19
Day 33 – Juliet
My hands shook as I took the blade from him. He sat on the stump seat and offered me the mug with soap. Holding the mug, he poured water over the shaving soap. He lathered his own jaw, and I stared at the motion. His cheeks filled with thick suds. Holding the brush, he flicked the remaining soap away from us.
“Stand behind me. Work the blade against the grain, like shaving your legs.” I chuckled as it had been a while since I did that. Today had been the first time in a week. I walked behind him and tipped his head by cupping his chin to rest against my belly. His green eyes looked up at me as the blade rose to his neck. Quickly his hand rose and stopped my wrist.
“I trust you,” he said again, then pulled my wrist to his lips and pressed a kiss over my pulse point. He closed his eyes, and with shaky hands, I began to slide the blade over his skin. The gritty sound echoed in the stilling evening. Once the first strip was complete, without nicking him, I continued in a steady pattern of cleaning the blade and shaving his jaw. His eyes remained closed, a peaceful look on his face. For a moment, I thought he’d fallen asleep.
“Finished,” I whispered after a long silence. His lids opened slowly, revealing the deep moss color that narrowed in on me. My heart skipped a beat with the longing in them. He reached for a towel he’d set to the side of him and wiped the excess soap from his face.
“How do I look?” he asked, and I swallowed my reply. He was gorgeous. Cut from clay, and molded to perfection, his cheeks were accentuated by narrow bones and an edgy jaw line. He had a subtle tan line, his skin appearing to easily brown.
“You look good,” I said, attempting to hold my voice steady. He looked almost as clean cut as he looked on that night.
“Hair next? I don’t have scissors, so you’ll have to just hack at it with the blade.”
I laughed. “I can’t do that. I’ve never cut hair. I don’t want to mess it up.”
“Anything is better than this mess,” he said, gripping his hair in his hand. I did the best I could, razor-cutting off long strips of his hair and letting it fall at my feet. The process was daunting as I hacked at locks surprisingly silky despite our rugged conditions. The tips were sunbleached, and the removal of them restored him to his rich, brown color. It was choppy looking, but he rustled his hand through the strands, leaving it to lay as it fell in a fashionably messy way. The grizzly man was gone with this cut, but he didn’t match the polished man he’d previously been. A stylish boy remained.
“How am I now?” he asked. I sensed the inquiry dug deeper than his appearance. He looked amazing, but the cutting of his hair softened his features. He looked less edgy and more wholesome. I smiled slightly at the change.
“You still look good,” I teased.
“So do you,” he replied, letting his eyes drip down my body. He quickly recovered, though, collecting his hair cuttings and adding them to the fire.
“I think I missed a spot,” I said, noticing a clump in the back. He sat before me again, and I fixed it. “Better,” I stated and ran my hands through his hair, mussing it up and shivering at the touch as it tickled my hand.
“You did good, Mouse.”
The nickname dropped the smile from my face, and his eyes snapped open.
“What? Tell me that’s not a trigger,” he pleaded.
“I don’t like that nickname.”
“Why not?”
I turned away from him, setting the blade on another stump. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Juliet, what did I say?” His eyes questioned mine.
“Actually, I hate that name,” I clarified, blowing out a breath. His hands came to my shoulders, stroking down my arms to encircle my fingers.
“It suits you. A mouse might be small, but it’s a brave creature, and resilient,” he said, tugging me to him with our entwined fingers. “A mouse can scare an elephant, save a lion, squeeze through a hole the size of a pencil.”
I chuckled. “I don’t think the last one is a compliment.” My breasts collided with his chest, and I was hyper-aware of us touching in such a manner.
“You and your compliments,” he teased, kissing my forehead. “Come sit by the fire awhile.”
He led me by our interlaced fingers.
“It’s getting late,” I pouted. The sky was turning a midnight blue, and although I’d braved the darkness of the jungle on several occasions, I didn’t wish to do it that night. However, I said the opposite of my feelings. “I should go.”
“It’s too dark without you,” he said, too briefly brushing his lips over mine. My mouth hungered for more, but words choked my tongue. The tone of his voice suggested darkness involved more than the midnight sky. He tugged me until he plopped to the ground, propping up against a log. He pulled me to sit between his spread knees, positioning me so I leaned back on his chest. We stared into the flickering flames.
“You’re so far away if you go,” he added, kissing my hair. I twisted to look up at him, questioning his tenderness. His words were sweet but unnerving. He couldn’t possibly mean them. His fingers intertwined with mine, stroking over my knuckles and tickling inside my palms.
“You’re saying that because I’m the only girl on the island,” I blurted, adding laughter to soften the words that tasted bitter.
“What do you mean?” he whispered to the shell of my ear. My skin prickled at the soft brush of his lips.
“I’m the only female here, that’s why you’re attracted to me.” Attracted might have been too strong a word. Interested, maybe? Intrigued? My comment startled him, and he pulled back.
“Why would you say that, Mouse?” His voice lowered as he said the nickname like a term of endearment, seductively sliding off his tongue. He stared at me. He was such a sexual being, and I was the only available person to satisfy his urges. However, I didn’t wish to debate him when he tightened his hold on me. I remained quiet, and the minutes passed in strangely companionable silence.
“Thank you for sharing a feast with me,” he softly said, pressing me against his chest again and resting his chin on my shoulder.
“A feast,” I chuckled, not disappointed with the meal.
“Garvey says each meal should serve more than the purpose of obtaining food. It should be a celebration, and it should be shared. I was happy to celebrate with you. I want to share things with you.” He was smooth, I thought, as my lips curled at the sweet words. Pensive for a moment, I tried to digest their meaning.
“Come into the tent with me.” The gentle command tainted the sugary flavor of what he just said.
“I can’t sleep with you,” I blurted, sitting forward and twisting to face him.
“Just sleep,” he said, his thumb caressing my knuckles. “Just sleep,” he said lower. “I want to hold you.” We stared at one another a moment before I settled back against him, my side on his chest, puzzled by the longing in his tone. He brushed my hair back from my face and neck. Rubbing circles on my back, he kissed my head again. Between the growing night, the warm fire, and the comfort of the man under my side, I drifted off into a restless sleep.