The Stars in the Sky (Giving You ... #2) (24 page)

And he got pissed. Fast. "Shit," he spat. He got off of me and stood up. "Figure out what you feel, and when you do, come find me." And he stalked out of the room and upstairs.

Now what should I do?

My body shook and I felt close to tears. I wanted to run upstairs and talk to him. I wanted to call Amelia. I wanted to figure this out. I didn't know what to do.

Instead of doing the mature thing, I got up off of the couch and bolted out of the house, running as fast as I could to the beach.

Loophole

THE WAVES CRASHED on the beach and withdrew as I dug my feet into the sand. The summer sun pounded on me. I felt like the water and the sun would wash away my emotions: this agonizing need to get away from him. To escape. To get out of there. I needed time to think.

I started walking up the beach, thoughts zooming in my head, buzzing around, and not letting me rest.

Or maybe I needed to stop thinking.

Could I imagine life without Will?

No.

Turning to the waves and watching the splash of the water, I realized that answer came immediately. Even though I’d just been compelled to leave him, the thought of leaving him for real horrified me. So was that what love was?

And then I thought about him.

Not just the overwhelming physical attraction I felt to his beauty and his masculine power. But the way he’d shown me his true nature through what he’d done all summer.

He brought me vegan Republican candy.

He stuck up for Truc.

He apologized immediately when he was an unsupportive dick to me at the disastrous campfire where the fire wouldn't light, and he never did it again.

He made a hippie black and blue tie-dye with James when he didn't want to.

He wore that tie-dye the whole day in Santa Barbara, in public, in front of my ex-boyfriend, when he didn't want to.

I turned and walked the other way down the beach, looking for shells, lost in my thoughts.

He stood out under the stars with me and lay under them spooning with my friends in the back of his truck.

He was the most generous lover I had ever been with. He went down on me first, expecting nothing in return. And the most jaw-dropping, with his dark eyes, tanned skin, and cut body.

He loved his double-amputee mom who’d inspired the program I worked for.

Reaching down, I picked up a sand dollar, small and perfect, fingering it.

He gave me the key to his ridiculously huge truck.

He bought me vegan Pea Soup Andersen soup. And sweet and salty local, responsible ice cream.

He quit chewing tobacco, immediately.

He donated his property to helping kids like Charles and Janiqua. He cared. He wanted to make the world better too. He didn't want development around him. He grew organic produce. He raised his animals humanely. He ran a legacy family business with grit and pride.

Then I thought about the way he looked at me when I called him my boyfriend. The way he looked at me always.

He was incredible.

I threw the sand dollar into the surf, watching it splash.

Fuck, I was in love with him and I didn't even know it. I couldn't admit it to myself because I had tried all summer to keep a distance, to not analyze, to not let myself fall for him. But it had happened anyway.

And I had been in love with him for a very long time.

It didn't just happen right now. It happened a while ago.

But I just realized it now.

I’d been fighting it all summer long, throwing up excuses, walls, barriers, because of fear. But now, my heart felt like it had cracked open the whole way. Amelia was right. I’d needed to open it. I’d tried to keep it shut.

But this guy had gotten through to me.

For every bit that he was gruff, he was kind. For every bit that he fought with me, it was with a twinkle in his eye—at least most of the time. He didn't care that I had my tattoos or my eyebrow ring. He didn't care that I was the daughter of migrant farmworkers. He didn't care that I swore all the time or called him names.

Maybe I should tone that down.

But he took the time to do what I wanted. He thought about me.

And I, him. I wanted him to be happy. I didn't want him worried about sick horses or a disabled mom or stupid developers or taxes or his blueberry crop. I wanted him swearing in pleasure as I sucked him off. I wanted him sleeping peacefully. I wanted
him
, period, and all the things that came with him—dog, ranch, politics, all of it.

Because I loved his dog Trixie. I loved his four-generation ranch. I loved his surly Republican-ness. I loved his efficient way of talking, using just one word if he could get away with it. I loved the way he dressed in Wranglers and boots. I loved the way he danced in dark, dusty steakhouses.

I loved the way he slept next to me, cuddling me all night long. And I loved the way he explored my body sexually, waking me up. And I loved the way he gave me the space I needed to figure this all out.

And then I started crying for real. Ugly, loud tears. Because if I loved him, then I didn't want to leave him. This pain was what I’d been protecting myself against all summer. It wasn't just sex. It was more. And I didn't want to go back to my studio in Santa Barbara. I wanted to live with him forever and love him and fight him and drool over him and lick him and have his babies. I wanted to talk with him and dance with him and eat every vegan or non-vegan meal with him.

Hell, if I really thought about it, I wanted to marry him.

And I’d never felt this way about another person in my life. That magnet that symbolized our relationship? The one where we were either completely repelled or completely together? It was turned so that we were stuck and that was it. Once I allowed the feelings to open, they were all in. All of them. I had all of the feelings for Will.

Fuck.

I turned and ran up the path to the bluff.

When I got to the top of the bluff, sweating, panting, I kept running. I ran back the trail to the compound, past the horses, and into Will's house, without knocking, without stopping, yelling, "Will! Will?"

He appeared at the top of the stairs, the hard look on his face showing me that he was still pissed at me.

So I yelled from the bottom of the stairs, "I fucking love you, Will Thrash. I’ve never loved anyone in my life as much as I love you. Don't you ever leave me, you asshole."

He stared at me, not saying anything. His jaw ticked.

I continued. “I’m sorry I had my head up my ass all summer. I was scared and I didn’t know what to do. You make me feel like home. You comfort me. You protect me. I don’t hide anything from you.”

He gripped the top of the stairs, not moving, not saying anything.

“I love you. Say something, goddamn it.”

His eyes were the darkest I’d ever seen them, his hair wild and so sexy. “You gonna change your mind again, Marie?”

“Never,” I said fiercely.

He let go of the bannister and took a step back, shaking his head. “You gonna keep looking for a fight?”

“Not intentionally.”

He stared at me. “You gonna quit pushing me away?”

“Yes,” I gasped.

“Then c’mere, baby,” he said, and those were the sweetest words I’d ever heard.

And I ran up the stairs and into his open arms.

"I love you too," he said, "and I will never leave you." And he held me as I crashed into him, kissing him with whatever breath I had left after my run from the beach. He lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around him, holding him as close as I could, and he spun me around, then pressed me against the wall.

I broke our kiss, still crying, a total mess. "Don't make me go away at the end of summer," I sobbed into his shoulder. "Let me stay with you. I can't go. I can't be away from you." He held me against the wall and kissed me again. Then he let me down, but still kept his arms around me, his face the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And his next words made me feel a sweet relief, like all the burden of the summer had lifted.

"Then don't. Stay here. I'll take care of you. You can get your degree—it's not that long of a commute—and set up your therapy practice and do whatever you want. You can see your friends whenever they want."

I took a deep breath. "I'm moving in."

He blew out his breath as a sigh of relief. "About time."

"Are we still waiting out the week?"

"Yeah." He paused. "But I'm not opposed to engaging in the loophole, though."

"What looph—" I paused. "Oh."

"Come on in the shower," he said, "and we'll get the sweat off of you and the dust off of me. But no touching."

"Okay," I said. "Just like when we first met."

He grinned.

Spill

"WHAT DO YOU THINK of your experiment, Marie? Your two-week sexual hiatus?" asked Will.

"We still have a week to go," I answered, snuggling into him, front to front, my head in his bare chest, in his antique bed that night. I felt comfy in my light pink tank top and blue plaid pajama shorts. We were both peaceful now, having picked enough fights with each other for the time being. "It's too early to tell. So far so good. You’re overwhelming, big guy. The sex is too good." I looked up and could see the smirk on his face. "I needed to take a break to sort out my head. But it seemed to work."

He leaned over and kissed me. "Yeah," he said. "You did. You finally get your shit together?"

I nodded. "I think so. I’ve never been like this. I've never allowed a guy in or anyone, really. I don't know, I just somehow got the idea that I needed to be fun all the time. But if you're fun all the time, you don't get to the deeper stuff. It's like all desserts and no vegetables. I’d never really let myself be open with another person, except for Amelia, and that's different. Sure, I had crushes, and sure I had liked guys and had sex—"

"Not sure I wanna hear this part," he complained, eyes amused.

"But no one, ever, has made me feel the way you do. I dated a lot. I partied a lot. I laughed and drank and had fun. It was all light, though. There was no depth to it. I never fell. Not for real, in a sense that was open and honest. No one ever showed me the stars like you do."

He squeezed me. "I get it, darlin'."

"So we're going to keep this moratorium up for another week?" I asked.

"Yeah." He lazed a hand down my arm.

"Why?"

"I think we agreed on it so we should do it," he responded, his eyes liquid. "I want us to keep our promises to each other."

I liked that answer. Still. "Did we cheat in the shower?"

He grinned his half-smile. "I didn't fuck you, so no." And he kissed me. When we broke apart, I had to find my breath.

"Okay," I agreed.

In the shower, he hadn't touched me and I didn't touch him, but it was hot. Seeing him take care of himself while I took care of myself? Erotic as hell. Both of us looking into each other's eyes, the water flowing around us, the need there, but no touching each other. It felt intimate in a way I'd never been intimate before. That was definitely part of the reason why we were both so relaxed right now. That, and finally confessing our feelings for each other.

Now that I realized it, I’d felt my extraordinary feelings for him all along. I was just a dumb shit for not identifying them and for thinking of reasons to not let them in.

So where would we go from here?

Curiosity came over me. "Are you going to tell me what you are going to do to me on Friday? What is the anything?"

He kissed me softly, ran his finger down my cheek, and said with his lowest voice, "If I had to pick right now? Making love to you, very slowly, taking my time, exploring your body with my mouth and my fingers and then my cock, making you hum, then making you come. Games can wait."

Fuck me. "That'd work," I muttered, nonchalantly, and totally faking it. Then I snuggled into him again. "But no. I want to see you kinky. You've held back with me. I want to see it."

He buried his nose in my hair and said, "You want it, you got it. I'll have to go to the store. Need supplies. But I'm not telling. Man's gotta have some secrets."

"No he doesn't. Spill."