TemptMe
AStarkInternationalNovella
ByJ.Kenner
TemptMe
AStarkInternationalNovella
ByJ.Kenner
PublishedbyEvilEyeConcepts,Incorporated
Copyright©2017JulieKenner
ISBN:978-1-945920-08-0
Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthisbookmaybereproduced,scanned,ordistributedinanyprintedor
electronicformwithoutpermission.Pleasedonotparticipateinorencouragepiracyofcopyrighted
materialsinviolationoftheauthor’srights.
TemptMe
AStarkInternationalNovella
1001DarkNights
ByJ.Kenner
Sometimespassionhasaprice…
WhensexyStarkSecurityChiefRyanHunterwhiskshisgirlfriendJamieArcherawayfora
passionate,romance-filledweekendsohecanfinallypopthequestion,he’scertainthattheanswerwill
beanenthusiasticyes.SowhenJamietriestoavoidtheconversation,hidingherfearsofcommitmentand
changeunderablanketofwildsensualityanddecadentplaytimeinbed,Ryanismoredeterminedthan
evertoconvinceJamiethattheybelongtogether.
Knowingthere’snohalfwaywiththiswoman,Ryangivesheranultimatum–marryhimorwalkaway.
NowJamieisforcedtofaceherdeepestinsecuritiesorriskdestroyingthebestthinginherlife.Andit
willtakeallofherstrength,andallofRyan’slove,tokeepherrightwhereshebelongs…
J.Kenner(akaJulieKenner)istheNewYorkTimes,USAToday,PublishersWeekly,WallStreet
Journaland#1Internationalbestsellingauthorofoverseventynovels,novellasandshortstoriesina
varietyofgenres.
JKhasbeenpraisedbyPublishersWeeklyasanauthorwitha“flairfordialogueandeccentric
characterizations”andbyRTBookclubforhaving“corneredthemarketonsinfullyattractive,dominant
antiheroesandthewomenwhoswoonforthem.”Afive-timefinalistforRomanceWritersofAmerica’s
prestigiousRITAaward,JKtookhomethefirstRITAtrophyawardedinthecategoryoferoticromancein
2014forhernovel,ClaimMe(book2ofherStarkTrilogy).
Inherpreviouscareerasanattorney,JKworkedasalawyerinSouthernCaliforniaandTexas.She
currentlylivesinCentralTexas,withherhusband,twodaughters,andtworatherspasticcats.
TextJKennerto21000tosubscribetoJK’stextalerts
ClickhereforanupdatedPrintableBooklist
TheStarkTrilogy:
StarkEverAfter:
StarkInternational
SteeleTrilogy:
StealMyHeart(shortstory-freedownload)
Jamie&RyanNovellas:
Dallas&Jane(S.I.N.Trilogy):
MostWanted:
AlsobyJulieKenner
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Aphrodite’sDelight(novella–freedownload)
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byLoreleiJames
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TableofContents
Discover1001DarkNightsCollectionOne
Discover1001DarkNightsCollectionTwo
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Discover1001DarkNightsCollectionFour
DiscovertheWorldof1001DarkNights
DiscoverMoreJ.Kenner/JulieKenner
More.
Thewordpoundsintomyhead,beatingasensualrhythminmyblood.
More,yes.Please,please,more.
I’mneitherawakenorasleep.Instead,I’mfloatingonacloudsomewhereaboveahorizonofdreams.
Ifeelalive.Ifeelonfire.
Ifeelwildly,incredibly,insanelyturnedon.
Mostly,Ifeelloved.Cherished.
Arousaltugsatme,pullingmeintoconsciousness.IntoaplacewhereI’mawareofthereasonforthe
firethatripsthroughmybody,ignitingmyskinandsettlingbetweenmylegs,makingmeachyandneedy.
Hislips.Hishands.
Theyareroamingoverme,strongandsure.Eachcaresslikeatongueofflame.Eachkissacooloasis,
keepingmefrommeltingundertheheatthatheisignitinginsideme.
Iknowthistouch,ofcourse.Thisman.
RyanHunter.
Isigh,simplyfromthepleasureofhisnameinmymind.Hunter.MyHunter.
BeforeHunter,I’dbeenwithalotofguys.Like,alotofguys.
Onceuponatime,that’ssomethingItookasapointofpride.ThatJamieArchercouldfuckaround
withthebestofthem,withouteverlettinganyonegettooclose.Becauseifyouletthemgettooclose,you
couldendupgettinghurt.
ButthenHuntercamealongandhebrokethroughmydefenses.Allofmydefenses.
Hetamedme,andnowhe’salwayswithme.Inmyheart.Inmyhead.
Evennow—withmyeyesstillclosed,half-inandhalf-outofsleep—Icanpicturehim.Thethick,
chestnut-coloredhairthathewearsshort,butwithjustenoughlengththatIcanrunmyfingersthroughit.
Fathomlessblueeyesthatseemesointimately.Along,leanbodythatheusesexpertly—inbedandoutof
it.
Heissoclearinmymind,andyetit’snotenough.Iwanttoactuallyseehim.Thehumorandheatin
hiseyes.Thewayhislipstwitchwhenhewatchesme,asifhecan’tdecideifhewantstokissmeor
devourme.Thetightnessofhisjawashefightsdesire,holdingbackhisownpleasureuntilhe’smademe
explodeagainandagainandagain.
“Ryan,”ImurmurasIstarttoopenmyeyes,unabletowaitamomentlonger.
“No.”Thewordissimple,yetfirm.Fullofthecommandthatcomessonaturallytohim.AndthoughI
whimper,Iacquiesceobediently.“Goodgirl.”Hisvoicewashesovermelikeawarmcaress,andIbite
mylip,forcingmyselftostayquiet.
“Iwantyoulostinfantasy,”hecontinues.“Iwanttowatchyourbodymoveundermyhand,not
knowingwherethenexttouchwillbe.NotknowingifI’mgoingtokissyourbreastorspankyourass.”
Hedoesneither.Infact,hishandsbarelymoveatall.Instead,hesimplygripsmyhips,hishands
perfectlystill.Onlyhisthumbsmove—agentlebackandforthcaressthathashardlyanymoresubstance
thanabutterflybeatingitswings,buttomeissointensethatIcanfeelthethreadofthatcontactallthe
waytomyclit.I’mhotandwetandneedy,andIwrithebeneathhim,silentlybeggingforamore
substantialtouch.
Hedoesn’tdisappoint,andIcryoutinbothsurpriseandpleasureashisfingerspinchmynipples.
Thenmoanwhenhecrushesmymouthwithabruisingkiss.
Herunshishandsoverme,histouchhard.Possessive.Hepalmsmybreasts,squeezingjustenough
thatIarchup,wantingmore.Wantinghismouthonmytit.Wantinghimtosuck.Totease.
Butheleavesmewantingandinsteaddrawshishandsdown.Notfeatherlightthistime,butwithheat
andpressuresothatheleavesatrailofredhotfiredownmybody.Sothatwhenhishandsstopatthe
junctureofmypelvisandmythighs,Icryout,“Please,Hunter,oh,fuck,please.”
Icanpracticallyfeeltheheatofhisskinonmycunt,andyethedoesn’tmove.Instead,heshiftshis
positionandIfeelthemattressdip,andthenthewarmthofhisbreathatmyear.
“Iwantallthat,”hewhispersasheshiftshisthumbjustenoughsothatIfeelitgrazealongthesoft
skinjustabovemyclit.“Mouth.Breasts.Ass.Pain.Pleasure.Andeverythinginbetween.”
Histhumbdipsinsideme,andIarchup,willinghimtogodeeper.Tofillme.
Buthe’sstillteasingme,andinsteadofthrustinghisfingersdeepinsideme,hewithdrawsthem,
forcingmetobitemylipsimplytokeepfromwhimpering.
“Inotherwords,kitten,”hemurmursashisthumbtraceslazycirclesaroundmyclit,“Iwantyouatmy
mercy.”
“Iam.”Mywordsareagasp.“YouknowIam.”ThebedshiftsagainasIspeak,andmyskinfeels
coolasheremoveshiswarmhandsfrommybody.Foramoment,panicrushesthroughme,andIfearthat
he’splayingagame.Thathe’sgoingtoleavemehere,nakedandalone,lostwithmythoughtsofhistouch,
myskinflushingasIanticipatehisreturn.AsIfighttheurgetotouchmyselfwhenallIwantishishands
onmeandhiscockdeepinsideme.
“Hunter.”Hisnameisaplea,andIreachoutblindly,graspingforhim.
“Shhh,”hesays,andthesoftbrushofhisfingertipovermylipssoothesme.“Wait,”hesays,asthe
fingermoveslowerandloweruntilfinallyIfeelbothhandsonmyhips,andhestrokesthemdownalong
myouterthigh.
Apounding,liquidheatpoolsbetweenmylegs.I’mbeyondaroused—I’mdesperate.Wanton.AndI
movemyhipsinasilentdemandthatgoessadly,frustratinglyunfulfilled.
“Christ,that’sbeautiful,”hesaysashishandsreachmyanklesandheslowly—sopainfullyslowly—
spreadsmylegs.“You’resowet,youglisten.You’reripe,baby,soripeIthinkIhavetotasteyou.”
Thewordshavebarelypassedhislipswhenhismouthbrushesmyinnerthighandhebeginstokiss
me,higherandhigherashisfingerstrailalong,lightlystrokingtheoppositethigh.Iwhimperandwrithe,
butthentheintensityofhistouchincreasesandinsteadoflightstrokestomytenderskin,hisstronghands
areholdingmedown.I’mimmobile,trappedinplace,mylegsspreadsowideit’salmostpainful,andI’m
completelyopentohim.Completelyexposed.
HistonguegrazesthesoftskinatthetopofmythighandIshudder.Itrytosquirm,buthe’sholdingme
tight.Ihearsomeonebeggingandrealizeit’sme.Asoft“please,please,ohplease,yes,please”escaping
mylips,barelyamurmur,andsomuchmorelikeaprayer.
Finally,hismouthclosesovermysexandhesucksandteases,playingwithmyoverlysensitiveclitas
Itrytomove—torelievesomeofthisastounding,amazing,incredibleassault.ButIcan’t,andIcanonly
endureitasastormbuildsinsideme,broughtonbyapleasuresointensethatitcrossesoverintopain.
Andthen,justasmybodystartstoquakewithsweetrelease,hepullsback,gentlystrokingme,his
tonguedippinginsideme,thrustinghard,andIcryout,becauseIwantmore.Iwanttobefilled
completely.Iwanttofeelmybodystretching,welcominghim.Iwanthimtoownme.Touseme.Iwantto
breakapartunderthepowerthatisthismanIlove.
“Hunter,”Icryout,andasheliftshishandstoletmemove,Ipistonmyhips,fuckinghistongueashe
slideshishandsupandcupsmybreasts,histhumbsteasingmynipples.“Please,”Ibeg,becauseatthis
pointIamofficiallydesperate.“Please,”Irepeatasmyeyesflutteropen.“Iwanttofeelyouinsideme.”
Heliftshishead,hisexpressionamixofpassionandplayfulness,thenkisseshiswayupmybody
withslow,lingeringcaressesdesignedtodrivemeevenwilderthanIalreadyam.
“Ryan—”Buthesilencesmewithalongkiss,sodeepandintimateandclaimingthatitfeelslike
fucking.
“Shhh,”hemurmurs,hismouthbrushingmine.Tastingmine.Teasingmylips.Tracingapathalongmy
jawashisfingersdipdeepinsideme.“You’resowet,”hesaysasIlosemymindandgrindagainsthim.I
wanthim.Iwanteverything.AndI’mbothfrustratedthatheisn’tyetgivingittome,anddeliciously,
wildly,insanelyturnedonbythewayhe’sextendingthisunimaginablepleasureintoaninfinite,crazed
delight.
“Idon’twanttostop,”headmits.“Iwanttokeepteasingyou.Ilikeitwhenyoubeg,kitten.Ilike
hearinghowmuchyouwantme.Tellmeagain,baby.Tellmewhatyouwant.”
“You.”Myvoiceiscracked,asshatteredasmybody.“Iwantyouinsideme.Iwantyoutocome
insideme.”
“Christ,Jamie,”hesays,hisvoicesharpandurgent.“Ican’ttakeitanylonger.Turnover,kitten.On
yourkneesforme.”
Icomplyeagerly.RightthenI’dhangfromthedamnchandelierifheaskedmeto,eventhoughwe
don’tevenhaveachandelier.Ijustwanthim.Wanttopleasehim.Wanttofeelhim.
“Beautiful,”hemurmursonceI’monmyknees,myheadonthepillowandmyelbowsonthebed.His
handsmacksmyasslightly,andIgroan,squeezingmylegstogethertofightthegrowingsenseofpressure
inmycunt.I’msofuckingturnedonrightnowthatanothertouchcouldsendmespiralingovertheedge,
andthat’snotwhatIwant.Notyet.
No,whatIwantistofeelhiminsideme.Iwantthatconnection,thatmostintimateunion,andwhenI
finallyfeelhiscockatmyopening,myentirebodyrejoices.This.ThisiswhatIwant.Thisman,onewith
me.
“Yes,”Ibeg.“Now,Ryan.Now.”
I’mbeyondwet,andwhenhegripsmyhipsandthrustsforward,hiscockfillsme.Hestaysstillfora
moment,ourbodiesjoined,thenpullsoutbeforeslammingbackintomeagainandagainandagain.
Wilderandfaster,inarhythmthathasmegasping,myhipsmovingintimewithhisthrustssoastomakeit
deeper.
“Iadoreyou,”hemurmurs.“Christ,youfeelgood.”
“Yes,”Imurmur,becausemymindcan’tcomeupwithanymorewords.“More.”
Hislaughislowandthroaty,andheslipsonehandoffmyhipthenslidesitaroundtoteasemyclit.
He’sthrustingslowernow,andwhenhetakeshisotherhandfrommyhip,Ibitemylowerlip,unsure
whathe’supto.ButthenIfeelhisfingertipstrokingfrommyvaginatomyass,andmybodyshakesunder
theonslaughtofmycomingorgasm,mycunttighteningaroundhisrock-hardcock.
“That’sit,baby.Iwanttomakeyoucrazy.”
I’mdesperatelywet,andwhenheteasesmyanuswithhisthumb,it’swetandslickwithmyown
desire.Thenhepressesitinsideme,slowlyatfirst,andthenfasterasIrelax,sothathisfingerfucksmy
assashiscockpumpsharderandharder,thetempoincreasingagainuntilIamreducedtolittlemorethan
sensationandneedandgreedylust.
Hisfingertipteasesmyclitashethrustshisfingerandhiscockharderandharder,andIpistonmy
hips,wantingthistocontinueforeveralmostasmuchasIwanttoexploderightthisverymoment.Iwant
toshatter.
Iwantittoneverbeover.
IwantHunter.
“Ryan,”Ibeg.“God,Ryan,please.”
Andthen,withoutwarning,mymusclesclenchtightaroundhim,mywholebodyshotthroughwith
electricity,mycoremilkinghimashecriesouttooashisbodyexplodesinsideofme,andI’mtwisting
andmoaning,wantingbothtoescapefromthisonslaughtofsensationandtoexperienceitfully.I’mlostin
adanceofcolorssowild,soincredible,sointenselybeautiful,thatI’mcertainthismustbewhatheaven
lookslike.Atleast,it’stheheaventhatHunterandImadetogether.
Slowly,Icomebacktomysenses,andrealizethatI’mbitingdownhardonthepillow,asifthatwas
mytethertotheearth.
Ryanhasmovedbesideme,andnowhecradlesmeagainstthewarmthofhisbody.
“Ithinkyoubrokeme,”Imurmur,andthoughIcan’thearhisrespondinglaugh,Ifeeltherumbleinhis
chest.
“Ihopeitwasworthit.”
IshiftsothatI’mfacinghim,ourlegsintertwined,hissemi-erectcockbrushingagainstmysensitive
pussy.“Very,”Isay,thenreachdownandgentlystrokehim.
Iseeaflareofheatinhiseyesandhiscocktwitcheswithobviousinterest.Butwhilethebodyis
obviouslywilling,themanshakeshishead,andIstillmyhand.“Thatwasyourwake-upcall.Good
morning,”hesays,thenkissesmynose.
“Ifthatwasawake-upcall,I’mgivingupmyalarmclockandrelyingonyoueveryday.”
“Iwouldn’tprotest,”hesays.Andthoughhe’dshakenhisheadjustamomentbefore,hereachesdown
andslidesmyhandoverhiscock,obviouslyorderingmetostartstrokinghimagain.
Iliftabrow,amused.“Ormaybeweshouldalwayssetanalarm.Thatwayweremembertowakeup
andfuck.”
“Idon’tneedaremindertoremembertomakelovetoyou.”
Igrin.“No?”
“Never.”
Isigh,knowingthat’sthetruth.
RyanandIhavebeentogetherforacoupleofyearsnow,andI’veneverfelthappierormoreloved.
He’strulymyknight.Amanwho,quiteliterally,rescuedmewhenItriedtorunaway.Fromhim.Froma
lifethatreallywasn’tworkingoutthewayIwantedorhadimagined.
Now,though,Ihavehim,andeverydayfeelslikeagift.He’sloyal,protective,andsexyashell.And
I’vegonefrombeingagirlwhowentthroughmenasiftheywerecandy—sweet,delicious,butnot
somethinggoodforyou—tobeingawomanwhoknowsthatRyanisthebestthingthateverhappenedto
me.Helovesme—faultsandbadchoicesandall.
Andthat’sadamnnicefeeling.
Lordknowshe’sseenmeatmyworst.He’stheSecurityChiefatStarkInternational,andhisbossand
bestfriendisDamienStark,themulti-billionairewhohappenstobemybestfriend’shusband.SoRyan
hashadabird’s-eyeviewofsomanyofmybadchoices.He’sseenmedrunk.He’sseenmedumped.He’s
seenaparadeofbadchoicespassinfrontofme,andheknewdamnwelltheywerepassingthroughmy
bed.
Andyetallthattime,he’dwantedme.Notasafastfuck,butassomethingmore.Andhe’dgoneafter
mewithsingulardetermination.
I’dbeenterrifiedatfirst.
Now,Idon’tknowhowIcouldsurvivewithouthimbesideme.
Hell,helovesmesomuchthathewantstomarryme—andthat’sanicefeeling,too.Butit’staintedby
ablackthreadoffear.BecausewhileI’mhappywiththethoughtofspendingtherestofmylifewithRyan,
theideaofformalizingitwithmarriagevowsmakesmetwitchy.
It’smakingmetwitchynow,justthinkingaboutit.Andso,likeIoftendo,Ibrushthethoughtfrommy
headandrollovertocurlupclosertohim.Ibreatheinhisscentandsigh,becausehesmellslikehome.“I
likehavingdaysoff,”Imurmur.“I’dforgottenhowmuchIenjoyeditwhenmyweekendswerefree.”I’ve
recentlylandedajobasaweekendanchorforalocalnewsaffiliate.It’sagreatgig,butIdomissthese
lazySundays.
“Well,wecan’tbetoolazy.We’remeetingNikkiandDamienoveratJacksonandSylvia’splace.
And,”headds,glancingdownathisnowsteel-harderectionthatI’mstroking,“Ithinkwe’regoingtobe
lateasitis.”
“Phhht.”Iwavemyotherhandasifbrushingawayhiswords.“Theyhaveahouse.Theyhavekids.
They’renotgoinganywhere.”Igivehisshoulderashove,sothatIpushhimontohisbackasIreleasehis
cock.Inthesamemovement,Istraddlehim,niceandlowonthehips.ThenIstarttomove,wigglingmy
assjustalittleasIleanforward,slidingmyhandsslowlyuphisrock-hardabs,thenhigherandhigher
untilI’mprettymuchdoingyogaontheman,asmytorsoisflatagainsthis,whilemylegsarestillspread
acrosshim,andtheheadofhiscockteasesmyrear.
AndI’mwet—sowetandsoturnedonalloveragain.Ishimmyabit,wantingtofeelthehairabove
hiscockroughagainstmysensitiveclit.Andhiscock—oh,yes—Iwantthatbad.Iliftmyhipsinslow,
easymovementssothathisshaftslidesalongthecrackofmyrear.
Imeethiseyes—andIseebothamusementandawildheatreflectedbackatme.“Nomoreteasing,”
hesays.“Slidethatbeautifulpussydownandfuckme.”
“Yes,sir,”Isay,thendoexactlyashesays,drawinghiminsoslowlywebotharegoingcrazywith
need.Andthen,whenhe’sdeepinsideme,werocktogetherinslow,sensualmotions.
“Kissme,”hesays,andIclosemymouthoverhis,losingmyselfinthesensationofbeingbodyon
bodylikethis,socloseIcan’ttelliftheheartbeatI’mfeelingbelongstoRyanorme.
Wemoveslowlyatfirst,butthere’snoholdingback,andsoonourmotionsarefrenzied.Soon,he’s
explodinginsideme.Soon,Ishatterinhisarms.
“Oh,baby,”hemurmurswhenwe’resaneagainandhe’slookingatmyfacewitheyesfilledwithlove.
“Youaresobeautiful.”
Ibendandkisshim—myheartoverflowing.AndIcan’thelpbutthinkhowdifferentitiswithRyan
thanthemenI’dbeenwithbefore.Before,whenaguycalledmebeautiful,I’dmentallycringed,atleasta
little.
Becausethetruthis,Iambeautiful.It’snotanegothing—it’sjustanempiricalfact.It’suseful,and
I’vedefinitelytradedonit.Butit’snotwhoIam.Nottheheartofme.AndinmylifeBR—BeforeRyan—
wheneveraguycalledmebeautiful,Ineverknewifhecaredaboutme,orifhewasjusthappytohavea
prettypieceofass.
WithRyan,Iknowwithoutadoubtthathelovesme.Andthebeautyheseesinmeismorethanwhata
camerasees.
Heseesthewholewoman.Alover,afriend.Heseesagirlhecanlaughwith.Thathecantalkto.A
womantospendlong,lazynightswith.Awomanwithhopesanddreamsandfearsanddoubts.
Heseesme.JamieArcher.Andthat’sareallynicefeeling.
“Iloveyou,”Isay,thoselittlewordsjustspillingoutofme.“You’rethebestthingthateverhappened
tome.”
ThemomentIsaythewords,though,Iregretthem.Notbecausetheyaren’ttrue—theyare.But
becauseIcanseetheresponseonRyan’sface,thoughheknowsenoughnottosaythewordsoutloud.
Ifthat’strue,thenwhywon’tyoumarryme?
Godknowsheunderstandsmarriagescaresme.And,thankfully,he’spatient.
Butthedaywillcomewhenunderstandingwon’tbeenoughandwhenhispatiencehaswornthin.
He’llwantananswer.Asolidyesorasolidno.
AndwhatthehellamIgoingtodothen?
“Again,MissJamie!Again!”
“Again?”Iask,asIcomearoundtheswingsothatIcanlookintoRonnie’sbigblueeyes,sowideand
innocentandpleading.“Aren’tyoutired?Wouldn’tyouratherplaywithyourbrotherinthesandbox?”
Herlipspurseasshetiltsherheadsideways.She’salmostsix,andshetakeseveryquestionvery
seriously.“No,”shesaysafteramomentofdeepthought.“Wannaswingmore.Wannagohigher.Please,
MissJamie.Please,please,pleeeeeeeeeeeese?”
Asthefinalpleaisstillringingintheair,myBFFandRonnie’saunt—NikkiStark—walksby
carryingtwopaperplates.Onewithahamburgerpatty,afewcubesofcheese,andfourappleslices.The
otherwithaburgerpiledsohighwithcheeseandlettuceandtomatoesitmakesmymouthwater.“You
mayaswellgivein,”Nikkisaystome.“Thekid’srelentless.”
“Iam,”Ronniesayseagerly.“I’mrent-less!Sopush,MissJamie.Pushmehigher.Please,please,
prettyplease.”
IcatchNikki’seyejustlongenoughtoseehersmirkbeforeshecontinuesontowardthesandbox,
whereRonnie’slittlebrother,Jeffery,isbuildingacastlewiththekids’nanny,Stella.Althoughbuilding
isabitofanexaggeration;he’sstillbabyenoughthatStellaisdoingmostofthework,andJefferyis
mostlyadestructive,sand-tossingforce.
“Burgersareready!”Sylvia,thekids’mother,callstousfromtherooftoppatiooftheamazinghouse
thatherhusband,theworld-renownedarchitectJacksonSteele,designed.“Ronnie,comegetyours,and
thenyoucanplaywithJefferyandStellawhileJamietakesabreak.Otherwise,you’regoingtowearher
out.”
Ronnienodsobediently,butthenshetiltsherheaduptome,herexpressionearnest.“Please?”This
time,thewordemergesasawhisper.“Justonetime?”
“Onepush,”Isay,fightingasmile.“Thenyougogetyourburgerlikeyourmomsaid.”
Shenodseagerly,blackcurlsbouncing,andImovearoundtogiveheronebigpush.ThenIsurprise
herwithjustonemore,andshesquealsandkicksherlegsandcriesout,“I’mflying!I’mflying!”
“Yousureare,rugrat,”Isay.“Andwhenyoucomedown,yougogetyourburger,okay?”
“Yes,ma’am,”sheanswerspolitely,butherlegsarestillkickingandshe’sstillpushingtowardthe
skyasIfallinstepbesideNikki,who’sbackfromdeliveringthemealstoStellaandJeffery.
Wewalkinsilenceforafewmoments,butasweapproachthehouse,Nikkislows.Imatchherpace
untilweendupatastandstillatthebaseoftheoutdoorstaircasethatleadsuptotheroof.
IpointuptowhereSylandthemenarewaitingforus.“Arewe—?”
“Inaminute.”Nikkicocksherhead,thencrossesherarmsoverherchest.“Well?”
Ishakemyhead,completelybaffled.
“Don’teven,”Nikkisays.“Iknowyoutoowell.Something’sup.”Hereyesnarrow.“DidRyanquit
hintingaroundandfinallyaskyoutomarryhim?”
“What?No.”Ifrown.“Whydoyouthinkso?”
“Becauseyou’reactinglikeyouhaveeverytimehe’sbroughtupthesubject.”
“Iamnot,”Isay,butI’mspeakingautomatically,andwhenIactuallythinkaboutit,Ihavetoagreethat
she’sright.
“Oh,please,”Nikkisays,thenproceedstovoicewhatI’mthinking.“Youpracticallyjumpedatthe
chancetopushRonnieontheswings.”
“IadoreRonnie,”Isaytruthfully.
“And,”Nikkicontinues,“insteadofdraggingRyanwithyoulikeyouusuallydo,yousuggestedhego
helpJacksonatthegrill.”
“Ryanflipsameanburger,”Isay,despitethefactthatit’sacompletelylameprotest.
“Andyougrabbedachairinsteadofclaimingthatdoublechaiseloungeyoualwaystake.Henoticed,
youknow.”
Ibitemylowerlip.“Doyoureallythinkhedid?”
Shenods.“Sowhat’sgoingon?”
Idragmyfingersthroughmyhair.“Nothingintentional,Ipromise.Imean,I’mnottryingtopushhim
awayifthat’swhatyoumean.Ididn’tevenrealizeIwasdoinganyofthat.Notuntilafteryousaid,and
—”
“AndI’mright.Yayme.Butwhy?Imean,Igetitifheaskedyoutomarryhim.Or,rather,Igetwhy
you’dbeawkwardaroundhim.Fortherecord,Idon’tgetwhyyouhaven’tjumpedalloverthat.”
“Hehasn’tbroughtitupsincelasttime.RightbeforeDamien’sbirthday.”Myvoiceislow,almosta
whisper.
“Okay.Fine.Butwhathappenedtoday?”
Isigh.“ItoldhimIlovehim.Itoldhimthathe’sthebestthingthateverhappenedtome.”
Hereyesgowide.“You’venevertoldhimyoulovehim?”
“Oh,sure.Ofcourse,Ihave.Buttoday—Idon’tknow.Itfeltdifferent.Like,Idon’tknow…”Itrail
offwithashrug.
“Likemaybeyouactuallycouldmarryhim?”
“Well,”Isay,“nowthatIthinkaboutit,yeah.”
Sheblinks,andIhavethefeelingshe’stryingveryhardtoorganizeherthoughtssothatshedoesn’t
eitherlaughorcallmealunatic.“James,”shefinallysays,usingthenicknameshe’dgivenmeagesago.“I
loveyou.ButsometimesIreallydon’tunderstandyou.”
Igrimace.“Sometimes,Idon’tunderstandme.”
Nikkilooksatmebutsaysnothing,soIjustkeepontalking.“It’sjust—Idon’tknow.IneverthoughtI
couldfallinlove.Imean,youknowme.Allsex,nodepth.AtleastuntilRyan.AndthenwhenheandIgot
together,IwassoscaredthatI’dlosemyselfifIbecamepartofacouple.Thatitwouldbebliss—butthat
I’dsubjugatemyownambition.Iwouldn’tgoaftermydreamsbecauseI’dalreadybelivingadream.”
“Butyoudon’tthinkthatanymore,”Nikkipointsout.“AndRyanhasn’theldyouback.Youguysare
greattogetherandyourcareerisdoingamazingandRyan’syourbiggestfan.”
“Heis,”Isay.“Hereallyis.”
“How’sthepresentgoing,bytheway?”
Mysmileisfastandgenuine.“Reallygreat,actually.ButI’mgoingtoneedyourhelpforafewofthe
shotslaterthisweek.”We’retalkingaboutaValentine’sDaypresentforRyanthatI’vebeenworkingon
inmysparetime—althoughwithV-Dayfastapproaching,IneedtogetmovingifI’mgoingtohaveit
readybynextSaturday,whenRyanandIhaveimpossible-to-getreservationsatBistro85,thehottestnew
placeintown.
Valentine’sDayisactuallyjustafewdaysawayonTuesday,butsinceRyanhastoworkonthe
fourteenth,we’redoingourcelebrationafewdaysaftertherestoftheworld.
That’sokaybyme.I’veneverbeenoneforfollowingtherules.
“I’mhappytohelp,”Nikkisays.“Butwhatdoyouneed?”
“Justforyoutooperatethecamera.Ineedsomeshotsofmewiththecamerazoominginonmyfaceas
Italk.Ican’tzoominandoutwhenIshootfromatripod.”
Mynewweekendanchorgigisagreatsteppingstone,butmyambitionistobeanon-airreporter
coveringtheentertainmentbeat.And,afterI’vegainedafollowingthere,Iwanttohostmyown
entertainmentshow.
Ryanknowsallthat,ofcourse.Hemorethanknowsit—he’sanardentchampion.He’sevengoneso
farastoarrangemeetingsformewithnetworkexecutiveshe’smetthroughhiswork.Sofar,nothinghas
popped,butthat’snotforlackofsupportfromthemanIlove.AndsoforValentine’sDay,I’mmakinghim
apersonalizednewscastwhereinhisfavoritereporter—me—sharesjusthowamazinghe’sbeeninthe
timewe’vebeentogether.Amazinginallsortsofways,includingafewthatareNC-17.ButI’monly
recruitingNikkitohelpwiththePG-13clips,whereinItellhimjustwhyI’msomadlyinlovewithhim.
Whichbringsmerightbacktothecentralquestion—ifIlovehim,andhelovesme,whythehellamI
running?
“IguessI’mafraidthatmarriagewillmessitallup,”ItellNikki,whodoesn’tseematallsurprised
bymyabruptseguebacktotheoriginaltopic.“Thateverythingisgoinggreatnow,butthatifweget
married,we’regoingtotipthescalesandtheuniverseisgoingtopunishus.”
“Doyoureallybelievethat?”sheasksgently.“DiditmesseverythingupformeandDamien?For
SylviaandJackson?”
Iliftashoulder.She’sright,ofcourse.Bothcouplesarewalking,talkingproofthatmarriagedoesn’t
screwanythingupwhereloveisconcerned.Ifanything,itstrengthensit.Butthedifferenceisthatneither
NikkinorSylwererunningfromloveinthefirstplace—theyhadtheirissues,andbigones—butthey
wereneverafraidoflove.
“Iknow,”Isay.“Ido.Butwhatifitallgoesaway?WhatifIgoallin,andthenitallshattersunder
me?”
Shetakesmyhand,herexpressionalittlesadandalittleearnest.“Love’snotsupposedtobethat
scary,James.”
“Yeah?”Ipullmyhandbackandshoveitinthepocketofmyjeans,thenlookdownatthegrass.“Then
you’redoingitwrong.BecauseIthinklove’sterrifying.Openingyourheartlikethat.Puttingyourselfon
theline.”
Isuckinabreathandlookupather,andthethingisthatIgetit—Ireallydounderstandwhatshe’s
saying.Butmyheartisrefusingtofollowwheremyhead’salreadygone.
“Rightnow,everythingisgreat,”Icontinue,tryingtoputwordstothismaelstromoffearandfeelings.
“Whycan’twejuststaythisway?Imean,ifIdon’twanttogetmarried,whycan’theunderstandandjust
keepgoingasis?Forme?”
“Butthatgoesbothways,doesn’tit?Ifyou’resayingitwon’tchangeanything,thenwhycan’tyoujust
sayyes?Forhim.”
Iscowlather.“Ihateitwhenyou’relogical.”
Hersmilelightsupherface,andinthatbriefinstant,Iseeagainwhyshewonpageantafterpageant
backwhenhermotherforcedhertoenterthedamnthingseveryfifteenminutes.“AllI’msayingisRyan’s
agreatguy,”shesays.“Andthere’snothingwrongwithhimwantingyouashiswife.Wantingafamily.”
“Healreadyhasme,”Isaystubbornly.Butit’strue.Ithinkofthebeautiful,silvercollarheboughtme
whenwefirstgotserious.Iwearitoften,thoughnotalways.Butevenso,ifthat’snotproofthatheowns
mecompletely,Idon’tknowwhyaweddingbandwouldmakeitmorereal.
“Iknowyoubetterthananyone,James,andyouknowIloveyou.SotrustmewhenIsaythiswithyour
bestinterestatheart—don’tletfearscrewupthebestthingyou’vegotgoingforyou.”
Iscowl.ButI’msavedfromansweringbySylvia’svoicecallingdownfromabovetoRonnie.Once
thelittlegirlleapsfromtheswing,Sylvia’sattentionshiftstoNikkiandme.“Areyoutwoevercoming
up?”
“Sorry,”Nikkiyellsback.“Onourway.Justthinkaboutit,”sheaddsinasoftervoiceaswestartup
thestairs.
Idon’tbotheranswering,butherwordsseepinsideme.Thetruthis,Iknowshe’sright.Butfearisa
funnything.Itgetsunderyourskin.Itdisguisesitselfasreason.It’sinsidiousandsneakyanditwantsto
win.
Buthere’sthegoodnews:I’mcompetitiveashell.Andsomehow,someway,I’mgoingtokickfear’s
ass.
“Nomore,”Isay,asRyanoffersmeaspoonfulofchocolateicecream.“I’mcompletelystuffed.”It’s
noexaggeration.I’mpracticallycomatoseafteraburger,ahotdog,approximatelyeightmillionpotato
chips,andsomeofJackson’sincrediblecoleslaw.
We’vespentanentirelazy,wonderfuldayherewithourfriends.We’dstartedwithalightbrunch,then
hadthisfabulouspicnic-styledinner,andnowI’mstretchedoutonthedoublechaise,justveggingout.
Ryanisproppedupbesideme,oursharedbowloficecreambalancedonmystomach.
“You’resure?”Hetouchesthetipofthespoontomylowerlip.Iinstinctivelylickit,thensighwith
pleasureatthecool,chocolateysweetness.
“Mmm,”Isay.“Ican’teatanotherbite.”
“Inthatcase...”Hemovesthespoontohislips,hiseyeslockedonmineashelicksitclean—andI
feelmybodyclenchingsimplyfromwatchingthatamazingmouthandtongue.“Delicious,”hesays,andI
knowdamnwellheisn’ttalkingabouttheicecream.
Iclearmythroat,thenshift.Thefirst,becausemymouthhasgonedryandIneedtoregaintheability
toformwords.Thesecond,becauseifIstaylikethis,withmybodysohyperawareofthemanbesideme,
I’mgoingtoendupembarrassingmyselfinfrontofmyfriends.Rightnow,JacksonandSylaredownin
theyard,whileNikkiandDamienarestandingattheraillookingoutoverthebackyardtowardtheocean.
ButI’msureSylandJacksonareontheirwayback.Andanymomentnow,NikkiandDamiencouldturn
around.
“Kissmequick,”Iwhisper,andhedoesn’twasteanytime.Hismouthclosesovermine,cooland
sweet,andIclosemyeyes,lettinghistouchsweepmeaway,emptyingmymindofallmyfearsand
doubts,andsilencingthathorriblevoicethatseemstoyelltheloudestwhenI’mthehappiest.
“Funny,”Damiensays,hisvoicedriftingtowardusfromacrossthepatio,“Ididn’trealizeitwas
alreadyValentine’sDay.”
IfeeltheheatriseinmycheeksasRyanbreaksthekiss.IopenmyeyestoseehimwinkatDamien.
“Comeonin,”Ryansays.“Thewater’sfine.”
“Don’tmindifIdo,”Damiensays,andpullsNikkitohimwithsuchardentzealthatIhearher
surprisedlittle,“oh,”fromallthewayacrossthepatio.Heclaimsherwithawildkiss,butIonlyseethe
firstmomentofconnection,becauseRyantakesmejustassavagely,andIclosemyeyesandsinkintothe
feelofhim.Adeliciouswarmthfillsme.I’mdesired.Loved.
Special.
Andthen,whenIhearthesharpclearingofJackson’sthroat,Ifeelasguiltyasateenagercaughtbyher
parents.
Webreakapart,laughing,andIseethatNikkiandDamienhavedonethesame.
“Honestly,”JacksonsaystoSyl.“Weleavethekidsaloneforjustafewminutes...”
“Oh,Idon’tknow.”Shehooksherarmsaroundhisneck.“Ithinktheyhavetherightidea.”
Helaughsandkissesher,andwhentheybreakapartwe’realllaughingtogether.
“I’msogladyouallcameovertoday,”SylviasaysasshetakesJackson’shandandpullshimoverto
sitontheendofthechaisethatRyanandIhaveclaimed.“Iwasafraidwewouldn’tbeabletoallget
togetherbeforeJacksonandIheadoff.”
“I’mjealous,”Iadmit.“GettingwhiskedawayoverValentine’sDay.AndtoHawaii.Very,very
jealous.”
“Don’tbetoojealous,”shesays.“It’saten-dayworktrip,afterall.”Sheleansforward,thensaysina
mock-whisper.“Ofcourse,we’llprobablysneakinsomefreetime.Justdon’ttellmyboss.”
Sylvia’saprojectmanagerwithStarkRealEstateDevelopment,andshe’sinchargeofanewresort
that’sgoingupononeoftheHawaiianislands.DesignedbynoneotherthanJackson,ofcourse.
“Iheardthat,”DamiensayswithachucklefromwherehestillstandswithNikkiattherail.“Besides,
yourbossisgoingtohavehishandsfulljugglingmeetingsinAustin.”
“Nottoofull,”Nikkisays.“I’mtakingtimeofftocomewithyou,afterall.Iexpectatleastoneortwo
qualityhourswithmyhusband.EspeciallyonValentine’sDay.”
“Icanprobablysqueezeoutaminuteortwoforyou,”hesays,thenkisseshernose.“Ifyou’revery,
verygood.”
Irollmyeyes.“Yourealizeyou’reallfartoosappy.What’sthepointofValentine’sDayifyou’re
sappyallyearround?”
“AreyoutwodoingitupbigforValentine’sDay?”Sylasks,lookingatme.IglanceatRyan,buthe’s
lookingaway,asifhewantstoavoidthequestion.Actually,maybehedoes.Afterall,hehastoworkon
Valentine’sDay—somethingthatI’mnotparticularlythrilledaboutsinceherunstheentiresecurity
division,anditseemstomethatheshouldpracticethemanlyartofdelegatingthecrappyhoursto
someoneelse.
“Ryanhastowork,”Isay,stickingmytongueoutatDamien,wholaughs.“Sowe’rejustgoingtohave
alatedrinkathomeonTuesday.Butwe’llhaveourownprivateValentine’sDayontheweekend.
Fortunately,IonlyworkThursdayandFridaythisweek.Ihavetwoweekendsinarowcompletelyoff.”
Isighdramatically.“ButonTuesdayI’llbeallalonewithmythoughts.Maybearacyromancenovel.
Abubblebath.Butnomanbesideme.”IpropmyselfuponmyelbowandfocusonDamien.“Sucha
shamemyboyfriendworksforsuchaslavedriver.”
Damienholdshishandsupinsurrender.“Thisone’snotonme.Theman’sjusttoodamnqualified.
ThesystemtestshavetohappenonTuesday,andRyanhastobethere.”
“WhatcanIsay?”Ryanadds.“I’messential.”
Ihookmyarmaroundhisneck,thenpullhimtomeforaquickkiss.“Yes,”Isaysincerely.“Youare.”
“Doesanyonewantmorefood?Arefillonadrink?”Sylstandsandheadsovertothekitchenarea,
glancingateachofusinturn.
“Icouldn’teatanotherbite.”Iflopbackontothechaise.“Infact,I’mnotsureIcanevermoveagain.I
mayhavetojuststayhereforever.Rightonthisloungechair.”IturnmyheadsothatIcanseebothSyl
andJackson.“Youguysdon’tmind,doyou?Idon’ttakeupthatmuchroom.”
“Noproblem,”Sylviasays,butRyanstandsandscoopsmeupintohisarms.
“Noway,”hesays.“You’renotgettingawayfrommethateasily.Infact,”headdsasIkickand
squeal,“weshouldprobablybegoing.Ihaveplansforthiswomantonight.”
“Oh,youdo?”IcatchNikki’seyes.She’ssmiling,butIseeahintofworryonherface,andrealizeit’s
fromourearlierconversation.
“Ido,”heconfirms.“Andtrustme,Jamie,youwantprivacy.”
Theotherslaugh,andwesayourgood-byesafterSylassuresmethatshedoesn’tneedhelpcleaning
up.ThenRyancarriesmeallthewaydowntohissleek2005Thunderbirdconvertible,whichIthinkis
oneoftheprettiestcarsontheroad.
ThesunhangslowintheskyasIsettleintothepassengerseat,andRyaneasesthecaroutofthedrive.
Assoonaswe’reheadingdownthehilltowardthePacificCoastHighway,hereachesoverandtakesmy
hand.
“Goodday?”
“Agreatday,”Isay.Andthen,eventhoughthewordsscaredmejustthismorning,Ishiftinmyseatto
facehimandsay,“Iloveyou.”
Heliftsmyhandtohislipsandkissesmyfingers.“YouhavenoideahowmuchIlikehearingthat.”
Mysmilegrowswide,andIsitback,content,asweheadtowardtheocean,vastandalightwithso
mucheveningcoloritlookslikethebackdropofamovieset.
NikkiandDamienandSylviaandJacksonareprobablystillonthepatio.Stilllookingtowardthe
westandseeingthisverysameview.Icanpicturebothcouplessoclearly.Damien’sarmaroundNikki’s
shoulders.JacksonstandingbehindSylvia,hisarmspossessivearoundherwaist.They’reallsoblissfully
happy.Morethanthat,theyfittogether.
TheyfitthesamewaythatRyanandIfit.
Isqueezehishand,andheglancesatme.“Hey,kitten.”
“Yousayitlikethat,andyoumakemewanttocurlupandpurr.”
“Isthatso?Well,tellmehowIsayitsoIneverstop.”
Iglancedownatthefloorboard,feelingsuddenlyawkwardasIwhisper,“YousayitlikeI’m
everythingintheworldtoyou.”
“Oh,kitten,don’tyouknowthatyouare?”
Inod,andthenIsaytheonlythingIcan,becauseit’stheabsolutetruth.“Yeah.Ido.”
Hestopsatalightandturnstomemorefully.We’refacingthesunset,butIdon’tthinkit’sthevibrant
lightthathasputthatheatinhiseyes.“Doyou?”heasks.“SometimesIwonderifyoureallyunderstand
howmuchIfeelforyou.”
Myhearttwistsinmychest,andrightthenIwishIcouldkickmyownass.JustthethoughtthatI’ve
hurthim—thathe’sdoubtedmeforevenaminute—makesmewanttocry.I’vebeensowrappedupinmy
ownfears,Ineverthoughtthathewouldbegintodoubt.
“Ryan,”Isay,mythroatthickwithunshedtears.“Idoknowit.AndIhopeyouknowthatI’myours.
BecauseIam.Completely.”
Iseetheflickerofasmileonhislips.Thenthelightchangesandheturnsaway,makingaleftturnonto
theCoastHighwayandheadingforhome.He’llkeepdrivinguntilwehitSantaMonicaandthe10,where
we’llquitskirtingthecoastlineandheadinlandtowardhome.Ryanhasasmallone-bedroomhousehere
inMalibu,butforthepastfewmonthshe’sspentninetypercentofhistimeatmyplaceinStudioCity.It’s
closertobothourjobs,andithastheadvantageofasecondbedroom—theonethatusedtobeNikki’s—
thatIuseasbothanofficeandanoverflowcloset.
Plus,Ilikebeinginmyplace.I’dalmostgivenitupwhenI’dmovedbacktoTexasnotlongago.
Ryan’stheonewhopulledmebacktoLA,butifI’dmovedinwithhimandletmytenantkeepthecondo
indefinitely,itwouldhavefeltlikeIlostapieceofme.
Maybethat’smyproblem.MaybeI’mlookingatloveasgivingsomethingup,insteadofmaking
somethingbetter.
It’sanunpleasantthought,mostlybecauseitfeelssodead-onaccurate.Anditprobablymakessense,
too.Myparentshavealwaysbeenmadly,blissfullyinlove.SomuchsothatIfeltlikeathirdwheelmy
entirelife.Loved,yes.Iwasneverneglectedorabusedoranyofthehorrorsyouhearaboutthesedays.
Butneitherofmyparentsadoredmeasmuchastheyadoredeachother.Andtheybothsacrificedsomuch.
Mymothergaveuplawschool.Myfatherabandonedhisdreamsofpainting.Theydidn’taskeachotherto
dothat—buttheyeachwalkedawayfromthingstheylovedbecausetheywantedtogivethatextratimeto
eachother.
I’vealwaysbeenterrifiedthatI’ddothesame.Thatlovewassoconsumingitstoleapieceofyou.
ButnowIthinkofRyan.Ithinkofmyfriends,allsodesperately,fullyinlove.
Mostly,IthinkthatI’vebeenwrong.
Isettlebackinmyseat,feelingmorecontentthanI’vebeeninweeks,andthat’swhenIrealizethat
we’renolongeronthehighway.Ryanhasturnedoff,andisnowmaneuveringthelanesofapublic
parkingarea.Iglancearoundtogetmybearingsanddiscoverthatwe’reintheparkinglotnexttothe
iconicGladstone’srestaurant.“Youcan’tpossiblybehungry,”Isay.
“Nottherestaurant,”hesaysastheattendantpointshimtowardanemptyslot.“Ithoughtwe’dtakea
walkandwatchthesunset.”
Thatsoundsaboutasawesomeasawesomegets,andsoonenoughmyhandisinhisandwe’re
walkingdownthepathtothesand.It’slooseatfirst,andIslipabit.RyancatchesmebeforeIfall,then
pressesakisstomytemple.Whenhepullsback,hiseyessearchmine,andIfeelacatchinmychest,like
I’mholdinginagasp.There’spowerinhiseyes.Inthewayhe’swatchingme.AndIfeelasthoughwe’ve
hitsomesortofcrossroadswithouteitherofusreallyknowinghowwegothere.
Iexpecthimtosaysomething.Togivemeanultimatum.TotellmethatI’vebeenanidiot—basically,
IexpecthimtolayoutformeeverythingI’vebeenthinking.
Buthedoesn’t.Hejustholdsme.Justlooksatme.
Andthenhenodsabit,asifhe’sseensomethinginmethatsatisfieshim.Andthenhetakesmyhand
againandsays,verysimply,“Let’swalk.”
“Okay.”I’mnotsureifI’mrelievedorfrustrated.ButIfallinstepbesidehim,andweheaddownto
thesurf.ThewaterinthePacificisalwayscold,butit’scolderinFebruary,andwekeepourshoeson
andwalkjustoutofreachoftheincomingwaves.
“IneedtogotoBoston,”hesaysafterwe’vewalkedforaboutfiveminutesinsilence.I’dbeen
lookingtomyrightatthegrandexpanseofthePacificandthesunnowhanginglikeavibrantball,just
inchesabovethehorizon.
Now,Iturnawayfromthecacophonyofcolorthatisbleedingacrossthewater,orangesandpurples
sorichtheymakemyheartachefromthebeautyofit.“Forwork?Oryourmom?”
“Mom,”hesays.“HersixtiethbirthdayisFriday.IthoughtI’dflyoutonThursday.”
“Oh.Okay.”Ihavenoideawherethiswaveofmelancholyhascomefrom,butIsmilemywaythrough
it.
“I’dratheryougowithme,”hesays.“ButIknowyou’reworking.”
“Really?”Iask,andthesadnessdisappears,brushedasidebythecertaintythathewantsmethere.
Hisbrowfurrows.“Jamie—I...”
Hiswordshavetrailedoff,andhe’sturnedawayfromme,sothathe’slookingoutatthesunset,too.
Thedeeporangesunisnowsittingonthehorizon,andinmymind,Ihearthesizzleasgallonsupon
gallonsofseawaterboilfromcontactwiththefieryorb.
“Ryan?”Iasktentatively.“Whatwereyougoingtosay?”
Heturnstome,andIseeanunexpectedvulnerabilityinhiseyes.“Youbafflemesometimes,”hesays.
“HowcanyounotknowthatI’dwantyoutogowithme?Sixtyyears,andsomuchofthatwithoutmy
father.Iwanthertobewithfamily.Withme.WithMoira.Andthepersonwho’smostimportanttomeat
myside.”
Iswallowaknotoftears.Ryan’sfatherdiedinthelineofdutywhenhissister—who’dbeena
surpriseandismuchyoungerthanRyan—wasonlyeight.Ryanbecamethemanofthehouse,almosta
fathertoMoira.Andfamilyisincrediblyimportanttohim.
“Doyoureallynotunderstandhowmuchyoumeantome?”hecontinues.“Orareyoujusttoostubborn
toletyourselfbelieveit?”
Iopenmymouthtoanswerhimandtastethesaltofthosedamntears.“Idon’tknow.Iguessthebottom
lineisthatyou’vefallenforagirlwho’sacompletebasketcase.”
“Don’ttalktrashaboutthewomanIlove.”
Ismileatthat,thenslideintohisarmsandlethimholdmetight.Itfeelssosafeinhisembrace.So
right.
Ireleasealong,slowbreath.“Iknowyou’vebeenfrustratedwithmelately,”Isaycarefully.
“Withyou?Notpossible.”
Icanhearthehumorinhisvoice,andIfightnottosmirk.
“Youcouldn’tbefrustratingifyoutried,”hecontinues.
It’ssoridiculousthatIcan’thelpbutbarkoutalaugh.“Andthat’swhyIloveyou,”Isaysincerely.
“YoutakemeasIam.”
“AsyouareiswhatIlove.”
Ittakesmeasecondtounwindthatsentenceinmyhead,butwhenIdoI’msmiling.“Thatissonot
grammaticallycorrect,”Isay.
Ryan’slipsbarelycurve,butthesmilestillreacheshiseyes.“Maybenot.Butit’sheartfelt.”
Idon’tanswer.Instead,Itakehishandaswecontinuewalkingalongthesandyshore.
“Mymotheradoresyou,”hesaysoncethegrayoftwilighthassettledaroundus.
“Youmeanshedoesn’tknowwhattomakeofme,”Icounter.Infact,hismomhasonlymetmetwice,
butI’velovedherfromthefirstminuteImether.“ShesaysthatyourdadwouldhavecalledmeSpitfire.”
Ipretendtobeaffronted,butIknowRyancanheartheaffectioninmyvoice.
“Heprobablywouldhave.Andhe’dhavebeenrightonthemoney,”Ryanadds,andIhip-bumphim.
“Ireallywantyouthere—”
“Ryan,don’t.YouknowIhavetowork,andyou’rejustgoingtomakemefeelbad.Imean,I’dloveto
seeher,too.”Andthefactthathewantsmethereonlymakesthenotgoingworse.ThelastthingIwantis
forhimtorubitin.
“IwasthinkingmaybeIshouldflyherouthereinstead.Doitupbig.Getherasuiteatafancyhotel.
MaybearrangeafulldayforherandMoiraataspa.You,too,ifyouwant.Butifthat’stoomuch,atleast
youcouldgetawayforadinner,couldn’tyou?”
“I—”IstopwalkingsothatIcanfacehim.“Icouldtotallymakeadinnerwork.Butdon’tyouwantto
gohomeforherbirthday?Won’therfriendswanttocelebrate,too?”
“It’suptoher,butIthinkshe’dlikethetrip.I’vebeenwantingtodothisforawhile,butshealways
turnsmedown.ButIthinkforsixtyyears,she’llagree.It’sabigdeal,afterall.”
“Yeah,itis.Andyou—”
“It’sabigdeal,”herepeatssoftly.“I’dlikeyoutobepartofit.”
MycheekshurtandIrealizemysmileisstretchedimpossiblywide.“Okay.Ifshe’sin,soamI.Ithink
itsoundsgreat.”
“Thenthat’stheplan.”Heleansinandbrushesakisstomytemple,thenwhispers,“Thanks,Spitfire.”
IplayfullysmackhimasIbackaway.Idon’tgetfar,though,becausehepullsmeback,hisarmsgoing
immediatelytoencirclemywaist.We’repressedclosetogetherandIcanfeelhiserectionthroughhis
jeans.It’samomentthat’sbothsweetandsexual,andrightthenIknowthatIhavetohavethisman.
Notphysically—well,notrightnow;I’mcontenttowaituntilwegethometostriphimnaked.
No,Iwanttohavehim.Physically,emotionally,completely.
AndIreallydon’tunderstandwhat’sbeenholdingmeback.
“DoyourememberthatdayinVegas?”Iask.“WhenIwasanidiotandleftandyoucameafterme?”
“Ihaveavaguerecollection.”
“WelookedoverandtherewasabillboardforaVegasweddingchapel.Andyousaidsomething
abouthowwecouldheadonoverthere.”
Hestaysquiet,butIfeelthemusclesinhisbodytighten,asifhe’smakinganeffortnottomove.
“IsaidIdidn’twantaVegaschapel.ThatIwantedabigweddingbecauseI’dbeenworkingsohard
withNikkiandsaweverythingshewaschoosingforherownwedding.I—ImadeyouthinkI’dbecool
withawedding.Withamarriage.Butlaterwhenyoustartedhintingthatyouweregoingtoaskme,I
backedawaylikeascaredrabbit,andI—”
“Shhhh.”Histoneisgentle.Soothing.Andhecupsthebackofmyheadandpullsmeclose.I’m
enfoldedinhisarms,myfaceagainsthismuscularchest,hisbodyleanandhardagainstmine.Andright
thenIfeelassafeandaslovedasIeverhave.
“DoyouthinkIdon’tunderstand?”heasks.“Ido.You’refrustratingashell,Jamie,I’llgrantyouthat.
ButIdogetit.Itwasabigjumpforyoujustgettinginvolved.Butweareinvolvednow,kitten.”Gently,
hepushesbackfromme,breakingallcontact,sothatonlyourgazesarelocked.“We’vebeeninvolved
nowforyears,andI—”
“I’mready,”Iblurt.
Forasplitsecond,surprisefloodshisface,butit’squicklymasked.
“I’mready,”Isayagain,becauseitfeelsgoodjusttosayit.“Iwasscaredand...andnowIdon’teven
knowwhatIwasscaredof.Notyou,that’sforsure.Icouldneverbescaredofyou.Ryan,you’vebeen
perfect.Sodamnpatient—IthinkIwouldhavestrangledmebynow.ButI’mfinally—”
“You’reready,”hesays,soundingjustalittleconfused.“You’rereallyreadytobemywife.”
“I—yeah.Ireallyam.”
“That,”hesays,“isexceptionallygoodtoknow.”
He’ssmilingashedrawsmetohim,thenkissesme,softandsweet,beforereleasingmeandstepping
back.
Foramoment,hejuststandstherelookingatmeintheambientglowfromthenearbyrestaurant.He
looksashappyasIfeel,andwhenhetakesasinglestepbackward,I’mcertainthatit’sbecausehe’sabout
todroptooneknee,takemyhand,andpropose.
Iholdmybreath,waitingforhimtojustsaythewordssothatIcanthrowmyarmsaroundhimand
squealyes,yes,athousandtimes,yes!
Buthedoesn’tdroptooneknee.
Hedoesn’ttakemyhand.
Instead,hejustnodsthoughtfully.“Okay,”hefinallysays.
“Okay?”
Hesmiles,wideandhappy.“Okay,”herepeats,andallIcandoislaugh.
Soonerorlater,he’sgoingtoaskme.
Andthistime,Iknowwhatmyanswerwillbe.
“Wait,”Ryansays.
We’reintheparkingstructure,andhe’slatchedtheconvertible’ssofttopbackinplace.I’vegotmy
handonthedoorhandle,andI’mabouttoopenthedoorandgetout.Instead,Ipauseandturnbacktohim,
curious.Idon’texpectaproposalnow—beach,yes;parkinggarage,no—soIreallyhavenoideawhy
we’rewaitingtogoinside.
“Tiltyourseatbackandunbuttonyourjeans.”Hisvoiceisfirm,broachesnoargument,andsendsme
fromrelaxedtowildlyturnedoninunderamillisecond.That’sprobablywhatIlovemostabouthim—his
abilitytocontrolme.Awomanwhoisaboutasfarfromsubmissiveasit’spossibletoget,andyetwith
Ryan,Ialwaysbendtohiswill.I’mhis.Fullyandcompletely,andhedamnwellknowsit.
Justtoyankhischainabit,Iconsiderpointingoutthattheseatdoesn’treclineveryfarinthistwo-
seatergem,butinsteadIsimplyobey.Iwantwhat’scoming,andifIhesitateortease,hejustmightpunish
me.Andnotbyaspanking,whichwe’dbothenjoyfartoomuch.Butbydenyingme.Andrightnow,I
can’tstandeventhepossibility.
Withoutanymorehesitation,IpressthelevertogobackasfarasIcan,thenIbitemylowerlipasI
veryslowlyundothebuttonflyonmyLuckyjeans.
“Allthewaydowntoyourankles,”hesays.“Underwear,too.Thenspreadyourkneesasfarasyou
can.”
Ihesitate,turningtohimwithwideeyes.
“Now,”hesays,andeventhoughtheparkingareaiswelllitandtheThunderbirdalwaysattracts
attention,Idoashesays.
IdoitbecauseIunderstandwhyhe’smakingme—becausethisisbothpunishmentandreward.
He’spunishingmeforlettinghimdoubt.Fornotfullycommittingtobeinghisalong,longtimeago.
Andthepunishmenthe’sinflictingisthepossibilityofgettingcaught.OfknowingthatIamcompletely
athismercy.ThatIhavetodothisbecauseitturnshimon.Andbecausebybeingsoopen—sowild—I’m
givinghimpoweroverme.
Butthereward...well,therewardisthesamedamnthing—thepossibilityofgettingcaught.Ofgiving
myselfoverexclusivelytohiswhims.Becauseitexcitesme,too.AndRyandamnwellknowsit.
Myjeansandunderweararearoundmyankles,andmykneesarespread,oneagainstthedoor,the
otherbumpingagainstthecasingthatholdsthegearshaft.I’mstretchedwide,mylegsformingadiamond.
Myskinishotagainsttheleatheroftheseat,andalthoughhehasn’ttouchedme,I’malreadywet.
Ishiftmyhipsalittle,thenwhisper,“Please.”
ButallRyandoesissmileandsay,“Beautiful.”
SinceI’mdesperateformorethanwords,IslidemyhanddownovermyT-shirt,lowerandlower
untilIreachthehemandmyfingersgrazethebareskinofmybelly.Hedoesn’tstopme,andsoIturnmy
headtomeethiseyesasIletmyfingersroamevenfurthersouth,tracingastraightpathfrommy
bellybuttontomyclit.
Hiseyesareonmine,buthisgazeflickersawayasmyfingerscontinuedown.I’mwaxed,andmy
moundissmoothandsoft.Slowly,Igolower,shiveringasIgrazemyclit,thenslidingtwofingersover
mywet,slicklabia.
Iarchupaslittleshockwavesrockthroughme,theprecursorstoanorgasm,andthat’swhenRyan
reachesoutandcloseshishandovermywrist.“No,”hesaysfirmly.“Handsaboveyourhead.Lockyour
wristsbehindyourheadrest.”
Iconsiderprotesting,butIknowbetter.AndsoIdoashesays.
“Goodgirl,”hesaysashetugsmyshirtupabovemybreasts,thenunfastensthefrontclaspofmybra.
“Oh,kitten,”hesays,lookingmeupanddown.“Doyouknowhowharditmakesme,seeinghowaroused
youare?Howtightyournipplesare.Howwetandslickyourpussyis.Tellme,”hedemands.“Tellme
youwantme.”
“YouknowIdo,”Isay,archingmybackalittleinthehopethathe’lltouchme.“Please,Ryan.Iwant
you.”
“Mmm.”Thesoundisdeepinhisthroat,anditdieswhenhecloseshismouthovermybreastand
sucks.Icryout,mybodybuckingandmyhipsgyrating.Iamutterlyunderhisspell,completelyhis.
Anythinghewants,Iwillgive.Anydemand,Iwillsatisfy.AllIwantishim.Hishandsonme,hisfingers
insideme.Andhetakespityonme,slidinghishandbetweenmylegs,thenthrustinghisfingershard
insideme.
Igrinddown,wantingtodrawhimindeeper,harder.“That’sit,kitten,”hemurmurs.“Fuckmyfingers.
Takewhatyouwant.”
I’mcompletelywild,completelyturnedon,andashisthumbteasesmyclit,Igyratemyhips,moving
againsthisfingersthataresowonderfullydeepinsideme.Iwanttoexplodearoundhim.Iwanttoburst
overthetop—andI’mclose.I’msodamnclose.
Myeyesareopen,andIcanseehismouthonmybreast,andjustthatimagealonetakesmecloser.But
whenawashofheadlightsfromacarenteringtheparkingstructureilluminatesmyskin,IknowIshould
stop.Shouldslinkdown.ButIdon’t.There’ssomethingenticingaboutthepossibilitythatsomeonewill
see.Thatthey’llglanceinthecaratjusttherightmomentandseewhatwe’redoing.
Justthethoughtalonetakesmethatmuchcloser,andwhenIhearthefootstepsofwhoeverhasjust
parkedwalkingdownthedrivewaybehindmyparkingspace,Iactuallywhimper.
“Areyouclose,kitten?”Ryanasks.“Doyouthinkheknowsthere’ssomeoneinthiscar?Doyouthink
ifyoucomehe’llhearyoucryout?Doesthatturnyouon?”heasks,andthenchucklesinresponseasmy
coretightensaroundhisfingers.“Yeah,Ithinkitdoes.Tellmeyoulikeit,kitten.Tellmeyoulikebeing
minewhereverIwantyou.TellmeIcanfuckyouanywhere.Thatyou’remineinpublicandinprivate.”
“I’myours,”Isay,butthosearetheonlywordsIcanmanagebecauseI’mtooclose.Toonearthe
edge.Idon’treallywanttobecaught—atleastIdon’tthinkIdo—butIcan’tdenythatrightnowI’mmore
turnedonthanIcaneverrememberbeing,andpartoftheexcitementistheedgethatthedangerbringsto
histouch.
Andrightnow,he’sabouttopushmeoverthatedge.
Igulpinair,mybodystartingtoquiverasthethreadsofamassiveorgasmtwistinsideme,moreand
moreandmore.CloserandcloseruntilI’mbreathinghardandshallow,socloseIknowI’lldieifIdon’t
goover.AndjustwhenI’mthere—whenI’monlyahairbreadthfromafull-onexplosion,Ryanpullshis
handgentlyaway,andwhatwasreachablenowseemslikeafarawayportinastorm.
“What—”
“Youdon’tgettocome,baby,”hesaysinalowvoicethatkeepsmysenseshummingandislacedwith
thepromiseofanevenmoreamazingclimax.“NotuntilIsayyoucan.Areweclear?”
Inod.
“Areweclear?”
“Yes,sir.”
Heslideshishandbackovermypussy,thenthrustsinsideme.“Liftyourhips,”heorders,andwhenI
do,heslidesasex-slickedfingerintomyasssothathe’sfuckingmebothways,andthesensationisso
incrediblethatIhavetoforciblyfighttheurgetocomerightthen.
Butit’salloverwhenhetakesmybreastinhismouthonemoretimeandtrailshisteethovermy
nipple.TheexplosionhitssofastandwildandhugethatIcan’tholditback,andIshattercompletely
underhisvibrant,eroticministrations.
Whenmybodyfinishesshaking,I’mbreathinghardandhe’sgentlystrokingmybareskinfrom
cleavagetocunt.He’slookingatme,too,hisexpressionstern.
“Someonewasn’tsupposedtogothere,”hesays.
“Ididn’tmean—”
Hepressesafingertomylipstoshutmeup.
“Ididn’taskforanexplanationoranapology,”hesays.“Butrulesarerules,kitten.AndI’mgoingto
havetopunishyouwhenwegetinside.”
“Oh.”Mypussyclenchesmerelyfromthethought.“Um,how?”
“IthinkImayhavetospankyourassuntilyourcheeksaretheperfectshadeofpink.”
Ibitemylip,fightingamoanasmybodywarmssimplyfromthethought.
“Andthen,”hecontinues,“I’mgoingtofuckyousohardyouscreammyname.”
“Oh,”Isayagain.Mymouthisdryandthat’stheonlywordIcanmanage.Frankly,I’msoturnedon
I’mamazedIcanmanageanywordsatall.“Okay.”
“Pullupyourjeans,baby.”
Icomply,mybodyshakingwithdesire.Ryan’salwaysbeenabletoarousemewithjustalook,but
rightnowit’sbeyondthepale.I’msowetmythighsareslick,andthebrushofmypantiesovermyclit
sendsnewshockwaveszippingthroughme.
“Ohno,baby,”hesays,obviouslynoticing.“Youdon’tgettocomeagain.Notjustyet.Say‘yes,sir.’”
“Yes,sir.”
“Tellmewhy.”
“BecauseI’myours,”Isay,thenlickmydrylips.“Andthatmeansmyorgasmbelongstoyou,too.”
“Fuckyes,itdoes.”
Iglancedowntowherehe’srubbinghisveryhardcockunderhisjeans,thenIlookupathimwitha
littlesmile.“Icantakecareofthatforyou,youknow.Icantakecareofbothofus,actually.Mymouth.
Myhand...”Itrailoffininvitation.
“Careful,oryou’llearnyourselfmorepunishment,”hesays,andIonlysmileandsighwithpleasure.
BecauseIknowthisman.AndIknowexactlywhatI’minforoncewegetinsidetheapartment.
Mybodyclenchesinanticipation.
Iknow...andIreallycan’twait.
“What’sthematter,stud?”Iask,teasing.“Can’tyougetitin?”
“Watchit,”Ryansays,finallyslidingthekeyintothelockbeforehegivesmyassasmack.“Unless
you’relookingformetoupyourpunishment?”
“Oh,howyoudanglethatcarrot,”Iquipashepushesthedooropen.Ifollowhiminwithmyhandson
hisass,andhewhipsmearoundassoonaswe’veclearedthethreshold.Thenhekicksthedoorshutwith
hisfootandpressesmehardagainstthewall,hishandcuppingmycrotch.
“Somebodyisplayingwithfire.”
Istillhaveahandonhisass,andIpullhimhardertome.“IsthatwhatI’mplayingwith?”
“Idon’tknow.I—”
“Um,guys?”
Isquealfromtheunexpectedvoice,andRyanleapsbackwardwithmoregracethanI’dexpectunder
thecircumstances.
Ishiftsideways—andseethespeakersittingonmycouch,herkneesupunderherchin,andavery
uncomfortableexpressiononherface.
“Moira!”Ryan’svoiceisharsh,almostpaternal.“Whatthehellareyoudoinghere?”
Ryan’ssisterjumpsup,herpretty,roundfacefullofcontrition.“I’msorry.I’msosorry!”Sheturnsher
widebrowneyestomeasshepushesalockofcurlydarkhairoutofherface.“Ireallyneededtotalkto
Ryan,andI’velostmyphone—Iknow,don’tlecture—andsoIthoughtI’djustcomeover.Butyou
weren’there,andIrememberedRyanmentioningthebrunch,andsoIthoughtI’djustwait.Ihavethekey
yougavemefromwhenIpetsatforLadyMeow-Meow,andIdidn’tthinkyou’dmind.”
“Idon’tmind,”Isay.“Iwasjustsurprised.Andifyou’dwaitedanothersecondtosaysomething,god
onlyknowswhatyouwouldhaveseen.”
SheglancestowardRyan,herlipspressedtighttogether.Shelookslikeshe’sabouttoburstwith
laughter—andheturnsaverycharmingshadeofred.
MoiraisoneofthereasonsRyansettledinLosAngeles.HesoldhissecuritycompanytoStark
Internationalaboutthetimeshe’dstartedatUCLA.Heoncetoldmethathemovedheresothathecould
becloserandspoilherrotten,butthetruthishedoesn’tspoilheratall.Instead,he’sbeenafatherfigure
toher,andattwenty-two,Moiraiscapableandindependentandsmart.She’salsobecomeagoodfriend.
Someday,she’llbeagoodsister-in-law.
Thethoughtmakesmesmilebrighter.“Wereallydon’tmind,”Isay,sinceshestilllooksmortified.
“Butwhat’sgoingon?”
“First,canyouusethattrackingthingietofindmyphone?”
Foramoment,Ryanlooksabouttolecture.Notsurprising,sinceMoiraisalwayslosingherphone.
Butallhesaysis,“Noproblem.”Hestartstoreachintohisbackpocketforhisphone,buthishandstops
asMoiracontinuestalking.
“Andsecond,I’vebeenofferedaninternshipthissemesteratBradley-Costner.”
IlookatRyan,whojustshrugs.
“Theadvertisingagency?”Moirasaysindignantly.“InChicago?It’soneofthebiggestinthecountry,
andthisisahugeopportunity.”
“Howcanyougetaninternshipwhenyou’realreadyamonthintothissemester?”Ryanasks.
“Well,therewassomesortofmix-up.ButifIcangetsomeplacetolivelinedupthisweekandstart
workaweekfromtomorrow,thenIcantaketheinternship,getcoursecredit,anddropmyotherclasses
withoutpenalty.”
“Andsoyou’reinJamie’scondobecausewhy?”
“Waitingforyou,dummy.There’snowayI’llbeabletofindaplaceintime—notonethatIcanlivein
withoutMomfreakingout.Ithoughtmaybeyoucouldhelpme?”Sheraiseshershoulders,herexpression
pleading.Andrightthen,Iseehowitwasbetweenthemwhentheywerekids.Himtheolderbrother,
almostlikeafather.Andher,thecharmingandprettylittlesisterwhohadRyancompletelywrapped
aroundhisfinger.
Honestly,it’scompletelyadorable.
“Whendoyouneedtogo?”
“Tomorrow,”shesays.“IneedtobeinChicagotofinalizeallthepaperworkandmeetmybossby
Tuesdaymorning.AndthenIfiguredI’dspendtherestofthedayandWednesdaylookingforaplaceand
thenWednesdaynight,I’dheadontoBostontoseeMomwithyouonThursday.Please,”sheadds,making
prayerhands.“Youknowyouwanttohelp.OtherwisewhoknowswhatkindofdiveImightendupin.
Withsomehorrible,scalawagofaroommate.”
“Scalawag?”Ryanrepeats.
“Practicallyapirate.Won’tletmestudy.Willdragmetobarsandseedyestablishments.It’llbe
horrible.Youjusthavetocome.”
Hesagsdownontothecouch.“Well,that’swherewehavetheproblem.BecauseI’mtrappedatwork
onTuesday.”
Herentirebodysags.“Seriously?Maybeyoucould—”
“Can’tdoit,Polly,”hesays,whichishisnicknameforMoira.Apparently,shehadafascinationwith
RitzCrackerswhenshewasakid.
“But—okay,but...butJamiecouldcomewithme.”Shefinishesthesentencewithaflourish,obviously
havingjustconcoctedwhatsheseesasabrilliantplan.
Personally,I’mnotseeingit.“Idon’tknowthefirstthingabouthelpingyoufindaplacetolivein
Chicago.”
“ButRyandoes.Andhecouldsetusupwithanagent.Ormaybehavehisassistantlineupafew
placesaheadoftime.Imean,ifJamiegavetheplaceathumbs-up,thatwouldbeokay,right?Youtrust
her,don’tyou?”
“Hesodoesn’ttrustme,”Isay.“Withhislittlesister?Noteven.”
ButRyanisstandingandnodding.“OfcourseIdo,andIthinkit’sagreatidea.Youarebrilliant,”he
says,crossingtoMoiraandthenkissinghercheek.“Andyouaresexyashell,”hecontinues,nowlooking
atme.“Andalsodamnedresponsible.”
Imakeanoiseinthebackofmythroatthatmightormightnotbedisbelief.
“Oh,gosh,”Moirasays.“Imean,ifit’sokaywithyou,Jamie.Ijustsortofblurtedthatout.Iprobably
shouldhaveaskedyoufirst,notjust—”
“It’sfine,”Iassureher.“It’llbefun.”
“Andnowthatwe’vegotthatallstraightenedout,it’stimeforyoutogo.”Ryangivesheragentle
nudgetowardthedoor.
“Myphone,”sheremindshim.
“Right.”Hepullsouthisownphone,thencurseswhenhelooksatthescreen.“Hangon,”hesays.“I
missedacall.”Heliftsittohisearandlistenstoavoicemail.Whenit’sdone,he’sscowling.
“Well?”MoirapressesbeforeIcanaskwhothemessageisfrom.“Areyougoingtotrackit?”
“Hangon.”Hetapsthescreen,thenraisesabrowashelooksather.“What’sthenameofthatguy
you’redating?TheonewholivesinSilverLake?”
“Phil?I’mnotdatinghim.”
“ThenIwon’tevenaskhowyoumanagedtoleaveyourphoneathishouse.”
“Oh.”Hercheeksturnpink.“Probablyinthekitchen.”
“Whydon’tyouheadonoutandgetit?”
“Right.”Sheheadsforthedoor,thenturnsback.“But—butwhatabouttheflight?Canwegoononeof
theStarkplanes?Andweneedahotel.And—”
“AndI’llworkitalloutandtextyou,”Ryanassuresher.“It’llbecommercial.Thefleet’sbookedup
thisweek.Butyou’llgettherejustfine,Ipromise.NowgobeforeIrescindalloffersofhelp.”
“Aye-aye,Captain.”ShewhipsoffalittlesalutetoRyan,thengivesmeahugbeforebouncingoutof
thecondo.
“Youreallydon’tmind?”Ryanasksme.
“It’llbefun.”ThemoreIthinkaboutit,themoreImeanit.“Wecanmixupapartmenthuntingwith
shopping.Orjustgooutdrinking.Whoknows,maybesomecuteguyswillpickusupinhernew
neighborhood’sbar.”
“Forthesakeofthoseguys,Icertainlyhopenot.Nohandsonmygirlexceptmine.”Asiftoillustrate
thepoint,heslideshishandsupanddownmyarms,andIsighwithalow,deliciouspleasure,thengrab
hisbeltbuckletotughimcloser.
“Ithinkit’stimeforyoutofinishwhatyoustarted,mister.”
“Isthatwhatyouthink?”
“Mmmhmm.”
Hislipsbrushmineinagentlebuss,butthenhetakesmylowerlipwithhisteethandtugs,andIfeelit
allthewaytomycore.“MaybeIshouldmakeyouwaitforit.”
I’msurethathe’steasing,andsoI’mlaughingwhenItakeastepback.ButthelaughterdieswhenIsee
hisface.“Thevoicemail?”Iask.
“Believeme,theonlyonesorrierthanyouisme.Thisshouldn’ttakelong,butIneedtodealwithit.
AndwhileI’mintheofficeI’llseeaboutgettingflightsandhotelroomsforyoutwo.”
“You’reaverycruelman,RyanHunter.”
“MaybeIam.ButIpromisetobeverygoodwhenIseeyouagain.”
Idon’tknowwhatcrisishasexplodedforRyan,butIdoknowthatitkeepshimoutallnight.He’s
planningtobehomebyeleven,though,whichisjustenoughtimetodrivemetoLAXformytwoo’clock
flightwithMoiratoChicago.
Butacallatten-thirtychangesallthat.Idon’trecognizethenumber,butIansweranyway.Usually,I
ignoreunfamiliarnumbers,buttodayI’mafraidthatMoirahadtogetanewphone—forallIknowshe
lostitagain—orthatRyan’scallingfromalandlineattheon-sitelocationhe’svisitingbecausethecell
receptioniscrappy.
Whateverthereason,Ianswer—andamsurprisedasshitwhenthevoiceattheendoftheunfamiliar
numberwitha310areacodeismymother.
“I’mintheairport,”shesaysbetweensayinghelloandthetimeittakesmetoaskwhyshe’scalling
fromanLAareacode.“Myphoneranoutofjuice,andtheydon’thaveplugsontheplane.Hundredsof
thousandsofdollarsintechnology,andtheycan’taddasimpleplug.”
“Theyhaveplugsinfirstclass,”Isay.“Nexttimeupgrade.Whyareyouhere?CanItalktoDad?”
“IstoppedatthefirstphoneIsawaftertheyletusofftheplane.Canyoucomehere?Icouldmeetyou.
Ithinkthey’llletmeoutofsecurityifIgetanotherboardingpass.”
“Mom,”Isaysharply.“WhyareyouatLAXatall?”
“I’monaterriblylonglayover,”shesays.“I’monmywaytoHawaii.”
“Really?”I’mexcitedforthem.Myparentsnevertakeavacation.“Daddymustbethrilled.”
Shemakesasniffingsound.“Totellthetruth,sweetheart,Ireallydon’tknowhowyourfatheris.
We’reseparating.”
Thewordshitmelikeapunchintheface,andIactuallystumblebackward.“Separating?But—”
“I’msosorry.”Ihearmymom’swetsniffle.“Oh,thereIgoagain.”Sheblowshernoseloudly.“I
didn’twanttotellyouthisway,”shesays.“Iwantedtotellyouinperson.”
Mymouthishangingopen,andI’mnotsureifthat’sinshockorsimplyfromtheweightofallthe
questionsIwanttoask.ButIdon’taskasingleone.Instead,Ijustsay,“Ihavetocatchaflightattwo.I’ll
bethereinanhour,andI’llmeetyouinsidesecurity.”
****
Onehourandtwenty-twominuteslaterI’venotonlyfinishedpacking,butI’vecalledRyanandtold
himI’mtakingmyselftotheairporttomeetafriendwho’sonalonglayover.I’mnotentirelysurewhyI
didn’ttellhimthetruth—except,yes,Iamsure.I’mnotreadytotalktoanyoneexceptmymomaboutwhat
shesaid.BecauseIstillcan’tbelieveit’strue.AndthemomentIsayitoutloud,it’slikeI’vemadeitreal.
Atanyrate,I’vemanagedtogetallthewayfromStudioCitytoLAX,parkmycar,makeitthrough
security,andsprinttotheairlineclubwhereI’mmeetingmymother.Idon’tactuallybelongtoanyofthe
clubs,butNikkihasamembershipatallofthem,andsoI’dhitherupforacoupleofpasses.She’dtexted
themtomerightaway,andnowI’msittingatatablebythewindowwithmymotheracrossfromme,
lookingoutatthetarmacandassuringmyselfthatthiscan’tpossiblybereal.
Exceptitis.Painfully,awkwardly,horriblyreal.“Butwhy?”Iaskasthewaitressbringsmethepre-
lunchglassofwinethatIdesperatelyneed.Itakealongsip.Andthen,sincemymomstillhasn’t
answered,Itakeanother.
“Mom,”Ipress.“Whathappened?”
Hermouthmoves,asifshe’snotsureifshe’ssupposedtobelaughingorcrying.“Life,”shefinally
says.“Just...youknow.”
“No,”Isay.“Idon’tknow.”Ihearpanicrisinginmyvoice.Thismakesnosense.Mymotherand
fatherhavebeenafixtureinmylife.And,yes,Iknowthatallparentsarethecenteroftheirkids’lives,
butthesetwohavebeenlikeastoneedifice.Astatuerepresentingwhatcompleteloveanddevotionlooks
like.Alovesointenseandblindingthatitactuallyscaredme.First,becauseIwasafraidI’dneverfind
anythinglikeit.Andthenlater,becauseIwasafraidthatI’dgetlostinit,sacrificingmyowndreamsand
ambitionstothealtarofcouple-hood.
Isthatwhathappenedhere?“Didyougetbored?It’snottoolatetogotolawschool,Mom.I
interviewedaguyafewweeksagowhostartedlawschoolwhenhewasfifty-five,andhe—”
“No,that’snotit.”Shepressesherhandovermine,whichisawkwardbecausemyhandiscurled
aroundthestemofmywineglass.AndrightnowIreallywanttoliftitandtakeanotherdrink.
“Mom,please,”IsayasIwatchtearswellinhereyes.“Tellmewhathappened.”
Shepullsherhandbacksothatshecanwipethetearsaway.“I’msorry.Ididn’tthinkIhadanytears
lefttocry.”
“You’restayingwithme,”Isayfirmly.“I’lltextMoiraandtellherIhavetocancel,andwe’llgoback
tomyplaceandeatchocolatecakeanddrinkwineandwatcheverysappyromanticmoviewecanthink
of.”
“No,sweetheart,you—”
“Mom,yes.Youaren’tputtingmeoutorgettinginthewayorruiningmyplansoranyofthosethings.”
Hersmileisalmostimpish.“Mysweetlittlegirl.DoyouhaveanyideahowmuchyourfatherandI
adoreyou?”
Herwordsstartlemebecausealltheseyears,theiradorationwasforeachother,andIwasleftwith
sloppyseconds.Shemustseesomeofthatonmyfacebecauseshefrowns,theexpressiondeepeningthe
furrowsonherface,makingherseemthatmucholderandsadder.“Oh,baby.YourfatherandI—wewere
toodamnselfish,weren’twe?”
“No,you—”
“Weweresowrappedupineachother.”Herexpressionshiftstowistful,anddespiteeverythingshe
looksalmosthappy.Thenitfades,andthere’snothingleftbuttheshadowofmemoriesinhereyes.
“Mom?”
Sheshakesherself,andherfamiliarsmilereturns.
“Seriously,Mom,let’sgetoutofhere.”
“Absolutelynot.MelindaandPennyarealreadyatthecondo,andIhavenointentionofmissingthis
trip.”
Ithinkback,tryingtoplacethenames.“ThewomenyoumetatthatMahjongclubyoujoined?”
“That’sright.Melinda’shusbanddiedfiveyearago—notevensixty!—andPenny’shusbandlefther,
too.Youcouldsaywe’vebonded.”
Too?
Penny’shusbandlefthertoo?
“Wait—holdon,wait.You’resayingDaddyleftyou?That’swhatstartedallthis?”
Momplastersonasmile,thennods.“Apparentlyhismidlifecrisiscamealittlelate.Ialwaysthought
oncewepassedfiftyitwassupposedtobesmoothsailingdowntheothersideofthemountain.ButIwas
wrong.”Thesmileturnsrueful.“LikeIwassaying,maybeweweresowrappedupineachotherwejust
burnedout.”
“Oh,God...”Ileanbackinmychair,myhandovermyheart.MychestistightandIhavetoremind
myselftobreathe,breathe,tojustfuckingbreathe.“Isthere—Imean,ishe—oh,shit.Ishehavingan
affair?”
IactuallywinceasIsaytheword.And,Inotice,sodoesmymother.
Butshedoesn’tanswer.Instead,shebendsdownandpicksupherbag.“I’minacompletelydifferent
terminal,sweetheart,soI’mgoingtogo.IwantedtotellyouinpersonsoyoucouldseethatI’mokay.”
Iwanttoshoutthatshemightbeokay,butI’mnot.Howcanmyparentsbeseparated?Howcanmy
dadbehavinganaffair?Ishehavinganaffair?
“Youcallandtalktoyourfather,okay?”Herwordsaregentle.“Nomatterwhat,helovesyou.”
“Doeshe?”Isay.“Maybehejuststopped.Hestoppedlovingyou,didn’the?”
Shewinces,andIfeeleightyearsold.Nottwenty-eight.“I’msorry,”Isay.“Ididn’tmeanthat.Ijust
—”
“Iknow,darling.”She’satmysidenow,andIstandup,thenlosemyselfinmymother’stighthug.
“YougooffandhavefuninChicago,okay?Andyoudon’tthinkaboutmeorworryaboutme.I’mfine.
We’lltalkwhenIgetback,okay?”
Inod,eventhoughIdon’twanthertogo.
IwanttotellheraboutRyan.Abouthowhewantstogetmarried.AbouthowI’dbeenafraid,butthen
everythingseemedsoclear.
Andabouthownoweverythingseemsmurkyagain.LikeI’minadarkroomandeverythingisin
shadowsandIcannolongergetmybearings.Everythingseemssurreal,likethewholeworldisjusta
trickofthelight.
IfeelasthoughI’mstumblingthroughtheworld,andmaybeIam,becauseIsureashellhaveno
memoryofgettingtomygate.I’mjustthere,boardingpassinhand,whenMoirajumpsupfromoneofthe
uncomfortableplasticchairsandwavesatme.
“Jamie!Overhere!”
Shewavesmeover,butIbarelygettwostepsbeforeshe’sbouncedovertomeandengulfedmeina
hug.“I’msoexcited!”shesays,thoughshehardlyneedswords.Herbodylanguagesaysitall.She’sso
buzzedshe’spracticallyvibrating,anddespitemyownmood,Ican’thelpbutsmile.
Apparently,mysmile’salittleweak,though,becauseshecocksherheadandfrownsasshepeersat
me.“Hey,”shesays.“Youokay?”
Thereisnoway—nowayinhell—thatIamlettingmypersonalproblemsbringthisgirldown.
“I’mawesome,”Isay,andIwillmyselftomeanit.“We’regoingtohaveagreattimetonight.And
you’regoingtokickseriousasstomorrowmorning,andthenwe’llfindyouthemostamazingapartment
ever.Deal?”
Shelaughsandholdsupahandforahigh-five.“Absolutely.”
It’sonlyafour-hourflight,butbecauseofthetimechange,ourplanedoesn’tlanduntilaftereight.By
thetimewegetourbagsandgetfromtheairporttotheDrakeHotel,it’salmosttenandwedecideto
foregogoingoutinfavorofadrinkatthebar.
“Onlyone,though,”Moirasays.“Ihavetobefreshtomorrow.”
Wegotoourroomsonlylongenoughtodumpourluggage,thenmeetbackinthebar.Andbythetime
midnightrollsaround,we’vebothfinishedtwoglassesofwineandarewellonourwaytofinishingoff
thebottle.
“Shouldwegetanotherbottle?”sheasks,refillingherglass.
Ipullthebottleawaybeforeshehasthechancetopourtoomuch.“Holdupthere,cowboy.Weren’t
youtheonewhowantedonlyoneglass?”
“Calmsthenerves,”shesays.“I’llsleepbetter.”Sheleansforward,herchinonherintertwined
hands.“I’mkindofanervouswreck.”
“Youtotallyhavenoreasontobe.Thisisalreadyyours,remember?”
Hermouthscrewsupinthought.“Nothing’seversetinstone.”
Ithinkofmyparents’marriageanddowntherestofmywine,thenemptythebottleintomyglass.
“Goodpoint.ButI’mstillcuttingyouoffafterthat.”Ipointtoherpartiallyfilledglass.
Shenodsstoutly.“Tothelastdrink,”shesays.“Mayitdothetrick.”
Iclinkmyglassagainsthers.“Andtoyournewinternship.”
“Andtoyouandmybrother,”sheaddsbeforeshetakesasip.Sheswallowsandgrins.“Youknow
youguysareawesometogether.”
Isighalittle,becauseRyanishalfthecountryaway,andtonight,Icouldreallyusehisarmsaround
me.
“Hey,”Moirasays,leaningforwardwithsleepyeyes.“Youokay?”
“Ijustmisshim.”That’sthetruth.It’sjustnotallofthetruth.
Wefinishourdrinks,signthechecktomyroom,andthenheadtoourfloor.“You’rethebest.”She
givesmeasloppyhugoutsideherroom,thentellsmeshe’llseemeintheafternoon.“I’lltextyouafterI
getbackfrommeetingwiththeteam,”shepromises,thenpouts.“It’sunfairyougettosleepin.”
“Aspirinandafullglassofwaternow,”Isay.“Trustmeonthatone.”
Shesalutes,thenshutsthedoor,andI’mleftaloneinthehallwayinoneoftheloveliesthotelsI’ve
everseen.Isigh,thenheadtowardmyroom,wishingthatRyanwasbesidemeandtellingmyselfthatI
shouldn’tcallhimthesecondIgettotheroombecauseIknowhe’sworking.Hetoldmehewasgoingto
putinextrahours,sothathecouldensurethathewasfreeandclearonThursdaytospendtimewithhis
motherwhenshearrivesinLA.
Idon’twanttobeaneedy,pain-in-the-assgirlfriend,andsoI’llwaitforhimtotextorcallme.But
thatdoesn’tchangethefactthatIwanthimatmyside.
Ihesitateatmyroomandactuallyconsidergoingdownforanotherdrink.It’sjustgoingtobelonelyin
there.Inthebar,atleastIcanbelonelysurroundedbyotherpeople.ButIdon’twantotherpeople,either.
Honestly,I’mnotsurewhatIwant.WhenIwaswithMoira,Ididn’thavetothinkaboutthebombshellmy
momdroppedonme.Butnowit’sinmyhead—andIsodon’twantittobe.
“Fuckit,”Imutter,thengoinside.I’llread,fallasleep,andifI’mluckyIwon’tdream.
Becausehe’sanamazingguy,RyanbookedasuiteforbothMoiraandme,andwhenIwalkinthe
livingarea,itglowswithadimorangelightthat’sescapingfromthepartiallyclosedbedroom.Idropmy
purseonthefloornearmystill-lockedluggageandheadthatway,thankfulthatI’dleftalamponsothatI
won’tbreakmynecksearchingforawallswitch.
ButwhenIreachthebedroomandpullthedoorfullyopen,Igaspandstandthereinabsoluteshock.
Becausethelightisn’tcomingfromalamp.It’scomingfromtheroomservicestyletablesetupatthefoot
ofthebed.Atablewiththreeflickeringcandles,abottleofchampagne,andstrawberrieswithchocolate
fondue.
“Hello,kitten.”
Hisvoicecomesfrombehindme,andIwhirlaroundtofindRyansmilingatme.He’swearingjeans
andastarchedwhitebutton-downopenatthecollar.He’sstaringatmelikeI’mtheonlythingthatmatters
intheworld,andrightinthatmomentIdon’tthinkI’veeverbeensohappytoseeanyoneinmywhole,
entirelife.
“Ryan,”Isay,buthejustshakeshisheadandmovescloser,thenpressesafingeragainstmymouth.
“Nomoretalking,”hesays,reachingdownforthehemofmyT-shirtandpullingitovermyhead.
Already,I’maroused.Myinnerthighstingling.Mycuntthrobbing.Mynippleshardandtightagainst
thelaceofmybra.I’malittledrunk,too.Fromalcohol.Fromhappiness.Fromthetouchofhisfinger
againstmybareskin.
Slowly,hetracestheoutlineofmybra.Thenhetugsthecupsdownsothatmybreastsarebothfree
andbound.Igroanandbitemylowerlip,becausethesensationofcoolairagainstmysensitivenipplesis
amazing.AndallthemoresowhenheurgesmebackwardsothatI’mpressedagainstthewallashebends
hisheadandthengentlycirclesmynipplewiththetipofhistonguebeforegrazingthesensitivebudwith
histeeth.
Igasp,myfingersthreadingintohishair,thesensationdrivingmesocrazythatIdon’twanthimto
stop.Andwhenhedoesstop,Icryout,“no”inprotest.
Hepressesafingertomylips.“IthoughtItoldyounotalking.Baby,don’tyouknowbadgirlsget
punished?”
Iswallow,myeyeswide.Myskintinglesfromtheelectricitythatjustthosesimplewordssend
dancingovermybody,andIfeelthemusclesofmysexclenchgreedily,longingforhisfingers,hiscock,
hismouth.
Buthegivesmenoneofthat.Instead,Iseehimsliphishandintohispocket,andwhenhetakesitout,
hehasasimplechainwithtwoplastic-tippedclampsontheend.Gently,heopenstheclipsandthen
fastenseachendtomynipples.
Mybreathcomesinstuttersasmybodyadjuststothepainashetightenseachclamp,sendingahot
wireofpleasureshootingfrommynipplesdowntomyclit,nowthrobbingintimewiththebloodIfeel
pulsingthroughmybreasts.
Hetakesastepback,hiseyesgoingfrommybreaststomyface.Slowly,hesmiles,hiseyeslighting
withhumorandheat.Hegraspsthechainandgentlytugsit,increasingthepressureonmybreastsand
pullingmetohim.“Oh,yes,kitten,”hesays.“Idolikethat.”
Slowly,hebrusheshisfingertipsovertheexposedtipofeachnipple,andmybodyshakes
unexpectedlyasviolentsparkscutthroughmeandmycuntthrobsinwhatfeelslikeaseriesofsmall
orgasms,windingmeupandmakingmesowetandneedythatifIwereallowedtotalk,I’dbegforhimto
pleasefuckmerightthen,rightthere.
“Goahead,baby,”hesays,andthoughIdon’trealizeatfirstwhathe’stalkingabout,Irealizethatmy
handhasslippedunderthewaistbandoftheyogapantsI’dthrownontoruntotheairportandmeetmy
mother.“Iwanttowatchyougetoff.”
Idon’thesitate.Iwantthistoomuch.Thiswildness.Thispassion.Islipmyfingersdownovermyclit
andstrokemyselfasRyangrabsthewaistbandandtugsthepantsdown.I’mwearingflats,andIkickthem
off,thenscrambletogetoutofthepantsashetugsthemovermyfeet.
Hetossesthemaside,thenstandsup,hishandgoingimmediatelytohiszipper.Hetugsitdownand
freeshiscock,alreadyrockhard.“Legsaroundmywaist,”hesays,ashishandscupmyassandhelifts
me.
Idowhathesays,lettinghimmanipulatemybodysothatmylegsarehookedaroundhimandI’mheld
inplacebythatconnectionandthepressureofthewallagainstmyback.
“Oh,baby,”hesaysashiscockslidesagainstmyrear.“Liftup.Takeallofme.”
Iputmyhandsonhisshouldersandpushmyselfupashepositionshiscock.ThenIlowermyself,
takinghiminsoslowlythathisstutteringbreathshakesmybody,too,andhismurmursof,“oh,kitten,
Christ,yes,”makemethatmuchwetter.
“Ican’ttakeitanymore,”hesays.“Ihavetofeelyoucome.”
Hepumpsintome,slammingusbothagainstthehotelwallwithsuchforceI’mcertainthatmyback
willbebruisedandthewalldented.
He’susingbothhandstokeepmyhipsmovingintimewithhisthrusts.ButasIgetcloser—asmy
musclesstarttocontractaroundhiscock—heusesoneofhishandstotugonthechainconnectingmy
nipples.Awild,crazedsensationcutsthroughme,andIexplode,mybodyshatteringinwhathastobethe
mostintenseorgasmofmylife.
“Hunter,”IgaspasIcling,limpandsated,tohim.“Oh,god,Iloveyou.”
Hetiltsmychinup,thenkissesmesweetly.“HappyValentine’sDay,”hemurmurs.“Andsurprise.”
“Sothiswholethingwasaruse?”Iask.
I’mnakedonthebed,andRyanisdrawingdesignswithchocolatefondueonmybody,thenslowly
lickingitoff.“Prettymuch,”hesays,thensucksonachocolatecoverednipple.“Idolovechocolateon
Valentine’sDay.”
Imoanandforcemyselftofocus.“Noworkingtoday?Thatwasneverathing?Damienwasinonit?
Moira,too?”
“Mmmhmm.”Hedrizzleschampagneintomybellybutton,thensucksitout,makingmesquirmwith
pleasure.
“SoMoiradoesn’treallyhaveaninternship?”
Helooksupfromwherehe’snowtrailingachocolatecoveredstrawberrystraightdownfrommy
bellybutton.“No,thatwasreal.That’swhywesetthiswholethingupinChicago.”
“Andyourmom?”
“StillcomingtoLAonThursday,”hesays,lightlytracingthechocolatyendofthestrawberryalong
thefoldsofmylabia.
“And—”
“Kitten?Shutup.”
Ilickmylips.“Yes,sir,”Isay.
Hetakesabiteofthestrawberryhe’sbeenusingtostrokeme,hiseyeshardonmine.“Delicious,”he
murmursafterhe’sswallowed.“Ofcourse,nowI’mthirsty.”
Heliftsthefluteofchampagne,butinsteadofdrinkingit,hedrizzlesitovermysexthentakesasipas
thebubblespopandfizzonmysensitiveskin.
Andthen,whileI’mstillwrithingfromthatsensation,hedrinksthelastfromtheflute,thencloseshis
mouthovermycuntwiththechampagnestillinit.
Heteasesandsucksandthefeelingofthecool,tinybubblescombinedwithhishot,hungrymouthis
beyondamazing.
Myclitisstillsensitive,andbeforeIknowit,I’mflyingagain,thistimethrustintoheavenona
champagnehighandRyan’smagictongue.
“Good?”heasks,kissinghiswaybackupmybodyonceI’vereturnedtosanity.
“Very,”Isay.
“Tired?”
Iam,butnowayamIadmittingit.“Never,”Isay,andhesmiles.
“Liar.Butthat’sokay.I’mhappytowakeyouup.Ihaveplansforyouallnight,youknow.Iintendto
makethemostofeveryhourofValentine’sDay.”
“Doyou?”Irollontomysideandsnuggleclose.
“Mmm,”hesaysagreeably.“Asamatteroffact,IhavesomethingforyouIthinkwillkickthisdayoff
right.”
“Day?”
“It’swellpastmidnight,kitten.Abrandnewday.”
“Oh.Well,inthatcase,Ican’twaittoseewhatyouhaveinmind.”Ipropmyselfuponmyelbowand
watchashesitsontheedgeofthebedandtugsopenthesidetabledrawer.Istarttojokethathegotmea
GideonBible,butevenatthisangle,Icanseethatwhateverhe’sreachingforisimportanttohim,soIbite
mytongue.Irememberourconversationonthebeach,andawaveofemotioncrashesovermewithsuch
powerthatIcan’tevenidentifyit.Anticipation?Apprehension?Joy?Euphoria?
Idon’tknow,andIonlystayherefrozeninthismoment,ashepullsoutablackvelvetbagthat’s
roughlythesizeofabook.Heputsitonthebed,opensthedrawstring,andbeginstowithdrawafamiliar
pieceofpoundedmetalformedintoachoker-stylenecklace.
“It’smynecklace.”It’sastatement,butitcomesoutasaquestion.“It’sthecollaryouboughtmein
Vegas.”
“Itis.”Hepullsittherestofthewayout.Thepinthatholdsitclosedisfastenedintheback,sothat
thecollarisaperfectcircle.He’sholdingitatthefront,hishandcoveringthesmallloopofsilver,which
iswherealeashattaches.
Ithinkaboutthenightheboughtthatcollar,nottomentionalltheothernightsIworeitforhim.
Memoriesofbeingathismercy.Ofbeingpampered.Oflosingmyselfinthesensualdelightofgiving
myselfovercompletelytohim.ToHunter.
Iswallow,mybodyonfirealloveragain,andnotfromchampagne.“It’sbeenmonthssinceIwore
this,”Isay.“Why’dyoubringittonight?”Iriseupontomyknees.I’mnakedandI’mwet,andIliftmy
chin,givinghimmyneck.“WhatdoyouwantmetodoforyouthisValentine’sDay?Sir?”Iadd,playing
thegame.
“Closeyoureyes,kitten,”hesays,andIcomplywithoutquestion.Ifeelthebrushofmetalagainstmy
skin.Theenticingclickofthepinlockingiton.
“Idolikethewayyoulookinit.”
Ilickmylips,butIkeepmyeyesclosed.Hehasn’ttoldmeIcanopenthem.“YouknowI’myours,sir.
Youdon’tneedthecollar.Whateveryouwantfromme,it’syours.Noquestionsasked.”
“ThisiswhatIwant,”hesays,andhetakesmyhandandliftsittomyneck,thenpressesmyfingersto
theleash-looponthefront.There’sathreadtiedthere,andItraceitdownuntilmyfingersreacharing—
andmyheartskipsabeat.
“Goahead,”hesays.“Tugitoffandopenyoureyes.”
It’stiedwithalooseknotthatcomesfreewhenIgiveitatug,andwhenIopenmyeyesI’mholdinga
stunningdiamondsolitaire.
Ifreeze—Ijustflatoutfreeze.Andthoughitfeelslikeaneternity,I’msureit’sonlyaheartbeatthat
passesbeforeIgaspwithsurpriseandliftmyfreehandsothatmyfingersarepressedagainstmylips.
“Ryan.”
Heeasesoffthebed,thendropstooneknee.Gently,hetakestheringoffmypalm,andholdsitoutto
me.“Iknowyou’remine,Jamie.Willyoubemywifesothattheworldcanknowit,too?”
“I—”Imakeasmalllittlegaspingsound,thenbrushanerranttearaway.Myheartisscreamingforme
tocryoutyes,yes,athousandtimesyes.
Butmyheadiswhirringtoofast.Imagesofmymother—sohappilymarriedandnowseparated—twirl
inmyhead.Wasallthathappinessjustanillusion?Wasitneverreal?Andifitwasreal—ifshefeltonce
howIfeelaboutRyan,thenhowcouldsheandDaddyhaveendedupwheretheyarenow?
“Ryan,I—”Idrawinabreath.“Youplannedallofthissoyoucouldpropose?”
Hedoesn’tspeak,buttheanswerisclearenoughonhisface.Loveandhope...andwhenIsaynothing
else,ahintofworry.
“It’sjust...it’sallsomuch,”Isay.“Sowonderful.”Ikeeptalking—wordskeepspillingfromme.But
notthewordhewantstohear.NotthewordIwanttosay.BecauseIdowanttosayit.Iwanttoshoutit.
Yes.Yes,Ryan,yes.
AndyetIdon’t.Istaysilent,mywordstrappedbehindablanketoffearembroideredwiththeshockof
mymother’swords:separation.
“Jamie.”Hetakesmyhand,thenrisessothathecansitonthebednexttome.Then—veryslowlyand
verycarefully—hesays,“What’sgoingon?”
“Nothing,”Isayautomatically.Istandup,thengototheclosetandsliponthehotelrobe.
“Nothing,”Ryanrepeats,eyeingtherobeupanddown.
“Ijust—Ijustdon’twanttomovetoofast.”
“Uh-huh.”Hepourshimselfaglassofchampagneandtossesitbackbeforeturningtofacemestraight
on.“DidIimagineourconversationonthebeachlastSunday?Theonewhereyousaidyouwereready?”
“No!Ofcoursenot!”Guiltwashesoverme,coldandgray.“ButIgetcaughtupinthesewarm,fuzzy
feelingsandIforgetthat—well,Iforgetthatthingscanturnharsh.”
“Isee,”hesays,andrightthenit’shisvoicethatsoundsharsh.
“No,”Isay,blinkingbacktears.“Youdon’tseeatall.Becauseyoudon’tknowwhathappened.You
don’tknowthatthingsdidturn.Andnoweverythingisalllopsidedandwrong.”
“Wrong,”herepeatsdullyashecrossestothewindow,thenlooksoutatthedarkenedcity.“Sowhat
areyousaying?Thatyoudon’tloveme?”
“No!”Iscrambleoffthebedandgotohim.He’stakenoffhisshirt,buthe’sstillwearinghisjeans.I
standbehindhimandpressmyfacetohisback,myhandsonhiships.Myfingersareinhisbeltloops,
andforamomentIjustholdon,lookingatourreflectioninthewindow.“Idoloveyou,”Ipromise.“It’s
just—oh,hell.Idon’twanttotalkaboutthistoday.Butmymom’sinHawaii.”
HelooksatmelikeI’mnuts.
“They’reseparating.”Myvoicesnapslikearubberband.
“Oh,baby.”Iseehisfacevisiblycrumble.“I’msorry.That’shorrible.”
Idrawadeepbreath,sorelievedthathegetsit.“Yes,exactly.Soyousee?It’snotthatIdon’tlove
you...Ido.Ijust...”
“Justwhat?”hepresses,andthereliefI’dbeenfeelingvanishes.
Ibitemylowerlip.“Ryan,they’re...Imean,mymomanddad...”
“We’renotyourmotherandfather,”hesays.“AndIunderstandthatyou’reconfusedandangryatyour
parents,andmaybeIshouldjustbackoff.Idon’tknow.”Herunshisfingersthroughhishair,thensteps
away,forcingmetoletgoofhisjeansorfollowlikealeech.Iletgo.
Heturnsaroundtofaceme,thecitytohisback.“Thethingis,Igetyou,Jamie.Ireallydo.Igetyou.
I’vesupportedyou.Iloveyou.Butmostofall,I’vewaitedforyou.”
“Ryan,I—”
Heholdsupahand,cuttingmeoff.“I’vefollowedthepathyoulaidbecauseIdidn’twanttopushyou.
ButJamie,I’mdone.I’mofficiallypushingnow.”Hedropstohiskneeagain.“Iwantyoutobemywife.
Notmygirlfriend.Notmyroommate.Mywife.”
“Please.Just—”Panicrisesinmyvoice,andItouchthecollar.“YoualreadyknowI’myours.”
“DoI?Ifyou’llwearacollar,whywon’tyouweararing?Areyouonlyminewhenweplay?Forthe
goodtimes?Fortherush?”
“No!”Theprotestwhipsoutofmefastandimmediate.
“Iwantawomantostandbymethroughitall,”hesays.“Whenthingsgethardandmessy.Iwanta
family,Jamie,andallthatgoeswithit.”Hedrawsadeepbreath.“IcameheretodaybecauseIwantthat
withyou.AndIthoughtyouwantedit,too.Andifthat’snotgoingtohappen,Iwanttoknow.Iwantto
knownow,Jamie.”
Iswallow,myemotionsboilinginsideme.Anger,fear,frustration.ButdamnedifIcantellifI’m
frustratedwithhimorwithme.IhearmyselfspeakingevenbeforeIhavetimetoplanoutwhatI’mgoing
tosay.“Youwanttoknow?”Irepeat.“Soyoucanmoveon?”
Hedoesn’tanswer.
“Dammit,Ryan,youcan’tjustdumpthisonme.NotafterthedayI’vehad.WhatIlearnedaboutmy
parents.”
“I’msorryaboutyourmomanddad,Ireallyam.Butwe’renotthem.Theirproblemsaren’tour
problems.”Hiseyeslockonmine.“Notunlessyoumakethemourproblems.”
“Weshouldtalkaboutthis.”
“We’vetalkedthistodeathovertheyears,Jamie.I’mdonetalking.Fuck.”Hegrabshisshirtoffthe
floorandpullsitbackoverhishead.
“Sothat’sit.You’rejustlayingdownanultimatum?”
Hepausesforawhile,thenhenodsslowly.“Iwanttolivemylifewithyou,Jamie.Iwanttohave
kidswithyou.Iwanttogrowoldwithyoubesideme.AndIwantyoutobemywife.Notmygirlfriend.
Notmypartner.Mywife.Ifthatmakesmeold-fashionedorason-of-a-bitch,thenI’msorry.Butthat’s
whatIwant.Hell,it’swhatIneed.”
“Wedon’tneedaweddingtobehappy,”Isay.Icanheartheplea—andthepanic—inmyvoice.
Hejustlooksatme.ThenIseehisthroatmoveasheswallows.Whenhespeaks,hisvoiceisevenand
calm,likewe’retalkingaboutwheretohavedinner.“I’mgoingbacktoLA.Ifyouchangeyourmind,call
mewhenyougetback.”
Oh,hellno.
“Screwthat,”Isay,mytemperflaring.Ishakemyheadthenstartgatheringmyownclothes.“If
anyone’sleavingit’sme.”Mybag’sstillpacked.IcanthrowmyleggingsandT-shirtbackon.I’llcatcha
cabandI’llgetthefuckoutofthere.
Sowhatifit’sthreeo’clockinthemorning?Ifiguretheremustbeasixo’clockflightbacktoLA.I
intendtobeonit.
Yup.UnlessRyanstopsmefromwalkingoutthatdoor,I’mgoingtobeonthefirstplaneoutofthis
city.
“SoI’mgoing,”Isay,snaggingmyT-shirtonthecollarasIpullitovermyhead.“Youstay.Help
Moira.Dowhatever.”
Iwait,becauseofcoursehe’sgoingtotellmetostay,too.Andwe’llsleepandthentalkaboutthis
likesanepeopleinthemorning.Becausethisisnotthekindofthingthatcanbreakusup.Webothwantto
betogether,andthat’stherealbottomline.Isn’tit?
Butallhedoesisnod.Andallhesaysis,“Ifthat’sthewayyouwantit,thenokay.”
Igapeathim.“That’sallyouhavetosay?”
“No.”Hetakesasteptowardme...andthencontinuespastmeintothebathroom.“Leavethecollaron
thebed.”
WhenIwakeupinmyownbed,it’salmostfiveo’clockonWednesday.WhichmeansIsleptthrough
Tuesday,Tuesdaynight,andmuchofWednesday.
Obviously,IwasexhaustedafterdrinkingwithMoiraMondaynight,thensurvivingmydramawith
RyanintheweehoursoftheTuesdaythatwasalsoValentine’sDay,thenwaitingintheairport.Andit’s
notlikeIgotanysleepontheactualflighthome.Damnturbulence.
Itellmyselfallofthat,butit’snotexhaustionthatkeptmesleepingforsolong—it’sthefactthatIjust
wantedtocurlupandescape.
Escapemythoughts.Myfears.
EscapethefactthatIhurtRyan.
EscapethelittlebubbleofangerthatrisesupeverytimeIthinkabouthowhe’slayingthisallonme.
He’snotevengivingmetime.Itoldhimaboutthebombshellmyparentsdropped—andheknowshow
muchthethoughtofmarriagehasalwaysfreakedmeout—andevensohe’sdemandingadecisionright
now.Thisverysecond.He’snotevenwillingtojusthangwiththestatusquoforjustalittlebitlonger.
Buteventhat’snotreallywhathasmeknottedupinside.DoIwantmoretime?Sure.DoIwishthat
Ryanhadcuddledmecloseinsteadofpushingmeaway?Absolutely.AmItotallyannoyedwithhim
becauseofthat?Hell,yeah.
Mostly,though,I’mmadatmyself.
Andthat’swhyI’vebeensleeping.SothatIcanescapethathorrible,insecurepartofmethatrefuses
tosayyeswhenIsodesperatelywantto.BecauseIdowantto.Iwantthehappilyeverafter.Iwantit
withRyan.
ButIdon’tknowhowtogetthere.Howtogetpastthisicy,debilitatingfear.Iwantto—oh,deargod,I
wantto—buthaven’tgotacluehowtopushthrough,andeverytimeItry,thecloyingfearoffailureand
painandlosspushesmebackdownalloveragain.Iknowit’sstupid.Iknowitmakesnosense.And
knowIshouldjustbeabletobuckupandpushpast,andyetIcan’t.
I.Just.Can’t.
AndsoI’dslept.I’dslidawayintodreamland.IntoaplacewhereIdidn’thavetothinkorfeelordo.
I’drunaway—fromRyan,frommyself.
AndIhatemyselfforit.
BeforeI’dfallenintooblivion,I’dcalledNikki.Shehadn’tanswered,andIhadn’tleftamessage.
NowIcheckmyphone,justincaseshe’scalledmeback.
OrincaseRyanhascalled.
Buttherearenomessages,andsoIpushmyselfuprightinthebed,swingmyfeetofftheside,andthen
justbendoverandbreathe.
I’msittinglikethat—tryingtodecidewhetherIshouldgetuptoeat,gotakeashower,orjustfallback
asleepinbed.
I’mstilldebatingwhenmyphoneringsandIsnatchitup,notevenbotheringtolookatthescreen.
“Nikki?”
“Um,no.It’sMoira.”
“Oh.”IcringebecauseuntilnowIhadn’tthoughtabouthowbitchyitwasformetojustwalkout.
“Listen,I’mreallysorryIbailedonyou.Ididn’t—”
“It’sokay,”shesays.“Really.Ijust—oh,hell,IjustwantedtocallandsaythatIdon’tknowwhat
exactlyhappenedbetweenyouandRyan,butyouguysaregreattogether,soIreallyhopeyoucanfixit.”
“Thanks,”Isay.“I—Ihopeso,too.”That’sprobablythetruestthingI’veeversaid,eventhoughI
don’tknowifwe’llevermanage.Becausefixingitmeansfixingme.AndIdon’tknowhowtodothat.
“And,well,Ihopeyou’restillcomingtoMom’sbirthdaydinner.Idon’tthinkRyan’ssaidanythingto
heraboutwell,therebeingtroublebetweenyouguys.AndIknowshe’dreallylovetoseeyou,and—”
“Idon’tknow,Moira,”Isay.“Ijust—”
Shecutsmeoffwith,“Ifyouhaven’ttalkedtohimsinceChicago,youshould.”
“Ihaven’t,”Iadmit.“I’vebeen—well,honestly,mostlyI’vebeensleeping.Oh,Christ,Moira,”I
continue,becauseI’mfullupandit’salljustbeatingagainstme,andIhavetogetitoutandtellsomeone.
“I’mscared.AndIdon’tknowwhattodo.AndIlovehim,but—”
“Thencome,”shesaysgently.“Comebepartofthefamily.”
“I’llthinkaboutit,”Ipromise.AndIwill.I’llthinkabouthowawkwarditwillbe.AndI’llthink
abouthowmuchIwantRyan,amanwho’sgivenmeanultimatumthatIcan’tmeet.AndIthinkthatdinner
willbetorture,andhowthehellcanIdothattomyself?
SoI’llthinkaboutit...butIknowdamnwellIwon’tgo.
I’mstillthinkingaboutitThursdaymorningasIsitinmake-upbeforemymorningslotattheanchor
desk.AndI’mstillthinkingaboutitafterwegoofftheairandmyproducertellsmeIlookdistracted.
“I’vecaughtabug,”Ilie.“It’llpass.”
Shefrowns.“Look,justtakeFridayoff.You’realreadyoffthisweekend,anyway.”
“You’resure?”
Shenods.“Nothingpersonal,Jamie,butyoulooklikehell.Gogetsomerestandcomebacknextweek
healthy,okay?”
“Thanks,”Isay,notfeelingtheslightestbitguiltythatI’mgettingoutofworkbyclaimingI’msick.I
am,afterall.I’mlovesick...
I’minmycarheadinghomewhenNikkicallsme.“Isawthatyou’dcalled,butyoudidn’tleavea
message,”shesaysafterI’veconnectedthecallthroughthecar’sspeakersystem.“AtfirstIthought
maybeyouaccidentallycalledme,butIknowyou,James.Andyouhaven’tcalledortextedsinceIsaw
youonSunday.”
“Um,so?”
“Sowehaven’tgonethatlongwithouttalkingtoeachothersincehighschool.Something’swrong.
Somethingyoudon’twanttotellme.Sotell.”
Igrimace.“Bestfriendscanbeapainintheass.”
“You’rewelcome,”shesays,andforthefirsttimeinwhatfeelslikeforever,Ilaugh.
ItellhertoholdonwhileIgetonthefreeway,andthenItellhereverything.Notjustbecauseshe
asked—andnotjustbecauseIknowshewon’tstopbuggingmeuntilIdo—butbecauseIhavetotalkitout
withsomebody.
“Ican’tgotoMrs.Hunter’sbirthdaydinner,”IsayafterI’mdonelayingitallout.“It’snotfairto
Ryan.And,well,Ithinkit’llhurttoomuchtoseehimandthenwalkawayagain.”
“Maybethatmeansyoushouldn’twalkaway,”shesaysgently.
“I’mnotwalking,”Isaystubbornly.“He’spushing.”
Shedoesn’tsayanything.Butthat’sokay.Ispeakfluentsilence.SoIunderstandexactlywhatshe’s
saying.
Hell,Ievenknowshe’sright.
Isigh.“It’sjustthatI—”
Icutmyselfoff.JustthatIwhat?Don’treallylovehim?That’snottrueatall.ThatI’mterrified?
That’sclosertothetruth,butstillnotallofit.Becauseterrifiedofwhat?Thathedoesn’treallyloveme?
No,I’mcertainhedoes.
Thathe’llchangehismindandstoppushingonthemarriagefront?
Ifrown,butthat’snotiteither.It’sclose,though,becausetheonethingIamsureofisthatmyparents’
separationisfuelingthisdarkholeinsidemygut.Butknowingthecausedoesn’tmeanIknowthesolution.
Itapthebrakeandexitthefreeway,thentellNikkithatIhavetogo.
“Okay,”shesays.“Butcallmeifyouneedto.”
IassureherIwill.Frankly,IhopethatIdoneedtocallher.AtleastthatmightmeanthatIneedhelp
movingforward.Rightnow,allI’mdoingisfloundering.AndIcanmanagethatallonmyown.
WhenIgethome,IglanceatmyphonetocheckanytextsthatcameinwhileIwastalkingtoNikki.
There’sonlyone,andit’sfromMoirawiththetimeandplaceofhermother’sbirthdaydinner.Shesays
shecan’twaittoseeyou,Moirahasadded,andIfrownatthosewords,wonderingifMrs.Hunterreally
saidthat,orifMoiraisdoingherownbrandofmanipulation.
Ifit’sreallyMrs.Hunter—whomIadore—Ihatetodisappointher.Butatthesametime,it’sRyan
whoIwanttohearfrom.RyanwhoIwanttellingmetocometothedinner.
Idon’tunderstandhowtwopeoplewhoaresoclosecannowbesofarapart,andIcan’tdenythatI’m
afraid.Becausewhathadstartedwiththevibeofafightnowhastheputridscentofforever.
Andforever’snotaplaceIcangowithoutRyanatmyside.
****
VaultisanewCulverCityrestaurantthatisthelatestdininghotspot.Thechefissupposedlyagenius,
andthebuildingitselfisfunbecauseitusedtobeanoldbank,andmanyofthebank-typefixturesstill
remain.
Forexample,customerscanactuallyreservetheoldvaultandhaveaprivatedinnerinsidetheroom,
nowdecoratedwithartthatsportsamonetarytheme.
That’stheroomthatthehostessleadsmetowhenIaskfortheHunterparty,andasIstandbythesafe-
styledoorandlookatthehugesteelcylindersthatformthenow-defunctlockingmechanism,Ican’thelp
butthinkthatifIgointothatroom,therewillbenowayout.
Iwonderifthat’sagoodthingorabadthing.
Mynervesarejangling,andI’mactuallyconsideringturningaroundandleavingwhenRyanlooksup
fromwherehe’sstandingbyhismother.Hiseyeslandonme,andIfreeze—Ijustliterallyfreezeinplace.
Itrytoreadhisexpression,butthere’snothingonhisface.Notjoy,notanger,notirritation,not
indifference.It’sasifI’mnothing,andmyheartsqueezespainfullyattherealizationthatthisishowit
couldbe.ThatIcouldactuallyendupbeingnothingtothisman.
CouldI?EvenifIwalkedaway,couldIevertrulynotbeapartofhim?BecauseIknowdamnwell
thathewillalwaysbeapartofme.
I’mstillstaring—myhearttwistingathisnonchalance—whenhislipscurveintoaslowsmileandI
seeasparkofsomethingIthinkisreliefinhiseyes.
Hislipsmove,andIsmileatthesimple,silentgreetingashemouthsasingleword—Hi.
It’satruce,andIacceptitgratefully.Ientertheroom,expectinghimtocometome,butit’sMoira
whoisatmysidefirst,thoughRyanjoinsamomentlaterandpullsmychairoutforme.
It’sjustthefourofus—me,Ryan,Moira,andMrs.Hunter—sothemealisintimate.AndthoughRyan
sitsnexttome,henevertouchesmeduringthemeal.I’mnotsureifMrs.Hunternotices.OratleastI’m
notsureuntilRyanexcuseshimselfforthemen’sroom.
“Nowthen,”shesays,peeringatme.“What’sgoingonwithyouandmyson?Areyoutwookay?”
Moirapropsherelbowsonthetableandleansforward.
Andwithbothofthemlookingsoearnestlyatme,Ican’tfightthetearsthatspringimmediatelytomy
eyes.“Honestly,Mrs.Hunter,Idon’tknow.”
“Angela,”shesays.“Haven’tItoldyoutocallmeAngela?”
“Angela,”Isaygratefully,andasweetwarmthfillsmesimplyfromthethoughtthatI’mpartofthis
family,evenifonlyforamoment.
“Iwon’taskwhy—he’llbebacksoon.ButIwillsaythathelovesyou.Whateverelseisgoingon
betweenyou,ifyoulovehimtoo,thenyou’llgetbackwhereyouneedtobe.Trustme.”
“Thanks.”IcatchMoira’seyes,andseethatshe’snodding,too.“Thankstobothofyou.”
Ryanstepsbackintothevault.“Whatareyouthankingthemfor?”
“Forlettingmebeheretonight,”Isay.“Thankyou,too.”
Forjustasecond,Ithinkhe’sgoingtonotrespondatall.Thenhesays,verysoftly,“Tonight,thisis
rightwhereyoubelong.”
Iclingtothosewords,andfortherestofthemealanddessert,theconversationflowseasier.And
whenRyan’shandbrushesmineaswebothreachforthefudgesauceatthesametime,Ifeelashockof
awarenesscutthroughme.Butwhenhiseyesmeetmine,allIfeelisloss.BecausetonightI’mgoinghome
alone,eventhoughwhatIwantistobeinRyan’sarms.
IknowIcouldmakethathappenrightnow—allIhavetodoissaythatIwanttomarryhim.Butwhen
Iletmythoughtslingeronthosesimplewords,mychesttightens,andsuddenlyI’mhavingahardtime
breathing.
“Jamie?”Ryan’shandisonmyshoulder.“Areyouokay?”
Inod,wishinghewasn’ttouchingmebecauseit’ssodamndistracting—andatthesametimewishing
he’dneverletgo.“I’mfine,”Ilie.“Mywinewentdownwrong.”
Imanagetokeepasmileonmyfacefortheshortdurationofthemealafterthat,thenIstandandmake
myexcuses,tellingthemI’msuretheywantsomefamilytimealone.
Istepoutofthevault,andasIpausetomakesuremyphoneisinmypurse,Ryanjoinsme.“I’mglad
youcame,”hesays,takingmyarmandpullingmeaside.It’snotanembrace,butIwishitwere.Iwant
himtoholdme.Toletmeusehisstrengthtogetpastthismuckinmyhead.
Iwanttotellhimasmuch,butsomehowIcan’tfindthewords.Instead,Isay,“I’mgladIcame,too.
Angela’sgreat.Yourwholefamilyis,”Iadd,thinkingofMoira.
“Iadoreallofthewomeninmylife,”hesays.“I’ddoanythingforthem.”He’slookingatmeashe
saysit,andmyheartfluttersinmychest.ButI’mnotsureifhe’sincludingmeinthatgroup,orifthehint
ofmeaningIhearinhisvoiceisnothingmorethanmyimagination.
IshakemyheadasIfrown,tryingtoclearmythoughts.
“Youokay?”
“Fine,”Isay,thoughit’snottrue.Ourrhythmisoff,andit’sscaringme.We’vealwaysbeeninsync,
evenbeforeweweredating.Andnow—well,nowitalmostfeelslikehe’sdeliberatelykeepingmeoff
balance.
Iwanttogetbacktonormal,andIdon’tknowthepath,andmylackofconfidenceisfrustratingme.
“Areyouheadinghome?”Ryanasks.
Ishakemyhead.“Oh,Idon’tknow.Ihaven’tdecided.You?”
“MoiraandIaretakingMombacktothehotel.”
Iwaitforhimtoinvitemealong,andwhenhedoesn’t,Isay,“It’llbeniceforyouguystohavetimeto
chatinthecar.Butsheusuallycrashesearly,doesn’tshe?”
“Usually.Why?”
“Oh.Um.”Ilickmylips.“BecauseIwaswonderingifyouwantedtomeetmesomewhere.Wecould
getadrink.Wecouldtalk.”
“Talk,”herepeats.Hemeetsmyeyes,andIseethequestioninthem—haveIchangedmymind?AmI
goingtosayyes?
Iglancedownatthefloor.
“Talk,”herepeats.“No,I’msorry.Ican’tdothat.”
Ilookup,frustrated.“But,Ryan,Ijust—”
“Ihaveplans.I’mgoingtoWesterfield’s.”
“Oh.”Westerfield’sisoneofthehottestclubsintown.It’salsoaStarkproperty,whichmeanswhen
RyangoeshegetsthefullVIPtreatment.Somethingthatneverfailstosnagtheattentionofthefemale
patrons.Mostofwhomareusuallydrunk.AndwearingoutfitsthatarebarelybigenoughtokeepaBarbie
dollmodest.
“Oh,”Irepeat.
IwaitforhimtosuggestIjoinhimthere,butallhesaysis,“Itreallywasgreatthatyoucame.”Then
thebastardleansinandkissesmycheek.Hekissesmyfuckingcheek.
Andallthatmuckinmyheadstartschurning,andalltheangerandfrustrationI’mfeelingtoward
myselfcomesspewingout—and,naturally,Ryangetsthebruntofmywrath.
“You’regoingclubbing?”Isnap,pullingbacktolookathisface.“You’rebussingmycheek?Ithought
Iwasthewomanyouloved?Ithoughtyouwantedtomarryme.Ihesitateforfivesecondsandsuddenly
you’reoverme?”
We’restandinghalf-inandhalf-outofthevault.Insidethatprivateroom,MoiraandAngelaaretrying
veryhardtopretendtheyaren’tlistening.Inthemainarea,noone’spretendingatall.They’regapingand
enjoyingtheshow.
“YouarethewomanIlove,andIdowanttomarryyou.Butyou’vemadeitclearyoudon’twantthat.
Thisistheworldwherewearen’ttogether,Jamie.Didyouthinkyoucouldhaveitbothways?”
Aballofredragebubblesinsideme,andinsteadofspillingoutofmymouthinastringofcurses,it
comesoutinmyhand—andIslaptheshitoutofhim.“It’sbeentwodays.Twodays.AndIloveyou,you
bastard.Thinkaboutthatwhileyou’replayingthesegoddamngames.”
Andwiththat,Iturnawayfromhim,hikemypursestrapmorefirmlyonmyshoulder,andstormoutof
therestaurant,astringofcursesrunninglikemutilatedpearlsthroughmyhead.
Goddamnhim.Goddamn,goddamn,goddamnhim.
AndwhileI’matit,goddamnme.Becausemaybeheisplayinggames.Butmaybehe’snot.
Maybethisisallonme.MaybeI’mtheoneplayingthegame,andhe’sjustchangedtherulesaroundto
suithim.
I’mcryingasIheadhome,buthomeisn’twhereIwanttobe.Ipace.Idrink.Ipacesomemore.
Butthewinedoesn’ttastegood,andthebackandforthmotionacrossmyfloorisn’tdoingadamn
thingformytemper.
Finally,Isitdownatmykitchentable,pressspeeddialonmyphone,andlistentotheringingatthe
otherendoftheline.
Heanswersonthethirdring.“Jamie?”
Idrawinabreathandrealizetearsarestreamingdownmyface.“Daddy?”
“Oh,baby.I’msorry—Ishouldhavecalledyou,butI’vebeeninsuchastate.”
“Astate,”Irepeat,myvoiceheavywithsarcasm.“Whatstateareyouin?Mom’sinHawaii.”
Hesighs.Loudly.
“Dammit,Daddy.Whathappened?Areyou—Imean,areyouhavinganaffair?”
“No,”hesays,andIsagwithrelief.“NothingreallyhappeneduntilyourmotherandIofficiallysplit.”
Ohgod.
“You’retellingmetherereallyissomeoneelse?”
“Jamie,sweetie,Iknowthisishard—”
“Hard?Youguysloveeachother.Youpracticallyworshipeachother.You—”Iclosemyeyesandmy
mouthandtrytoregroup.“Whatthehellhappened?”
“Idon’tknow,”hesays,andthoughIdon’tliketheanswer,Ithinkit’shonest.There’sanoteofquiet
resilienceinhisvoice.Asifhe’scometotermswithsomethingunpleasantthathedoesn’tunderstand,but
knowsjustsimplyis.“Ithinkit’sbeenhappeningforalongtime.Ithink...well,Ithinksomewherealong
thewaywetookeachotherforgranted.Weassumedweknewthescore,andwejuststoppedtalking.”
“But...”ItrailoffbecauseIdon’tknowwhattosay.Iwasexpectinghimtododgemyquestions.
Instead,he’sgivenmehonesty.
“Soisthisaforeverthing?Doyouthinkyou’llgetbacktogether?Doyoustillloveher?”
There’sapause,andthenhesaysgently,“We’lljusthavetosee,won’twe?Wouldn’tbeworthliving
thislifeifIknewexactlywhereitwasgoing,nowwouldit?”
Iblinkandspillmorefattearsdownmycheeks.“That’swhatyouusedtosaywhenIwasalittlegirl.”
“Meantitthen.Meanitnow.”
Ichokebackanothersob.
“Enoughaboutallthis.Youtellmewhat’sgoingonwithyou.How’sRyan?”
Isqueezemyeyestightindefenseagainstanotherroundoftears.“He’sokay,”Isay.“We’reboth
okay.”
“Isthatafact?”Icanhearthequestioninhisvoice.
“Honestly?No.”Idrawinabreath.“Butwewillbe.”Inod,thosethreesimplewordsringinginmy
mind—Wewillbe.“Listen,Dad,Ihavetogo.I’m—I’msorryaboutyouandMom.Istillcan’treally
wrapmyheadaroundit.”
“SometimesIcan’teither.Butnomatterwhathappens,knowthatyourmotherandIbothloveyouvery
much.”
“Iknow,”Iwhisper.
Ihangupandsitthereatthetableforwhatfeelslikehoursbutisprobablyonlyminutes.Mymindis
churningwiththoughtsthataretoohardtopindownbecausethey’reflickeringtoofast,moreemotionthan
reason.Moreheartthanmind.
Idrawinadeepbreath.
Icandothis.Icanovercomemyfear.
Ihaveto.BecausetheonlythingIfearmorethanthegreatunknownofmarriageisthecertaintythat
I’llloseRyanforeverifIdon’tlethimputaringonmyfinger.
Iattachmyphonetoasmalltripod,setittovideomode,andfocusitonthecouch.
Rightnow,IknowexactlywhatIneedtodo.
Becausesmartorfoolish,rightorwrong,thebottomlineisthatI’llneverreallyhaveaguarantee.I’ll
neverbecompletelycertainaboutanythingIdowithRyanorwithmylife.AllIcandoisbelieve.
Rightnow,thethingIbelievethemostinisRyan.
Iconsidertextinghimthevideo,butthisissomethingIwanttohandtohimpersonally.AndsinceI
happentoknowwheretofindhim,ImaketheshortdriveoverthehilltotheclubonSunsetBoulevard.
Fortunately,DamienaddedmynametotheVIPlistlongago,soIwalkpastthelineandeaseintothe
crowdedvenue.It’saThursday,sothecrowdisslightlylesspackedthanit’llbecometomorrow,but
that’snotsayingmuch.
Imaneuvermywaythroughthethrong,tryingtofindRyanintheseaoffacesandthecoloredlight
reflectedfromthedancefloor.
SinceI’mhavingnoluck,Iheadtothebarandsignalforadrink.Thebartenderknowsmeandhenods
inacknowledgement.WhileIwait,Iturnandletmygazeroamthecrowdonemoretime.
Nothing.
I’mjustabouttoturnbacktothebartograbmyScotchwhenIseehim.He’sonthefarsideofthe
room,abouttogoupthestairsthatleadtothemanager’sprivateoffice.Andthere’saverystackedblonde
rightbesidehim.
Seriously?
Twodayssincehegivesmeanultimatum?
Lessthantwohourssinceheconfirmedthathelovesmeandwantstomarryme,butsaysthatit’sall
onme?
Notevenafuckingweekbeforehe’shittingonablondeinatightknitdress?
Really?Really?
Igulpdownmydrink,leaveatwentyonthebar,andpushmywaythroughthecrowd.They’rehalfway
upthestairswhenIpoundupbehindthem,thentugatRyan’selbow.
“Jamie!”
“Doyouwanttoexplainyourself?”
Forasecondhelooksconfused,butwhenIshiftmygazequicklytoblondie,heactuallyhasthenerve
tolethisconfusionmorphintoamusement.“No,”hesays.“Idon’tthinkIneedtoexplain.Ithinkthe
situationisperfectlyclear.”
“Whathappenedtoyouloveme?Whathappenedtoyouwanttoputaringonmyfinger?Areyou
planningtoputaringonherfinger,too?Areyou—”
“Wait,”thegirlsays.“Aring?What?”SheshiftsherattentionfrommetoRyan.“Mr.Hunter,ifyou
needsometimetotalkto—”
“Mr.Hunter?”Irepeat.Foramoment,I’mlegitimatelyconfused.Butthatconfusiononlylastsa
secondortwo.
Soonenough,itfadesaway,replacedbysomethingmuch,muchworse:abjectmortification.
“Oh,”Isay,tryingonasmile.“Um,whoareyou?”
“DelaneyDawson,”shesays.
“Ms.DawsonisthenewsecurityspecialistforWesterfield’s,”Ryanexplains.
“Really?”Iflashmymostcamera-readysmile.“Wow.Well.Congratulations.Everyonehereisgreat.
I’msureyou’regoingtoreallyenjoyworkingwitheveryoneatWesterfield’s.”
“I’msureIwill,too.”Hersmileisalittletoobright,andIthinkshe’stryingveryhardnottolaugh.
“Delaney,”Ryansays,“Irealizethismaybealittleinconvenient,butdoyouthinkwecouldcontinue
thisbriefingtomorrow?IneedtospeakwithMs.Archeralone.”
“Notaproblem,”shesays.Shemeetsmyeyes,amusementtwinklinginhers.“Itwasapleasure
meetingyou.”
“Yeah,”Isay,wavingalimphandafterherassheheadsbackdownthestairs.“Apleasure.”I
swallow.“Ryan,I’mso,so—”
“Withme,”hesays,hurryingtherestofthewayuptothemanagementoffice.Hepullsmeinside,then
slamsthedoorbehindus.And,Inotice,helocksit.
“Ryan—”
Butheshakeshishead,silencingme,hisexpressionlikeawolfontheprowl.Hetakesasteptoward
me,andItakeastepback,thenanotherandanotheruntilI’mrightinfrontofthewallofone-wayglass
thatlooksdownonthedancefloorbelow.
“YouthoughtIwasfuckingMs.Dawson?”
“Well,I...yeah.”
Hestepscloserstill,andnowmybackistotheglassandhe’srightinfrontofme,socloseIcanfeel
hisheatandsmellthescentofhim,likeearthandmusk.
“Ifyou’renotwithme,I’mafreeman,Jamie.ThatmeansIcanfuckwhomeverIwant.Right?”
Iswallow,butIdon’tspeak.ThethoughtofhimwithanotherwomanissohorribleIcan’tquitewrap
mymindaroundit,muchlessmywords.
“Buthere’sthething,kitten.Idon’twantanybodyelse.Nottofuck.Nottohangoutwithinfrontofthe
television.You’vedestroyedme,Jamie.”Hereachesout,thencupsmyfaceinhispalm.“You’ve
destroyedmecompletely.Andforthat,Ithinkyouneedtobepunished.”
“I—what?”MyheadiscertainI’veheardhimwrong.Butmybodyisrightwiththeprogram.Heathas
pooledbetweenmythighs,andmynipplesaretightagainstthelacebraIworeunderthesheathdressI’d
putonfordinnerwithHunter’sfamily.
“Turnaround,baby,”heorders.“Putyourhandsontheglass.”
Ido,andasIstareoutatthedancersbeyond,reliefexplodesthroughme,alongwithawilddesirethat
issopalpableitmakesmyskinburn.Ryanpullsupmydress,thenripsdownmypanties.“Isthiswhatyou
want?”heasks.“Formetotakeyouhardandfast?TopunishyouforthinkingIcouldeverfuckanother
woman?”
“Yes,”Isay.“Oh,please,yes.”
Hishandsslideovermyass,andhespreadsmewide.“Christ,you’rewet.Iloveitwhenyou’rewet
forme.”
Hisfingerteasesmycore,slippinginandoutofmeashelowershiszipperwithhisotherhand.Then
hishandsareonmyhipsandhiscockisatmycenter.Heeasesinsideme,andIgasp,watchingthe
dancerswrithingbeneathusashefillsme.
Hisfingersstrokemyclit,expertlytakingmetotheedge.Hekeepsmethere,teeteringonthe
precipiceashepumpshardintome,lostintherhythmofthemusic.Hardandfastwithanincreasing
frenzy.Likeanancientdance.Amatingritual.
Aclaiming.
Whenhecomes,hecriesoutmyname,andIexplodeinhisarms,mycoremilkinghiscockashe
comesinsideme,fillingmecompletely.
Whenhecleansmeupwithanearbytissue,heistenderandgentleandsweet.Andthenhepicksme
upandcradlesmeashewalksovertothesofaandcarefullyputsmedown.
I’msittingthere,myskirttwistedawkwardly,mybodystillonfire,whenhekneelsinfrontofme.“I
wantyou,Jamie.Iwantyoutobemywife,butifyoucan’thandlethat,thenokay.Ifthisiswhatyouwant
—thetwoofustogetherwithnovowstobindus,thenthat’swhatyoucanhave.”
Hedrawsabreath.“There’snothingIcandenyyou,Jamie.AndgodknowsIwon’tforceyoutodo
somethingyoudon’twanttodo.Iwantyoutobemywife,yes.ButI’lltakeyouanywayIcanhaveyou.”
Isitperfectlystillforamoment.“Ryan,”Ifinallysay.“Areyousure?”
Hedragshisfingersthroughhishair,hisshouldersrisingandfallingashesighs.“Sure?Theonly
thingI’msureaboutisyou,kitten.Doyouthinktheselastfewdayshavebeeneasyonme?Doyouthink
I’vebeenplayingagame?”
Istarttoopenmymouth,buthepresseshisfingertomylipsandshakeshishead.“Iwantyouasmy
wife,makenomistake.ButIcan’tloseyou.Seeingyouatdinnerwithmymotherandsisterdrovethat
home.And,yeah,youhelpeddriveithome,too,”headdswithawrygrin,ashelayshispalmoverhis
cheekwhereIslappedhim.
“I’msorry,”Imanagetosaybeforehetapshisfingeronmylipinanot-so-subtlereminderthatI’mnot
supposedtobespeaking.
“Thanksforthat.Butthetruthis,I’msorry,too.Itooktherighteoushighroad.Butwhenitcomesright
downtoit,webothwantthesamething.Andit’snomorefairofmetoinsistwegetmarriedthanitisfor
youtoinsistwedon’t.AndwhenIlookedatitthatway,Icouldn’tkeepthefightup.Becauseyou’rethe
thingI’mmostsureaboutinmylife.”
Hebrushesmycheek,andit’sonlythenthatIrealizethatI’mcryingandthathe’sbrushingawayatear.
“Ican’tloseyou,kitten.AndifIdon’thaveachoice,thensobeit.”
Iswallowbecausethisismyout-clause.MyDoorNumberTwo.
ThisistheresultI’dwanted,andRyanhashandedittomeasagift.
Ishouldsitbackdownandbedone.
Exceptthat’snotwhatIwantnow.
Iwanteverything.
Andsoinsteadofsitting,Igotomypurseandgrabmyphone.Ihandittohim.“It’saValentine’sDay
present.Ididn’tgiveittoyouonTuesdaybecause,well...”
“You’regivingmeyourphone?”
IcockmyheadandraiseaneyebrowasIgositnexttohim.“Avideo,”Isay,findingtheapp.“I,um,
originallyplannedtodothiswholereportertheme,whereIreportedonallyourvirtues.ButIdidn’tdo
that.”
“No?DidyoudecideIdon’thaveanyvirtues?”
“Haha.No,Ijustdecidedonaslightlydifferentapproach.So...”Iwavemyhand.“Goahead.Watch
it.”
Helooksatme,hismouthtwitchingwithobviousamusement,thenpressestheicontostartthevideo
playing.Asplitsecondlater,thereIamonthescreen.Slightlyoff-centersinceIhadn’tlinedthecamera
upexactlywhereitshouldbe.
“Um,yeah.So,thiswassupposedtobesomethingdifferent.Aglowingreportofallofyourvirtues.
But,well,Iguessit’sawoman’sprerogativetochangehermind.Andthat’sagoodthingbecauseI
keepchangingmine.”
Iclearmythroat.
“Anyway,here’sthething...”
ItrailoffasIstandup,andforamoment,myheaddisappearsoffthetopofthescreen.Thenit
reappearswhenIlowertooneknee.“I’vebeenanidiot,”Isay.“Ascaredofmyownshadowkindof
idiot.ButI’mnotscaredanymore.”
Ilickmylipsandlookstraightintothecamera.“Iwanttogetmarried.Iwanttomarryyouin
Vegas,whereitallbegan.Inatackylittlechapelwithoutallthenoiseofabigwedding.Iwantto
elope,Ryan.Iwanttogorightnow.Thisminute.”
Iexhale.
“IguesswhatI’msayingisthis—RyanHunter,willyoumarryme?”
ThenIsmile,alittleuncertain.“So,that’sit.Um,okay...”
AndIstandupandwalkoutofframe.Asecondlater,thevideoends.
“Ididn’thavetimetoeditit,”Isay,turningtoseehimstaringatmewithalookofwonderand
adorationonhisface.“IjustshotitandthencametofindyoubecauseIwantedyoutoseeit,and—”
“Yes,”hesays.
Mybreathhitches.“Youmean—”
“Yes.Yes,kitten,I’llmarryyou.”
HepullsmeontohislapsothatIamstraddlinghim.Ilaughwithdelight,especiallywhenIseethathe
looksashappyasIfeel.
“Kissme,”Idemand,andhedoesn’thesitate.Hismouthclosesovermine,andhekissesmedeeply.
Passionately.ThekindofkissIfeelallthewaydowntomytoesandeverywhereinbetween.
Ishiftforwardsothatmycorerubsagainsthisalreadyhardcock.I’mbreathinghard,andsoishe.
Slowly,heliftsmydress,thenslideshisfingerbetweenus.Mypantiesarestillbythewindow,andthe
sensationofhisfingeragainstmyslickskinmakesmybodytingle.
“Makelovetome,”Isay,lookingintohiseyesasIopenhisfly.Hiscockishardandready,andI
lowermyselfontohim,claimingwhatismine.“Makelovetomeslowly.”
“Whateveryouwant,”hemurmurs,pressingsoftkissestothesideofmymouth.“Anythingyouwant.
Fortonight,”hesays.“Andfortherestofourlives.”
“Youdorealizethatusuallytherearen’tinvitedgueststoanelopement.”Nikkifrownsthoughtfullyat
myhairasshetalks,andIsitstillinfrontofthemirrorandremindmyselfthatafterasmanypageantsas
she’sbeenin,Nikkiknowshowtowieldacurlingiron.
“Isthatevenaword?”
“Itisnow,”shesays.“Okay,laststrand.NowIjusthavetopinitup.”
Myhairisnormallywavy,butittakescurlwell,andnowit’samassofloosecurlsthatframemyface.
It’salittlewild.Frankly,itremindsmeofsex.
AndIknowthatRyanwilllikeitjustlikethis.“No,”Isay,holdingupmyhand.“Leaveit.It’ssexy.”
Shestartstoprotest—IknowhersowellIcanjustseeitonherface—butthenshejustnods.“Let’s
getyoudressed,”shesaysasItakeanothersipofchampagne.
“Passmeyourphone,”Idemand,andshecomplieswitharollofhereyes,thenlaughsasIprogramin
apersonalizedringtonejustforme—ChapelofLove,theclassicbyTheDixieCups.“Nowyou’llnever
doubtit’sme,”Isay,tipsybutoh,sohappy.
Becausethisismyweddingday.AndI’malreadyatthechapel.
I’dmeantwhatIsaidinthevideo—IwantedaVegasweddingatatackyVegaschapel.
And,yes,I’dwantedtoelope.ButIfigurewemakeourownrules,andsothere’snothingwrongwith
invitingNikkiandDamien,whoflewinforthenightfromAustin.Afterall,she’smybestfriendinthe
world.
AndRyancan’tgetmarriedwithouthissisterandhismother.Thatjustwouldn’tberight.Sothey’re
alreadyinsidethechapel,waitingformetochange.
Asfortherestofourfriendsandfamily...well,I’mallabouttheafter-party.
“Okay,we’realmostoutoftime,”Nikkisays.Thislittlechapelonlygiveseachbridethirtyminutesto
prep.“Let’sgetyouzipped.”Istand,andshereachesbehindmeandinchesupthezipper.Thedressis
whiteandflowing,albeitsimple.It’salsojustalittlebitsexierthanyourtraditionalvirginalwhite.
Ryan,Ithink,isgoingtoloveit.
“AmIready?”Iask.
“Idon’tknow,”sheanswers.“Areyou?”
IlookatherandthinkofRyan.“Yeah,”Isayasweheadforthedoublewoodendoors.“Let’sgo.”
Tinnyorganmusicstartsthemomentshepushesthedooropenforme.Istepinside,takeadeepbreath,
andlooktowardthefrontoftheroom.
Ryanisthere,dressedinadarkbluesuitandlookingashappyasI’veeverseenhim.
Iwanttoruntohim,butIforcemyselftowalkdowntheshortaisleasNikkimovesofftothesideto
standbyDamien.
Icontinue,savoringthismoment.ThewayRyanlooksatme.Thesmileonhisface.Theloveinhis
eyes.
Ireachhissideandtakehishandinmine.“Hey,kitten,”hesays,inawhispermeantonlyforme.
IhidemysmileasIfocusonthepreacher,whogoesthroughthefamiliarwordsthatbindmetothis
man.Myman.
Finally,heasksifItakehim,Ryan,tobemyhusband.Andthat’swhenIsaythewordsI’vebeen
waitingtovoice.Theonlywordsthatmatter.
“Yes,”Isayemphatically.“Ido.”
Asthewordsleavemylips,IknowwithabsolutecertainlythatthisisthemanI’mmeanttospendmy
lifewith.
“Iloveyou,JamieHunter,”hesays,oncehe’sbeengivenpermissiontokissthebride.Andashislips
claimmineinourfirstmaritalkiss,Iclosemyeyesandletmyselfgetsweptawayinwarmthandloveand
joy.
We’restartingabrandnewadventure,Irealize.AndIcan’twaittoseewhereittakesus.
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MylifewithDamienhasneverbeenfuller.Everydayisamiracle,andeverynightIlosemyselfinthe
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Buttherearenewchallenges,too.Ourfamilies.Ourcareers.Andnewresponsibilitiesthattestus
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AspiringactressJamieArcherisontherun.Fromherself.Fromherwildchildways.Fromthe
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powerfulmultimillionairewho’sneverhadtotake“no”forananswer,andhisbelovedwifeNikki
FairchildStark,theSouthernbellewhoonlysays“yes”onherownterms.
It’sanewchapterinthelifeofNikkiandDamienStark…
Thoughshadowsstillhauntus,andghostsfromourpastcontinuetothreatenourhappiness,my
lifewithDamienisnothingshortofperfection.Heismyheartandmysoul.Mypastandmyfuture.He
isthemanwhoholdsmetogether,andhislovefuelsmydaysandenchantsmynights.
Butwhentragedyandchallengefrombothinsideandoutsidethesanctityofourmarriagebeginto
chipawayatourhappiness,Iamforcedtorealizethatevenaperfectlifecanbegintocrack.Andif
DamienandIaregoingtowinthisnewbattle,itwilltakeallofourstrengthandlove…
ChapterOne
IlookoutthewindowatthebeautifullymanicuredyardsthatlinethewidestreetdownwhichIam
travelinginthesumptuousluxuryofaclassicRollsRoycePhantom.AcarsosleekandmagicalthatI
can’thelpbutfeellikeaprincessinaroyalcoach.
Theroadisshadedbyparallelrowsofmassiveoaks,theirbranchesarcingoverthestreettoward
theircounterpartstoformaleafycanopy.Morninglightfightsitswaybetweentheleaves,creatinggolden
beamsinwhichdustsparklesanddancesasiftoacelebratorymelody,addingtotheillusionthatweare
movingthroughafairytaleworld.
Allinall,it’sapicture-perfectmoment.
Exceptit’snot.Notreally.Oratleastnottome.
BecauseasfarasI’mconcerned,thisisnochildren’sstory.
ThisisDallas.ThisistheneighborhoodwhereIgrewup.Andthatmeansthatthisisn’tafairytale.
It’sanightmare.
Thebranchesaren’tstunning—they’regrasping.Reachingouttosnareme.Toholdmetight.Totrap
me.
Thecanopydoesn’tmarkaroyalcorridorleadingtoacastle.Itleadstoacell.Andit’snotThe
DanceoftheSugarplumFairiesthatfillstheair.Itisarequiemforthedead.
Theworldoutsidethecarislinedwithtraps,andifI’mnotcareful,I’llbesuckedin.Destroyedby
thedarknessthathidesbehindthefalsefacadesofthesestatelyhouses.Surroundednotbyabright
children’stale,butbyahorrormovie,luredinbythepromiseofbeautyandthentrappedforeverand
slowlydestroyed,rippedtopiecesbythemonstersinthedark.
Breathe,Itellmyself.Youcandothis.Youjusthavetoremembertobreathe.
“Nikki.Nikki.”
Damien’svoicestartlesmebacktoreality,andIjerkupright,callinguponperfectposturetowardoff
theghostsofmymemories.
Histoneissoft,profoundlygentle,butwhenIglancetowardhim,Iseethathiseyeshavedippedto
mylap.
Foramoment,I’mconfused,thenIrealizethatI’veinchedupmyskirt,andmyfingertipisslowly
tracingtheviolentscarthatmarsmyinnerthigh.Asouvenirofthedeep,uglywoundthatIinflictedupon
myselfadecadeagowhenIwasdesperatetofindawaytoreleaseallthepent-upangerandfearandpain
thatswirledinsidemelikeaphalanxofdemons.
Iyankmyhandaway,thenturntolookoutthewindow,feelingoddly,stupidlyashamed.
Hesaysnothing,butthecarmovestothecurbandthenrollstoastop.Amomentlater,Damien’s
fingerstwinewithmine.Iholdtight,drawingstrength,andwhenIshifttolookathimmoredirectly,Isee
worryetchedinthehardanglesofthatperfectfaceandreflectedinthoseexceptional,dual-coloredeyes.
Worry,yes.ButitistherestofwhatIseethattakesmybreathaway.Understanding.Support.Respect.
Mostofall,Iseealovesofierceithasthepowertomeltme,andIrevelinitspowertosoothe.
Heisthebiggestmiracleofmylife,andtherearemomentswhenIstillcan’tbelievethatheismine.
DamienStark.Myhusband,mylover,mybestfriend.Amanwhocommandsanempirewithafirm,
controllinghand.Whotakesordersfromnoone,andyettodayisplayingchauffeursothathecanstand
besidemewhileIconfrontmypast.
Foramoment,Isimplysoakhimin.Hisstrength,apparentinbothhiscommandingmannerandthe
long,leanlinesofhisathleticbody.Hissupportreflectedinthoseeyesthatseemesointimately.That
have,overtheyears,learnedallmysecrets.
Damienknowseveryscaronmybody,aswellasthestorybehindeach.Heknowsthedepthofmy
pain,andheknowshowfarIhavecome.Howfarhislovehashelpedmecome.
Mostofall,heknowswhatithascostmetoreturntoTexas.Todrivethesestreets.Tolookoutatthis
neighborhoodsofullofpainanddarkmemories.
Withasmallshiver,IpullmyhandfreesothatIcanhugmyself.
“Oh,baby.”TheconcerninhisvoiceissothickIcanalmostgrabholdofit.“Nikki,youdon’thaveto
dothis.”
“Ido.”Mywordssoundragged,mythroattoocloggedwithunshedtearstospeaknormally.
“Sweetheart—”
Iwait,expectinghimtocontinue,buthe’sgonesilent.Iseethetensiononhisface,asifhe’suncertain
whattosayorhowtosayit—butDamienStarkisneverunsure.Notaboutbusiness.Notabouthimself.
Notaboutme.
Andyetrightnowhe’shesitating.TreatingmelikeI’msomethingfragileandbreakable.
Anunexpectedshockofangercutsthroughme.Notathim,butatmyself.Because,dammit,he’sright.
Inthismoment,I’masfragileasI’veeverbeen,andthat’snotapleasantrealization.I’vefoughtsohardto
bestrong,andwithDamienatmyside,I’vesucceeded.
ButhereIam,allmyhardworkshottohellsimplybecauseI’vereturnedtomyhometown.
“Youthinkcominghereisamistake.”Isnapthewordsathim,butit’snotDamienI’mirritatedwith,
it’sme.
“No.”Hedoesn’thesitate,andItakesomecomfortinthespeedandcertaintyofhisresponse.“ButI
dowonderifnowistherighttime.Maybetomorrowwouldbebetter.Afteryourmeetings.”
We’vecometoTexasnotsothatIcantorturemyselfbydrivingthroughmyoldneighborhoodtovisit
myestrangedmother,butbecauseI’mvyingtolandacontractwithoneofthetopwebdevelopment
companiesinthecountry.It’slookingtorolloutaseriesofapps,bothforinternaluseamongits
employeesandexternallyforitsclients.
I’dsubmittedaproposalandamnowoneofonlyfivecompaniesinvitedtocometoDallastopitch,
andmylittlecompanyisbyfarthesmallestandthenewest.Isuspect,ofcourse,thatpartofthereasonI
gottheinvitationisbecauseI’mmarriedtoDamienStark,andbecausemycompanyhasalreadylicensed
softwaretoStarkInternational.
Ayearago,thatwouldhavebotheredme.
Notanymore.I’mdamngoodatwhatIdo,andifmylastnamegetsmeafootinthedoor,thensobeit.
Idon’tcarehowtheopportunitycomesbecauseIknowthatmyworkistop-notch,andifIgetthejob,it
willbeonthemeritsofmyproposalandmypresentation.
It’sahugeopportunity,andoneIdon’twanttoscrewup.Especiallysincemygoalforthenext
eighteenmonthsistobuildupmyreceivables,hirefiveemployees,andtakeoverthefullfloorofthe
buildingthathousesmyofficecondo.
I’dworkedonmybusinessplanformonths,andwasacompletenervouswreckthenightIhandeditto
mymasteroftheuniverse,brilliantlyentrepreneurialhusbandforreview.Whenhe’dgivenittheDamien
Starksealofapproval,Ipracticallycollapsedwithrelief.Myplantogrowmybusinessdoesn’thingeon
megettingthisjob—butlandingitwillmeanIcanbumpallmytargetdatesupbysixmonths.More
importantly,winningthiscontractwillputmybusinessfirmlyonthecompetitivemap.
MyshoulderssagabitasImeethiseyes.“You’reafraidthatseeingMotherisgoingtothrowmeoff
mygame.ThatI’llflubtomorrow’smeetingsandhurtmychancesoflandingthecontract.”
“Iwantyouatyourbest.”
“Iknowyoudo,”Isaysincerely,becauseDamienhasneverbeenanythingbutsupportive.“Don’tyou
getit?That’swhywe’rehere.It’slikeapreemptivestrike.”
Hisbrowfurrows,butbeforehecanaskwhatImean,Irushtoexplain.“JustbeinginDallasmesses
withmyhead—webothknowthat.Shehauntsthistown.Andhavingyouherewithmenowmakesitso
muchbetter.Butyoucan’talwaysbewithme,andbeforeImakemypitch,IneedtobecertainthatIcan
travelbackandforthbetweenLAandDallaswithoutbeingafraidI’llseeheraroundeverycorner.”
ThepathetictruthisthatlatelyI’vebeenseeingmymotheraroundallsortsofcorners.I’veimagined
seeingherinBeverlyHillsshoppingcenters.OnMalibubeaches.Incrowdedstreets.Atcharityevents.I
havenoideawhythiswomanI’veworkedsohardtoblockfrommymindissuddenlyattheforefrontof
myimagination,butsheis.
AndIreallydon’twantherthere.
Idrawabreath,hopingheunderstands.“Ineedtolayallthesedemonstorestandjustdomywork.
Please,”Iadd,myvoiceimploring.“Pleasetellmeyouunderstand.”
“Ido,”hesays,thentakesmyhandandgentlykissesmyfingertips.Ashedoes,hisphonerings.It’s
sittingontheconsole,andIcanseethatthecallerishisattorney,CharlesMaynard.
“Don’tyouneedtotakeit?”Iask,ashescowls,thendeclinesthecall.
“Itcanwait.”
There’sahardedgetohisvoice,andIwonderwhathe’snottellingme.NotthatDamienkeepsme
informedabouteveryaspectofhisbusiness—consideringheprettymuchownsandoperatestheentire
planetandafewdistantsolarsystems,thatwouldrequirefartoomanyupdates—buthedoestendtokeep
meinthelooponthingsthataretroublinghim.
Ifrown.It’sclearthathe’snottellingmebecauseIalreadyhaveplentyonmymind.AndwhileI
appreciatethesentiment,Idon’tlikethat—onceagain—mymotherhascomebetweenmyhusbandand
me.
“Youshouldcallhimback,”Isay.“Ifhe’scallingonaSunday,itmustbeimportant...”
Iletthewordstrailaway,hopingtogivehimanopening,butallhedoesisshakehishead.“Don’t
worryaboutit,”hesays,evenashisphonesignalsanincomingtext.
Hesnatchesitup,butnotbeforeIseeCharles’snameflashonthelockscreenagain,thistimewitha
singleword:Urgent.
Damienmeetsmyeyes,andforjustamomenthisfrustrationisalmostcomical.Thenhesnatchesup
thephoneandhitsthebuttontocallCharles.Asecondlater,he’ssaying,“Dammit,ItoldyouIcan’tbe
botheredwiththisrightnow.”
Helistenstotheresponse,thefurrowsinhisbrowgrowingdeeper.Finally,hesighs,lookingmore
frustratedthanI’veseenhiminalongtime.
Coldforebodingwashesoverme.Damienisn’tthekindofmanwhogetsfrustratedoverbusiness
deals.Onthecontrary,theharderandmorechallengingthedeal,themorehethrives.
Whichmeansthisispersonal.
“Ihearyou,Charles,butI’mnotpayingyouforyouradviceonthis.I’mpayingyouforthose
resourcesyou’resokeenontouting.Sousethem,dammit.Pulloutallthestopsandgetmesomeanswers
bythetimeI’mbackinLA.Fine,”headdsafteranotherpause.“Callmeifyouhavesomethingdefinitive.
OtherwiseI’llseeyouinacoupleofdays.”
Heendsthecallandslamsthephonebackdown.Iopenmymouth,intendingtoaskhimwhat’s
happening,butbeforeIgetthechance,hepullsmeroughlytohimandcloseshismouthovermine.The
kissishard,brutal,andIslidecloser,losingmyselfinthewildness.Andforthismomentatleast,Iforget
myapprehensionandhisproblems.Thereisnothingbutus,ourpassionaragingblazethatclearsaway
thedebrisofourlives,strippingustotheboneuntilthereisnothingleftbutthetwoofus.
I’mbreathinghardwhenwebreakapart,mylipsbruisedandtingling,mybodyburning.Iwanttoturn
aroundandgobacktothehotel.Iwanttostripoffmyclothesandfeelhishandsonme,hiscockinside
me.Iwantitwild.Raw.PainandpleasuresointenseIgetlostinthem.Passionsoviolentitbreaksme.
AndDamien—alwaysDamien—righttheretoputmebacktogetheragain.
LizBerryandM.J.Rosewouldliketothank~
SteveBerry
DougScofield
KimGuidroz
JillianStein
InkSlingerPR
DanSlater
AshaHossain
ChrisGraham
PamelaJamison
FedoraChen
JessicaJohns
DylanStockton
RichardBlake
BookTribAfterDark
andSimonLipskar
Document Outline
- Book Description
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
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