The Legacy - The Legacy Saga

The Legacy - Part 9

 Thirty-four

I am so nervous I can hardly breathe. I usually anticipate Adagio's arrival, but today is different because I'm finally admitting what I feel.

I am in love with Adagio St. John.

I didn't think I would ever fall in love again. I didn't want to, but I have. And now that I have accepted it, the feelings have only increased. The thought of opening up to him scares me a little–okay, a lot, but I will no longer deny my heart what it wants–what it needs. I won't try to compare my feelings for him to what I felt for Ingo because my heart only knows one way to love, and that is fully. I pray that Adagio feels the same, and right now I am in agony waiting for him.

I could call him . . .but what would I say? I release a nervous laugh. I've seen him every day for the past three and a half months and suddenly I can't come up with anything to say. Get a grip, girl! Standing by the living room window, I wait anxiously.

When Adagio finally pulls up, my heart starts pounding so hard, I grow light-headed. Moving away from the window, I take a calming breath, my fear growing the closer he gets to the door.

Breathe. Just breathe.

* * *

Sitting in the car for another moment, Adagio tries to calm his racing heart and get a grip on his emotions. For years, he has wondered if he would ever feel this way about a woman. He hadn't known if it would ever happen, or that he would ever experience emotions so strong.

Adagio wants this to work out so badly, and it hurts to think of Cisely rejecting his affections. He needs her with an intensity he never thought possible. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and gets out of the car.

* * *

When Adagio knocks, I take a moment to compose myself. I am about to cross a line that both excites and frightens me. Once I take that step, I can never go back. Nor do I want to.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

"Please don't let me ruin this," I murmur before opening the door. "Hi."

 "Hello."

He looks amazing in a beige polo and jeans, his hair tousled, muscular arms lightly tanned. But then again he always does. And I look . . . I look big.

Shyly dropping my gaze, I move aside, letting him in. "You must have been pretty busy this morning," I comment in a steady voice, wondering what took him so long, yet glad that it had.

He closes the door. "I had some things I needed to take care of. I wanted to spend the whole day with you, and I didn't want anything to interrupt. I hope that is all right."

His words catch me by joyful surprise. "It's more than all right." My gaze locks intently with his, and I don't try to disguise the longing anymore, but I still have to remind myself to breathe because my heart is racing like crazy.

Moving closer, he presses a hand to my cheek, caressing it softly. He has touched me many times, but never like this.

Keeping my gaze riveted to his, I soak in the warmth of his hand. His face is so close to mine, I can smell his cologne, and the warmth of his breath on my skin is indescribably intoxicating. I shiver as a heady wave of emotion surges through me.

His eyes roam over my face for a moment and I imagine him taking in my every feature–my brown skin, my full mouth, and my emotion-filled eyes. I hope he can read in them what I have yet to say. What a curiously-vulnerable situation I find myself in–longing to know how he really feels, but too afraid to reveal my own heart. His next words change all that.