by Anna Paige
Talia dabbed her eyes with a tissue from the nightstand and chuckled. "Stubborn doesn't even begin to cover it, but I suspect you'll be finding that out for yourself soon enough."
The thought of Ali grieving was becoming a hard knot in my chest, an ache that I knew wouldn't be assuaged until I could hold her in my arms, even if only for a moment. "How long ago...?" I nodded vaguely toward the picture.
"Almost four years..." She stopped mid-reply and looked thoughtful for a moment. "About the same amount of time I had her with me. She was a couple of months shy of her fourth birthday when the cancer took her." Her eyes took on that distant, glazed look of someone whose mind was miles away. "It's odd to think that I've only been without her for four years. It's like her little life only lasted a few short moments, but the loss of her seems to have spanned my entire lifetime. Strange how pain alters our perception of time." She blinked over at me for a moment, the expression on her face forcing me to fight back tears.
Neither of us spoke for a while, both looking at the crumpled photo. When I could find my voice, I caught her eye and held it, wanting so much to make this better. For her. For Ali. For me. "I used to carry around a picture waiting for that day, the day that it wouldn't hurt to look at it." I didn't know where the admission came from. I hadn't intended to say anything but it just spilled out in a small voice I almost didn't recognize as my own.
"What happened to it?" Talia's voice was soft, filled with compassion.
"I gave up on it, packed it away and buried it in the back of the closet. I wasn't as strong as you. I let the pain win." It came out as a whisper, the words barely able to push past the lump in my throat. My chest ached so deeply, that I found myself absently rubbing at it, as if to alleviate the pain.
She returned her gaze to the picture. "I'm not sure how strong I am. If it weren't for Ali, I'd have given up too." She tucked it back under the pillow and turned to me. "But I'm still fighting, still making progress even if it's just a little. Moving forward is moving forward, whether you sprint or crawl." That last part seemed more for me than for her. She blinked back her tears and stood, switching gears and changing the subject. "I better find my keys and get a move on. I'm going to be late."
Still kneeling in front of the nightstand, I forced a smile and spoke around the lump in my throat. "I think you'll be alright. After all, you do know the manager."
She placed a hand on my shoulder as she walked by, pausing. "I think we'll all be alright, Clay. We've made it this far, haven't we?" She patted my back and continued out of the room, not waiting for a response.
THE RAIN WAS still falling when I picked Ali up from the office. When she got in the truck, she was soaking wet but she looked over at me and smiled as she fastened her seatbelt. "Glad I decided against wearing the white shirt today."
My eyes immediately fell to her chest. Damn. I tossed her a disappointed look. "Maybe you're glad..."
She giggled and changed the subject as a blush crept up her slim neck. "I'm not in the mood for lunch at the diner. I've seen enough of that place today. I thought maybe it was time for a change of venue. What do you think? Is there somewhere else you might like to eat?"
I quirked a brow at her and let my gaze roam the length of her body, saying nothing. I was being indecent, but she started it. Not the most mature argument, but still valid. Watching her face heat, I wondered if she was remembering the other night. Did she clench inside at the memory of my tongue stroking, tasting, and exploring her? Did images of that night flash through her mind at random times like they did mine?
Still blushing like hell, she offered a suggestion. "How about making something at the cabin? We can pick up some groceries, and I'll make us lunch."
I laughed at the way she fidgeted in the seat, clenching her thighs together. Looked like someone had taken a stroll down memory lane and ended up turned on. I knew the feeling well. "I thought you let Talia do all the cooking."
She smiled. "I do, but that doesn't mean I can't cook. I just let her do it because it's something she enjoys. She's happiest when she's flitting around the kitchen, and I'm happiest when she's happy. It's just how things are for us."
I knew from the beginning that they had a special bond, something stronger than the average friendship. After my discovery in Talia's room that morning, I understood part of the reason why. They had dealt with their grief together and forged a bond that was deeper than anything I'd ever experienced. Grief was a make-or-break kind of situation. Some people, like Ali and Talia, made it out stronger on the other side while others never recovered. I truly envied the former, those who fought their way through.
Particularly because I was one of the latter.
"I think that's a great idea." Taking her still-damp hand, I said, "We better get a move on before Talia finishes her shift and reclaims the kitchen." She nodded, and we drove toward the nearest grocery store, a flood of unwelcome memories washing through my mind.
ALI BANISHED ME from the kitchen while she worked on lunch with instructions to prepare the patio table so we could dine Al Fresco. The rain still strummed a steady beat on the roof overhead but there was no wind, so we would remain dry as we ate. I cleared the table of everything except a small vase, empty since the day I'd arrived.
I made a quick trip down to the flowerbed and filled it with fresh lilies, getting drenched in the process. The yellow, orange, and peach colored blooms were fragrant and beautiful with raindrops still beading on the petals. I was running my fingers through my hair, shaking off the water when Ali stepped out behind me. I turned to her with an apologetic grin, knowing I'd gotten her with the spray. "Sorry about that. It's really pouring out there."
"How did you get so wet?" She looked around. "The porch is covered."
I stepped aside and indicated the fresh flowers on the table. When I looked from the vase back to Ali, her eyes welled with tears. I opened my mouth to speak but had no idea what to say, so I just stepped over and folded her into my arms. I'd been needing that all morning and apparently she needed it, too. She kept her head turned toward the vase, her tears silent. "Thank you. You're being incredible about all this." After a moment, she pulled away and mumbled something about checking on the food, head down as she retreated back into the house.
Not wanting to push her, I stayed there on the patio and stared out into the distance. The mountains were partially obscured from view, their peaks shrouded by the low clouds currently spilling their contents over the valley. Once the storm passed, they would be back, beautiful and magnificent as ever. I hoped the same could be said for Ali. I hoped she could come back from this. That whatever or whoever was trying to bring her down wouldn't succeed. She was so much stronger than that, stronger than me. She truly was awe-inspiring. I wouldn't let anyone or anything take that away. Not from her.
Ali pushed the sliding door behind me open a bit farther, squeezing through with an armload of plates. I reached out and took everything I could, careful not to make her drop anything. "You should have called me in to help you."
She just smiled. "I used to waitress, too. I can carry four plates and the glasses to match with no problem."
Frustrating ass woman. Has to do everything on her own. "Just because you can doesn't mean you have to. I don't mind helping." I placed the plates and bowls on the table.
She waved me off. "Fine. You can help with the rest. Stubborn."
Pot, meet Kettle.
WE'D BEEN EATING for several minutes when Ali startled me by saying, "I'm not usually a crier. Just thought I should let you know that." She bit off a chunk of bread and chewed, a thoughtful look on her face. "Of course, you probably couldn't tell by the number of times you've seen me cry these last few weeks." The crinkle in her forehead was a clear indication that she was adding it up in her head.
"Don't do that."
She looked confused. "Don't do what? Cry?"
"No. Don't scour every moment we've spent together to do the math. Whether it was once or a hundred times,
it makes no difference. Not to me."
She frowned and looked at her plate. "It matters to me."
"Why? Because you worry about what I think? It doesn't matter what I think. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks. You know who you are and that's what matters. Besides, you should know by now that I think you're fucking amazing. A few tears aren't going to change that." I reached out and ran my fingers across her hand. "Every moment with you, from that first day by the willow to this very second, has been perfect. Don't you dare regret any of it because I sure as hell don't."
She looked up, a slow smile spreading across her gorgeous lips. "Thank you for that. You're right. I regret nothing about our time together." Her fingers threaded through mine while the other hand raised her glass to her lips. She sipped her tea, finally relaxing a bit. I found myself relaxing, too.
When she lowered the glass, a small drop lingered on her lower lip, just a tiny bead that had escaped her notice. Acting totally on instinct — and clearly not thinking — I leaned across the table and pressed my lips to hers, whisking it away with my tongue. The sugary tea wasn't nearly as sweet as the lips I'd cleared it from.
Startled, she stiffened for a second before melting into the kiss, her mouth opening slightly to allow me access. With a soft groan, I placed a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her closer. Having the taste of her on my tongue again electrified every cell in my body. I'd been thinking of this, wanting it, craving it for the last two days. My hardening cock pressed painfully into the table as I stretched across it to reach her, but I wasn't about to pull back.
Her palm pressed to my chest directly over my heart before sliding up toward my neck, leaving searing heat in its wake. She dug her fingers into the back of my neck, massaging, kneading as she worked her way higher. An involuntary growl rippled through my chest when she reached back to tug the unruly strands at my nape. Encouraged by the sound, she tugged harder, pulling my whole head back as she nipped my lower lip.
Jesus. If I got any harder, I'd drill a hole in the damn table. No tools necessary.
Ali slid her hand to cup my jaw and pressed hard into me. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to be closer. It was all I could do to refrain from throwing the table and its contents into the damn yard. I managed to shift myself around it, though, without breaking contact with her lips. She twisted her chair to face me as I crouched at her side. I placed both hands at her hips, and she held my face in both of hers. The kiss went on for ages, each of us dominating for a while before relinquishing control to the other.
I nearly lost my balance when she leaned forward, sliding off the chair and onto my lap. Once we were situated there on the floor, I sat back on my heels and she straddled my lap, grinding herself onto me. The kisses became urgent, frenzied as she reached for the buttons on my shirt. I couldn't decide if I wanted fewer buttons so we could move forward faster, or more buttons so the kisses would go on longer.
No matter what, I knew I was about to cross a line I couldn't go back from. And I wanted it more than anything. I wanted her, wanted this, but would I feel that way afterward? Would I feel like an asshole for allowing it to go this far? I knew Ali wanted it. The way she was grinding herself into me left no question about her intentions. But what if this was just a band-aid for her? A way to feel good in the midst of a shitty situation? A way to take control of her life when so many things had happened that were beyond her control. Her work situation, Teach's illness, Keith, the break in, all of it must have been weighing on her.
Not that I minded being used under normal circumstances, but it was different with her. I didn't want her to look at me with regret in her eyes. I didn't want to ruin this, whatever it was, by taking it too far.
It wasn't about Spencer this time or keeping my promise to him, it wasn't even about the lawsuit. I didn't care about breaking contracts or losing the company. I didn't care about me. I only cared about her.
Shit. I really did care about her. I must if I was sitting there with her tongue in my mouth still thinking about what was truly best for her. My dick throbbed in protest of my decision, but I ignored it.
It was the first time in my life that it had occurred to me that sex couldn't fix everything. Liberating and depressing at the same time.
When Ali finished with the last button and began pushing the shirt over my shoulders, I stopped her. "Wait a minute. We need to come up for air before things go further than we mean them to." I rubbed my hands up and down her arms, praying she wouldn't be angry.
She dropped her hands from my shoulders, placing them palms down on her thighs. Her shoulders slumped, and she breathed out a sigh before leaning her forehead to mine. "I guess I got carried away."
My heart still pounded in my chest, and my dick still strained against my zipper, but I knew I was right to stop it. "I started this. I wasn't thinking." I shrugged and looked at her swollen mouth. "Your lips are just so damn..." I groaned, frustrated at not finding the right word to describe it.
She blushed and lifted her weight off of me, struggling to keep her balance as if her knees were weak. "Thanks. You've got some great ones yourself." She offered a hand to help me up, which was hilarious since she was wobbling like a newborn calf. Not about to say that out loud, I just accepted the proffered hand and used it as little as possible as I stood. She retook her seat and polished off the rest of her tea as I slid back into the chair across from her. Setting the glass back down, she looked at me. "Is it too early to switch to wine? I could use a drink."
I looked out at the heavy rain and shrugged, trying to ignore the buzz in my ears from my still-racing heart. "It's not like we have to go to Gran's property this afternoon. Can't exactly work in this downpour and it's five o'clock somewhere, right?"
Ali went to get the wine. I stayed behind and tried to calm myself down. The sharp ache in my groin was my cock's way of punishing me for having a conscience. It was no fucking picnic, but it would fade soon and I'd walk away knowing that I did the right thing. For once.
If I'd thought for one minute that Ali was acting on genuine desire, I'd be balls-deep in her right now and to hell with the consequences. But that's not what was driving her. She was angry and feeling helpless, looking for a way to prove she was still the one calling the shots in her life, and I was a means to an end. She just didn't realize it at the time. I didn't want that. Not with her.
If I was going to flush my company and friendships down the toilet, it wouldn't be to help her prove a point. It would be because I chose it, and her, over everything else. And that wasn't a choice to be made lightly. I'd pushed this as far as I was willing to go. For now.
Ali returned with two glasses and a bottle of red wine. She filled them and placed one in front of me. After taking her seat, she took a long swallow and sighed. I sampled the wine and understood her reaction. It was delicious, and I'd never been all that crazy about red wine. I sat the glass down and realized she was watching me, an intent look on her face as if she was puzzling something out.
I glanced around uncomfortably. "What?"
Her eyes never left my face. "I was just thinking that Spencer is wrong about you."
Since when did she and Spencer talk? I hated the sharp stab of jealousy that pierced my chest at the thought of the two of them talking, laughing, and apparently discussing me. Trying to keep the irritation out of my voice, I casually lifted my glass and asked, "Wrong about what?"
"I was just thinking if you were a true manwhore, you wouldn't have stopped things."
I nearly choked to death on my fucking wine. I barely managed to swallow it, gasping and sputtering. "What? What the hell has he been saying to you?" Once I was sure I wasn't going to swallow my tongue or have a heart attack, I was pretty pissed off. How dare that bastard talk behind my back like that. And he said it to Ali; the one woman whose opinion mattered to me.
She was wide-eyed as she watched me fight to regain my composure. "He didn't say anything. I've heard him call you that about a dozen times on the phone.
" Seeing that I was still confused, she tried again. "When we're at Gran's property, you always turn your call volume all the way up to hear over the equipment, right?" I nodded. "So, when Spencer calls, it's hard not to hear his greeting when I'm standing a foot away from you. He usually starts out with 'Hey, manwhore'."
Shit. She was right. Why had it never occurred to me that she could hear that? I usually excused myself to take phone calls but she probably still heard the beginning of the conversations. Fuck. Me.
"Like I said, I think he's wrong." She didn't look at me this time, probably afraid she had upset me with her admission.
I didn't want her to think I was mad at her, so I went with, "He is. The nickname is highly inaccurate. I've never charged for it in my life." I deadpanned.
Her head jerked up, and I met her gaze with a playful smile. She beamed at me, obviously relieved, and raised her glass toward me. "If you did, I have no doubt you'd be worth every penny."
I clinked my glass to hers and winked. "Might even be more lucrative than building and design. Then again," I mused, "I've heard that trying to make money doing something you're passionate about takes the fun out of it. Wouldn't want that, now would I?" I smirked.
"Definitely not." She chuckled as she sipped her wine, but I could tell she was curious about the origins of the nickname.
I had no idea how to even begin explaining my past to her and was kind of shocked that I even wanted to try. Maybe it was because whatever she'd made up in her head might be even worse than the truth, if that was possible. I'd never been ashamed of my sexual escapades until that moment. Something in the depths of her emerald eyes made me wish I could take it all back. Every hookup, every anonymous encounter, and every touch I hadn't given to her felt like a shameful betrayal. It was irrational, and I didn't understand it, but I wanted it all to disappear. As I considered all that had happened over the years, all I'd done, I felt suddenly unclean, unworthy.