Is it in his kiss ?

*Calliope*
In the library, standing at the window, gazing out at the night, with a glass in one hand and a decanter on the table near the other. My heart is hammering and my steps seem exceptionally loud as I cross the massive room to join him.

His face is a wreath of torment and fury. Studying me as he had at the table, he had obviously remembered me, and knows of my duplicity. He will take Zane from me. I should have been honest from the beginning. Perhaps with heartfelt honesty now, I can repair some of the damage and ensure that the precious babe remains in my life.

“Major Dragan I," I try.

“Good God, Callie, considering the intimacy we’ve shared, do you not think we should go by our Christian names?”

Relief swamps me with such swiftness and force that my knees almost buckle. He doesn’t remember the precise circumstances of the night we had spent together. Another reason had heralded his departure from the table. It is only by force of will that I remain standing.

“I know it's diflicult to hear others speak so carelessly of war," I say softly, wanting to fold him into my embrace as he had once done with me. But I don’t have the courage to risk his rejection. “And for all the correspondents writing so passionately about the intolerable conditions into which we blithely sent our soldiers, words on paper are not the same as blood on hands. Your family was not there. They can’t know how you suffered.”

“But you were there,” He says quietly, staring into the darkness beyond the window. “You know.”

I nod. Physicians, nurses and soldiers all concentrate on the physical wounds, those they can touch and know exists, but I am confident that there are invisible wounds that need to be administered to. How many men had I cared for who appeared to be well on their way to recovery, only to succumb to death? I have known of a case where a man had complained of pain in his arm so severe that he had been unable to shift into his dragon. But numerous examinations had found no cause for it. They had labeled him a liar and a coward, but I had not been convinced. I have known of other illnesses that couldn’t be diagnosed. The body is not like a timepiece that can be easily opened in order to learn precisely how it works. I have seen men die from wounds that had not appeared severe. I have seen men survive injuries that had torn them apart. I am convinced there is an element of the soul or the heart or the spirit with immeasurable influence on the ability to heal after a catastrophic injury.

“I think the constant fear of dying must take a toll,” I continue. “I think experiencing the hardships we are willing to inflict upon each other gives us a perspective that nothing else can. It batters us without us realizing it. I have had mornings where, if not for Zane, I'm certain I would have never left my bed.” I admit.

Turning slightly, he presses his back to the corner of the window casing. The sharp edge can not be providing comfort, but he seems not to notice. Or perhaps he needs the discomfort to keep him focused on the present so he doesn’t slip into the past horrors. Sometimes I will awaken disoriented and think I am back in the hospital. For all the good I had done there, it is not a place to which I want to return, not even in dreams.

I grow uncomfortable under his increasing scrutiny. What is he searching for? Does he suspect my duplicity?

“Why did you keep him?" He asks. “The baby. Why not find a good family for him?”

“Because he is yours.” I simply say.

There is a deep sadness in his eyes. “You say that as though you care deeply for me. Do you not think whatever feelings you may have, or I may have, was brought on by the circumstances of where we were? That none of it is real.”

“It is all real. My God in heaven, I wish it wasn't. The blood, the filth, the men weeping for their mothers or their wives. None of the horrors of that ghastly place discounts what I feel for you. If anything it only made me realize how very
fragile life is and that we have no guarantee of tomorrow, that we must make our decisions based upon what we know at this moment.” I say softly.

He sets the glass aside, then reaches out and cradles my face, his thumb sweeping along the curve of my cheek to capture a tear I had not even realized had formed. His action is heartbreakingly familiar. He had done the same that night, just before he had drawn me into the circle of his arms and provided me with a safe haven. “What do you know at this moment?”

“That you're the most remarkable man I've ever known.” I say softly.

His thumb stills. “Do you know that my brothers bought me a commission because they thought I lacked character? That I preferred women above all things.”

“And women prefer you above all other men.” I say with a small shrug.

His eyes widen slightly.

“I do not think there was a nurse in all of the hospital who didn't fancy herself in love with you. You have the ability to smile at a woman and make her believe that you have never smiled in quite the same way at any other.” I tell him.

“Was it my smile that charmed you into my bed, then?” He asks.

Once again, all hope that I had been more than simply one of the nurses shatters into sharp shards with the affirmation that I had been merely one of a dozen. When he touches me, when I an near enough to look into the hazel depths of his eyes and absorb the beauty of them, when his attention focuses on me, I can easily forget that I mean nothing to him. While I had worshiped him for his strength, his unselfishness, and his willingness to tend to my heart, I had obviously misread his affections for me, and had thought myself more than I was. But what does my place in his heart truly matter when he has so courageously secured a place in mine?

Slowly I shake my head, unable to pull forth the teasing smile that he is no doubt expecting. How can I when my heart is cracking? “No, not your smile.”

His other hand comes up, as large and strong as the first. His gaze wanders over my face, stopping at my lips. They are tingling, parting. In his eyes, I see interest, curiosity … desire. “My kiss then.”

Before I can inform him that he had not enticed me with a kiss, he is doing exactly that, his mouth playing provocatively over mine. I stiffen when he pushes his tongue between my lips and swirls velvet over silk, then relax as his skill seduces me. He does not force, but he invites. I accept the invitation. His flavor is rich and powerful, wine and whiskey combined into a darkness that is as intoxicating as the caress of his tongue. He ravish without brutality. He causes every nerve to tingle, every inch of my body to respond as though he slowly strokes me from toe to chin.

I have dreamed of him sweeping me off my feet a thousand times as I had walked the narrow path between the beds at the barrack Hospital tending to the needs of other men, as I had prepared to leave the war because of Zane’s impending birth, as I had traveled the rough seas on a ship, as I had journeyed via railway to our destination. Major Zac Dragan had never been far from my thoughts.

But in spite of my various imaginings, I had not been prepared for the compelling nature of his kiss, delivered with such urgency. I return it in full measure. Life is short, opportunities few, and I have yearned for this nearness for too long to be demure now. I step into his embrace and feel as though I have finally returned home, to the spot where one night with him had shown me I could be.

As his arms come around me, drawing me even closer, I know I am where I am meant to be. I looked into his eyes that long ago night and I saw his compassion and kindness. I know of his bravery, and have seen his unselfish devotion to his men.

A man lacking in character? If he had ever truly been such, I have no doubt he had left that part of himself on the shores of our home country when he had taken flight towards the east.

I fear that he has left his memories of me back in the hospital, but he kisses me now as though he is intimately familiar with the contours of my mouth. He leaves no part wanting for attention. His feral groan echoes around us, and he deepens a kiss that I had thought could go no further. Intense heat swarms through me. If I didn't know better I would have thought I had suddenly taken ill. My stomach clenches, and between my legs, warmth pools with the promise of more pleasure and eventual satisfaction.

He drags his mouth from mine, his breathing harsh and heavy. I draw in great draughts of air, as his hot, moist lips trails to the sensitive spot below my ear and nibbles there. I want to tell him that his kiss had not enticed me before, but he has left me without the strength to speak. It is a wonder I am still standing. If not for the sturdiness of his arm at my back, I suspect I would be on the floor now, a silken puddle of heated desire.

Then he returns his mouth to mine with an urgency that matches mine. I want this, want whatever he will grant me. A kiss, a touch, a caress, yes, even more. I have come too far, taken too many chances, ruined my reputation. I have nothing else to lose and all to gain. I could tell him that I love him, because I do. The man I had met on distant shores is worthy of my devotion.

I might not stand out in his mind as memorable, but he has never become diminished in mine.

I hear the clatter of pins hitting the parquet floor, and feel the strands of my hair falling free to brush along my shoulders.

He combs his fingers through my hair.

His mouth leaves mine with an abruptness that startles me. His brow is furrowed with confusion. His breathing is labored as though he has just run up a hill. Mine is no better. My pulse thrum an unsteady beat. I want his mouth back on mine. I want to be locked in his embrace and the key tossed away.

“Your hair. It's … short." He mumbles.

It is considerably longer than it had been, but not nearly as long as it once was. What does that have to do with anything? The words make no sense and lifts me from the sensual well into which I had fallen. “Vermin. Difficult to keep it free of vermin. With all the wounded … so little time. Cropping it was easier."

He releases me with a suddenness that has me staggering. Why had I gone on and on about my dratted hair? Why hadn't I simply moved forward before the spell was completely broken?

“My God. I forgot myself,” He says, his voice rough with needs unfulfilled. “Forgive me."

Before I can assure him there is nothing to forgive, he snatches up his walking stick from where it had been resting against the wall. Without another word, he begin trudging toward the door, his limp incredibly pronounced.

Have I caused him pain by forcing him to hold me up, by pressing against him? Can he place me better now? Is he toying with me? Surely, he had to know that he has never before kissed me. Had he finally desired me as I have always desired him?

I am confused, mortified. Why did he act as though he doesn’t know me at all? “Zac?”

“I need to go." He mumbles.

And then he is gone.

I stand there for the longest time, trying to regain my bearings, clutching the short strands of my hair, trying to determine why he would be so bothered by them. They had been even shorter when I had tended to him. He acts as though he has absolutely no memory of me at all. Wretched tears burning in my eyes. How can I have meant nothing at all to him?

I hear a distant door slam. I hurry in the direction of the sound.

“Have you seen Major Dragan?” I ask the first servant with whom I cross paths.

“Yes, ma’am. He retrieved his coat and left.” The man says.

By the time I am standing outside the front door, he is already galloping away, his coat billowing behind him.

I want to be on the horse with him. I want him, the pitiful creature that I am, content to receive the smallest bit of his attention. He gives it so easily and so completely to other women.

Why not to me?