Love in the Dark

by 12 Book Boxed Set (epub)

  14

  He leaned against his car, one arm slung across the roof of the Lexus, the other holding his cell to his ear. The picture of casual nonchalance and not a car in sight, yet I had to stop the words in my throat. Look out. Be safe. I love you.

  Because God, I did love him. Hadn’t I always? Inevitable, eternal, whether he bade me leave or stay.

  I scrunched up my nose at him, though surely the glare of moonlight hid my expression. “Are you stalking me?”

  “Define stalking.”

  “What you’re doing right now, basically.”

  “Ah, but I was invited to come see your place. Sure, that was a few weeks ago, but how was I to know there was an expiration date?”

  Emotion thickened my voice. “You’re the one who wanted me to leave.”

  “I know. I came to talk to you about that.” He straightened up so he could come to me. To walk into the street.

  “No, wait. Don’t.”

  He paused, midmotion. His voice was roughened with regret. “I know. I’m sorry. Just let me—”

  “Okay,” I burst out. “Let me come out and give you the key card. You can drive around to the parking garage.”

  There was a pause; then he spoke softly. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ll look both ways this time.”

  “You did last time too. It was just—”

  “An accident.”

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Which means it could happen again.”

  He nodded, the motion small but infinitely significant from where I stood. “That’s why I don’t want to waste another minute without you. Without telling you how I feel about you or what I want for us. And I don’t really want to do it thirty feet away, so the first step is to come inside.”

  “But—”

  The line went dead. With a quick but definite look both ways, he crossed the street. His gait was weighted to the left, swinging low before he caught himself, half falling on every step. I had seen enough busted knees to recognize the careful movements, a symptom of chronic pain—but not at all like the stiffness arousal lent him. He reached the curb and continued with agonizing deliberation across the leaf-strewn courtyard. The wind picked up leaves in his wake and tousled his hair. He arrived at the front door wearing a lopsided smile.

  Something stayed my hand for a moment, and I looked at him, thinking this is it. The last time he and I would ever be divided, separate entities—the last time I’d ever be trapped on the inside looking out. I’d ask him to stay with me. No time limits, no waiting. If he didn’t ask me first.

  I flipped the lock and opened the door. A spicy burst of autumn air entered first, followed by the more solid, musky scent of the man I loved. He bent to give me a chaste kiss, his lips cold but soft against mine.

  He surveyed the studio: the mauve walls with black silhouette etchings of little ballerinas along the seating area. Then the dance floor itself, a bland grayish color—more utilitarian than beautiful—and a wide expanse of mirrors broken only by a thick barre all around.

  He turned back, his expression bemused. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Really?” I said, a little flustered to realize how much his opinion mattered.

  His head tilted slightly in deliberation of his next words. “I think… If you don’t mind me saying it, I think you fit here. It’s modest.”

  I made a face. “Should I be insulted?”

  “You’re modest,” he said, too earnest and open and honest to be mean. “I always thought the pomp of the ballet was…too much sometimes.”

  “It was a chore, but that wasn’t why I did it. Besides, I would have thought you liked it, seeing as you always used Philip’s seats.”

  He looked at me sideways. “Rose, you must know by now that I don’t care about ballet aside from you.”

  “You never wanted to talk to me about ballet,” I accused. I had suspected his attendance was a sign of interest in me, but whenever I had broached the subject with him, he’d shut me down with monosyllabic answers and that damned bland expression.

  “What was I going to say, that I only went to see you in a leotard?”

  “Did you?” I asked, fascinated.

  “No,” he said firmly. “I went because it was what made you happy, and I wanted to see you happy. And because I got to see you in a leotard.”

  I laughed a little, blushing. I was wearing a leotard now too, although it was a heavy-duty black one with swishy blue shorts that ruined any potential sexy curves. Not that I had an excess of curves anyway—there was a reason I’d been so well suited to ballet. “I imagine my little show just now was a disappointment. That was just training, really.”

  His voice dropped, faintly teasing but full of promise. “It worked for me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I’m more of a show-not-tell kind of girl.” A smile touched my lips as I thought of how much showing I’d done on that first night from my bedroom window. And a fair amount of telling too, the night we’d talked on the phone.

  I led him upstairs, neatly pushing aside any of the questions that loomed in front of us, most namely: what now? I didn’t want to know the answer, didn’t want to be turned away or let down again when hope was so strong within me, heightened by lust and a sweet relief to be near him again.

  Upstairs, I looked around, dismayed. I had slept at my brother Colin’s house for the first two nights after leaving Drew in the hospital. I’d had to swear that Philip hadn’t thrown me out, because technically he hadn’t. But damned if I was going to continue living with Philip while he tore apart my every dream just to prove he could. But my fortune had quickly changed. When I went to the city offices to reapply for my permits, I was told the ban had been lifted. Just like that? Philip must have changed his mind, though he wasn’t known for doing so. I didn’t question my luck. After that, I’d slept on a pile of questionable beanbags and floor cushions before having a daybed delivered. I’d thrown myself into renovating the studio downstairs and opening the business. It had been easier than dwelling on a recovery I wasn’t a part of.

  The sight at the window jarred me from my lust. A dark street with reflective puddles. Cars going by, too fast to stop if they had to. Something dark stirred in my stomach—fear and horror and more. Pulling away, I crossed the large open living room and stood in the same place I had that night, at the window looking out. Always watching, made mute by the walls I had erected. I hadn’t been able to help him then. Even now, my heart thudded in my ears, my palms sweaty with fear even though he was in the room, here, safe.

  15

  He came up behind me, the nearness and heat of his body reverberating through mine. I wanted nothing more than to turn around, grab him, and hold on, but this felt too fragile. Too important.

  “It would be okay if you wanted to wait,” he murmured, brushing my hair aside. Warm lips met my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “You have every right to be angry.”

  “Angry,” I repeated dully.

  “I deserve it.” His hands came to rest on my hips. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

  How could I be angry when it led him back to me? Drew had been in an accident, and the ripples had touched everyone who loved him. “I’m a lot of things for you. I’m hopeful and sad and…and hurting. I hurt for you.”

  “No. No more pain.”

  “Your injuries, they—”

  “Like yours, I think.” I felt a soft brush of his fingers on the sides of my knees. It tickled me, teasing out a small, breathless gasp. My thoughts began to drift until he added almost distractedly, “Occupational hazard.”

  I twirled and ended up an inch from his face. “What do you mean? It was me. My studio, my hiding us that made you get hurt.”

  His eyes searched mine. “Philip never told you?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him since the hospital. What did you mean, occupational hazard?” Although I already knew. With sickening clarity, I knew what h
e was about to say.

  “The accident wasn’t exactly…accidental.”

  “I’ll kill him,” I breathed. “Philip knew that it was his fault. And he—and you—”

  “Ah.” He stopped me with a half smile. “I can’t claim ignorance here. I knew the risks of what we did, and I was paid well to take them.”

  “What now? Are they going to come after you again?”

  He was already shaking his head. “We took care of it.”

  “Do I even want to know?”

  “I doubt it.”

  I frowned. “Are you sure you’re safe?”

  “I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t.”

  My eyes fell shut. “This was why you wanted to break up with me at the hospital. Philip must have told you.”

  “At first I thought he was just trying to break us up, but I couldn’t be sure. Then when I did know… I couldn’t have you coming to my condo, where they’d see, where they’d find out what you were to me. I couldn’t come back here until I knew you’d be safe.”

  With a harrumph, I turned my back on him, staring out the window. He could have told me. Although…well, to be honest, I wouldn’t have accepted it then. Still, the thought of him recovering alone, fighting for his life, while I ordered logo merchandise for my studio hurt my heart.

  He tugged me back, one hand sliding up my belly and cupping my breast through the slick leotard fabric. The other hand pulled me back to the wall of his chest, ground me against his erection. A tweak of my nipple, a nudge from behind, and I moaned, thready and weak.

  “Forgive me?” he murmured against my neck.

  I struggled for breath. “Bribing me with sex?”

  The straps of my leotard fell down my shoulders, replaced by roaming caresses and questing lips. My arms were held captive by the straps, and I reveled in the helplessness, tossed asea and gladly drowning.

  “Depends. Is it working?”

  “From the beginning,” I sighed.

  There was no regret in that moment, not for all the risks I had taken and the ones I hadn’t. He had showed me how to live in the moment, how to emerge and subside in a breath, how to find fulfillment in a single too-soft touch.

  We had watched each other, teased each other, and when the time came to join, clashed together body and mind. This was neither a coy denial nor frantic demand. He explored me slowly, thoughtfully—a lick enveloped in a moan, a brush subsumed with a sigh. I wanted only what he gave me. We were finally, perfectly attuned.

  I could see our faint reflection in the glass. Once there had only been me, standing alone, baring myself and my uncertainty. Now we were together, his lowered head beside mine. A tear rolled down my cheek. Another and another, until one landed on his wrist as he stroked and rolled my nipple to an aching point. He paused.

  “Rose?” The concern in his voice was a lance through me. It wasn’t new, which was precisely why it struck me. He had always been solicitous, always kind, and he would beg forgiveness on bended knee for his one moment of meanness if I asked him to. He would be perfect for me and pay for each weakness with drops of blood and buckets of pride, but I didn’t want that. I had loved him as a stranger. I still wanted him at his worst. I would stand by him, eternal.

  “Don’t stop.” The words came thickly. “Please. I need—” I wasn’t sure what. To hurt with you. To know you’re here. To promise you forever.

  He seemed to understand. “Ah, Rose.”

  Gentle hands turned me around, tender lips met mine. He kissed me without reservation, in a sweet melody tainted by the salt of my tears. That didn’t slow him. They were a part of him as much as me. We mourned in that kiss, slaking all the time we hadn’t spent together in the promise of tomorrow and the pleasure of today.

  I slipped from his grasp as my knees gave out, only to be held up by the cool glass at my back. He caught me a second later, fused at the mouth and hips and hands.

  He groaned. “I can’t stand much longer.”

  “The bed’s in there.” I waved toward the hallway. “It’s small, though.”

  Taking my hand, he led me through the small apartment, peeking into each bare-box room until he found the right one.

  “Rather empty,” he remarked.

  “Yes, well…” I pulled back the blankets and climbed in, kneeling in invitation.

  His eyes studied mine, a little guarded. “I have a whole condo full of furniture.”

  The air seemed thin and rushing at the top of the summit. “Do you?” I choked out.

  He shrugged. “But I might need a new place to put it.”

  “Philip won’t like that.”

  “He doesn’t have a say in this. He never did.”

  “Then why…?”

  “I told you. I couldn’t risk keeping you with me until we’d handled it. And besides, I owed Philip a two-weeks’ notice.”

  “You quit?”

  “It was time. There’s only so long you can run on the tracks before you get hit.”

  “Not funny.”

  “Wasn’t trying to be. I’m serious.”

  I narrowed my eyes. My consummate workaholic had quit? “So what are you going to do now? Move to Florida? Play canasta?”

  He laughed. “I’m sure there’s something legal a lawyer can do these days.”

  My brow lifted. “Sure, but you don’t do boring.”

  “I’ve already talked to someone at the Chicago Innocence Project. I joined with Philip because I wanted to fight for the underdog. But Philip hasn’t been that for a long time.”

  “And the money,” I reminded him. “Three times your salary.”

  “Which I’ve mostly saved. So I can live on a pittance for a while, maybe try to earn back some of the karma I’ve lost over the years. Why, would you be uncomfortable earning more than me? I could always go back to a firm. They’d eat up my defense experience.”

  “Oh, it sounds good to me.” More than good. Perfect. I grinned at him. “I’ll be the breadwinner. You’ll be my kept man.”

  “So…I’ll have dinner on the table and wear something pretty.”

  “I like what you wear,” I said, nodding toward his suit. “Though I like it better off.”

  He casually plucked at the buttons of his dress shirt, peeling the silk from his chest, revealing a mat of hair and a stretch of unsmooth skin and an angry raised scar that ran from his collarbone down to the bottom of his ribs. My breath caught at the sight.

  “That’s not the worst,” he said in a conversational tone. “I’ve had flaws before, but these are…well, ugly.”

  “You’re only saying that because you haven’t gotten a good look at my feet yet. Dancing is not a friend of the body.”

  Apparently unafraid, he knelt in front of me and reached under me. He pulled my legs over the side of the bed. Fingertips and an eager gaze trailed down perpetually swollen knees and thickly roped calves and bent, misshapen feet.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Strong.”

  I touched lightly the puckered scar on his chest. “Strong,” I whispered. Beautiful, so beautiful. Alive.

  No more pain, he’d said. No more waiting either. I tugged him over me, shedding my leotard and the rest of my clothes like skin of old, wearing instead the salty sweat of my labor, the scent of my lust. We continued upward in our steady fashion, finding surcease in the climb. His mouth quested lower on my body, over my belly button, and across the crease of my leg. He delved lower and deeper, into the private-secret places I opened to him, meeting my pulse with his tongue and splitting my body with heat.

  “Drew,” I moaned.

  He shuddered, his whole body curling around itself as his hand went to his cock. “Again. Say that again.”

  I could have repeated his name in an endless litany, a euphoric prayer, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted me helpless and frantic. Brought low by my need for a few helpless moments…before he lifted me back up again. Unbalanced and then righted again. Taken away only to fill me back up.
>
  With a renewed sense of submission, I let the currents of his mouth drag me down, submerged in pleasure. Soft cries sounded muted to my own ears, as if I were underwater, as if I were drowning.

  He flicked at my clit, and it pulled a moan from me. “Drew, Drew.”

  Exactly what he’d wanted and authentic too. Like he’d bypassed my walls and reached deep inside me. Like plucking the private strings beneath the hood of a grand piano and playing secret music only meant for us.

  I shuddered through the stroke of his tongue and rode his fingers to a rolling, blinding climax. His fingers tore open the condom packet with rough movements, and I stilled him, taking the condom from him and pressing the tip to his cock. He jerked at the light pressure but let me continue.

  I took my time rolling the latex over his velvet-smooth firmness, feeling out each ridge and curve before hiding it from view. When he was covered, I cupped the taut skin behind, enjoying the tremors that followed each probing curl of my finger.

  I understood now what he meant: to explore each other’s bodies and all the ways we fit. It wasn’t about fulfilling a need. It was want, pure and lawless, which made it that much sweeter. I wanted to search out every point of pleasure, soothe each rough-edged pain.

  “I’m going to come,” he groaned.

  I guided him to my center. With a hard thrust, he pushed inside. It stretched me, bringing a gasp to the surface. The sound seemed to spur him on. He receded only to force his way in again—more insistent this time. He took and took with each forceful thrust in equal measure to what I gave in every stretch and pulse of my walls. He demanded and here, here, take all that you need.

  Between my thighs, I felt his movements grow jerky, less refined. His legs trembled in their force, and I rocked my hips up to meet him. Neither of us were whole, neither sturdy. Batted about by storms, we’d found refuge in each other.

  He changed the angle, and it hit a spot of white-hot pleasure inside me. My mouth opened on an empty cry, and he took it into his own mouth with a hungry mating kiss. Sensation rioted through my body, zinging from the tip of my tongue to the clench of my toes. The pressure inside me built to trembling, and I held on with my legs and let go with my fingers. He cradled me through the climax, slow and steady, until a sudden stiffness and a grunt signaled his urgent and rocky release.