane glanced over her shoulder, laughed, and returned her concentration to the task at hand. “You said the same thing about the panda cub, not even five minutes ago.”

“A woman's allowed to change her mind!” Sutton's protest sounded weak, even to her. Hands on her hips, she looked between the two posters that framed the window. The desk beneath it held a bubbling lava lamp, a brand new notebook, and a fountain pen. Outside, Noodle Treasure's sign winked merrily in the late morning sunlight. “They're both adorable.”

With a satisfied sigh, Jane rocked back onto her heels and rolled her shoulders. “There. Done.” She crossed the room and slid her arms around Sutton's waist. “And yes, they are—though not as adorable as you'll look in one of those floppy Ph.D. hats in just a few hours.”

Sutton spun in Jane's arms and summoned her best skeptical expression. “I think the word you're looking for is ‘ridiculous.'”

“You're giving
me
a vocabulary lesson? I'm the poet, remember?”

Suddenly not in the mood for teasing, Sutton smoothed her thumbs across Jane's cheekbones. “Yes, you are. And I'm so proud of you.”

Thanks to her fellowship, Jane had managed to pull enough strings with Hunter's English Department to register late for an independent study with her advisor. She had spent the remainder of the spring hard at work on her senior thesis, and last weekend, the entire family had celebrated her commencement. Sutton couldn't help but smile as she remembered how nervous she had been to meet Jane's parents, but her anxiety had been unfounded. Jane's mother was warm and down to earth, and her father had an endless well of funny stories from all their time spent abroad. Unlike her own parents, Jane's were genuinely excited about their trip to Sweden and had shared the names of a few contacts they still had in Stockholm. They had even brought a few family photos along from their time there, most of which featured a gangly, adolescent version of Jane with braces and long, straight hair.