Olivia sighed and turned to look out the window. She wasn’t really surprised to hear that Jarek cared about her; what had surprised them both was that he’d almost admitted it. But the near-admission didn’t change anything, she thought. Their relationship had a time limit and one little word wouldn’t make a difference. Not that he’d let her say anything. Whenever she looked at him with any kind of meaning he glared at her in warning and studied something in his lap or behind her or any place he didn’t have to meet her eyes.
He feigned sleep all the way to Beijing. By the time they stepped off the bus shortly after seven that evening, the only conclusion Olivia had come to was that she wouldn’t bring it up. He knew, she sort of knew, neither of them were admitting it, and who cared, really? She’d loved Chris for ten years and he’d turned on her in a heartbeat. Love was a feeling, not a guarantee, and she wasn’t willing to open her heart to someone who couldn’t—wouldn’t—open his. Even if he might have already cracked open a door she thought she’d slammed shut a year ago.
It was obvious Jarek wasn’t eager to return to the hotel room, no doubt expecting her to barricade the door and demand he utter the entire offensive syllable. Love. For a guy who thought he was some sort of reincarnation of the devil, who could cow bigger men with a stare, he was awfully afraid of this. Of her. A kindergarten teacher.
They sat in a brightly lit fast food restaurant and ate burgers and fries for dinner, again making minimal conversation. Olivia wanted to rehash the excitement of the hike and her thrill at having visited the Great Wall, but knew that any attempt to speak of the site of his not-quite-an-emotional-moment would be met with a firmly erected wall of his own. She chattered instead about her class’s preparation for the play and the kids’ excitement, Alan’s choreography, Davy’s art design, Rose’s sound direction. The thing was a disaster, but she preferred to think of it as a Jackson Pollock painting: upon first glance it might be a hot mess, but true connoisseurs would recognize its heart. Its talent. Its meaning. Even if she hadn’t completely finished the third act, where Little Red Riding Hood and the Spidermans and a few other random friends encountered the not-at-all-scary wolf who had definitely not eaten grandma.
Jarek delayed leaving the restaurant, even though she could tell he was tired. The sun and the exertion had taken its toll, and she felt the same, but being alone with her was obviously outside of his comfort zone. When they finally exited the restaurant she pointed to the glowing image of a colorful foot indicating a reflexology studio and suggested they go inside. On several occasions Jarek had referred to the practice as “voodoo” but now he agreed, and Olivia knew his ready acquiescence had more to do with his cowardly approach to dealing with his feelings than sore feet. But her feet were aching, so they went inside and took comfortable seats and plunged their feet into wooden buckets of hot, scented water and bit their lips to hide groans of pleasure.
“Voodoo, hmm?” she murmured.
“Witchcraft,” he mumbled. “Dark arts.”
“You love it.”
He stiffened slightly at her unintentional use of the offensive word, but relaxed when the reflexologist removed his feet from the bucket, wrapped them in a warm white towel, and got to work. The same was happening for Olivia, so she let her eyes drift shut and gave into the lure of the massage, willing herself to stay awake so she could enjoy the experience and avoid waking up with drool on her chin.
“Ow ow ow,” Jarek hissed at one point.
Olivia cracked open an eye to look at him. “What?”
He snatched up the laminated chart that indicated which part of the foot was connected to which other body part, and located the painful pressure point. “Apparently my esophagus is particularly sensitive.”
Olivia’s laugh was cut short by her own jolting pain. “Mother of God!” she gasped. The reflexologists, tiny Chinese women whose hands knew the strength of ten men, exchanged a look and laughed, muttering between themselves. They didn’t need a translator to know what was being said, but the pressure eased up and the massage resumed its relaxing cadence.
“That was pretty amazing,” Olivia remarked an hour later as they shuffled out of the shop. “My feet feel like clouds.”
Jarek looked at her doubtfully. “Maybe they slipped something in your tea.”
“Did I imagine that part where a woman came in and offered to continue the massage in our hotel room?”
“No, that happened.”
She shuddered. Jarek had fielded the question with a polite but firm denial, and she’d been grateful for his interception. “I’m sleepy.” She slouched against him tiredly, and to her relief he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to keep her upright and resumed walking.
“You and me both,” he admitted, sounding grateful for the subject change. “It’s nine thirty and it feels like two o’clock in the morning.”
“Too much sun.”
They entered the dingy hotel and waved hello to Sally, who was manning the tiny information booth. In the stairwell they stared in despair at the ascending stairs, unwilling to take another step. “Go on,” Jarek urged. “Get up there.”
“You go.”
“Ladies first.”
“I don’t want your chivalry.”
“Well, you’re getting it.”
Her lips curved in a tired smile and they reluctantly trekked up to the fifth floor, Jarek cursing the whole way. “We’re getting a new room tomorrow.”
“On the ground floor?” she asked, entering ahead of him.
“No. In a new hotel. A real hotel. With an actual shower.”
“Oh God, a shower. I need one so badly.”
He looked ready to say something, then bit the inside of his cheek. “You’re lucky I’m still feeling chivalrous. It’s all yours.”
“I should go first, I only take five minutes. You’re the one with a beauty regime and fancy conditioner.”
“That was a gift from Katrine, I only use it to be nice.”
“And because it makes your hair soft.”
“Get in the bathroom, Olivia.” He bent down and kissed her temple briefly, then shoved her into the tiny space. She went because she desperately wanted a shower, and also because she didn’t want to risk saying anything that might ruin his tentative foray into civil conversation. He was a grown up, but sometimes she swore she had to treat him like one of her students, being encouraging, nurturing, and patient when all she really wanted to do was scream, “Why don’t you get this? It’s easy!”
But then, she knew, if she did that, he would never learn.
He was gone when she woke up. After taking in the empty space where Jarek should have been, Olivia rolled onto her side and squinted at the glowing red display on the alarm clock: 8:02. The room was uncharacteristically dim. The skies outside had opened up and begun pouring down rain, pelting the glass with a rhythmic patter. Olivia watched the shadowy rivulets through the thin curtains and tried to ignore the ache in her chest. She listened carefully for noise from the bathroom but it was quiet, and after a minute she sat up and looked around for his bag or a note or something, anything, to tell her he hadn’t left. But there was nothing. His shoes were gone, and she was alone.
She flopped onto her back and opened her eyes as wide as she could, ignoring the stinging in her sinuses and trying to convince herself she didn’t want to cry. She didn’t need him. She didn’t. She was perfectly capable of spending the day by herself—Lord only knew she’d done that a lot lately—and she had a train ticket and a job she loved and coworkers who liked—well, tolerated—her, and she would be fine.
But she was still crying. Hot, salty tears snaked down her cheeks and pooled in her ears until she shook her head. He’d hurt her feelings, that asshole. And she hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she thought she’d done everything right. He’d almost said the L-word, asked her not to pursue it, and she hadn’t. She’d pretended she thought he was sleeping on the bus ride, had hurried through her shower so there was still hot wate
r left for his, and had been passed out in bed before he’d finished so he could continue to avoid talking about his dastardly feelings.
Olivia sat up abruptly, swiped the tears from her cheeks, and stalked into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face before her eyes got puffy. She wouldn’t be able to haggle with the market vendors with any kind of authority if she looked like she’d spent the morning bawling her head off. She brushed her teeth and combed her hair until she was somewhat presentable, then counted her money and took a deep breath before putting on her shoes. She could do this. She could be alone in Beijing. She could be alone, period. People did it all the time.
She almost fainted when the door opened and Jarek stepped through, water dripping off his damp curls and trickling through his eyebrow. He looked surprised to see her as he wiped his face. “What are you doing up?”
It was hard to speak. Her chest and her throat were so tight—anger, relief, confusion—every emotion she could name was rising up so swift and painful she didn’t know how to respond.
“Liv? You okay?” Jarek frowned and stepped out of his wet shoes, dropping his pack on the ground and approaching to peer at her with concern. “Are you sick?”
She snapped out of it and shoved him away, hard enough that he stumbled back several steps. “Where were you?” Her voice came out a little too shrill and desperate, and she bit her tongue to suppress the onslaught of frantic questions trying to burst out.
He cocked his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out a flat white key card. “Getting a new room at that hotel down the street. A real one, with an elevator and a big shower.”
“Wha—? Why?”
“I told you this last night.”
The previous evening came back to her, and he had indeed said those things. “I thought you were joking,” she accused. “We only have one day left.”
“I know. That’s why I went out first thing to get it. You want to come with me or continue with this shrill harpy act?”
“I beg your pardon?” She didn’t feel sad anymore. She felt angry and self-righteous. And offended. And, okay, relieved.
He took in her attire and frowned. “Where were you going?”
“To get breakfast. To see the city.”
“In the rain?”
“People do it all the time, Jarek. Shit.” She turned her back to him and covered her face, letting her cool fingers soothe her flaming cheeks. Now she just felt like an idiot. He’d been missing for what, ten minutes, and she’d cried?
She heard him sigh behind her. “Olivia. I was gone for half an hour. I didn’t want to wake you. What do you want me to say?”
She dragged in a breath and willed herself to be mature about this. “How would you feel if you woke up and I was gone? And my bag was gone?”
He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Look, I’m sorry if you were upset, okay? My money, my passport, it’s all in my bag, and I didn’t want to sort through it and wake you up. Let’s just get out of this palace and go to real hotel, okay?”
Olivia blinked and looked away, then nodded. A new hotel sounded nice. An elevator sounded really nice. “Fine.”
He groaned. “Stop using ‘fine’ to describe things.”
“Even when they are?” She gathered up her few belongings and added them to her backpack, then double-checked the room before following Jarek into the hall and down the stairs to the lobby to check out.
The streets were slightly less busy thanks to the rain, but it was still a challenge to find an available cab. Finally Olivia suggested they walk and look for a spot to eat breakfast along the way. They found a restaurant whose English signboard boasted the city’s best steamed buns and went inside to order from the picture menu.
“What floor is the room on?” Olivia asked some time later. They had each eaten a bun filled with a mysterious red-brown paste that wasn’t half bad, and had one left to share. Jarek pulled it apart with chopsticks, making a mess of everything, and she laughed as he gestured between two equally unappealing halves.
“Take your pick.”
“Hmm. Choices.” She selected one mangled piece and he took the other.
“Eight,” he said.
“What?”
“Eighth floor,” he clarified. “That’s where the room is.”
“And the elevators are working?”
“Yeah. I checked. Bathroom’s nice, shower’s enormous.”
Her brows pulled together. “What’s with your obsession with the shower?”
Jarek’s expression turned pensive as he looked at her over the rim of his teacup. After a moment he answered. “Do you remember karaoke night?”
“Yes.” There had only been one, and she hadn’t been that drunk in a long time.
“How much?”
“Um…” Olivia winced, guilty. “Maybe half?”
“Do you remember me singing?”
She snorted. “Absolutely not.”
“No? ‘Unchained Melody’ doesn’t ring a bell?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I know the song. I don’t recall you singing it.”
“Well, I did.”
“I don’t believe you. Why would you do that?”
“Because you promised me something.”
Her heart kicked up a notch. Something hazy was floating in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t pull it into focus. “I did?”
“Yeah.” His face was so serious, so sharp and handsome. She didn’t doubt she’d have promised him something to get him to soften up, just for a night.
“What did I promise you?”
He glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then lowered his voice. “Anything.”
“What? Anything?”
“Yes. You promised you’d do anything I wanted.” He lifted a brow meaningfully.
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t sound like you to get back to my place and pass out in a drunken heap, but you did that, too.”
Erm. She couldn’t argue with him there. She also couldn’t deny the tiny thrill of arousal and excitement that pulsed through her at the tone of his voice and the intensity of his gaze. “Jog my memory,” she said. Maybe a bit breathlessly. The remaining piece of steamed bun sat forgotten on her plate.
“You asked me to sing, I said hell no, you said you’d do anything, and I sang.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at his simplicity. “I meant, sing a few lines. See if I remember.”
Now he laughed. “Forget it. You haven’t paid up for the first time. Yet.”
Olivia bit her lip. She was pretty sure she’d do whatever her wanted. He took her out of her comfort zone sometimes, but she always liked it in the end. And while she was turned on—and getting even more turned on the longer the conversation lasted—she was nervous, too. “And this has something to do with the shower?”
His cheeks pinkened slightly. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. “You don’t remember getting back to my place?”
“Not really. Just waking up.”
“Well, you needed a shower, desperately, and could barely stand up, so I…helped you.”
“Uh-huh.” She was growing a bit leery.
“Relax. I didn’t take advantage of you, even though I wanted to. Watching you in the shower, buck naked, water and bubbles everywhere, I’d have hooked you up to a homemade IV if I thought it’d sober you up enough to where I wouldn’t feel guilty for fucking you.”
She couldn’t breathe. She could barely swallow the now-lukewarm tea. “You want to watch me take a shower?”
“For starters. What do you say?”
It was nine thirty in the morning and she was seriously aroused. Before coming to China she’d been sick of the stares. Since coming to China she’d gotten used to them and learned to tune them out. But now she wanted this. She wanted to feel his eyes on her and know that he wanted her so badly he was willing to wait for it. Willing to walk through the rain to find a place that had t
he shower that would fit his fantasies. It was oddly specific and she didn’t know all the details, but she was ready to find out.
She stood. “Let’s go.”
Olivia gasped as her back hit the wall of the elevator with a thud. Jarek swallowed the sound, covering her lips with his, kissing her like he hadn’t in days. The past two nights she’d been so tired she’d done nothing more than say good night and fall asleep, but now she was more than awake. She was wired. She tangled her fingers in his wet hair and pulled him impossibly closer, meeting his tongue with hers and grinning when she wrested a growl from him. It was normally so hard to get a reaction from him that it was especially rewarding when she did.
They were breathing hard as they exited onto the eighth floor, and Jarek fairly dragged her down the hall behind him. He whipped out the key card, pushed her inside, and pinned her against the wall, kissing her again, hard and thorough, the way she liked it. They dropped their packs on the ground and kicked off their shoes, and Olivia cracked open an eye to try to get a look at the room. She didn’t realize Jarek had noticed until he laughed and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Go look around,” he said, smacking her ass. “Make it quick.”
She shot him a guilty smile and hurried into the sprawling space, meticulously clean with white walls and linens, offset only by ebony furniture and a single blooming orchid. She didn’t think she’d ever been in a room as nice as this one; it must have cost a fortune. The hiss of the shower distracted her and she made her way to the open bathroom door to see Jarek stepping back from an enormous shower stall. It was enclosed in glass with a massive showerhead centered on the ceiling, water pouring down like a localized rain storm.
“What do you think?” he asked, not turning around.
She stood behind him and rose onto her tiptoes to press her chin to his shoulder. “It’s beautiful.”
He glanced back. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Going the Distance Page 20