She comes to, to find John standing over her, a lamp in his hand.
"Hey there Sleeping Beauty," he smiles almost tenderly and Grace feels a tight pain in her chest that almost leaves her breathless. And frightens her. Not that she'll ever admit it. "I've got us some dinner."
"Dinner?" Her voice is a husky whisper.
"Yeah," he crouches down beside her, placing the lamp carefully on a wooden box. "The farmhouse that this barn belongs to? The owners are out and I, uh, borrowed a few morsels."
"You *stole* dinner?" she laughs disbelievingly. "John "I never put a foot wrong" Black *stole* us dinner?"
"Yeeaaah, well," he shrugs with a grin, happy that the tension between them has dissolved for just a moment. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."
"Well, it's hardly going to bother me, is it?" she throws him a wickedly mischievous glance and then rummages through the box in front of her. There's cold chicken, salad, cheese, pate and bread. Suddenly she feels even more ravenous than she had just a moment ago.
"Oh my!" She looks at him, her eyes sparkling with nearly childlike anticipation.
John's breath catches in his throat as he struggles to remember that she's not Marlena. Everything about her at this moment, the way her eyes glow amber in this soft light, the sound of her voice. He has to fight himself not to touch her. Not to reach out and caress her cheek or feel the softness of her hair. His need for her is almost overwhelming and he has to look down at the box or he knows she will read it in his eyes. Read how close he is to giving in to her at this moment, when she is so much like the woman he loves.
"I'm almost impressed!" she continues, not missing a beat.
He smiles to himself, her words breaking the spell. And more than that, he feels like he's getting somewhere, that he's breaking down her defenses and getting close to the real Marlena. He's starting to feel her, almost like a palpable presence and it brings him more hope than he's had for days.
He clears his throat. "Well, I don't know about you," he says lightly, "but I don't think I can wait any longer."
It doesn't take them long to demolish the contents of the box, stuffing themselves until they feel they can barely face another bite of food.
John throws down a crust of bread and lays back on the hay groaning, almost painfully. Grace chuckles lightly. "Careful Black, you don't want to get fat now."
She leans back and props herself up on her elbow. Her gaze is seductive, almost predatory. "Of course, if you want, I can help you work some of those calories off. I'm sure I can think of a way..." Her beautiful lips curl into a suggestive smile.
Her words and tone immediately sends John's heart racing and he has to school his expression into one of indifference.
"Why don't you give it up?" he says as casually as he can manage. "You know it's not going to happen."
"No," she replies seriously. "I don’t know that. I don't know that at all."
He has no answer to that as she holds his gaze. He feels like she can see deep into his soul. He feels like she can see his weakness, his desire for her which is almost unfathomable. Uncontrollable.
Despite himself, he leans over and gently wipes a smudge of mayonnaise off her chin with his thumb. Silently, their eyes still locked, she takes hold of his wrist and raises his thumb to her mouth. Slowly and seductively, she licks the mayonnaise off his thumb, curling her warm and moist tongue over his skin so sensually he's almost exploding with longing.
She releases his hand and John pulls it away, slowly curling it into a fist as the tension between them is electric.
"I don't know that at all," she repeats.
John looks away from her, clearly deeply unsettled by what has just passed between them and she smiles knowingly. She gets the reaction a moment later as he pushes himself off the ground and stalks off into the darkness.
However, she is surprised and gratified when he returns a moment later with a cooler in his hand. He sits down beside her again and places the small box between them.
"What's this?" she asks curiously. She's not entirely sure what he's up to. And she's not sure she likes being surprised by him.
"Open it and find out." He looks at her expectantly.
"Pandora's box?" She looks at him from under heavy lashes. "How do I know if I can trust you?"
"You don't," he smiles smugly. "But as you've told me a number of times, I'm not about to hurt Marlena, am I?"
"I'm not Marlena." She says simply.
"I realize that." He answers.
There is silence between them for a moment as they stare at each other. Grace is the first to look away and she places her hands over the top of the cooler and takes a deep breath. Something is happening between them, something she can't control. Something she's not sure she wants to stop.
"Open it," John urges, his voice a warm caress in the stillness of the night.
She opens it.
Inside is a bowl of strawberries and a bowl of whipped cream.
~~ The crackling fire warms the crispness of the night air. Around her floats the strains of a voice as warm as honey. She lies in front of the fire, in his arms. His hands are cradling her face and he kisses her. He draws his lips across her cheek to her ear and then down again, before enfolding her in his arms.
After a moment, he pulls away from her. The smile on his face makes her toes curl.
She reaches out her index finger and rests the tip against his chin. Her voice is little more than a tremulous whisper. "Wait."
He smiles, curious. "Mmm?"
She whispers it again. "Wait."
He understands and his eyes grow drowsy with desire. "Mmmmm..."
She turns her head with a smile while he kisses her cheek. His lips are soft and warm, and his touch sends tendrils of lust snaking through her body.
She reaches down and with one hand, gracefully picks up a strawberry. With infinite care, dragging the moment out as long as she possibly can, she brings it up and offers it to him. He takes it into his mouth, but before he can chew on it, she rests her finger momentarily on his lips. His eyes widen as she reaches back down and scoops up some whipped cream with her fingers. The cream is warm and heavy as she smears it between and all over his lips. He chews for a moment on the lush berry, but stops as she leans over him and with little swipes of her tongue, begins to lick the cream from around his mouth.
She kisses the last remaining traces away and he fervently returns her advances. His lips work their way down her neck as her breathing become shallow and her skin flushes with desire.
She abandons all sense of awareness of the moment and surrenders herself to the divine feeling of him moving against her. Of his mouth on her skin. Of his devotion.
She's barely aware she's vocalizing her feelings as she moans his name. "Oh! ...Ooh. Roman! *Roman*..." ~~
The memory sears through Grace's mind, blazing a trail of feelings so intense they smother all in their path. For a moment it's pure agony as she experiences that moment, the burning light of Marlena's desire for her husband scorching everything else into nothingness.
"Hey," John crouches beside her, gently covering her hand with his. "Are you okay?"
She doesn't answer, but in the dying lamplight, he can see her tawny eyes are glassy with tears.
"Hey," he repeats, with more compassion this time. "Grace, sweetheart..."
"No!" She skitters away from him and clutches at her hand, her fingers harshly rubbing the skin, as though trying to erase the memory of his touch. "NO. I won't.... It's not..."
She stares at him, her mossy eyes those of a scared and confused child. The tears spill over the fringe of lashes and spill down her cheeks.
"Baby," he can't help the term of endearment. At the sight of her torment it slips out as naturally as his breath. "What's wrong? I didn't mean to upset-"
"No- nothing's wrong." Her hands ball up into tight fists as she scrambles up from the hay. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine..." She repeats the words to herself as if they are a litany. As if somehow repeating them will make them true.
"You're obviously *not* fine," John finds himself somewhere between concerned and hopeful. This is what he had hoped for. The strawberries have triggered something within her. "What is it? The strawberries?"
"It's NOTHING!" she shouts furiously, smearing her tears away with a shaking hand. "Leave me alone!"
She makes for the door, but John catches her before she can escape into the inky night.
"You're not going anywhere," he growls, his arms wrapping around her waist. "You remember something, don't you? The strawberries, you remember something about the strawberries." He tries to gauge her reaction to his words, but she refuses to look at him. Instead she struggles to release herself from his grip. He notes her fists and deliberately alters his hold so that his fingers clamp around her wrists like a pair of vices.
"What did you remember? Why are you so upset Grace?" he demands angrily. "Doesn't the memory match up to all the bullshit the old man fed you?"
She says nothing, still refusing to look at him. Frustrated, he shakes her, his voice rising with passion and rage.
"What the hell does it take to get *through* to you? You saw it. You *felt* it just now." So much emotion comes out with his words that Grace shivers unconsciously. "Don't deny it, I *know* you did. You remembered. How much Marlena loved me and how much I *adored* her."
She hears his voice crack and sneaks a look at him. Her glance turns into a stare as she realizes he is crying. The tears streak down the careworn skin and his azure eyes plead with her.
"Please, you have to believe me. I loved her. I would have died for her. It all but *killed* me when I thought she was dead." His voice is gravelly now and all the fight has gone out of his body. "Whatever you remembered, you have to know... we were nothing like what Stefano told you. I loved you from the day I met you and I will love you till the day I die."
"Marlena," she whispers tiredly. "You'll love *Marlena*."
His shoulders slump and she pulls her arms from his grip. She moves away from him and stands in the doorway. Above her, the stars stretch eternally steadfast in their watch over the earth.
"It doesn't matter any more John," she says distractedly. "It doesn't matter what was the truth and what wasn't." She gives a short, bitter laugh. "In the end it's all lies. Everything we are is lies. Why should this be any different?"
"No," he comes up behind her and places his hands on her shoulders. He can feel her shiver as he presses his body against hers. "Not everything. Not our feelings. Our emotions. Not the love we choose to share. Those aren't lies."
"They're all lies," Grace murmurs, closing her eyes as his musky smell envelops her. "Feelings betray you, emotions blind you to the truth. In the end, they're just another worthless lie."
"You're incredibly cynical," John says softly. "What is it you're afraid of?" He pauses, knowing she won't answer. "Is it that once you drop these facades of control and indifference that you'll just dissolve into her. Into Marlena?"
"You are so full of *shit*!" She steps away from his touch and immediately her body cries out with the loss of him. Silently she damns the betrayal, even as she fights for control with her head. She doesn't want to be having this conversation. It's confusing her. It's scaring her. She's completely out of control - her thoughts, her emotions, the desire and need and... the feelings. She doesn't want these feelings. She doesn't want any of it.
"You're running scared, Grace." The deep pools of his gaze bore into her. "You might try and tell yourself that what you're feeling is lies, but the truth is, you're lying to yourself. You've never allowed yourself to love or to be loved. You're so scared of feeling *anything* you choose to feel nothing but anger and hatred."
Grace's face flashes with ire. "Oh, and who made you the psychoanalyst for this evening?"
"I've just been observing," he shrugs his shoulders. "When it comes down to it, you're pretty predictable really."
"Yeah well," she whips her hand across his cheek, delivering a stinging slap that leaves red welts on his weather-beaten skin. "Obviously not *that* predictable."