Well, not quite.
Their relationship—or whatever you called it—was fine as far as it went. Heavens, being loved—in a physical sense—by Christo was amazing.
But it didn’t go to the heart.
Natalie, dreamer that apparently she still was, had dared to hope it would. She couldn’t imagine that she wouldn’t be able to convince him that what she felt for him was strong enough, stable enough, mature enough to stand up to whatever disillusionment he’d endured in the past.
Which just went to show, she supposed, how immature her love really was.
Or maybe not. But it wasn’t enough. She knew that. She loved him—and he was pulling back.
The desire was still there. He still said every morning, “Will I see you tonight?” He was still an eager, generous lover in bed. He could make her twist and writhe and shudder with her need of him.
But he didn’t hold her in his arms.
Not anymore. When she woke in the night now, she was alone. He was in the bed, yes, but removed. Distant. Only if he fell asleep still holding her did they share that closeness. If he was awake, he had pulled away.
At first she thought it might having nothing to do with their relationship. It could be his work, she thought. He had a lot of difficult, painful cases.
“Is something wrong?” Natalie asked the first morning after she’d experienced the distance. They were sitting in the kitchen. She’d made breakfast for the two of them before she went back to her mother’s to dress for work.
Christo, who had come in silently, poured a cup of coffee and was staring at the front page of the paper, didn’t answer at first.
When she repeated the question, he looked startled, then edgy. He’d shaken his head. “No.”
It was all the answer she got out loud. His silence said much more.
He started running in the mornings. She’d wake up and find he had already left her. He never invited her to go with him. Never talked about why he was going now when he hadn’t gone before.
And Natalie didn’t ask because she sensed instinctively that there were questions now he wouldn’t answer.
Was this the way it always happened? she wondered. Was this how he ended all his affairs? Or did she dare still hope?
“I’ve made a reservation for Friday.” Laura’s voice was so bright and cheerful in the face of her own grim mood that Natalie had to take a deep breath before answering.
“Everything well, then?” she asked. It would be some comfort to know that things were going well somewhere.
“We haven’t killed each other,” Laura said drily. “So all things considered, it’s going fine.” She sighed. “It’s an adjustment,” she said. “Gran wants to dance polkas. She has no patience. But she’s making progress.”
“Is she all right alone?”
“Yes. And I’ll come back and stay with her for a while in a month or two. But right now I need to get back to my life and she needs to adjust here.”
“Sounds good.”
“It will be a good time,” Laura said, “with Christo leaving, I’ll have a chance to catch up on office paperwork without him underfoot.”
“Leaving?” Natalie dropped the spoon in the pot of oatmeal she was stirring for their breakfast. “Christo?”
“He didn’t tell you? Well, no, I suppose he wouldn’t since you’re not working with him now.” Laura sounded completely unconcerned. She, of course, was also unaware that Natalie was at that moment in Christo’s kitchen.
No, I’m not working with him. I’m sleeping with him, Natalie thought with just a hint of hysteria. Why should he tell her? She was the woman in his bed for the moment. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“He’s delivering a paper at a conference in Sacramento,” Laura told her. “The conference runs over the weekend. So it will be perfect. Provided I survive the next few days.” Laura laughed.
Natalie did, too, albeit a bit hollowly. “Shall I pick you up at the airport then?”
“That would be fantastic.” Her mother rattled off the details of the flight and Natalie wrote them down with one hand and kept stirring with the other. She had just hung up the phone when Christo appeared in the doorway.
“Morning.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and flashed her a smile.
It was friendly but, looking closely, she could see that there was nothing particularly personal about it. It was almost as if he had built a wall between them.
There was certainly nothing to indicate they had just spent hours in each other’s arms, that they had touched and tasted and known each other in the most intimate of ways.
“Good morning,” she said evenly. “My mother just rang. She’s coming home on Friday.”
He nodded, then paused reflectively, as if something had occurred to him, but he didn’t say anything, just sat down in front the bowl of oatmeal she put at his place on the table and began to eat.
“She and Grandma are ready to be done with each other for the time being,” she went on. “And she said it was a good time to come because you’d be away.” She looked at him expectantly.
He nodded. Didn’t say a word.
“In Sacramento delivering a paper,” she said casually, pleased with how disinterested she sounded as she wiped down the countertop and turned to run water in the empty oatmeal pot.
It wasn’t even as if she cared that he was going. It was that he hadn’t thought enough of their relationship to bother telling her.
Christo nodded. “That’s right.” But he offered no further comment, no explanation, made no attempt to engage her interest.
Because he obviously didn’t want her interest, Natalie thought.
She heard him set down the coffee mug and turned to see him steeple his fingers in front of his face. He stared at them wordlessly, as if she weren’t even in the room.
Natalie turned back to the pot and began scrubbing it with a vengeance under the running water. “So I’ll be going home then, too, obviously,” she said, barely glancing over her shoulder, focusing instead on the pot.
There was a long silence. The only sound was the running water and the furious action of the scouring pad in Natalie’s hand.
Then Christo said, “So it would probably be a good time for us to end things, too.”
Natalie didn’t even look around. She kept right on scrubbing the pot until it shone. Then she rinsed it and shut off the water before she finally turned around to face him as she picked up a dish towel and began to dry the pot.
Only then, when she could say it with equanimity and just the faintest tightness in her throat, did she speak. “If that’s what you want.”
For an instant he hesitated. Then he nodded almost curtly and stood up. “I think that would be best.”
That afternoon there was no message on her voice mail saying, “I’ll see you tonight.” There was no brisk single knock on the door.
Natalie was home in Laura’s apartment all evening. She read a book. She washed her hair. She watched TV. She didn’t know if Christo was home or not.
She tried to pretend she didn’t care.
She didn’t see him. Not that she’d expected to. Not after this morning’s flat dispassionate, it would probably be a good time for us to end things, too.
A part of her had spent the day hoping he’d realize that there was more than nights in bed between them, more than sex, more than whatever physical desire might roar through their veins.
But as she sat in the living room in silence, she knew it wasn’t going to happen.
His lights were on across the garden. He was home. No doubt about that. Just as there was no doubt he was going to stay there by himself.
At first Natalie tried consoling herself with the knowledge that at least she hadn’t humiliated herself this time. But the longer she sat there, the more she knew that wasn’t enough.
They had played this game his way, by his rules. As far as he knew she’d obeyed them all. And, heaven help her, she would live by the consequences of
But if she was going to have to live on this for the rest of her life she wanted more.
“More,” she told Herbie firmly aloud, as much to hear herself say it as to convince the cat.
He was sprawled on the rocking chair sound asleep, anyway. He didn’t move. Or care. Not even when she got up, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, put on a bit of lip gloss, went out and locked the door behind her.
She didn’t let herself stop to think. She knew what would happen if she did.
Instead she walked briskly down the stairs and rapped sharply on Christo’s back door. It took a minute, maybe longer, for the door to open and Christo to stand there, looking at her.
Something unreadable flickered in his gaze. Mostly he looked surprised and maybe a little confused. He straightened at the sight of her and raised his brows. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Natalie said. “I just got to thinking, if we’re ending it, let’s do it right. Let’s know it’s over.”
“What?”
She held out a hand to him and gave him her brightest bravura smile and said recklessly, “I think we should have one for the road.”
Was he supposed to say no?
Maybe he should have.
He’d spent far too much time thinking about Natalie over the past couple of weeks. She was always on his mind in ways no other woman ever had been. She got under his skin and he couldn’t compartmentalize her the way he had with the others.
He wanted to be with her, talk to her, laugh with her, walk on the beach with her. He wanted to build sand castles with her, watch videos with her, do a hundred other things besides just make love to her.
It was getting to be an obsession, he told himself.
Last weekend, when he’d first felt a prickling fear of his lack of control of the situation, he’d decided that his trip to Sacramento would provide a natural breathing space. Even then, for a split second, he’d entertained the idea of asking her to come with him.
Only a split second, though.
Then sanity had prevailed.
But if she wanted a last time, by God he’d give it to her, he thought as he took her hand and drew her into his house, then shut the door behind her.
What difference did one more time make?
And she was right. It would be better if they both knew this was their last time. Closure. No surprises. No regrets.
He didn’t speak as he led her down the hall. He only paused to drop the heavy legal book he’d been staring mindlessly at all evening in hopes that it would inspire him to great insights—or help him sleep once he went to bed.
Now he had something better. Natalie.
Suddenly he had to have her. He tugged her shirt over her head, ran suddenly unsteady hands down her sides, peeled off her shorts. She settled into the duvet on his bed and opened her arms to him.
And, heaven help him, Christo couldn’t get out of his clothes fast enough. This time she didn’t help him, but just lay there watching him, waiting for him to fumble out of his dress shirt, to rip off his tie. He hadn’t changed when he’d come home. He’d just slumped in the chair with his book, determined to wait until it was time to go to bed.
“Bit slow tonight, aren’t you?” she murmured, sending his temperature up another couple of degrees.
He nearly ripped the buttons off his shirt, then dropped his trousers and kicked off his shoes. He came down on the bed beside her then, reaching for her.
She shook her head and caught his hands. “No.”
“No?” He couldn’t believe his ears.
She laughed and reached down for his feet. “I’m not having my last memories of you naked in bed with your socks on.”
Christo laughed, too, as she bent down and peeled them off, then ran her fingers over his feet and up his legs. But it was a strained laugh, and once his socks were disposed of, he bore her back on the bed, needing the feel of her body against his, hungry for the embrace of her arms.
His body wanted fulfillment now, this very minute. His will power, better disciplined, made him slow down. It made him take his time with her—savor every caress, every touch—get his fill.
At the same time he memorized the look on her face as his hands roved over her body, absorbed every detail—the curve of her ear, the tiny mole on her shoulder, the impossibly long lashes that fluttered as he kissed her eyelids. He drew in the lime-and-coconut scent of her shampoo as he nuzzled her hair and the faintly salty tang of her skin wherever his lips and tongue touched her. He stroked her and made her back arch, made her toes curl, made her reach for him.
But he resisted. “Wait,” he told her. “Wait.”
And when at least neither of them could stand waiting a second longer, he came over her and slid into her, relishing the slick tight warmth that enveloped him as her arms came around him and her fingers raked his back.
The moment was so perfect that Christo simply froze, desperate to capture it, to make it last.
Then Natalie moved. And the sensation of her body against his shattered the last remnants of his control.
He surged against her, meeting her as their bodies moved in perfect counterpoint, until he felt her body spasm around him.
One last time he lost himself in her. Then he no longer knew where he ended and she began.
Closure, Natalie thought for days afterward, was highly overrated.
Certainly she had her memories, and some of them made that last night in Christo’s arms were absolutely amazing.
But they didn’t change anything.
She had still left his bed before dawn, though he’d been awake this time. She’d moved to get out of bed and he’d caught her hand and said, “Stay.”
For an instant, she’d dared hope he meant forever. But then he said, “It’s only three. We’ve got time.”
But Natalie knew that time had run out. “I need some sleep,” she’d said, marveling at how matter-of-fact she sounded. “And you do, too, so you can get things all shipshape before you leave.”
It was the single time in the last couple of days that she’d mentioned anything to do with their lives beyond the bed. It was an acknowledgment of reality. Nothing more.
Christo hadn’t argued. He’d seen the logic of it, the reason. Christo was all about logic and reason, after all. He’d let her go, had watched her dress. But before she left, he’d climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of shorts.
“I’ll see you home.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, not at all sure she could stand the civility of this last gesture.
But Christo insisted. “I’ll see you to Laura’s door.”
They went in silence. He didn’t touch her now. But she could feel his presence right behind her. Could hear him breathing. Their arms brushed as he opened the door for her and let her go past him.
Natalie held her head high. Refused to allow herself the tears she knew would have come by now if she’d walked home alone. She got to the top of Laura’s stairs with her dignity intact, and put the key in the lock before Christo could do it for her. Then, with the door open, she turned and held out her hand, even managed a smile.
“Good night.”
He didn’t reply, just stood looking down at her in the darkness. Then he took her hand, held it, squeezed it for just a moment, then let it go. She heard him swallow.
“Sleep well,” he said. Then abruptly he turned and was gone.
Natalie stood there in the stillness, waiting for the sound of his back door to open and close. It never did. She heard the gate instead.
She went inside quickly and went to the window in time to see him disappearing down the walk toward The Strand, then hopping over the wall to hit the sand and take off running.
She headed straight for the bedroom, for all the good it would do her.
“Sleep well,” she echoed his words out loud as she lay down and stared at the ceiling.
Yeah, right.
“Are you all right, dear?” Laura stopped mid-sentence in her description of how well Grandma’s recovery was going to study Natalie closely.
Natalie, who had invited her mother over for meat loaf because she truly did want to hear about her grandmother while at the same time she did not want to run into Christo, smiled brightly. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re very quiet.”
“I’m generally quiet,” Natalie reminded her. “Dan was the noisy one.”
“Yes, but you’ve barely said two words since I got home last week. Every time I ask you how things went—even when you worked with Christo—you just say, fine.” Laura was regarding her suspiciously over a glass of wine.
Natalie shrugged negligently. “Because they were fine. No problems at all. Why? Did he say there were?” She frowned now as she put a helping of green beans on her plate.
“No. He hasn’t said anything, either. He works all the time. Never even stops by for dinner now. He stays at the office until nearly bedtime.”
“Maybe he has a lot to catch up on.”
Laura nodded. “He works very hard.”
“Have you talked to Grandma today?” Natalie changed the subject as soon as she could.
There was no point in talking about Christo. There was nothing she could tell her mother—and nothing her mother could say about Christo that she wanted to hear.
She’d got through the last week and a half in zombie-like fashion, putting in time, taking things one at a time, trying to focus on the matter at hand, and ruthlessly dragging her thoughts away from Christo every time they ventured in that direction all day long.
And she had survived.
But the nights nearly did her in. She couldn’t sleep. She could only lie there and remember. It was all there to replay endlessly, to make her smile and cringe and laugh and ache.
It would get better, she told herself. She would move on, find new preoccupations.
“Get a life,” Sophy had suggested more than once in the past ten days. “Or better yet, take a vacation. You look like death,” she’d said this morning when Natalie had been working at the office.
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