InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ The Real Thing ( Chapter 68 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

"Can I open my eyes yet?"

"Be patient, will you?"

"I smell flowers."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do."

"I feel sunshine . . ."

"Uh huh."

"I hear birds . . ."

"Yep."

"Cain?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I open my eyes now?"

"You just asked me that, and I just said no.  We're almost there, I promise."

Her answer was a long-suffering sigh as she let her chin drop on Cain's shoulder.  It had been faster, to carry her piggy-back, but Cain had realized long ago that having Gin on his back like this was a really bad idea.  Holding her this way brought her too close for comfort.  Feeling her body pressed against his, the beating of her heart permeating his back . . . She was too welcome, too inviting . . . too nice . . . If he hadn't been desperate, it never would have come to this . . .

'Remind me again: why are we doing this?'

Cain made a face as he sprinted over the open field toward the hill in the middle—their destination.  'Because I have to fix it.'

'Fix it?  Pfft!  You shouldn't have broke it, in the first place.'

'I know; I know . . . I can't do anything about that now, can I?'

There was something that was still bothering Gin, and he knew it.  In the week since he'd told her everything, things had gone back to normal, or so he had thought.  Gin smiled, teased, but there was something else, too.  The first night, he hadn't thought about it. Gathering her close, he could feel her slight resistance give way, and he'd held her as he slept.  That hadn't been the problem.  The nights after that, though, were strange.  She'd be fine until bed, and then she always seemed to withdraw from him.  Huddled on her side of the bed, unwilling to move closer unless he reached for her, she was tense, almost frightened, and Cain . . . He didn't like that, at all.

But he couldn't ask her what was bothering her, either.  Afraid to ask and to hear her answer . . . Afraid for her to lie, and that he'd believe her . . .

The idea had come to him in a roundabout way.  Sorting through the drawer in his kitchen he'd deemed 'junk', Gin had found the invitation for the art exhibition—the horrible disaster of their only date.  Seeing her grimace a she dropped the envelope into the trash can, Cain shrugged and asked her if she wanted to try going on another one.

"I owe you a good date," he told her.

Gin shook her head quickly, eyes widening as she grimaced again.  "Oh, no, Cain . . . No . . ."

"Why not?"

"That one wasn't so good," she answered, twisting her hands together in her lap.  "I don't want to go on another date, ever, ever again."

"That's what I mean," he went on.  "That one was bad, and it was my fault.  Come on, Gin.  What do you say?  Let me take you on a real date?"

"Absolutely not," she maintained.

He'd pestered her for the last few days, trying to get her to agree to let him take her on another date.  She adamantly refused with a smile on her face and a little shake of her head.  He hadn't realized that Gin could be quite so stubborn . . .

"Where are you taking me?"

"I told you, it's a surprise."

Dropping to a walk as he rounded the hill and grinned at the small opening underneath, he let Gin slip off his back and tugged the tie that held the blindfold in place.  "There."

Blinking quickly as she looked around, Gin shook her head in silent confusion as she stared at the white cloth spread in front of the hollowed out hillside.  A large picnic basket sat on the ground beside it, and Cain chuckled as she knelt down to peek inside.  "Wow . . . A picnic?  This is nice!"

Cain stretched out on the blanket and chuckled.  "I was afraid you'd think it was stupid."

Gin pulled out a platter of little sandwiches and set the down before digging into the basket again.  "Why would I think that?"

He shrugged and accepted the bottle of sparkling water she handed him from the insulated side of the basket.  "I don't know.  It's just a picnic, right?"

She grimaced as she opened her bottle and squealed as the carbonation sprayed her.  "This is great!" she assured him.  "When did you do all this?"

"While you were in class," he admitted.  She'd had a late afternoon class, and he'd used the time to run the basket and stuff out here.  He nodded at the shelter.  "Brought you something else."

Following the direction of his gaze, Gin shook her head as she eyed the small wooden chest.  "What's that?"

"Drawing stuff," he told her.  "Thought maybe you'd like to do some sketching while you're out here."

"Can I sketch you?"

He wrinkled his nose.  "Why would you want to do that?  I'm fairly boring."

"You are not," she countered as she pulled the cellophane back and grinned at the tiny sandwiches.  He'd made a bunch of peanut butter sandwiches and had painstakingly cut them all into cute little shapes that he figured Gin would enjoy.  He'd probably wasted more sandwich than he'd ended up with.  The smile on her face, though . . . well, it was effort well spent.

Grabbing a heart-shaped sandwich that he popped into his mouth in a single bite, Cain chewed thoughtfully as Gin nibbled a little round one.  "These are really great," she commented.  "What's in it?"

Glancing over, Cain chuckled.  "That's marshmallow cream," he told her.  "One of Bellaniece's favorites."

"Oh, it's good," she said, tongue darting out to catch a marshmallow strand.  "Wow . . ."

Forcing his gaze away, he stuffed another sandwich in his mouth and stifled a sigh.  "Yep."

She pulled a container of salad out of the basket and wrinkled her nose.  "This must be for you," she stated.

Cain rolled his eyes.  "Vegetables won't hurt you, Bellaniece."

"Why eat salad when you made more than enough sandwiches with the delicious fluffy 'mar-shmel-oh'?"  She grabbed another sandwich to illustrate her point.  "Bellaniece has the right idea."

"That's just sad.  You're going to get scurvy."

"If she hasn't, I won't.  Mama used to make me eat vegetables when I was little.  I ate more than enough back then, thanks."

"Suit yourself, but if you don't have something healthy, I won't let you have dessert."

Gin's ears twitched and turned toward him.  "Dessert?"

"Uh huh."

Gin thought that over for a moment.  Cain nearly laughed out loud when she grabbed the salad and dug into the basket for chopsticks, feeding herself a huge chunk of iceberg lettuce and making the most ghastly face as she chewed and swallowed.

"Oh, please, it isn't that bad," he scoffed.

Gin forced down another bite of salad.  "That's what you think."

He held out his hand for a pair of chopsticks.  Gin tried to give hers over.  Cain brushed her hand aside and waited for her to find the other pair.  He had to admit that salad wasn't really his favorite thing, either.  Before Bellaniece, he hadn't actually gone out of his way to eat vegetables, either.  Of course, he'd realized pretty quickly that it didn't do any good for him to tell his daughter to do something he wouldn't do, so in that vein, he'd forced himself to eat vegetables . . .

"Wait," Gin said suddenly, casting Cain a suspicious glance.  "What did you bring for dessert?  I didn't see anything else in there . . ."

"What?  You think I'd leave dessert where you'd find it before you ate your lunch?"

"Well, if you were nice . . ."

"I'm plenty 'nice', baby girl.  I just know you; that's all."

Gin rolled over onto her hands and knees, crawling into the short hollow under the hill to grab the wooden chest and drag it out to the blanket.  Cain stifled a sigh as he watched her, short blue skirt riding up the backs of her thighs and quickly looked away.  He knew those thighs a little too well, had been too close to them too often not to . . . Gin hadn't made any overtures to make him think that she would mind his attention, but he was loathe to push her on that, either.  A surge of panic swept through him again.  He had to fix it.  He needed her . . .

Staring up at the shelter he'd built, he smiled slightly as he recalled the day he'd spent digging it out.  He'd worked all afternoon into the evening.  This had been his favorite place to go; an escape from the rigid training of his youth; a place he could be free to think, to sketch . . . to be himself . . . Even if it hadn't been very often, this place had provided a welcome haven from the responsibilities of his training, and though Sesshoumaru and Kagura likely knew of it, neither had ever bothered him here.

"There are two sketch pads in here," Gin said as she pulled things out of the chest.

"Of course there are.  One is for me."

"For you?  What are you going to sketch?"

"You."

The sketchpad fell out of her hands as her gaze shot up to lock with his.  "Me?"

He nodded.

"Why me?"

"Why not you?"

She shook her head.  "But I—"

"You are what I want to sketch."

Ducking her chin as a flush blossomed over her cheeks, Gin shrugged.  "If you sketch me, I can sketch you?"

"Yeah, sure.  Sounds good."

Gin slowly pulled pencils out of the chest and cleared her throat.  "O-Okay."

'God, I want to kiss her,' he thought as he watched her chew on her lip.  He had to wonder if she would push him away.

"Gin?"

She lifted her eyes without raising her chin.

"You . . . you want to see it?"

"See what?"

"You want to touch it?"

"C-Cain?"

"You . . . want to . . . ride it?"

". . . What?"

With a soft chuckle, he stood up, grasping her hands and pulling her to her feet, too.  Ignoring her questions, he pulled her along the vague path in the deep grass.  He had one more thing to show her; something he only hoped would make her happy . . .


Gin gasped and clapped her hands as the giant bronze colored dog stretched out in the grass.  He was huge—absolutely massive—and he uttered a sound halfway between a whine and a happy growl.  As friendly as he seemed, she could sense the underlying power of the youkai.  The first real sense that he had most certainly earned his position as North American tai-youkai was evident to her.  Cain was a wild creature, wasn't he?  Mononoke . . . Magical creature . . .

Serene and beautiful with an underlying sense of danger, he resonated with an indomitable sense of nobility.  Cain was waiting for her—waiting for her to make some sort of gesture, waiting for her to accept him . . .

His Mokomoko-sama had merged with him.  The glossy fur of his tail and ruff rippled in the late summer breeze, and he ducked his head, seemed to be beckoning her closer.  Traversing the length of the wide open meadow, he stood well above the tallest of the surrounding trees.  He was taller than their thirty-story apartment building, and Gin stared in awe at the absolute majesty of his inu-youkai form.   Thumping his long, thick tail against the ground as the earth trembled under the sheer force of the movement, Cain dropped his nose into his paws.

"You're so big," she murmured as she slowly stepped forward to sink her hands into the thick fur of his ruff.  He had to tilt his head to the side to see her.  She barely stood as high as his muzzle.  Letting his head fall to the side, he wuffed at her, telling her that she was safe, that he would take care of her.

His paw was bigger than she was, but she had never felt safer, either. He wouldn't hurt her, and she knew that.  Something in his youki was warm and inviting.  

Cain lifted his head and seemed to smile, the corners of his mouth drawing back in an odd sort of grin.  Rising up on his hind legs with his front paws still on the ground, he looked like a happy puppy, and Gin giggled when he whined, inviting her to play.

It seemed like the most natural thing to do, climbing up on his shoulders.  He didn't mind—stood completely still, in fact.  Nestled in the comfort of his heavy coat, she laughed when he slowly stood up.  The low, terse growl was meant as a warning.  Gin waited, holding her breath as Cain crouched then leapt.  Soaring above the meadow, higher than the trees, she could see the skyline of Tokyo in the distance yet it seemed so very far away.

Letting her head fall back as the wind rippled through her hair, Gin flattened her ears against the whistling breeze as bubbles of laughter ebbed out of her.  She felt so free, so light . . . She felt like she was flying despite the very real, very solid mass of Cain's youkai form.  He barked low—almost a growl.  The acknowledgement spoke to her heart, whispered to her soul.  Everything about him was familiar.

She scarcely felt him land.  Hitting the ground only to push off into the sky once more, there was a certain poetry in his movements, an elegance that combined with the intrinsic feel of the spirit.  She would have let him take her to the ends of the earth, she supposed.  When he lit on the ground in the field once more, she sighed.

Cain stretched out again as Gin slipped down onto the grass.  Darting around his head, she stroked his muzzle, smiled at her reflection in the sapphire eyes she knew so well.  He whined just a little as Gin carefully crawled into the nest formed by his crossed paws.  Curling up beside him with her cheek resting against his thick ruff, she ran her fingers through the glossy strands.  Sheltered beside him, she could hear his heart beating, and she smiled as she closed her eyes.

He would keep her safe, wouldn't he?  He'd watch over her while she slept.  For the first time since the day Cain had told her everything, Gin didn't keep herself awake with worries, with questions that didn't have answers.  She couldn't change anything, and there really wasn't a thing she could do about it.  Even if she could, would it matter?  Cain was with her now.  He'd be there when she woke up.  So long as he was there . . .

Maybe that was enough . . .


The gray lines were smudged just enough to soften the impact on the paper.  Sitting with his back against a tree trunk, Cain's hand moved in rapid strokes, creating and delineating as dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves high above.  The late afternoon shade appeared as streaks and blotches on the girl's skin, and he smiled slightly as he watched the breeze lifting and toying with the silvery strands of her hair.

Wrapped in the security of his Mokomoko-sama, Gin sighed in her sleep, her face nestled in the rich bronze fur.  Cheeks touched with a hint of dusty rose, she reminded Cain of the romantic painters' depictions of cherubs and angels.  'Precious,' he thought with a tiny smile.  He'd never really thought of that word when he looked at someone before—at least, no one but Bellaniece.  She was precious to him, too . . .

'Cain, you know, there might be a way . . .'

Concentrating on the flowing lines that depicted the Mokomoko-sama in the picture, Cain scowled and took a moment to scrape the pencil lead back to sharpness again.  'Hmm?'

'She was right, you know?  About saving a part of Isabelle when you saved Bellaniece . . .'

That gave him pause, and he stared at the leaves high above.  'But I still made that promise, and . . . I can't go back on my word . . .'

'And Gin?  What if she needs you, Cain?  What then?'

He sighed.  'As long as she needs me . . . I promised her that, didn't I?'

'As long as she needs you . . . Do you know what that means?'

Cain let his head fall back against the tree trunk.  'I know what that means.  If she needs me . . . for as long as she needs me . . .'

'. . . That could be a long time, Cain.'

Tamping down the surge of cautious hope that shot through him, he smiled slightly and drew a deep breath.  'A long time?  With Gin . . . That wouldn't be . . . bad . . . would it?'

'And Isabelle?'

'Isabelle . . .'

'The promise you made when Isabelle died?'

Cain let out his breath and lowered his gaze to the sketch once more.  It was almost finished.  'Yeah . . . Well, I should have gotten on that plane and gone right back home to Maine.  If I had . . .'

'But you didn't.'

'No, I didn't . . .'

'Two wrongs won't fix anything.  You know that, right?'

'I know that.'

'Does it really matter now, what you should have done?'

Cain idly added shading to the girl in the sketch, the tip of his pencil creating shadow and light.  'No . . . No, it doesn't.'

Gin had looked so innocent, hadn't she?  Completely unaffected by the lie she tried to tell him . . . "I didn't feel so good.  It must have been the flu."

'Do you believe that?'

Cain traced the line of her hip.  'She wants me to.'

'But do you?'

'I . . .'

"What are you sketching?"

Blinking away the lingering remains of memory, Cain lifted his gaze to lock with Gin's and smiled.  She hadn't moved an inch, as though she'd known that he had been drawing her, but she smiled back at him, and that was enough.  He hadn't heard her laugh since that awful night, and her smiles had masked a darker emotion: a sadness that she tried to conceal from him, despite the price it cost her.  Transforming into his youkai form took a lot out of him, physically.  Hearing her laughter as he'd ran with her . . . That was worth it, in the end.

"What do you think I'm sketching?"

She giggled, her cheeks pinking as she bit her bottom lip and shrugged.  "Are you drawing . . . me?"

His smile widened at the bashfulness in her voice.  "Yep.  How'd you guess?"

"I want to see," she said as she sat up and bent her legs, drawing her feet up beside her as she petted the Mokomoko-sama's fur.

"All right," he agreed.

She scooted over to him and leaned on his arm to peek at the sketch.  "That's really . . ." she trailed off with a soft gasp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, as her eyes widened.  "Cain!  I'm not—Why did you—?  You drew me naked!"

Judiciously hiding his amusement at the harshly hissed whisper of her last word, Cain cleared his throat and made a face.  "You don't see anything but your hip."

"Still," she argued, cheeks reddening a little more.

"Gin, can you honestly look at this sketch and say that you think it's not tasteful?"

Gin shook her head.  "Well, no . . . I mean, it is a really good sketch . . ." she allowed grudgingly.  "Really, really good . . ." She giggled suddenly, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around her legs.  "That'd be wicked, wouldn't it?  Lying around, naked in the grass . . ."

"Wicked?" he echoed, arching an eyebrow at Gin's perceived daring.  "You wouldn't do it."

She ducked her chin.  "I don't know . . . If I knew that I wouldn't be seen, I . . . might."

"I could make sure no one sees you . . . unless you wanted someone to see you, that is."

She giggled.  "You'd peek."

He sputtered indignantly.  "Me?  Peek?  Gin!  Your confidence in me is sorely lacking."

Gin leaned over and kissed his cheek.  "You wouldn't peek?  Why not?  You don't like peeking at . . . me?"

Chuckling mixed with a groan as he shook his head and returned the favor, grasping her chin to hold her still so he could kiss her cheek without her trying to escape.  "That's a loaded question, and you know it."

"Does that mean you're not answering?"

"Pfft!  I'm not that stupid," he grumbled playfully, turning her face to wipe the traces of graphite smudges from her cheek.  He'd forgotten that he'd been sketching . . . "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Yes, I did."  Face contorting in a frown, Gin suddenly whipped around to look at him.  "You didn't let me have dessert!"

Cain blinked.  "Dessert?"

"Yep, dessert.  You said that you brought dessert, and then you didn't hand it over.  Where is it?  Huh?  Huh?"

He laughed.  "You have to wait.  It needs to be dark before you can have it."

She snorted.  "That's hardly fair."

"It's entirely fair."

"So you say."

Cain rolled his eyes but grinned.  "It's nearly dusk."

"Fine, fine, make me wait."

"Another hour won't kill you."

Gin tilted her head to the side as she regarded the sketch in Cain's hands.  "Do I get to sketch you now?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

She shrugged.  "I don't know.  I want to."

"I'm not nearly as interesting, wrapped up in my Mokomoko-sama . . ."

"Oh, can I draw you in youkai form?  The big dog?"

Cain coughed suddenly and choked back a laugh.  "The . . . big . . . dog . . .?"

She nodded.  "Yes."

"That sounds even less interesting."

"You drew me naked!" she reminded him, hissing the word 'naked' as though she didn't dare say it out loud.

"Okay, so I'll get naked, and you can draw me," he teased with a perfect affectation of her hissed word.

Snapping her mouth closed as her cheeks exploded in a deep blush, she sucked in her breath so sharply it whistled into her lungs.  "Cain!"

"Parts are parts, baby girl."

"No, they're not," she shot back.

"You drew a naked male in class."

"This isn't class."

"Still hung up on form over function, are you?"

She wrinkled her nose.  "Yes."

He laughed then sighed and shook his head.  "Dog form, eh?"

Breaking into her most winning smiles, Gin nodded happily.  "Please?"

Cain closed his sketchbook and dropped it into the wooden box.  "The things I do for you, Gin Izayoi . . ."

"You're such a martyr," she quipped as she dug out the other sketchbook and selected a pencil.

Grunting slightly as he pushed himself to his feet and swiped up the Mokomoko-sama, Cain spared Gin a last longsuffering glance before striding away so that he could transform without disturbing the trees.

'So let me get this straight: we're transforming just because Gin wants to draw us?'

'Yeah, that sounds about right.'

'All because you wanted her to laugh?'

'That sounds accurate, too.'

'Cain, you're a real sucker, did you know it?'

Tossing the furry length of the Mokomoko-sama over his shoulder, Cain grinned just a little.  'Have you heard her laughter?'

'. . . Yeah . . .'

'Good, then you should know why I do it.'

His youkai sighed.  'Yeah, I do . . .'


Gin stood on her knees as she tried to peer over Cain's shoulder.

"Patience is a virtue, baby girl," he commented.

She made a face.  "I just want to see what you're doing."

"You're making me nervous."

"I am not!"

"All right.  You're not."

"What are you doing?"

He finally turned around, holding out a stick with two fat white globs stuck on the end.  They looked almost like cotton balls, but they smelled like the marshmallow fluff that Cain had spread on some of the sandwiches.  "Why are they on the stick?" she asked as she sniffed them.

Cain chuckled.  "Hold them over the flames, but not too close or they'll catch fire."

"This is dessert?" she asked dubiously.

"Part of it."

She didn't understand what he meant, but she carefully held the stick over the flames of the small fire.  Cain grasped her hand and raised it a little higher before letting go and turning his attention back to something that Gin couldn't see.

Sitting up on her heels, she tilted her head back and tried to catch a glimpse of what Cain was doing.  She heard paper tearing and the crinkle of plastic, but she couldn't smell anything other than the smoke from the fire.

"Your marshmallows are burning," Cain remarked idly without turning to look.

Gin squealed as she jerked the stick out of the fire and stared at the flames engulfing the food.  "Oh, no!"

"Blow them out," he said in a calm voice.

She did, wrinkling her nose as she stared at the blackened treat.  "I ruined them."

Cain chuckled and turned around.  Grasping the stick in one hand, he carefully pulled the blackened layer off the marshmallows and popped them into his mouth.  "See?  It's fine," he garbled around the mouthful.

"It was burnt!"

"It's not so bad," he said after swallowing.  "Bellaniece likes them that way.  Marshmallows are one of the few things that don't taste too terrible if you burn them.  Give me your stick."

Gin gave him the stick and scooted closer to watch as Cain carefully pushed the melted, gooey marshmallows onto the chocolate and thin square cracker-thing he had arranged.  "Ooh, what's that?"

"It's a 's'more'."  Setting her stick aside, he took another cracker and set it on top, squeezing the makeshift sandwich just enough that the melted marshmallow oozed out around the sides before handing it to Gin.  "Be careful.  The marshmallow is still hot."

Gin took the concoction and sniffed at it as she turned it from side to side.  Nibbling the corner of it, she giggled.  "It's good!"

He chuckled as he skewered more marshmallows onto the stick and held it out over the flames.  "Glad you like them."

"Can I have another one?"

"You haven't finished that one."

"Well, I will . . . Then may I?"

Cain rolled his eyes as he carefully rotated the stick.  "Yeah, sure . . ."

"The stars are really pretty tonight," Gin mused, staring high above the field at the twinkling sky.

"Yeah," he said as he squished another s'more together.  "It's hard to see them in Tokyo."

"Mama said that the stars were brighter in Papa's time."

"That makes sense.  Less pollution and all that."  He smiled suddenly, shaking his head as he chuckled.  "If you think this is something, you should see the stars in Maine.  Some nights they seem low enough to touch them.  We can do this again, you know?  You can eat as many s'mores as you want, and we'll watch the stars all night.  They're really something, out over the ocean . . ."

Dropping her gaze to her sticky fingers, Gin tried to make sense of what he said.  "That sounds really nice."

He didn't notice her reluctance as he prepared another snack.  "There's one place Bellaniece and I usually go.  It has the best view of the stars and the ocean . . . You'll like it."

'Don't read too much into it, doll.  He probably doesn't realize what he's saying.'

'Of course not,' she agreed.  'He makes it sound like we have a future together, doesn't he?'

'. . . Take what you can get, doll, and don't ask him for more . . .'

She drew a deep breath and smiled.  'Take what I can get.  That's right . . .'

"Is that one for me?" she asked, brushing aside the morbid thoughts and concentrating on the moment instead.  Intercepting Gin's acute interest when he started to bite into his s'more, Cain sighed and handed it over.  "Thank you," she told him.

He leaned back on his elbows, crossing his ankles as he stretched out beside the fire.  "You're welcome."

"You're not having one?" she asked as she bit into the s'more.

"I'm all right.  Anyway, you'll just keep taking mine."

Gin snapped her mouth closed as her cheeks pinked, but she didn't stop eating.  "I wouldn't!"

"You would."

"I might," she admitted.

He laughed as he shifted his gaze to her.  "You've got marshmallow on your chin," he pointed out.

"I do?"

"Yep, sure do."  He nodded, watching in undisguised amusement as she wiped her chin and missed.

"Did I get it?"

"Nope."

Gin made a face as she swallowed the last of that s'more, too.  "These are messy."

"Here," he said as he sat up and licked his thumb before rubbing the marshmallow away.  "It's all gone."

"You didn't bring any napkins or anything, did you?"

"No, why?  Is something else bothering you?"

She grimaced and held up her hand.  "I'm still sticky," she confessed.

He reached for her hand and gently licked her fingers.   She gasped softly, trying to pull away.  She supposed he might have done the same thing if Bellaniece had been in the same situation.  There wasn't anything overtly sexual in the gesture, she couldn't help but feel the electric shock of sensation; the absolute temerity of his actions sending resounding waves of misfiring nerves in her body as his tongue bathed away the lingering marshmallow.  "C-Cain . . ."

"Hmm?"

"M-My fingers are c-c-clean . . ."

"Think so?" he asked but didn't let go of her hand.

She nodded.

He spared a moment to kiss the back of her hand before finally relinquishing his hold on her.  "Can't have you all sticky, can we?"

She laughed weakly, pressing her now-clean hand against her stomach to quell the butterflies that were fighting for control of her body.  Trying to distract her wayward thoughts more than anything, she reached over him for the stick and the bag of marshmallows.

"You're going to get all sticky again," he warned.  She grinned as she stabbed the stick through a couple marshmallows.

"You can just lick my fingers clean."

He groaned then sighed, slowly shaking his head just before casting her a rather sheepish grin.  "You know, Gin . . . I should probably apologize."

"What for?" she asked absently, preoccupied with turning the marshmallows over the flame as she tried not to burn them.

"Well," Cain drawled, "I know you said you didn't want to go on another date."

"You have to admit, the one was really bad," she muttered then sat up a little straighter as suspicion crept into her mind.  "What do you mean, 'another' date?"

Cain shrugged.  "This is a date."

"Wh—?  No, it's not!"

"I provided transportation, didn't I?"

Gin made a face.  "Yes, but—"

"And lunch?"

"Sure, but—"

"And I found things to do that amused you?"

"Okay, but—"

"And the all-important dessert?"

"All right, but—"

"I hate to tell you, but that's a date, Gin."

"It isn't!"

"But it is."

"It can't be!"

"And yet . . . it is."

She snorted.  "Keh!  You tricked me!"

He chuckled.  "Yeah, I did."

"That's not very honorable of you."

He reached over and tweaked her bottom lip.  "You're pouting, baby girl.  It's damn cute, too."

She swatted his hand away.  "Cain!  That's not nice."

"Are you having a good time?"

"Well . . . Yes . . ."

He chuckled at her sullen tone.  "Good.  So I am."

She shot him a sidelong glance.  "You . . . are?"

"Yeah."  Cain smiled at her.  "Yeah, I am."