“But you’re nothing like that now,” I tell him.
“No,” he agrees. “I changed. And looking back, I know that these pages,” he touches the stack, “were written in the midst of a serious depression that I did not recognize until much, much later.”
“Oh, wow,” I whisper.
“Anyway. See these markings? The ones with the blue pen?” He points them out. “Those are Angela helping me with edits. She was one of the few who could make out my handwriting.”
I squint at the page. “It’s pretty miniscule,” I say.
He smiles. “Exactly. Angela and I kind of fed each other the same dark shit. It was a never-ending spiral towards deeper and deeper depression, masquerading as philosophical angst. Maybe that’s how these books sold so well. Maybe all my readers feel something in these pages that speaks to them. That let them know that despite all the individualism present in our world, those who espouse it are very much afraid. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of dying without having given their life meaning. Afraid of being a throwaway cog in the machine of never-ending momentum, of perpetual movement. Afraid of getting lost within human civilization.”
“Hmm,” I say.
“Light is only the absence of darkness,” James tells me. “Writing these pages was like a purge. I had to eliminate the darkness shrouding my mind. Only then could I transform my thoughts into what they were meant to be. This, all of this…” He touches the pages again. “Is me creating a canvas of blackness for light.”
“I still don’t understand what Angela would want with them? Why could they possibly hold any relevance to her?”
“Ah,” James holds up one finger. “Do you remember how I told you the article you showed me isn’t the worst I’ve faced?”
“Of course. You just said it minutes ago.”
“Well. Would you like to know what I was comparing it to?”
“Um, duh?”
He takes a heavy breath. “When I first wrote these,” he glances at the papers again, “I borrowed heavily from philosophy of the late 1800’s. Even that is probably putting it mildly. I used their ideas and presented them as my own. But, of course, these pages were never meant for anybody else. They were for me, for Angela, maybe for our friends. Not for publication.”
“You plagiarized?” I wonder.
“Almost,” he says. “I walked the line but didn’t cross it. And the final manuscripts were wiped clean. Of course, some of the influence remained… but none of us can make claim to be fully secular, can we? Society is interconnected. Ideas are recycled and take on new life. Everything is constantly moving, there is always progress, and to shun and ignore our past is to be doing the great thinking of yesteryears a spectacular disservice.”
I smile to myself and lean on the desk and let him ramble. I love when he gets like this. He did it all the time for us in class, but it’s rare he’s shown this side of himself to me, in private.
It’s James Landon at his sexiest.
“My books weren’t an overnight success, you know. My publisher put them out there. They toiled away on forgotten bookshelves at the back of the stores. The first run was for five thousand copies. That’s nothing. It had a publishing deal, but it was a throwaway.
“And yet… one copy got into the hands of a reviewer writing for a newspaper in the outskirts of Portland. Maddie Stenner. She read my book, and it moved her, and she wrote a review—such a review. And that’s where everything began. From that review word spread. Within the month my print run doubled. Then bigger bookstores wanted in, and everybody was buzzing about this unknown author from the East Coast.
“And look at you now,” I marvel.
“But with the success came ugliness. People—friends, old acquaintances—became jealous. They were happy for me, at the start, but also envious.
“That’s when the first accusations of plagiarism came. True plagiarism, not just borrowing of ideas. They said I lifted whole passages from little-known books long since out of publication. It was nonsense, of course, but the media ran with it.
“It was extraordinary since the timing coincided with my first New York Times bestseller spot. In hindsight, that actually brought more interest. It literally propelled my career. Everybody was talking about it—did I, didn’t I? And so on.”
He looks at me. “Then, I could have been in real trouble, Celeste. I was still a fledgling. They were trying to cut my wings. I faced those accusations in the media.”
“But they weren’t true?”
“No. Like I said. We got rid of the parts that could have been sketchy in edits.
“But now you see why an article like they printed today holds no meaning. Let them say what they will. I am secure here.”
I wish I could feel confident as he is.
“I still don’t understand,” I complain. “What makes these papers so important to Angela?”
“It hearkens back to those whispers of literary theft,” James answers. “If she gets these, I think she intends to take them to the press. To dig up the long-since buried accusations. Maybe she wants them to justify her claim to the royalties I’m refusing. She could argue that my books were not created individually but with her help. She edited the early copies.”
He lifts his shoulders in a shrug and lets them drop. “Either way she’s trying to get ammunition against me. She thinks by frightening me with this lawsuit I will succumb and give in to her demands. But it’s all false. They don’t have a case. Whatever she promised Summer in return…I don’t know.”
He nods to the open door. “Come. Let’s get out of here. You need time to study for your finals, not get caught up in all of this.”
“No. I want to read what you wrote here,” I say. “This is fascinating, James. A glimpse into your brilliant mind…” I plop down on the seat and spread the sheets before me. “It’ll keep me busy for hours.”
He steps behind me and starts to massage my shoulders. “I know something else that could occupy you for hours…” he tempts.
I roll my cheek against his hand. “I can’t,” I admit. “Not today. I don’t have any… stamina.”
In truth, I’ve been exhausted this week. A part of it is the shock and stress of what happened with James. The larger part is my cancer treatment.
I don’t know if I’m getting better or worse. Or neither. It could easily be neither. There haven’t been more scary incidents, which I’m thankful for.
Still. Stagnation is almost the same as getting worse, because it means I’m not moving forward.
It puts my entire future with James at risk.
That makes me sad.
“I just need some time alone,” I tell him softly. “Please?”
“Okay,” he answers. “I’ll be downstairs.”
4.
I spend the rest of the night engrossed by James’s original works.
They’re fascinating. It takes me a few hours to learn all the little intimacies of his handwriting. Once I do, I breeze through the lines of text. It’s amazing to think that I’m reading the pages that gave birth to the man he has become. His style wasn’t as developed, then. And of course everything is rough around the edges. But I can totally see how the things he wrote about here blossomed into the words that garnered him critical acclaim and fame later on.
I also see that Angela’s potential claim is completely baseless.
I get up around midnight and wander to the bedroom. James is in bed, wearing a plain white tank, tapping away on his laptop.
He’s so focused he doesn’t notice me. I watch him from the doorway. The blue computer screen light illuminates his face. The muscles of his forearm move as his fingers dance on the keys.
I wonder if he’s writing something new. He’s clearly not just browsing. His eyebrows are drawn together in deep focus. I’ve only seen him get that way when he was concentrating on me. On my pleasure, on my orgasm, on—
“Celeste.” James surprises me. “How long have you been there?”
&nb
sp; I bite my lip and give a little smile. I think I may have gotten so lost in remembrance that a moan escaped my lips.
But I can’t be entirely sure.
“I finished reading a few minutes ago.” I climb on top of the bed and crawl toward him. I snuggle up beside his strong, warm body and yawn. “Hey, James, tell me. Have you ever looked back at what you’ve written?”
“At the pages you were going through?” He shakes his head. “No. Not really. As soon as they were typed up I just put them away. Why?”
“Because I don’t think Angela has quite the claim you imagine her to,” I say. “I mean, there’s a lot there. I only got through about a quarter of it. But her edits aren’t intensive. Not by any stretch.”
He turns his head to me. “Really?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. I glance at his screen and notice his Gmail pulled up and a dense, lengthy email being drafted. “Who are you writing to?”
“Oh.” He shakes his head and lowers the screen. “Just a correspondence with the administrative board. Nothing exciting. But you were saying?”
“I’m saying that maybe you should just give Angela what she wants. Seriously, James. There isn’t much there that can be used against you. And you do that, and all the legal drama will go away.”
He chuckles and touches my cheek. “You’re cute,” he says.
“What?”
“I like that you worry about me. But it’s not that easy, Celeste. If I give Angela the folder, how do I know she’ll keep her word? She’ll try to trap me. She wants to take me down. This is blackmail, nothing more, and I will not give in to it.”
“If I’m cute, then you’re a stubborn ass,” I mutter. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it? Do you really want to deal with all the things that will go on in court?”
“Proceedings won’t be very long,” he promises. “Seriously, Celeste. It’ll be over before you know it. A false accusation can be dismissed very, very quickly.”
“And what about your position in the university?” I ask. “Will that just come right back?”
“Once they have confirmation that charges were false, yes,” he says. Then he hesitates, so briefly I almost don’t notice.
“Yes,” he reaffirms.
“James?” I ask. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Isn’t there?”
“It’s nothing,” he deflects.
“James,” I say his name firmly. I sit up and switch a lamp on. Then I look at him straight in the eyes. “Tell me.”
“Seriously, Celeste. I don’t want you to worry about it.”
“I told you about my cancer,” I say. “I told you about the chemotherapy and all the drugs I’m taking and my super crappy heart. I told you all that, James. I’ve laid my soul bare to you. You do not get to dismiss me by telling me not to worry.”
He grunts. “That’s not fair,” he says.
“It is fair, James,” I fire back. “Our relationship wasn’t built on truth. Not even close. It was all about lies and deception and omission and physical lust at the start. But things changed.” I take his hands. “We changed. We promised each other honesty, remember? So you have to tell me. Please.”
He grunts. “It’s a minor detail.”
“Now!” I demand.
“Fine,” he exhales. “So, you know how Alfred mentioned, in passing, unofficially, that I would be given tenure at the end of term? And how that’s the way the university got me to stay when I was being courted by others schools elsewhere?”
He runs a hand through his hair and says, “I’ve just been informed, via email, unofficially, again, that the offer is no longer on the table.”
“What!”
“He didn’t say it outright,” James admits. “Because it was never formally declared to begin with. But I know exactly what he means by reading between the lines.”
“This is to do with the rape charge, isn’t it?” I demand. “But it’s not even proven. And you’re innocent, James!”
“I know,” he says. “But the university does not want to tie itself to someone who’s in my current… situation. Not with the outstanding charges.”
“And what if they’re dropped?” I ask. I grab his arm. “James, this means you have to give Angela the folder she’s asking for and get this whole thing wrapped up!”
“No,” he shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. I doubt they’d give me tenure even if charges were dropped. Not so soon.”
“But they would eventually, right?” I ask. “Fuck! Fuck, I hate that I brought this onto you.”
He stops and looks at me. “What?”
“If it wasn’t for me you’d be right on the path of your dreams,” I say. “But then I came along and ruined everything for you.” My voice starts to tremble. “If it wasn’t for me, you would have never run into trouble with Summer. You’d still have tenure on the table. Fuck, James, a few weeks from now, you would have been set for life!” I sniffle and turn away. “It would have been so much better if we’d never met.”
“No.” His hand darts out, and he grabs my shoulder. He spins me back. “No, Celeste. Never say that. That is absolutely not true. My life would have been meaningless had we not met. It would have been an empty void. Nothing more. A hollow vessel. A shining board coated with the most brilliant veneer, but one that is rotting underneath.
I blink through my stupid tears. “Really?” I ask.
“Really,” he assures me.
Then he proves it by taking hold of my head with both hands and kisses me.
I melt into the kiss. I close my eyes and lose myself in the amazing feeling of his full lips against mine.
He kisses me and when I think he’s going to let go, he just kisses me harder. Deeper. I can feel my body start to respond. Desire swirls in my middle and mixes together with toxic lust. He kisses me, and I open up to him… and then I’m lost.
My hands grab his hair. He pushes the laptop aside. I swing one leg over and straddle him. Still he kisses me. I roll my hips back and forth against his crotch. His erection becomes prominent. I feel it against me, thick and hard and full of blood.
I’m equally aroused. Our tongues clash. He sucks on my lips. I do the same to him. His cock rubs between my legs. In one hasty move I discard the sheets covering him and straddle him right there.
He groans, and I back down and take him in my hand. I start to stroke. Up and down, up and down. I love the feeling of the ridges moving through my clenched palm. I stroke him, and we continue kissing.
I gasp when he flips me over. His mouth separates from mine. He looks at me with burning greed in his eyes.
“I want you,” he gasps.
I wiggle my hips, enticing him with the friction. “Then have me,” I say.
He rips my shirt open. Right in two! He simply grabs the neckline and rips it straight down the middle.
Air rushes over my breasts and then his mouth is on my nipples, sucking, licking, biting, flicking me with his tongue. He knows just the way to touch me to make me a goner.
I moan and arch my back, offering him better access. My hands run over his steely shoulders and arms. My nails dig into the hard slabs of muscle on his back. He bites my breasts. I respond by ripping my nails into him. I think I draw a little blood but I’m too far gone to notice or care. He continues moving his head down my body, scraping his teeth over the flesh of my tummy. My panties…he tugs down. I bring my knees up so he can pull them off my legs. Then I spread myself wide and give him my pussy to feast on.
“You have…” he licks up my folds.
I gasp.
“…the most beautiful…”
He licks once more.
I gasp again.
“…cunt, Celeste. You have the most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen. Did you know that?”
He gives a deep throaty growl and launches himself at me.
I cry out as his fingers plunge inside. He laps at my clit, then spreads me wide and licks me up and down and left and right. I writhe with pleas
ure. He latches his mouth onto me and does all the things that make me go absolutely wild.
My legs start shaking. Just a minute or two, I’m so on edge, and I’m going to come. I feel the orgasm building. His tongue moves faster. He licks and strokes. My legs shake even more. Each breath I take is a throaty gasp. My moans fill the air and mix with all the amazing wet sounds that he’s making beneath me.
And then the climax hits. It rushes over me with the force reserved for the most intense pleasure. I cry out and come with James’s mouth between my legs. I come hard and fast, and when it’s over, I’m still shaking, still trembling, still dreaming and lost in the insane bodily high that only he can provide.
I open my eyes and find him hovering over me. He stares at me with such intensity I’m afraid he can see all the way through to my soul.
But I’m not frightened. I’ve shared everything with this glorious man. There has never been another the equal of him.
Nor will there ever be.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
I don’t know where the words come from, but they feel right.
Before James, nothing felt right. With him…
When I’m with him, like this, the world ceases to exist. Time stops. When I give way like this, there is no cancer, there is no shitty heart, there are no backstabbing friends or ex-spouses or falsified rape charges.
There is only… us.
A man and woman together in perfect harmony. A man and woman so much in sync it is almost surreal.
A man and a woman perfectly in love.
“Forever,” he says, and he slides his cock deep into me.
My eyes go wide. There’s no condom. I don’t care. I want the intimacy. I want the connection in full, skin on skin, not sheathed behind a thin film of latex.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, James. Forever…” he starts to pump into me, “…I am forever yours.”
5.
I have an exam early the next morning. I leave James slumbering in bed without saying good-bye.
Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) Page 151
