INFINITE

by Cecy Robson

  He holds out the square box. It’s not one of those swathed in velvet. It’s leather with a gold stamp framing the worn edges. He opens it to reveal a thin, platinum band with tiny diamonds embedded around the edge. It’s not flashy. It’s subtle. But I can sense its significance long before Hale speaks.

  “It was my mother’s,” he says. “My father gave it to her the day I was born.”

  I meet his face, wishing I knew the right words to say. “Why?” is all I manage.

  He frowns, looking at the ring. “I think it was his way of starting over and proving he was still committed to her.”

  “But not to you?” I ask before I give it much thought.

  I start to apologize for my choice of words, but Hale speaks first. “No. He wasn’t ready to accept me yet.” He sighs. “Momma gave it to me the last time I saw her. She slipped it off her finger and handed it to me. I didn’t understand why she wanted me to have it. I’d only just learned I wasn’t his son.”

  “I think she wanted you to know that you were still a part of everything they shared,” I say.

  Hale averts his gaze. My fingers slide over his hand and I give it a squeeze. “There was a lot wrong between them,” I add quietly. “A great deal of hurt and some things they never managed to forgive themselves for. But this ring was the first step toward healing and saving what they had.” I shake my head. “They made mistakes, Hale. Big ones. Your father with how long it took him to accept you, and your mother for straying when she should have remained faithful.”

  I swallow hard. My next few comments are the hardest. Somehow, I manage without stumbling and without my voice breaking, although it very much wants to. “But if she hadn’t strayed, if he hadn’t created that wedge between them, if you hadn’t worked as hard as you did, you wouldn’t be you. You wouldn’t have been born and I never would have known you. God, Hale,” I say, gripping his hand tighter. “I’m so blessed to know you.”

  Hale trembles, not with fear, not with anger. It’s raw emotion. The same thing I feel. “This ring was the first of many long steps toward healing and acceptance.” I fight back the tear that threatens to fall. It falls anyway. “I think your momma wanted you to know that, no matter what, they did heal and that you were their son.”

  Hale bows his head. For a long moment, all I see is the top of his blond, mussy hair. I want to stroke it and clutch him to me. Instead, I give him the moment he needs.

  “I don’t know why I thought of it,” he says. “And I’m still not sure why I brought it out. If you don’t want to wear it, I’ll understand.”

  “I would be honored to wear anything that’s a part of you,” I whisper.

  He nods, his head appearing as heavy as our hearts. He pulls out the ring and places the box on the corner of the granite vanity counter. He’s still on his knees. Without thinking, I offer him my hand, waiting for him to slip this bittersweet memory on my finger.

  If he hesitates, it’s brief. I watch him slide the ring that symbolizes his existence across my finger. I think I should say something. Before I can gather my thoughts, he wraps his hand around mine and draws me to him, lifting me to stand in one smooth motion.

  Our gazes lock. “Come on,” he says. “Time to play married lovers.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Hale

  When I crawled out of bed this morning on very little sleep, I was expecting the usual; calls with Mason and Neesa, and doing all I can to hang onto my staff. Things that needed to get done. The last thing I was expecting was to slip into bed naked with Becca.

  Would I have wanted to? Hell, yeah. I have a pulse, damn it.

  Except, for too many reasons to count, this isn’t the way I thought we’d end up in bed. It’s for a picture. I get it. And at first, I was having my share of fun with it. It was like something out of my wildest fantasies was suddenly coming true.

  I loved teasing her and getting a rise. Loved seeing that blush I’m now officially addicted to. Except, all the fun and games wrapped up damn quick, didn’t they? All it took was a big wrench from the past to screw it up and beat all the good humor to death.

  I’m not sure what made me think of that ring. I’m also not sure what made me bring it with me. My assets, belongings, everything I owned was court ordered to stay in New York. But when Neesa slipped into my apartment before my court date and before the ruling, she found the ring and took it with her, exactly as I’d instructed.

  Mason suspected that the seizure of my assets was coming, given all the original charges pending against me. But instead of watches, shit from my safe, and things of value that I actually need, that ring . . . that was the one thing I begged Neesa not to leave my place without.

  When Momma first offered it to me, I refused. Part of me, that part I bury deep and keep locked away, knew she was saying goodbye. She didn’t have much longer. She was done with life now that Daddy was gone.

  So, what do I go ahead and do with that ring I didn’t want? The one I couldn’t leave New York without? I went and slipped it on Becca’s finger. The woman who broke my heart.

  I recognize the irony. Don’t think that I don’t. What I haven’t fully wrapped my head around is why.

  “Are you ready, Hale?” Tootles calls out.

  He has his high-tech camera ready to go. I’d hate to tell him no. He’s trying to help. They all are.

  “Sure,” I say, faking an easy-going persona I recognize has left me high and dry. From the moment I thought of that ring, everything that kept the jokes and the teasing coming abandoned me, leaving me stuck in the past, pretending to have a good grasp on life even though I don’t. Nope. Not anymore.

  I take off the robe and toss it behind me. From behind the closed bedroom door, the dogs whine. I’m hoping the little prissy one is trying to hump the moppy one like she did during the beach shots. That’s just embarrassing for both of them. Mostly, though, I’m hoping to get through this shoot.

  Becca waits in the opposite corner bouncing nervously in place. I’m not sure if she’s looking my way. If she is, I hope she learned modesty isn’t part of my vocabulary, especially when I’m around her. At first, I might have used my blatant nudity as an intimidation tactic, just a little one. I wanted her to high-tail it out of my life when I first saw her in New York. Now . . . shit. I’m not sure what I want.

  I slip beneath the cool and crisp white sheets, their softness skimming along my bare skin. Trin had sent a cleaning crew to straighten up earlier in the morning. “They’ll be there same day every week,” she texted. I’m not sure if she knew about the shoot. Hmph. Who am I kidding? As Becca’s bestie, Trin knows everything.

  My hands make quick work of adjusting the sheet so it lays over my waist. Tootles fusses with the pillows, fluffing them. The heavy camera around this neck bats against his stomach as he directs me closer to the center of the bed. He dismissed the staff as fast as he could and got to work, fretting with the light and the layout, trying to create the best post-sex morning his little heart could envision.

  There wasn’t all that much to do near as I could figure. The home is staged to sell. Everything looks perfect, except for the bed that Tootles made appear very much played in. To add to the naughty night theme, he laid out a fresh pair of panties and a bra near where Becca’s side of the bed will be, positioning them just so to appear as if they were tossed during the heat of passion.

  I’m trying not to think about the see-through teal bra or its matching thong. Mostly, because I can picture Becca wearing them. Thongs, sweet lacy bras, these are things she would wear. To this day, I remember the feel of her bra against my teeth that night I pulled her taught nipple into my mouth.

  Damn. Where am I again?

  “Don’t worry about what happens to your hair,” Tootles says, pulling me back to reality. “Messy is better and leaves more to the imagination.”

  I drag my hand through it. “All right,” I say, since, y’all know my hair is all I’m thinking about
now.

  “This is your moment, Hale,” Tootles says, his excitement building. “Think of it as a story. Your story had all these twists and turns you weren’t expecting, but now the drama is behind you. Now, there’s only peace and the promise of a bright and peaceful future.”

  “Right,” I say.

  I don’t know Tootles. He seems like a good guy and he strikes me as someone who guards a fair amount of secrets from being around the famous people he associates with. It’s probably why he looked away and got busy when Becks and me stepped out of the bathroom.

  Or hell, maybe he saw something between us we didn’t want him to.

  Tootles rushes to the tripod, adjusting the second camera he set up. This one has a remote that’s hooked to his belt loop. According to him, he’ll press it throughout the shoot to get several shots from different angles. It keeps the set intimate, he told us, and allows him to disappear.

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I understand now. I sink into the bed as instructed, thinking only of Becca and what the next hour will bring.

  Tootles begins to fade away, his voice lowering so it’s barely audible. He looks at me through the lens, adjusts the light just so, and peels back the sheet so it lays at an angle. The man who made a big fuss about the “nudies” is gone. The professional stager, photographer, and creative director has arrived and is very much front and center.

  “Very good,” Tootles says. “I’ll direct you as we go, if needed. For the most part, forget that I’m here. Take my suggestions about altering your position and make them yours. It’s the best way for them to look natural.”

  He shakes out his hand and, I suppose, the nervousness he’s feeling. “One more thing. Don’t look at the camera. You were good about it outside, but right now is especially important.”

  “Got it,” I assure him, my voice lowering.

  “Becca,” he calls. “We’re ready for you. Hale, tuck your hands behind your head. Tilt your chin in the direction of the window and toward the light. No. Too much. I need to see both your eyes. Good.”

  I sigh and do what he instructs, moving slowly as he suggested when we shot the outside pics.

  Click. The first picture is taken.

  Click. I move a fraction of an inch.

  Click. I close my eyes.

  Click. I open them slowly.

  Click, click. This one from the tripod.

  Click. One more. Click. And another.

  The gentle sounds from the camera start to fade. Almost silently, Becca moves forward. I barely hear her steps. But I sense her. I always have.

  The scent of her perfume, the mild flowery one she usually wears this time of year, drifts ahead of her, filling the room with her fragrance. I always knew when spring arrived in Kiawah. It wasn’t the changing weather, or the blossoms poking their way through thick and battered vegetation. It was Becca, her increasing energy, her widening smile, and this perfume.

  I close my eyes again, remembering the first time she wore it. It was high school, our sophomore year. There was a change in Becca when we started high school. She began caring more about what she wore and how she looked, fussing with her hair, giving us second glances when we told her she looked good, like she wasn’t sure we meant it. It was also the time she tightened her circle of friends, as if she’d finally learned who to trust. But sophomore year . . . yeah, that’s when this perfume made its presence known.

  It fit Becca perfectly, light like how she moved and fresh like her spirit. I remember her walking toward me, laughing at something Trin was telling her, her long hair swaying and her skirt fluttering, her eyes bright, and the sweet scent she’d claimed as hers drifting closer as she neared.

  I sink further into the pillow, relishing the scent and memories I have of her. There are too many to count and she’s almost to me. Can she guess how many more memories I’d like to make of us?

  “You know she’s here,” Tootles says. “Look up. See your lover.”

  I do, turning my head slowly. My eyelids are like a heavy curtain, unveiling the vision before me.

  The intensity of the moment chisels the image of her into my soul. Becca’s robe is gone. Another sheet, this one black is pressed tight against her breasts. She keeps her head lowered as instructed. Not in shame. Not in sadness. Anticipation. That and a shyness that I didn’t quite expect.

  Her heavy strands of tousled hair gather around her face, cloaking her features and concealing her eyes. I need to see those eyes. She can’t hide what she’s feeling within them, no matter how hard she tries.

  Becca’s back is exposed, revealing every curve and bit of her silky skin in the reflection of the mirror. Tootles doesn’t seem to notice as he clicks away behind her. She’s a prop. That’s how he described her.

  To me, she’s something else. Hell, she always was.

  “Don’t move,” Tootles says, when Becca quivers. “Look up at Hale, slowly. Use your body to tell him what you want him to do to you.”

  The light from the room hits her face just right, casting shadows from her hair around the perimeter and illuminating her features. Lowered lids, thick with eye makeup, meet me with full force, drilling me in place. I can’t be sure what she’s thinking. But I know what her body wants.

  Blinding need builds within her, casting a shade of pink across her face and throat. She bites the bottom of her pouty lips, unsure, hungry with desire, and inexplicably frightened.

  She has nothing to be afraid of. Becca has me. I’m all hers.

  I just need to make her mine.

  “Good. That’s it,” Tootles says. “It’s okay, honey. Don’t stress. No one will know it’s you.”

  I want everyone to know, I almost say. Want everyone to see she’s with me.

  “Inch closer to Hale,” Tootles instructs. “Slowly . . . slowly . . . good. So good!”

  Tootles has no romantic interest in Becca. I know it as well as I know that ocean singing its gentle song beneath the sunny sky mere yards away. That doesn’t mean I like another man seeing her. Touching her. No, not like I see her now, and definitely not when I want to be the only one whose hands glide across her exposed flesh.

  He plays with her hair, bringing it down to further conceal her face and cloak her soft features.

  Don’t touch her, I want to say. She’s perfect.

  “Love this, Hale,” Tootles says. “You’re doing great and responding well. Rugged and strong, but willing to abandon it all to meet your lover’s needs and fulfill her desires.”

  That sounds about right.

  “Get riled,” he instructs Becca. “Get hot. Go to him.”

  Becca lifts the sheet, allowing the bottom to pool in front of her. She crawls across the bed, struggling to keep her body hidden.

  I don’t want her to hide. I want to see her. No. I need to see her.

  Click. Click.

  Becca’s doing all the work.

  Click. Click.

  But every emotion she reveals in me is captured in that camera.

  “Reach for her,” Tootles instructs. He’s at the corner of the bed. The long lens of his camera captures the moment my hand grasps hers. He doesn’t seem to notice the way we’re watching each other, too busy telling me to turn her hand so he can see the ring.

  I think I give him what wants. Although I no longer care.

  God, it hurts to breathe.

  Hurts not to touch her.

  My muscles are shaking, burning from the warmth of her hand.

  Her breathing increases and so does mine.

  “Hale,” she rasps.

  She could be begging me to stop. Telling me this is all too much for her.

  She could be pleading with me to take her. That she no longer wants to be without me.

  She may even be telling me that she’s not ready to feel what she does.

  Or maybe that she’s ready for more.

  I don’t ask.

  I kiss her hard, my fing
ers tangling in her hair. She lets me, returning my affections, her tongue skimming across mine, begging for a deeper taste, and her short nails digging into my shoulders to keep me in place.

  Jesus, sweet Jesus, don’t let her stop.

  I haul her on top of me, my fingers grazing down her bare back until they linger at the sheet and I wrap my arms around her.

  Our lips audibly smack, seeking more of each other.

  “And . . . release,” Tootles says.

  Becca whirls in Tootles direction. Like me, she seems to have forgotten he’s here. She pulls up and away from me, her eyes wide, her breathing ragged, barely managing to keep the sheet pressed against her.

  My hands drop to my sides. Other than that, I don’t move.

  Tootles busily flips through the images he captured. “That was hot. We’ll have plenty of pics to choose from. Now, Becca, I want you across his chest.”

  “What?” she asks.

  “Lay on his chest,” he says. “It’s morning. He’s awake, thinking about the future and everything it promises. You’re on top of him where you fell asleep after making love. You’re content and at peace, knowing you’re safe in his arms.”

  “Content?” Becca repeats. She nods quickly, appearing to regain her senses.

  Good. I’m glad one of us has.

  Tootles’ vision. My reputation and career on the line. Sure. It’s all coming back to me now.

  Tootles arranges the sheet behind Becca. She hangs tight to the front, not willing to expose herself like she did for our kiss. I didn’t see anything. But I felt it all. How good she fit against me and how damn good she tastes.

  Once she’s covered, Tootles drapes the white sheet I’m lying beneath over her. “All right,” he says. “Settle into his body.”

  I gather her in my arms. At first, she tenses and so do I. But then slowly, very slowly, we relax into each other.

  I’m not certain Becca knows that this is where she belongs, here with me. It doesn’t matter. Her body recognizes as much, molding into mine as her breathing returns to normal.

  “That’s good, Hale. We’ll start with this position and end with your arms tucked behind your head again.”