Page 43 of Make Room for Love
“I thought you could put your books here.”
Mira gasped. “Oh my goodness.” This was unbelievably kind, and thoughtful, and…sexy. She wanted to swoon. The unnameable longing from when she’d been up on the ladder returned—to let herself fall right into Isabel’s arms. What was happening to her? “That’s why you wanted to put the shelves up?”
Isabel shrugged. “You want to get your books yourself, or should I help?”
Mira laughed shakily. “Okay, you can help.” She led Isabel to her room, still flushed, grateful that Isabel couldn’t see her face. They each carried a stack of books back to the living room. “You didn’t tell me,” Mira said.
“You would have told me I didn’t have to.” That much was true. “I figured if you didn’t want to put your books there, I’d come up with something else.”
“Like what?”
“I need some new hobbies. I could start making those ships in bottles or something.”
“I could see that, actually,” Mira said. “You getting into dad hobbies.” Isabel scoffed. “You’re so sweet, Isabel. I’m so grateful.” That was true, but it wasn’t the entire truth, which was that Isabel was making her heart pound and her body run hot, every part of her vibrating with confusing, unfulfilled need.
“Uh, anyway.” Isabel put her hands in her pockets. “I wanted you to know that this apartment is yours. You can take up as much space as you want. It’s yours as much as it is mine. I don’t ever want you to feel any other way.”
Isabel’s words sounded semi-rehearsed, which made them all the more sincere. “You’re so kind to me,” Mira said, bubbling over with emotion. Over the last two months, she’d gone frombeing a complete wreck to mostly having her life together, and now Isabel was taking her apart all over again. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
Isabel looked at her feet. “You did most of the work.”
“‘It’s nothing,’” Mira said, imitating Isabel’s gruff cadence. “You know, if you do something kind for someone, you’re just going to have to accept it when they thank you.”
Isabel gave her a gently amused smile, as radiant as any other. “You’re very welcome, Mira.”
Mira shivered at the sound of her name. Their gazes met, and the charged silence went on for a beat too long. Isabel looked away first.
“I’ll let you put your books in order,” she said. “I’ll get more from your room.”
With Isabel in the other room, Mira was left with only the roar of her heartbeat in her ears. She began putting her books on the shelf—separated into fiction and nonfiction and by language, and alphabetized—and let the process distract her.
Women were interesting and beautiful. Mira was often captivated by specific women, and it was because she admired them and wanted to emulate them. Of course she wanted to be like Isabel. She could appreciate Isabel’s strength and competence and gorgeousness without beingattractedto her.
She’d solved this puzzle long ago. She just wanted to belikeother women. Right?
That was all true in theory. Reality was something else. Mira wasn’t ready for that right now. She focused on putting all her Loeb editions—green for Latin, orange for Greek—on the bottom shelf. At least her bookshelves could be well-ordered.
After two trips by Isabel, all of Mira’s books were in one place. “Thank you,” Mira said. “I appreciate it. I can take it from here.” She was afraid to look at Isabel. It would be too much like looking at the sun.
19
Mira turnedunderneath the covers again, overheated and restless.
She was turned on. Even admitting it to herself made her face burn. That was why she’d been feverish all day after she and Isabel had put up the shelves. It had been so long since she’d been truly aroused, not just lukewarm and willing, that she’d almost forgotten what it was like.
Sex had never been very interesting to her. With Dylan, it hadn’t been terrible. He hadn’t coerced her or hurt her. She had liked being desired; as long as he wanted her, she had a place in his world. Sometimes she had thought about her research while he did what he wanted.
She rarely ever touched herself, either. She was more or less at peace with her body these days, but there was never any particular reason for her to seek out pleasure. She had always retreated into her intellect to escape her bodily existence, and old habits died hard. Wasn’t there always something more interesting to think about?
Right now…there wasn’t. Her skin was hot and sensitive, caressed by her pajamas and by the cotton sheets. The memory of Isabel’s body a few inches from her own—all those powerfulmuscles shifting under Isabel’s clothes—was making her burn up. Isabel wasn’t a statue. She was a person with a thick, gorgeous body, curves and muscles that you could touch…
Mira squeezed her thighs together, and the dull ache between her legs grew so sharp she gasped. She needed more.
She slipped a hand between her shorts and her underwear, a thrill running through her as though she’d never done this before. She pressed the heel of her hand against her clit and quivered in relief. Isabel’s hands had been so big, so deft, so careful… Mira cupped one of her breasts through her camisole, and her nipple tightened as a pure, sweet shiver of pleasure coursed through her.
She twisted herself under the sheets to get a better angle. She was giddy, flushed, and by her usual standards, wildly out of control. This time, she pressed her fingers against her clit, indistinctly imagining Isabel touching her—and the searing jolt of arousal made her moan, hips lifting off the bed, the bed frame creaking.
Mira went still, her heart racing. She’d been far too loud in this very quiet room. Isabel was on the other side of the wall. Oh, god. Mira had been fantasizing about her.