by Eden Bradley
“Fuck, don’t cry, Ava.” He pulled her roughly into his arms. “God damn it, girl.”
Then he was kissing her, hard kisses that seemed to reach down inside her. And she knew she loved him, that he loved her, whether either of them were ready to admit it or not. She was almost too afraid to allow it to happen.
Almost, but not quite.
A thousand old thoughts and memories wanted to flash through her mind, through the sheer terror of being in love, of taking that risk with her heart: her mother’s censorious voice, Michael’s hurtful words. But she pushed it all away, let herself melt into Desmond’s arms, into his kisses.
In moments his clothes were off, and she felt the now-familiar crush of his warm, solid flesh against hers. He pressed her down onto the bed, his hands more tender than ever before, and yet she still felt his command as he covered her body with his. His weight was sweet on her, his thighs strong as he used them to part hers. And she was melting beneath his touch, her chest aching with need and unspoken love.
As he drove into her, solid flesh into pure, wet heat, she wrapped herself around him. “Desmond,” she gasped.
“Ava …”
“Be with me.”
“I’m right here.”
His hands tightened on her flesh, his fingers digging in as he plunged into her, over and over, pleasure like liquid fire burning pure and sweet in her veins.
And they came together, crying out, a tangle of heat and desire, and the fear of losing it all winding through her, magnifying every sensation.
She had never wanted anything more than to be with this man. Desmond.
When it was over they lay together, damp skin and panting breath. And she was as afraid as she’d ever been in her life. But he was there with her. It would have to be enough for now.
IT WAS EARLY STILL when Desmond woke her with a flurry of soft kisses over her cheeks.
“I have to go, Ava. I have a business meeting. But I want you to stay here. Can you do that? Wait for me here? I know you have a job. Can you call in? I’ll be only a few hours.”
“Yes. I can stay.”
“Sleep, then. Help yourself to anything in the house you might need.”
She nodded, and he smiled at her, so ruggedly beautiful in the gray morning light. She reached out, touched his cheek. “Desmond …”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me.”
He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, smelling of soap and tasting of toothpaste. A long, sinuous shiver ran through her.
He pulled away. “I have to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Then he was gone, and she drifted back to sleep in his big bed, her face curled into his pillow, taking in the scent of him.
When she woke again the fog still lingered outside the windows, but she knew she’d slept at least another hour. She felt rested. Wonderful.
The air was a bit chilly when she got out of bed, her feet hitting the cool wood floor. She found Desmond’s discarded shirt on a chair, pulled it over her head. His scent surrounded her, and she breathed deeply, wanting to take some of him into her lungs, to hold him there.
She would have to let him know she loved him. But not yet. For now it was some sort of delicious secret.
She looked around the room: his bedroom. She’d been there before but never had the chance to explore. The dark wood of the big bed was beautifully carved, the posts at least eight feet high. The rest of the furnishings were similar in style: all dark, masculine pieces, mostly imports, which seemed to fit him somehow. The fabrics were all earth tones, to match the chocolate-brown suede on the bed, utterly masculine. And then there was the enormous bondage frame, tall and imposing, flanked by the racks of colored ropes. She walked over to it, swept her hands along the silken wood. A small shiver of need ran through her simply from looking at the ropes. But her need for him went far beyond that now.
Moving across the room, she went into the bathroom. Here it was all sleek stone finishes and more soothing neutral colors: sandstone, gray, taupe. The mirror, framed in heavy bronze, showed her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glossy, her hair a wild mass of curls. She leaned in closer, smiled to herself, loving how her mouth looked swollen from Desmond’s hard kisses. Felt her sex go wet simply thinking about his mouth on hers.
She loved seeing his things here: his wooden-handled hairbrush, his soap in its stone dish. She picked the bar up, smelled it. It was dark and earthy, like him. Putting it back, she opened a drawer built into the sink vanity, found a tube of toothpaste, lifted it to her face, and breathed it in. Ah, yes, that minty fragrance, that and the soap, were so wonderfully familiar to her, his morning scent.
Desmond.
She missed him. His touch. His presence. He would be back soon.
She put the toothpaste down and turned on the shower, stripped the cotton shirt off, and stepped under the water, letting the heat beat down on her skin. More of his soap in the shower, and she washed herself in it, letting the suds linger on her body. It was like having him all over her skin. She found his shaving cream, sprayed it into her hands. Ah, yes, that was him, that and the soap together. It made her feel closer to him, almost as though he was there with her.
A sharp pang of craving.
Desmond.
She should be ready for him when he came home.
She rinsed, shut off the water, and stepped out, drying herself with a towel. The sensation of the thick, soft terry cloth on her skin was almost too much for her. She needed it to be him, his touch on her flesh. Needed to feel him close.
Why couldn’t she think of anything else?
Because she was in love with him.
Lovely.
Excruciating.
She smiled at her reflection one last time before making her way back into the bedroom. And found Desmond standing there. He opened his arms, and she went into them, naked, the wool of his trousers scratching her skin a little. But it was him, Desmond, his arms solid around her as he drew her to the bed.
Oh, yes, she loved him. But there would be plenty of time to tell him later. Now all that mattered was being with him, the feel of his body against hers, then in hers.
Everything was nearly perfect.
HE WAS FALLING. Into the darkness, deeper and deeper. The water rushed past him, like a thundering storm, like a waterfall, except that it was his body surging downward, down to where there was no air, no light.
Nessie was down there.
He tried to swim, his arms and legs moving against the current, which was thick as mud. Had to get to her.
Nessie.
The mud solidified, and he moved ever more slowly, creeping now. His heart was a hammer in his chest, hard and hurting. He couldn’t breathe.
He had to find her.
Nessie.
Solid now, it was like trying to move through a concrete wall. And his lungs were burning.
He had to save her!
Nessie!
Ava!
When had it become her? But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he couldn’t do it, damn it. Again. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t breathe. And suddenly the water opened up, sucking him down into the dark, into that lost, empty place. And he couldn’t fight it, though he tried, his lungs, his arms and legs burning with effort.
He couldn’t do it.
Damn it!
Ava!
Desmond woke with a start, his face damp with sweat, his pulse thundering in his veins. Ava.
He turned to find her. She lay next to him on her stomach, the bedcovers kicked off, her sleeping body all lovely curves in the silver moonlight.
Just calm down. She’s right here.
It had been three weeks since Desmond had told Ava his secret, and she was still there with him. Part of him continued to be amazed.
She’d gone to work every day, home to check on Wicked, but they’d spent every night together and every moment of the weekends. And they’d begun to do some “normal” things: going t
o dinner, to lunch, to see a movie. Their outings never lasted long, though; they couldn’t keep their hands off each other for more than a few hours.
He’d bound her again and again, at home, at Pinnacle, loving the way she looked in the ropes, the way she yielded to him. Loving her response to being bound in front of a crowd, how it made her glow, as though the energy of all who watched was reflected in her body. But he didn’t need the ropes to be with her.
When was the last time he’d been with a woman and not needed them? When had he ever had “normal”? It had never really worked with Lara, although he’d tried. That was part of what had ended the relationship, and he’d since realized he couldn’t be with a woman while denying his desires.
He thought he’d understood that, anyway. Until Ava had made him see that as long as he kept any part of himself cut off he wasn’t being true to who he was.
He’d run far too long like a coward from his past.
It was a relief simply to have her know. To know and not judge him, even if he still judged himself. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get past that. Maybe, with Ava, he’d find a way to.
It had been years since he’d let himself depend on another person for anything; he hadn’t done that his entire adult life. And now he had allowed himself to hand over to Ava the key to his redemption.
How was it that with her, redemption seemed possible?
His gaze wandered over her bare flesh, her hair wild and drifting over the pillows. He reached out, took a curling tendril between his fingers, stroked the softness, that finely spun golden silk.
His gut tightened. He wanted to touch her. To take her in his arms. He needed to do it.
Needed to.
He reached for her, his fingers anticipating the heat of her body. His heart a wrenching weight in his chest suddenly, pulling into a hard, complicated knot.
He loved her.
Christ and God damn it.
He yanked his hand back, shook his head at his own folly. How the hell had he allowed this to happen?
The knot in his chest went hot, became as solid as the water in his dream, heavy, holding him down.
Cannot let this happen.
No. But it was too late, wasn’t it?
He flipped the covers back and got out of bed, went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He turned on the light, saw his image in the mirror, pale and drawn.
He couldn’t calm down.
Turning on the faucet, he splashed his face with cold water over and over.
She’s just a woman. Nothing to be afraid of.
But that was a lie. The question was, what was he going to do now? Because he couldn’t allow this to continue.
He could not love her.
He did love her.
Fuck.
He reached into the shower and blasted the hot water, showered as quickly and as quietly as he could. His head was a buzzing cacophony of voices.
I love her.
I cannot love her. I can’t love anyone. Need to get away. Just get away.
Creeping back into the bedroom, he pulled clothes from the closet unseeing, got dressed. Scribbled a note and left it on the dresser. And with his heart going as numb as his head, he opened the front door, pulled it shut behind him. He got into his car and drove off, the crescent moon shining onto the stark, cold water of the San Francisco Bay, the stars glittering as hard as flint in the black sky.
Chapter Eleven
AVA STRETCHED, keeping her eyes shut against the morning light. It was Thursday, and she had to go to work. Why hadn’t Desmond woken her? Maybe it was still early.
Opening her eyes, she turned onto her side, but he wasn’t there. He must be up already. But there was no familiar scent of coffee in the air, no sound of the shower running. No sense of his presence nearby.
She sat up, looked around the room, felt the emptiness of it. And saw the small folded rectangle of paper with her name on it sitting on his dresser.
It was cold in the room as she walked across the wood floor, chilling her bare feet. She took the note back to bed with her, pulled the covers up to her chest before unfolding the small, forbidding bit of paper and reading it. His handwriting was neat, precise.
Ava—
I received a message early this morning and had to leave on business. I won’t be back for several days, at least. I can’t be certain. Please lock the door when you go. I’ve left the gate open so you can get your car out.
Desmond
She shivered all over.
What was going on? His note was so flat, so cold. But she knew. Get her car out. The message was clear: Get out.
It didn’t feel like much at first, knowing it was over. Shock, maybe? But in moments she was shivering all over, and not with the cold morning air. No, this came from somewhere deep inside her body. It was more than his sudden disappearance, the terseness of his note. It was an emptiness that went beyond the lonely house. It was a certainty in her heart.
So this is how it ends. Before we even really had a chance to do more than begin.
Shaking her head, she found her clothes, slipped into them, as though the fabric would somehow protect her. But it didn’t help.
Desmond.
It hurt, even thinking his name, as the shock wore off. Seeing his things all around her. Knowing he was gone.
She didn’t know what to do. Wait for him, try to talk to him? But if Desmond had wanted to talk he would be there now. He would have made some reference to when he’d be back, when he’d get in touch with her.
She spotted his watch on the dresser, a platinum Rolex. Reaching out, she touched it, running her fingertips over the smooth metal. Tears gathered behind her eyes. She wanted to let them fall, but she couldn’t do it. She bit her lip, hard, harder, until she tasted blood.
Desmond, why?
Because he was too damn caught up in his past hurts to let himself love her. To be loved by her. She hadn’t said anything, but surely he had to know!
Anger simmered, hot and furious in her veins. And she was shaking with it. He was gone. Gone! Right when she’d started to get it. To feel her own strength. To feel sure about what she wanted. To know that what she wanted was right. The bondage. The exotic sex. When she’d finally come to understand that perhaps she was good enough just as she was. But more than that. She had come to understand that she wanted to find love. And she’d thought she had, with him. God damn him!
Her fingers tightened around the watch, until it bit into her skin, cold and hard. She drew her arm back and hurled it across the room. It hit the floor, a hard thump, no louder than her pounding heart.
A small sob escaped her and she clamped her lips together.
Yes, cold and hard. Like Desmond. Or like he pretended to be. Because if that was true, he wouldn’t have felt enough to make him leave like this.
She shook her head, bit her lip once more against the tears that burned, wanting to spill over.
Why did she always want to cry when she was mad? When she was hurt? Enough with the damn tears!
Desmond.
She wasn’t going to allow him to make her feel like this. Worthless. That was her sad old story, and she was fucking over it. She was better than that. She’d finally come to know that, deep inside, where it counted. Too bad Desmond couldn’t see it, too.
His loss.
No, who was she kidding? She’d lost every bit as much as he had. And she couldn’t stand it. She could not stand it.
The tears scalded her eyes, burning her, but she swallowed them back once more, as hard as she could. She had to grip the edge of the dresser, her legs were shaking so hard.
What was all of this self-realization worth if she ended up like this all over again? With nothing. Nothing more than this absolute emptiness. With this pain in her heart that threatened to take her over, devour her.
Empty.
Aching.
Nothing.
Desmond.
She bent her head until her face
pressed against the wood of the dresser, the edge biting into her cheek, and let the pain wash over her, let the tears fall. Only this time, she was crying as much for the man she loved as she was for herself.
SUNDAY MORNING Ava woke to the insistent ringing of the telephone. She sat up in bed, rubbed her eyes, peered half-blind with sleep at the caller ID. Marina.
She picked it up. “Hello?”
“Ava, there you are. I’m glad I reached you.”
“I’m here. Is everything okay?”
“You tell me,” Marina said.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you know Desmond was at Pinnacle last night?”
A sharp jab in her chest, burning, aching.
“He doesn’t need my permission to do whatever he wants,” she said quietly.
“Come on, Ava. I have some idea of what’s been going on between you two. I introduce you two and you practically disappear, for more than a month. The few times I’ve seen you together at Pinnacle you’re in your own little world, you and Desmond. Something important has been happening between you.”
“Yes.”
“So, why weren’t you with him last night?”
“Because he doesn’t want me to be.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Ava brushed her hair from her face, burying her fingers in it, pulling tight. “No. I don’t really believe it, either.”
“Ava, tell me what’s going on.”
“He just … he got up and left me the other morning. Everything was going great. Better than great. We were … we’d gotten so close. Confided in each other. And then he was just … gone.”
Marina was quiet a moment. Then, “You know, men can be idiots sometimes.”
“Yes!”
“Well, that explains his odd behavior. Although I should add that he wasn’t with anyone last night; he didn’t play any of the girls. He sat in a chair all night, brooding. He would barely even talk to me. So, tell me, what do you intend to do about it?”
