My heart was beating too fast, and the light sweat from my workout had turned to ice. Stalling, I said, “We’re closed.”
“It so happens I know the owner. I was hoping she might make an exception. You see, I was supposed to come by sooner, but I got a bit…detained.”
My vision blurred at the wry humor in his voice. He was always like that—able to make a joke out of anything, but not mocking. Not cruel. He found humor in the irony of life, found a way to be gentle and quiet in a city teeming with random violence. Even his rejection in the hospital had been painfully kind.
Only later, in his apartment, had it stung.
I swallowed back the excess emotion—the sorrow I’d felt for his injuries and my hope at what this phone call might mean. The place of hurt and waiting where my heart had lived these past four weeks. I wanted to stay angry at him, but all I could think was: how much have you hurt? How alone have you been?
My voice came out wobbly, falling short of the casual self-possession that came so naturally to him. “She understands that accidents happen. She was just worried about you. And…she missed you.”
“Ah, Rose.” A small crack in his voice, a husky declaration of intent. “I missed you too.”
I wiped at the tear on my cheek. “Are you better? Are you well?”
“Almost. I’m almost healed, but I walk with a limp. Like an old man now. Is that going to be okay with you?”
A watery laugh was his answer. “We can match, then, because you know my knees are ruined anyway. We can hobble around together.”
“Hobbling? I don’t know about that. The spinning thing you just did looked graceful to me.”
I straightened. “Where are you?”
“Picking up where I left off.”
Breathless, I ran to the window. Sure enough, he was standing across the street. My heart lurched at the sight of him through the glass, so similar to that horrible night. The sky was clear and unusually bright, casting a milky glow across his face.
Chapter Eight
He leaned against his car, one arm slung across the roof of the Lexus, the other holding his cell to his ear. The picture of casual nonchalance and not a car in sight, yet I had to stop the words in my throat.
Look out. Be safe. I love you.
Because God, I did love him. Hadn’t I always? Inevitable, eternal, whether he bade me leave or stay.
I scrunched up my nose at him, though surely the glare of moonlight hid my expression. “Were you stalking me?”
“Define stalking.”
“What you’re doing right now, basically.”
“Ah, but I was invited to come see your place. Sure, that was a few weeks ago, but how was I to know there was an expiration date?”
Emotion thickened my voice. “You’re the one who wanted me to leave.”
“I know. I came to talk to you about that.” He straightened up so he could come to me. To walk into the street.
“No, wait. Don’t.”
He paused, midmotion. His voice was roughened with regret. “I know. I’m sorry. Just let me—”
“Okay,” I burst out. “Let me come out and give you the key card. You can drive around to the parking garage.”
There was a pause; then he spoke softly. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ll look both ways this time.”
“You did last time too. It was just—”
“An accident.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Which means it could happen again.”
He nodded, the motion small but infinitely significant from where I stood. “That’s why I don’t want to waste another minute without you. Without telling you how I feel about you or what I want for us. And I don’t really want to do it thirty feet away, so the first step is to come inside.”
“But—”
The line went dead. With a quick but definite look both ways, he crossed the street. His gait was weighted to the left, swinging low before he caught himself, half falling on every step. I had seen enough busted knees to recognize the careful movements, a symptom of chronic pain—but not at all like the stiffness arousal lent him. He reached the curb and continued with agonizing deliberation across the leaf-strewn courtyard. The wind picked up leaves in his wake and tousled his hair. He arrived at the front door wearing a lopsided smile.
Something stayed my hand for a moment, and I looked at him, thinking
this is it
. The last time he and I would ever be divided, separate entities—the last time I’d ever be trapped on the inside looking out. I’d ask him to stay with me. No time limits, no waiting. If he didn’t ask me first.
I flipped the lock and opened the door. A spicy burst of autumn air entered first, followed by the more solid, musky scent of the man I loved. He bent to give me a chaste kiss, his lips cold but soft against mine.
He surveyed the studio: the mauve walls with black silhouette etchings of little ballerinas along the seating area. Then the dance floor itself, a bland grayish color—more utilitarian than beautiful—and a wide expanse of mirrors broken only by a thick barre all around.
He turned back, his expression bemused. “It’s beautiful.”
“Really?” I said, a little flustered to realize how much his opinion mattered.
His head tilted slightly in deliberation of his next words. “I think… If you don’t mind me saying it, I think you fit here. It’s modest.”
I made a face. “Should I be insulted?”
“You’re modest,” he said, too earnest and open and honest to be mean. “I always thought the pomp of the ballet was…too much sometimes.”
“It was a chore, but that wasn’t why I did it. Besides, I would have thought you liked it, seeing as you always used Philip’s seats.”
He looked at me sideways. “Rose, you must know by now that I don’t care about ballet aside from you.”
“You never wanted to talk to me about ballet,” I accused. I had suspected his attendance was a sign of interest in me, but whenever I had broached the subject with him, he’d shut me down with monosyllabic answers and that damned bland expression.
“What was I going to say, that I only went to see you in a leotard?”
“Did you?” I asked, fascinated.
“No,” he said firmly. “I went because it was what made you happy, and I wanted to see you happy. And because I got to see you in a leotard.”
I laughed a little, blushing. I was wearing a leotard now too, although it was a heavy-duty black one with swishy blue shorts that ruined any potential sexy curves. Not that I had an excess of curves anyway—there was a reason I’d been so well suited to ballet. “I imagine my little show just now was a disappointment. That was just training, really.”
His voice dropped, faintly teasing but full of promise. “It worked for me.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’m more of a show-not-tell kind of girl.” A smile touched my lips as I thought of how much showing I’d done on that first night from my bedroom window. And a fair amount of telling too, the night we’d talked on the phone.
I led him upstairs, neatly pushing aside any of the questions that loomed in front of us, most namely:
what now?
I didn’t want to know the answer, didn’t want to be turned away or let down again when hope was so strong within me, heightened by lust and a sweet relief to be near him again.
Upstairs, I looked around, dismayed. I had slept at my brother Colin’s house for the first two nights after leaving Drew in the hospital. I’d had to swear that Philip hadn’t thrown me out, because technically he hadn’t. But damned if I was going to continue living with Philip while he tore apart my every dream just to prove he could. But my fortune had quickly changed. When I went to the city offices to reapply for my permits, I was told the ban had been lifted. Just like that? Philip must have changed his mind, though he wasn’t known for doing so. I didn’t question my luck. After that, I’d slept on a pile of questionable beanbags and floor cushions before having a daybed delivered. I’d thrown myself into renovating the studio downstairs and opening the business. It had been easier than dwelling on a recovery I wasn’t a part of.
The sight at the window jarred me from my lust. A dark street with reflective puddles. Cars going by, too fast to stop if they had to. Something dark stirred in my stomach—fear and horror and more. Pulling away, I crossed the large open living room and stood in the same place I had that night, at the window looking out. Always watching, made mute by the walls I had erected. I hadn’t been able to help him then. Even now, my heart thudded in my ears, my palms sweaty with fear even though he was in the room, here, safe.
He came up behind me, the nearness and heat of his body reverberating through mine. I wanted nothing more than to turn around, grab him, and hold on, but this felt too fragile. Too important.
“It would be okay if you wanted to wait,” he murmured, brushing my hair aside. Warm lips met my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “You have every right to be angry.”
“Angry,” I repeated dully.
“I deserve it. “ His hands came to rest on my hips. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”
How could I be angry when it led him back to me? Drew had been in an accident, and the ripples had touched everyone who loved him. “I’m a lot of things for you. I’m hopeful and sad and…and hurting. I hurt for you.”
“No. No more pain.”
“Your injuries, they—”
“Like yours, I think.” I felt a soft brush of his fingers on the sides of my knees. It tickled me, teasing out a small, breathless gasp. My thoughts began to drift until he added almost distractedly, “Occupational hazard.”
I twirled and ended up an inch from his face. “What do you mean? It was me. My studio, my hiding us that made you get hurt.”
His eyes searched mine. “Philip never told you?”
“I haven’t spoken to him since the hospital. What did you mean, occupational hazard?” Although I already knew. With sickening clarity, I knew what he was about to say.
“The accident wasn’t exactly…accidental.”
“I’ll kill him,” I breathed. “Philip
knew
that it was his fault. And he—and you—”
“Ah.” He stopped me with a half smile. “I can’t claim ignorance here. I knew the risks of what we did, and I was paid well to take them.”
“What now? Are they going to come after you again?”
He was already shaking his head. “We took care of it.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“I doubt it.”
I frowned. “Are you
sure
you’re safe?”
“I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t.”
My eyes fell shut. “This was why you wanted to break up with me at the hospital. Philip must have told you.”
“At first I thought he was just trying to break us up, but I couldn’t be sure. Then when I did know… I couldn’t have you coming to my condo, where they’d see, where they’d find out what you were to me. I couldn’t come back here until I knew you’d be safe.”
With a harrumph, I turned my back on him, staring out the window. He could have told me. Although…well, to be honest, I wouldn’t have accepted it then. Still, the thought of him recovering alone, fighting for his life, while I ordered logo merchandise for my studio hurt my heart.
He tugged me back, one hand sliding up my belly and cupping my breast through the slick leotard fabric. The other hand pulled me back to the wall of his chest, ground me against his erection. A tweak of my nipple, a nudge from behind, and I moaned, thready and weak.
“Forgive me?” he murmured against my neck.
I struggled for breath. “Bribing me with sex?”
The straps of my leotard fell down my shoulders, replaced by roaming caresses and questing lips. My arms were held captive by the straps, and I reveled in the helplessness, tossed asea and gladly drowning.
“Depends. Is it working?”
“From the beginning,” I sighed.
There was no regret in that moment, not for all the risks I had taken and the ones I hadn’t. He had showed me how to live in the moment, how to emerge and subside in a breath, how to find fulfillment in a single too-soft touch.
We had watched each other, teased each other, and when the time came to join, clashed together body and mind. This was neither a coy denial nor frantic demand. He explored me slowly, thoughtfully—a lick enveloped in a moan, a brush subsumed with a sigh. I wanted only what he gave me. We were finally, perfectly attuned.
I could see our faint reflection in the glass. Once there had only been me, standing alone, baring myself and my uncertainty. Now we were together, his lowered head beside mine. A tear rolled down my cheek. Another and another, until one landed on his wrist as he stroked and rolled my nipple to an aching point. He paused.
“Rose?” The concern in his voice was a lance through me. It wasn’t new, which was precisely why it struck me. He had always been solicitous, always kind, and he would beg forgiveness on bended knee for his one moment of meanness if I asked him to. He would be perfect for me and pay for each weakness with drops of blood and buckets of pride, but I didn’t want that. I had loved him as a stranger. I still wanted him at his worst. I would stand by him, eternal.
“Don’t stop.” The words came thickly. “Please. I need—” I wasn’t sure what.
To hurt with you. To know you’re here. To promise you forever.
He seemed to understand. “Ah, Rose.”
Gentle hands turned me around, tender lips met mine. He kissed me without reservation, in a sweet melody tainted by the salt of my tears. That didn’t slow him. They were a part of him as much as me. We mourned in that kiss, slaking all the time we hadn’t spent together in the promise of tomorrow and the pleasure of today.
I slipped from his grasp as my knees gave out, only to be held up by the cool glass at my back. He caught me a second later, fused at the mouth and hips and hands.
He groaned. “I can’t stand much longer.”
“The bed’s in there.” I waved toward the hallway. “It’s small, though.”
Taking my hand, he led me through the small apartment, peeking into each bare-box room until he found the right one.
“Rather empty,” he remarked.
“Yes, well…“ I pulled back the blankets and climbed in, kneeling in invitation.
His eyes studied mine, a little guarded. “I have a whole condo full of furniture.”