I nodded, thinking of myself in the bathroom just minutes ago.
He continued. “I felt terrible that I’d hurt her, but it had nothing to do with how she looked.” He hesitated, looking toward the woods. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “She left, and later that night slit her wrists.”
“Oh my God. Did she succeed?” I stopped, hoping it might not be true.
“No, her roommate, Patricia, found her in time. Willa left school afterwards and I never heard from her again. Patricia told me her parents had sent her to a place to get better. She never came back to school. I don’t know what happened to her. I kept in touch with Patricia for a year or so afterwards. I felt responsible and wanted to make sure Willa was okay. But I lost track of Patricia when I moved to Europe after college. Recently she sent me a friend request on Facebook—lives in Los Angeles—but we haven’t exchanged messages or anything. I just see occasional pictures of her kids—you know how it is on Facebook. I’m friends with people I don’t have close friendships with, like the women who are part of my charity work or acquaintances from college like Patricia.”
“I’m sorry, Ciaran.” No wonder he was afraid of commitment.
He took a sip of his wine. “I’ve never looked to see if Willa is on her friend list. It makes me feel guilty every time I think about her.”
“It wasn’t your fault. People break up every day and don’t try to commit suicide over it.”
“Yes, but certain women are vulnerable. When I thought about things afterwards, and trust me, I went over and over it in my mind, there were indications about her fragility that I ignored. I was too young and immature to understand that a woman’s heart must be treated carefully. I don’t want to ever hurt anyone like that again, so I make sure to choose wisely and that they understand the situation before we get involved.” He paused, taking another sip of wine. “So, to answer your question, there are no psycho women out there mad enough to want me dead.”
I swallowed, hoping to get rid of the lump in my throat. Poor Willa. I’d known several girls like her when I lived in the dorms as an undergraduate. Vulnerable. Unbalanced. Craving a man’s attention. College-aged women are still young, even though one doesn’t think so at the time. Everything seems important, heavily weighted, like your life depends on one thing or the other happening. Romantic loves seem larger than they really are. I knew all this from Blythe, of course, not having loved anyone in college. I was much too busy studying to be distracted by boys.
I looked over at Ciaran. He had his neck resting on the cushion that covered the ledge of the tub. His eyes were closed. The snow fell steadily, landing on his face and hair and quickly melting.
“What about business associates? Or people you’ve worked with in your philanthropic roles. Have you made anyone angry?”
He opened his eyes, turning his head to look at me. “Not that I know of. For the most part I play very well with others.”
“Have you told anyone about this?”
“About my suspicions?”
“Right. Like the authorities?” I asked.
“You’re the first person I’ve told.”
“Why me?”
The bubbles from the tub suddenly stopped. Snow fell in silence. In the distance, the howl of either a dog or a wolf penetrated the quiet.
“You have a quality that makes me confess things. Must be the boss-lady quality thing you have going.” He splashed water toward me.
I rolled my eyes and made an exaggerated sigh. “I’m certainly not the boss of you and never want to be.”
“I’d love you to boss me around.”
“Seriously, maybe you should tell the police what you just told me.” Shivering, I slid back into the water and scanned the yard. Nothing but white on white except for the green of the fir trees.
“I have nothing to tell them. No proof of anything other than anecdotal evidence. I’ll sound paranoid. Fearful thoughts of the idle rich. They’ll assume drugs or mental illness.” He paused, his expression somber. “Let’s face it, the whole thing makes me sound pretty insane.” His tone lightened. He poked my foot with his. “The fact that you’re taking me seriously proves how unbalanced you are, because half the time I don’t even think it’s real myself.”
I had to admit he was most likely right about the authorities taking him seriously. Regardless, that didn’t change the fact that his instincts told him someone meant him harm. Another howl from the woods interrupted the silence. “Please tell me that’s a dog.” I gestured toward the woods.
“A wolf. But don’t worry, they’re too scared of us to come close to the house.”
“What if I am insane?” He emphasized the word ‘am’ while peering into his drink. “It has occurred to me.”
My heart thudded. Like last night, I felt like the pores of my skin become wider, letting feelings inside that I didn’t want. A softening. I was softening. “You’re not insane. That’s me. Remember? Ever since I fell, I’ve been doing things I would never have thought I would do. Might I remind you of Sam and Sweetheart?” Without intending it to be so, my voice had quieted, as if someone might hear me in the hushed wood just a few feet away from us.
He laughed. “Right. But are insane people able to recognize one another?”
“We can spot one another in an instant.”
“Wait, I’m lost. So does that mean we are insane or not insane?” he asked, reaching for his drink.
“It means we can decide between the two of us.”
“Then I vote for insanity. Cheers.” He toasted me with his drink and took a sip, then set it back in the holder. “For years now I’ve been expecting to die on any given day. I’m surprised I’m still here, actually. Every day is a gift when you think of it that way.”
“Is that why you’ve had so many adventures? Trying to fit them all in?”
He took a long time to answer. When he spoke, his voice was husky. “Try to imagine what it feels like to think every day could be the last one.” He took another sip of his wine, looking at me over the rim of the glass. “It makes you live in a different way. I don’t ever think ‘I can do that tomorrow,’ so I do it today. It keeps me guarded, knowing that anyone who loves me is sure to lose me sooner rather than later, and it also makes me paranoid, so I’m in this middle ground between fear, gratitude, and this reckless approach to seizing each day.”
“Ciaran, that’s not so different from everyone else. We all know that we’ll die one day and leave behind people who love us.”
“No one thinks it could be tomorrow, though, really. We go into relationships imagining growing old together on the front porch. When unexpected things happen and someone dies young, we do not think it’s the natural order of things. Mostly we’re in denial that tragedy awaits around every corner. I’m not, therefore I live my life louder than most.”
I thought about this. Everything was starting to make sense now, all the pieces of the puzzle taking their places. Ciaran lived like a man who was dying. His bucket list, his lack of commitments. His paranoia and darkness, loving life but thinking it could end at any moment.
To my surprise and utter alarm, I felt tears threatening. “Ciaran, this is no way to live. You need to get help.” My voice cracked. Something raw was swirling around my gut, a mix of desire and vulnerability and intimacy. Whether he believed it to be true or not, he’d opened up to me in a way that belied his words that he only involved himself in casual affairs. The same could be said for me, of course. My outer persona was the independent, self-actualized woman that he felt sure he could not hurt, but inside I was a mushy mess of desire and stirred emotion. If I let him take me to bed, how would I be able to walk away? Could I go back to my regular life without him? Had I opened a space within me that would now be empty when he was done with me?
He moved across to where I sat, kneeling on the floor of the tub and pulling my legs around hi
s waist. “That’s why you should let me take you upstairs.”
He was right, of course. Here were two consenting adults who had this unusual chemistry. We should seize the opportunity for pleasure. To deny it would be like slapping fate in the face. Was I just telling myself this, or was there some validity to the argument? Between Ciaran being almost naked and the warmth of the hot tub, I felt confused. He pointed at my wine. “You’re not drinking. How can I expect to get you into bed if you won’t let me get you liquored up?”
Laughing, I reached for the glass and took a small sip. It tasted of blackberries and tobacco. I took another before setting it back in its cup holder. “So good.”
“See, no harm in a little wine.” Leaning close, he whispered in my ear. “Let me take you upstairs. I promise you won’t regret it.”
“Ciaran.” His name came out as a moan as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed against him, unable to stop my physical response to him. “This isn’t a good idea.”
He moved his hands to the uppermost spot on my thighs, wrapping his fingers around them so his thumbs were just above my pubic bone. Kissing his way up my neck until he reached my ear, he then flicked his tongue against my earlobe. “But you want me.”
My breath caught as he pushed me against the wall of the tub. “A little.”
“You lie. You don’t do anything little.” He kissed my mouth, pulling on my lip and exploring with his tongue, as he wrapped my legs tighter around him. “How can you expect me to keep my hands off you when you look like this? Feel like this. Your legs.” He groaned softly. “They’re like weapons against rational thought.”
I pressed my breasts into his chest. My thighs tightened. I whispered his name again as I kissed him back without any thought to technique, having lost all control, like my careful switch had been suddenly shut off and it was my body wanting, needing, demanding. It was primal, all instinct. His mouth tasted of wine. I tugged at locks of his thick hair as I bit at his lips, and sucked his lower lip into my mouth. Tongues teased and fought. Everything ceased to exist but him. No water. No snow. No lonely wolf’s howl. Just this moment. And Ciaran.
He pulled away slightly, looking into my eyes. “Should I stop?” His voice was more urgent now, his kisses hard, our breathing heavy. “If we go much further, I don’t know if I can.”
“No, don’t stop,” I whispered.
“Tell me you want me.” With his fingers, he reached under my wet T-shirt and moved his hands up my torso until he found my breasts and stroked my nipples with his thumbs. My eyes closed as I let out a soft moan and pressed harder against him, feeling the evidence of his desire pushing against his swim trunks. His lips were once again on my neck. I arched toward his touch, wanting more, but he moved his hands from my breasts to pull the T-shirt over my head, tossing it over the side of the tub. He wrapped his fingers around my upper arms, not tight enough so that it hurt but enough so that I felt captive, unable to move except for the pounding of my heart and the flutters in my stomach. “Tell me. I need to hear you say it.”
“I do. So badly.” I swallowed and fixed my gaze on his neck, trying to catch my breath.
“Bliss, look at me.” He continued to hold my arms captive.
I did as he asked, as if I were in a trance, raising my gaze to his eyes. The color of strong tea, I thought. “It’s been a long time since someone touched me, and it’s making me confused.”
“Confused?”
“This is not the sort of thing I do.” My voice wavered.
He cocked his head to the side, the lines on his forehead creased. “But maybe it’s time you did.”
“I don’t like messiness. This is messy. Our families. Lives we’ll go back to.”
“Sometimes a mess is just what you need.” He let go of my arms and placed his hands on my face, stroking his thumbs under my eyes as if tears had fallen. “Speaking of beautiful, the way you look right now—I’ve never seen anyone as exquisite. If this moment lasted forever, it would not be long enough.”
Tears came to my eyes then. I was helpless to stop them. “It won’t. Last, that is,” I whispered. Tender, I thought, as I stared into his eyes. This is a tender man. Despite all his bravado to the contrary, he was not just a party. He was a man with a past, with a conscience. And, I liked him. Truly liked him, which, as we all know, is different than lust or even love. He’d moved me. Made my pores open, and seeped inside.
“I know it won’t. But can’t it be enough that I want it to?” He brushed the tears that had mingled with snow and steam from my face.
“I want it, too.”
“Come upstairs.”
“Yes,” I said. Just that one short word. Yes. And a world opened.
Chapter 17
I CLIMBED OUT of the tub and padded carefully across the patio, the freshly fallen snow already an inch thick on the path Ciaran had shoveled. It was cold on my bare feet, and I started to shiver.
He came up behind me, wrapping a large towel around my shoulders. “Come inside.” His voice sounded hoarse, like he’d screamed for hours at a sports match. I couldn’t look at him. Wanting him. I stepped inside. Water dripped from our shorts onto the hardwood floors.
“You sure about this?” he asked.
“I’m sure.” He held out his hand and we walked to the stairs and began to climb up the suspended staircase shaped like the curl of a woman’s hair. My mind was blank now. I cared only that we get to the bedroom as quickly as we could. And then we were there in his disheveled bedroom, the unmade bed tousled like one might expect after lovemaking, not before. Behind me, I heard cloth sliding against wet skin. Taking off his shorts, I thought, my heart pounding harder than I’d ever felt it before. Then, his footsteps and what was probably the sound of the top of a laundry bin opening and shutting. I stood near the bed facing away from the bathroom, still in my wet shorts with the towel wrapped around my shoulders.
“Let me take this. It’s making you colder.” He was behind me, separating the towel from my shoulders as if it were a silk pashmina, then moved my hair to one side and kissed my neck, then my shoulder, before moving away to toss the towel on the chair in the corner. He missed, and it fell to the floor next to a crumpled sweater, but he did not kneel to fetch it. I watched him move—muscular but lean, tan except for his pale backside. By the window, he pulled down a shade and then another, and the light dimmed. He turned, moving back to me. I kept my gaze above his waist, not knowing what to do when confronted with a naked man in the middle of the day in Peregrine, Idaho. I braced myself, imagining he might tease me when he sensed my unease, but there was none of that. He picked up a dry towel from the end of the bed. His eyes glittered as they roamed down the length of my body. I began to shake, whether from the chill or desire, I could not say.
“Take off your wet shorts.” He stood at the corner of the bed, several feet from me.
I peeled them from my damp skin, letting the shorts fall to the floor before I stepped out of them, not wanting to bend over in front of him. Why hadn’t I stayed away from those enchiladas last night? I felt his gaze on my body but I could not look up. I watched his feet step nearer and nearer until they stopped in front of me. He lifted my chin until my eyes found his. “You’re nothing if not contradictions,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re shy. I didn’t expect that.”
The sound of the heater coming on penetrated the silence. Water dribbled from the ends of my hair. “I’m not shy,” I said, finally.
“Again with the lies.” He smiled and began to dry the wet ends of my hair with the towel. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful with you.”
“You don’t have to be too careful.” A fallen eyelash rested on his cheekbone. I brushed it away, letting my finger linger, surprised by the heat of his skin. His chest expanded with a breath, in and out. A tremor in his voice contradicted the confidence in his gaze. He
dropped the towel to the floor. I traced my finger over his jawline and up his chin until I reached his bottom lip. Capturing my hand with his, he brought my palm to his mouth, and kissed it. With his other arm, he nudged me to the bed. I fell backward onto the bed. He paused, his eyes roaming the length of my body. “Gorgeous,” he whispered.
I still could not look below his waist, but when he covered his body with mine I felt how much he wanted me. He kissed me, pulling my hips up slightly with his hands. He teased my nipples into hard nubs with his thumbs before drawing each one into his mouth, flicking his tongue over them while his hand moved to the spot between my legs. I moaned, and arched against his hand.
“You’re so wet.” His voice was gruff, animal like.
My legs spread and reached around his torso, but he put his hands on them so that I couldn’t move, and nibbled the insides of my thighs. His grip grew tighter. His mouth hovered over me, then just a flick of his tongue, and then another. I writhed under him.
He moved, covering me with his body once again. My legs wrapped around him. He pushed my hands over my head, and kissed me. “I want to make you wait, but I can’t stop myself.” He entered me, slowly, moving his hands to my legs. He lifted my right leg higher, moving it so that it rested against his chest. He thrust into me deeply, and then again. A rhythm of slow, slow, fast, rubbing in all the right places. I closed my eyes, my breath fast, a soft moan escaping with each fast thrust. Knowing how close I was to climax and not wanting it to end, I tried to calm down. Perhaps he felt my resistance, because he whispered, “Just let go. Let go and trust me.”
“I do. I do.”
“You’re driving me crazy. You know that?”
His words did nothing but take my excitement higher. “I…” But I couldn’t finish because the shuddering had begun. My head drove into the pillow as the orgasm came in like three shock waves, one after the other. I cried out at the last, only vaguely aware of how he’d made one final push and groaned as he spilled inside me.
Blue Moon (Blue Mountain Book 2) Page 17