“Did you yell at Patrick?” I asked. “It wasn’t his fault, it was mine.”
Ivar laughed. “No, of course I didn’t yell at Patrick. I like Patrick. Anne, on the other hand…” His voice turned to ice. “Anne will find it difficult to work in San Francisco again.”
I supposed I should have felt sorry for her; the punishment far exceeded the crime. But Ryan would never forgive me for this. I found it difficult to muster much sympathy for her. Thoughts of Ryan set tears running down my face again.
Ivar looked at me with some impatience. “Maya. Everyone gets written about from time to time. I end up in the tabloids at least once a month. You can’t pay attention to this. You just have to live your life.”
My tears had not abated. How could I explain to Ivar that most of my tears were not because of that article, but because Ryan hadn’t called? How could I explain how much I missed his touch, the way his body felt against mine? Instead, I just cried.
Ivar shook his head, stood up. “Take a few days off, if you need it.” His voice was even. “But Maya, I expect you at work by Thursday, at the latest.” He left, the door shutting silently behind him.
I collapsed into fresh tears.
Chapter 15
It was Wednesday evening. There was a knock at the door. Must be the pizza, I thought. I surveyed myself. Ratty pyjamas, faded tanktop. Ugh. But I’d barely eaten since I saw the article, and I was starving. I decided I was decent enough for the pizza guy. “Hang on,” I yelled, looking for my purse. “I’m coming.”
It was Ryan was at the door. I clutched at the door handle for support, and just gaped at him. He was wearing a black suit, a pale blue shirt, his tie loosened. His hair was slightly rumpled. He looked a bit tired. He was holding my pizza box.
“Can I come in?” he asked me. He was watching me carefully. I quickly lowered my eyes. I didn’t want to make eye contact; I needed to keep my emotions hidden. I moved aside from the door, walked in. Not exactly an invitation, but I didn’t slam the door in his face either.
He walked in.
“Why are you here, Ryan?” My voice was harsh. I felt empty. All the tears I’d shed over the last three days had drained me.
His voice was tight, careful. “I was hoping to tell you a story, Maya.” I kept quiet. What was there to say, really?
He sat on the couch; I carefully seated myself across from him in a chair. I didn’t trust myself to keep away from him, if I sat next to him. After everything, I still ached for the shelter of his arms, for the feel of his touch. The cottage. Paris. How many more rejections do you need, Maya? I asked myself harshly. Pull yourself together, for fuck’s sake.
Ryan watched me warily. I looked down at my linked fingers. I couldn’t survive looking into Ryan’s eyes. He sighed. I could see him shake his head a little, out of the corner of my eyes.
“One story, Maya, and I’ll go.” I didn’t respond, my eyes still on my fingers.
“Once upon a time,” Ryan started, “once upon a time, my mother died.”
I looked up at him, shocked. This start wasn’t what I expected.
“I was eleven,” Ryan continued. “No parents, no other relatives. I thought I was completely alone. I thought I’d be thrown out to the streets. The fears of a child, really.” His voice was slightly dismissive of that child, but my heart ached. I could imagine it, a young, scared little boy, all alone in the world, with no idea what the future held for him.
“Of course, all my fears were unfounded. Your grandparents stepped in, they brought me up. They showered me with love and caring.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes momentarily. “But a pattern had been created. Even though your grandparents and Ivar were always, unfailingly there for me, I had difficulty moving past that moment where I thought I was completely, utterly alone.”
His words explained so much. Ryan’s privacy, his self-sufficiency. This was someone who had learned to be cautious with his emotions.
“Ten years passed. And then, I met a girl. Patricia.”
I stilled. Finally, the story about Patricia. The story that my grandparents knew, and Ivar knew, but no one would talk about. The story that was Ryan’s alone to tell.
“I fell in love. I was just out of college; a struggling writer. Living in Berkeley, making ends meet by working in coffee shops, whatever it took. I wouldn’t accept help from your grandparents, of course. After college, I was determined to make it on my own.”
Silly, stubborn Ryan. I could see it. These were the years when I’d had my childish crush on Ryan. I could remember my grandmother watching him with a fond smile, and plying him with food. She wanted to make sure he was okay, I realized.
“You weren’t really alone, for any of it.” My first words of the evening.
Ryan’s eyes met mine. He nodded. “Yes, I know that. And I knew it then, intellectually. I didn’t trust it though. I’d felt abandoned when my mother died. I was afraid to let people in.”
I gulped. This was naked honesty; Ryan’s soul stripped bare. He wasn’t holding anything back.
“It was Christmas. I’d saved and scrimped for a ring. We’d been dating for a year; I was crazily in love. I was going to ask her to marry me.”
His voice was far away, lost in a memory.
“Ivar had invited us for Christmas at his new place. His apartment was beautiful; it was on the waterfront, he had views of the entire Bay from his living room windows. It was Christmas Eve. We were going to spend the night at Ivar’s. I didn’t want to deal with the hassle of commuting back to Berkeley in the middle of the night.”
He took a deep breath. “I woke up in the middle of the night, thirsty. Patricia was nowhere to be seen. I walked in on her in the living room. She was nearly naked, propositioning Ivar. I guess it was easier to date a multi-millionaire than it was to date a struggling writer.”
I gasped.
“Ivar was horrified; Patricia, as well, but she was horrified mostly because I’d walked in in the middle of her offer…”
I wanted so much to take Ryan in my arms, to comfort him as he relived this difficult memory. But I stayed where I was, my instincts to hold him struggling with my need for self-preservation. I loved Ryan. He was probably telling me this story to make me feel better, to make me forget the tabloid article. But at the end of the day, I still loved him, and he would still walk away. I stayed where I was.
“The whole thing had just solidified something I’d secretly believed since I was eleven. Letting people in caused pain. I built a wall around myself. I slept with women, but I didn’t date any of them. I didn’t trust my judgement anymore. I’d been betrayed by Patricia, a woman I’d trusted totally and completely with my heart. I wouldn’t do that again.”
I kept quiet. This explained so much. Ryan’s aversion to Christmas. His refusal to commit. Letting me walk away in Paris.
“And then, Maya, you happened.” He shook his head slightly, his lips smiling at the memory.
“You were so very trusting, Maya. So open, so expressive. I tried to scare you off with threats of whips and chains; it didn’t work. And so we played in the cottage.”
I held my breath. Somewhere, deep inside me, a tiny bit of hope was fluttering. Just a tiny bit, not enough to propel me off my chair and into his arms. But a tiny, little sliver of hope that this conversation wasn’t just an attempt to comfort me because of the tabloid article. That it was a promise of more.
“You were the alternate version of me, Maya. You had lost your parents as well, yet you still trusted. You still let people in. You trusted me, implicitly.” He looked at me, warmth in his eyes. “You showed me what my future could have been, if I wasn’t so afraid. And Maya, I wanted that future, so much.” He looked slightly pensive. “But you were still ten years younger than me. You deserved to be with someone else; someone with much less baggage. And so, I let you walk away at the cottage.”
And now? I screamed silently. What about now, will you still let me walk away, or will you come for me, Ry
an? But I didn’t say any of this. I had been wounded, and I’d known pain. I’d learned to flinch from the hurt, and I’d done my best to wall off the aching.
His eyes were still on mine, there was warmth and unconcealed honesty in his eyes.
“You came to Paris. I was selfish, I wanted you. I asked you to stay.” His voice was level. “And those two weeks…” his voice trailed into softness. “You were so giving, so trusting. You embraced life so very openly. I was so inspired by you. I tried to copy your example, open up and let you in. You replaced the misery of that long-ago Christmas with one filled with laughter and joy. I had the best time of my life.”
“But when push came to shove, I let you go.” His voice was flat.
“I was a coward, Maya.” There was unflinching acceptance in his voice. “I called Ivar three days ago, when that article came out, and for once in his life, Ivar actually lost his temper and yelled at me.”
I think I must have looked shocked; Ivar was the most even-keeled person I knew. When he was annoyed, he went ice-cold. I couldn’t imagine Ivar yelling.
“I asked him how you were,” Ryan said. “He told me to fuck off. My best friend, our friendship never faltering through all that crazy mess with Patricia, he was furious with me.”
Ryan sighed. “I thought he was angry that I’d dragged your name into the tabloids. But that wasn’t it. He asked me if I cared about you, and of course, I did. And then he called me the worst kind of coward, someone who would rather wallow in their fear of abandonment, than to look around and realize they were not alone at all. He was right.”
His words had been simple, set in the context of his story. Of course he cared about me. Throwaway words, but words that broadened the crack in the wall around my heart. I struggled to keep my emotions in check. Where was this conversation going?
He got off the couch, came to my chair, knelt on the ground in front of me. “Maya… you told me once that life was for living, and you were so, so right. I’m all kinds of rusty at saying this. But I love you, more than you can know. I really want to be with you, to try and make this work. Can we try again, this time, to be in a real relationship?”
My heart had erupted into song at the start of his words, and the tune reached a crescendo as he finished talking. A smile broke out across my face, and joy rose in my eyes. I laughed, in pure and utter happiness. “Of course we can,” I said simply, leaning forward and kissing him. “After all, I’m crazily in love with you as well.”
He returned my kiss, nothing held back, not this time, perhaps not ever again. Our tongues met in a symphony of need. I moaned against him, his hands tightened against my back, as he dragged me off my chair, and into his lap. We sat on the floor, leaning against the chair for support, and we kissed, all the held-back emotions of the last two months pouring out. Tendrils of lust started making their way across my body, as his hands caressed me through my pyjamas.
My pyjamas! I squealed as I realized what I must look like. I hadn’t showered in days, I’d barely eaten. He looked impeccable, as usual, and I was a dreadful, unkempt mess. I jumped up. “I’ve got to shower,” I mumbled, in total, utter embarrassment.
“Can I join you?” he asked hopefully. I could see the outline of his dick against his trousers; he was hard and ready. I licked my lips unconsciously, made a moan of appreciation. Gods, I’d missed him.
“Give me two minutes in the shower, I look dreadful,” I begged. I could get most of the grime off in two minutes, if I was quick.
“You look beautiful,” he contradicted firmly. “Okay, two minutes. Remember though, Maya, I’ve had nearly two months of missing your beautiful body slide over mine, missing you snuggle up next to me. I need to be inside you so badly.”
My pussy dripped. “Umm, wow,” was all I could manage. Arousal was pulsing through me, as I moved on his lap, my body responding to his fiery words. “Shower,” I mumbled, incapable of forming full thoughts.
“Two minutes.” The words were a glorious, blissful threat. I ran.
My clothes went flying everywhere in my bedroom, as I raced through. Water cascaded down; I reached frantically for the soap, lathering it on. “Slob,” I scolded myself, though I was grinning. Ryan was here in my apartment; I could hear his footsteps in my bedroom, and then, he was in the bathroom, surveying me through the clear shower doors, lust in his eyes.
“Join me,” I whispered. I didn’t need to urge him; his jacket was already off, and tossed carelessly on my bed; now his shirt, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his hard chest; couldn’t wait for the instant when his firmness would be pressed against mine. His hands were now at his belt buckle. I licked my lips, water swirling uncaringly off me. Gods, I had missed him so much. His hands were pushing his trousers and briefs down, one uncaring flick out the door, and the clothes went sailing into my bedroom, and then, Ryan slid the door open, stepped in, and gathered me in his arms.
For a full minute, I just stood there under the water, in the comfort of his arms. Just breathing in the scent of him, reveling in the feel of his muscles against my body. My eyes were closed, my cheek rested on his chest. My hands were wrapped around his back, and I slowly moved them lower, running them against his taut ass. I could feel his cock stir restlessly against my lower stomach.
“Maya,” Ryan growled. “This isn’t going to be soft and gentle; I need you too much.”
“Bend forward, spread your legs,” he ordered firmly. I did as I was told, my pussy gushing. I’d missed being ordered around by Ryan. My boyfriend Ryan. My mind tried that phrase out, as my smile widened. This was going to be good.
“Are you on the pill?” Ryan’s voice was strained, his hands clenched in my hips.
“No,” I replied. I didn’t care.
“I’ll pull out,” Ryan promised. His voice was hoarse.
And then, he was thrusting into me, and everything else ceased to matter except the way he felt in me. Holding my waist for traction, he pounded into me, and I grasped the ledge of the tub to keep steady, and thrust my hips back to receive him. “Ryan,” I moaned, a sound of utter need. He felt so right in me, so perfect, so utterly male.
He set a steady rhythm going, as the water ran down around us. My moaning increased; my hands clenched as he stroked in and out of me. “Fuck me,” I begged, my voice high, needy. In response, he pounded harder. His hands moved over my ass; he reached forward and grabbing a nipple in his fingers. I moaned, harder, as he tweaked my nipple, and my body immediately responded to him, and I could feel myself get impossibly wetter.
His fingers moved over my body, and he unerringly found my clitoris. That was all it took for me to orgasm, and I came, hard, all the muscles in my body quivering, as months of unmet need were finally satiated. In the dim background of my mind, I could hear Ryan pull out of me with a groan, and I could feel him spurt on my back as his orgasm overtook him.
“Mmm,” Ryan rumbled, when we could speak again, pulling me once again in his arms. We were still in the shower, the water was cooling off. “Come on kitten,” he said, turning it off. He dried me off, slowly, sensually. My nerves were tingling in arousal by the time he was done.
“If you keep doing that, I will jump you again,” I warned.
“Give me a minute or two to recover, kitten,” he grinned at me. “Let’s eat first, I did show up with a box of pizza; I had to bribe the delivery guy to part with it, even after I promised I was heading up to your place.”
I giggled, as I grabbed a t-shirt to wear from my dresser. I watched Ryan try to find his clothing in my bedroom mess. “Sorry about the mess,” I muttered, leading the way to the living/dining room. “I’ve been a bit out of it the last few days.”
We drew up chairs, demolished pizza for a few minutes in easy silence.
“Ryan.” I finally broached the topic of the article. I wasn’t looking forward to this. I gazed at my hands, afraid to meet his eyes and see anger there. “I’m sorry about the article. I wasn’t careful enough, and I dragged your name in
to the tabloids. I’m so sorry.” He was such a private person. He could not have been pleased when he read that piece of muck.
He shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Gayla was thrilled; she said it would help with book sales. Fucking agents.” He said it without rancour. “Shit happens. Don’t worry too much about it.”
“How are you okay with this?” I asked, quietly.
He shrugged again. His voice was even. “I’m not thrilled it got published, Maya, but when it happened, I realized the only place I wanted to be was next to you. And then, I called Ivar, who proceeded to give me the biggest talking-to anyone has ever given me in my life.” His voice was amused. “I’m here; we are together. It might not have been the ideal way for us to get together, but hey, it worked.”
I giggled a little. The stupid article had caused me so much grief in the last three days, as I had beaten myself up about how I’d betrayed Ryan, imagined all kinds of terrible things about his reaction. His calmness about the whole thing surprised me.
“Besides,” he added, satisfaction in his voice. “The lawsuits are going to hit the damn tabloid next week. They won’t know what hit them; they’ll be scrambling to publish a retraction.”
I laughed. “If you wanted to be here when you read that article, why did it take you so long?” I couldn’t be angry with him, he was here. But it had been three days. Three days of unending misery and grief.
He looked surprised. “I had to wait for a break in the schedule, Maya, else my publisher would have killed me. They’ve got me booked for a whole string of book appearances. I’ve been on the road since the middle of January.”
“Oh,” I said. I felt mortified. I thought he hadn’t cared. “I had to forbid myself from Googling you,” I mumbled. “Do you have to leave soon then?”
“I have a week off, then I’m back on the road for another two weeks, and I’m done after that.” Ryan frowned. “It’s part of the business, Maya. I don’t enjoy it, but I have to do it.”
“So I get you all to myself for a week?” I grinned, my voice was speculative. “Hmm. Good to know.”
Teaching Maya Page 13
