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She would like to touch him.
But she can’t.
When he sleeps it is fragile and the smallest disturbance will wake him. Sleep is ever so precious for Scott Tracy, unhindered sleep so rare, she cherishes it, fosters it, and defends it with a fury that terrorises the Island should any threaten to wake him.
So she watches him instead.
Lying beside him she sees his small movements. The inevitable frown, the flickering smile, his emotional dreamscape echoed in his expression.
His hair loses its perfection in sleep. It flops into his eyes and sticks up at angles. The fine streaks of grey outlining a scruffy mess that would horrify him were he conscious.
She loves it.
Because it washes away the Commander, the persona that puts so much strain on his soul.
Of course, she values him in any way she can get him. She is proud to stand beside the Leader of International Rescue as he shakes hands with world leaders. She has lain beside him while he has been wrought with fever and illness.
She has held him as he cried.
But lying here in the quiet moments she can just watch, track his contours, his shoulders, his bare arms, the occasional scar. She can’t touch him without disturbing him, but her eyes can wander.
Awake his face is dominated by those astonishing blue eyes. Quick, clever and brilliant, they express his mood and flicker with thought, ever energetic and in motion.
Asleep, his eyes are closed and his face takes on a different persona. His youth returns. Muscles slacken, ironing out the worry lines, hiding the weight on his shoulders, taking away the Tracy and leaving just the Scott.
The man she had fallen in love with.
She would love to touch him.
Her hands twitch and her heart aches to feel his skin beneath her fingers. Soft, firm, tanned. He is glorious.
But he must sleep.
Let him sleep.
“I can feel you watching me, you know.”
She startled. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
A slit of blue peers out at her and a smile curves his gorgeous lips. “No.”
Before she can react, his hand is touching her, fingers in her hair and he is up and leaning over, those lips brushing hers.
Time is lost for a moment.
He lets her go and she feels loss, but he doesn’t go far, still above her, still smiling.
“Good morning, Emaline.” The smile becomes a grin as he watches her fumble for an answer, her brain caught between his lips and his eyes.
She reaches up and touches his face. Warmth and energy under her fingers. He leans into her hand before turning to kiss her palm.
“Good morning, Scott.”
He doesn’t answer, but his kiss trails down her arm, before once again skipping to her lips.
And his touch becomes all.
-o-o-o-