by Rachel Cross
More importantly, what the hell was he going to do now? He rubbed a hand over his eyes. When he opened them, she was looking up at him, face flushed, expression unreadable.
He didn’t want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing and he was pretty sure that expressing shock and/or gratitude qualified as the wrong thing, so he stood and hiked up his jeans, pulled Ava to her feet and took her up in his arms. He brushed a kiss on the top of her head and led her up the stairs.
He got her a toothbrush, a travel-sized tube of toothpaste, a bar of soap and a towel out of the linen closet. “I’ve got … some things to check on,” he said, shuffling his feet.
“Oh, okay. I’ll just…” Ava gestured to the guest bathroom.
He nodded, distracted, as he backed away. Where had he put the damn condoms? He entered the master bathroom and rifled through the toiletries in the cabinet and under the sink with something approaching desperation. Nothing. He checked again. Shit. They had to be here somewhere. Wait. Had he even unpacked them? Probably not. He hadn’t been that optimistic. There were still a few taped up boxes from when he’d moved in stacked in the guest room closet.
He moved quickly down the hall. She was still in the bathroom. Good.
• • •
Ava brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth. Now it was awkward. Did he not want to sleep with her? After what they’d done downstairs? God, this was confusing. She perched on the edge of the tub, staring into space. Standing, she peered out the window. Maybe he was taking care of the animals? She heard him outside the door, the wooden floor creaking and she froze. He must’ve entered the guest room.
Minutes later she heard him walking back down the hall, then the sound of water through the pipes in the old house. She opened the door. The guestroom door was open and the bed made. So that’s what he’d been doing. She frowned. Was she supposed to sleep in there? She crept down the hall and heard the shower running.
Be bold, Ava. After what happened downstairs, do you really think he’ll reject you?
She entered the master bedroom, where a massive king sized bed took up most of the room. She spent an inordinate amount of time studying the dreamy pastel abstract painting on the opposite wall. Spotting a bedside table stacked with books, she rifled through them.
She stared down at the book in her hands. Temple Grandin’s Animals in Translation. Surely, the fact that he was reading one of her favorite books was a sign?
She stripped, opened the bathroom door, and stepped through. Steeling herself, she drew back the curtain. He was leaning against the tile wall as the water pulsed down on his huge, hard body; his head turned to look at her, hot longing in his eyes. She smiled, stepped in, and took the soap out of his hand.
Ten minutes later, without the benefit of towels, they staggered out of the bedroom, soaking wet. He tossed her up on the bed and reached into his bedside table, pulling out a small box of condoms.
“I was in a panic searching for these,” he admitted.
“Oh,” she said as the light dawned “That’s the thing you had to do?”
He looked sheepish. “Yeah, that and I didn’t want to assume—”
She interrupted, laughing. “God forbid you should assume anything after what we did downstairs.”
“Yeah, well,” he handed her the three-pack. “The good news is I have them. The bad news is they’ve been around so long they’re expired.”
“I didn’t know they could expire.”
“I guess it’s about four years, ‘cause that’s how long ago I bought them.”
“And you haven’t used them?” she said, uncertainly.
“Nope.”
She bit her lip. “Are you telling me it’s been four years—?”
“Closer to five,” he admitted.
“Good God,” she breathed.
“Pretty much,” he replied, drily.
She examined the package, desire warring momentarily with common sense … until it won out. “Well … they’re barely expired.”
He grinned. “Somehow I knew that’s what you’d say.”
She pushed back the heavy down comforter and sat on the edge of the bed while he stood over her, watching, his chest heaving as she tore open the packet, pulled out the rubber disc. She took him in her hand and he grunted. She cupped his balls, already taut against his body, and put her mouth on him.
He backed up a step as a shudder ripped through him and said hoarsely, “Whoa. I can’t … don’t do that, I’m barely hanging on just looking at you.”
She met his intense green gaze, rolled the condom on and he pushed her back on the bed, into the soft, cold white sheets. She shivered, though whether from nerves, excitement, or the chill in the room, she couldn’t have said. “You feel so good,” she murmured, her hands stroking his huge body shoulder to thigh, lingering to yank his hips hard against her. There was so much of him, and he radiated heat like a woodstove.
He pressed his mouth to her, holding his body above her with his hands on the bed. She arched and moaned beneath him, wanting the press of his flesh against hers. He rolled off to the side and stroked one shaking hand down the front of her body—stopping to cup one breast and toy with her nipple, rolling it between his fingers, his eyes half shut with arousal.
She bit her lip, holding back a moan.
Never breaking eye contact, he ran the wide palm of his hand down over her stomach as her muscles there twitched and fluttered. He slipped his hand over her and used the wide palm of his hand to rub her, sliding one finger into her; her body clenched around it and he drew in a sharp breath at her gasp. Another finger joined the first as his thumb circled her.
“I know you want to take it slow,” she gasped out, “but let’s do that next time. I want you inside me ... Please Nate.”
She stared up into his face, memorizing every line, the skin stretched taut with pleasure, his cheekbones flushed.
Her body throbbed against his hand as his fingers continued to pulse into her body and he stroked her clit. She gripped his wrist, and wrested it away. She was on the verge and she’d be damned if she’d come without him.
Silently, Nate spread her legs, levering himself above her, his weight on his arms. He entered her slowly, inch by inch, until she was bucking and scouring his back with her nails, sobbing in her urgency to have him inside her.
He levered himself up on his arms, staring down at her, giving her time to adjust, but her orgasm was upon her. Before he’d even entered her fully, she closed her eyes, arching up to him as she came apart with a garbled cry.
His eyes were wild and they never left hers as he pumped into her, over and over until at last he came with a guttural groan. He rolled his heavy, heaving body off of her, settled her into the crook where his arm met his chest, and she faded out.
• • •
Ava woke just before dawn in the massive king-sized bed. The room was silent. He was gone. She sat up, the sheet falling to her waist, leaving her shivering in the chill. She hiked up the comforter, self-conscious. It wasn’t like she could gather her things and sneak out. Suddenly, Nate walked in, stark naked. She tried not to stare, but it was impossible. He was massive everywhere, thick thighs, strong shoulders, broad chest. Her aching body throbbed in response.
“Ray?” she asked.
“Fine. I gave them water and let them out for a bit. They’re better—out of the woods.”
She collapsed against the pillow, shivering. “Thank God.”
He climbed back into bed and gathered her into his arms. “I’ll have to get up and start feeding the animals in a bit and I’ve got some harvesting to do today.”
She stiffened. “Oh, okay. Um, if you just want to take me into town, I can—”
He leaned back, examining her. “I’m just giving you a heads up that I have some work to do. I figure I can get a few things done, rejoin you in bed, do a few more things, back to bed.”
She laughed. “I’m not sure my body can take that.”
He st
roked the hair back from her forehead. “Sore?”
“Spectacularly sore,” she whispered, bringing one of his huge warm hands to her breast.
His grin was wicked as he moved the heat of his body over her.
• • •
The weekend passed in a blur. Care for the animals didn’t allow for long lazy mornings in bed, but Nate neglected most of his other chores for endless bouts of sex, naps and talking. He shared more of his innermost thoughts with Ava in forty-eight hours than he’d shared with anyone in recent memory. He hadn’t really missed the connections with other people, he’d never been good at maintaining relationships within the throes of his disease but there was an openness about her. A willingness to talk about anything and everything. She wasn’t as sheltered as he’d initially thought. She was well traveled for one thing. She loved to read for another, and they shared a mutual love for fast-paced thrillers, a detective series set in a third-world country and a best-selling comedic travel writer.
Sunday night, Nate hunched over the stove, prodding the edge of a pancake with a spatula—breakfast for dinner again, because they still hadn’t managed to make it to the grocery store. Tension filled his frame; it was time to tell her. He should’ve done it the first night they were together. He’d held off for so long it was now uncomfortably like a lie.
“Ava?”
“Mmm?” Her preoccupied voice trickled over to him and he heard the rustle of a page. She was engrossed in one of the books on estuary revitalization she’d found on his nightstand.
“I’m bipolar.”
He didn’t turn around, didn’t have the courage to look at her face and risk seeing disgust or disappointment. God knows she was such an easy read; he didn’t know how she survived in L.A. Her chair scraped back and he stiffened, an odd hollowness taking hold in his chest. Despair. He recognized the feeling from his dark days.
For decades, Nate had medicated that feeling, quelling his extreme moods with pills and booze, but things had grown progressively worse, until his infamous manic meltdown. That had been followed closely by a nearly catatonic state of depression, culminating in a stay in a psych unit.
People had assumed it was an overdose on the drugs and alcohol that led him to do a million dollars worth of damage to a sound studio, and break nearly every bone in his left hand in the process. His aching, scarred hand was a daily painful reminder of how bad things could get if he let them. With the hospital admission came a diagnosis for his sudden, alternating bouts of fury, manic productivity, and black depression: bipolar disorder.
For someone used to a life of calm solitude, the strength of his feelings the last few days was shocking—like being hit with a bucket of freezing water.
He couldn’t even begin to explore his feelings toward Ava. Logically, he knew there was no future here. At twenty-nine, she was a decade and several lifetimes of experience too young for him. And she was far, far too L.A. She was relaxed here but given how she’d described her work, she lived a successful and frenetic life down there. She’d rattled off a list of clients and events she organized that even he had heard of. He was pretty sure he’d donated to some at Asher’s urging a few years ago. No. There was no future with her. He couldn’t return to L.A. Not if he valued his sanity.
Too bad his heart was completely and utterly irrational.
The feel of her arms around him, her cheek resting on his mid-back was so shocking jumped.
Slowly he turned, still holding the spatula. She gave him a level look. “I figured it was something like that.”
“You did?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his tone.
“Yeah. You said that first day we met that you self-medicated. I’ve only ever heard people who have depression or bipolar disorder use that phrasing.”
“You know bipolar people?” His heart was racing, but her eyes were calm, accepting.
“I know a lot of people, Nate. I meet thousands in my line of work, and yes, I have friends who have major depressive disorder, bipolar disorder, anxiety issues.” She shrugged. “My father struggled with depression. I’ve certainly seen friends on the losing end who have trouble staying on the meds. I’m familiar with the illness. And I’m not judging you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
It was all he could do not to sag against her.
“Nate?”
“Yeah,” he said from where his cheek rested on top of her head.
“I think you’ve burned this batch.”
He turned to see smoke pouring from the griddle. He flipped them off into the trash and went to pour another cup of coffee, grinning like a madman.
Chapter Four
Ava awoke smiling and stretched next to a sleeping Nate. He gave off so much heat; she didn’t need more than a sheet for cover despite the early morning chill in the old house.
On Monday, Marty, the mechanic, had told her it would take two days to repair her car. She’d texted her assistant, Lucy, to let her know that she’d taken a rare and impromptu vacation and to hold down the fort as best she could.
But now it was Sunday. Her smile vanished. The mechanic had been finished with her car for most of the week she was sure. He was probably wondering why she hadn’t picked it up. She could only imagine how many emails and texts were waiting for her. For all she knew her voicemail box was full. Her stay here was irresponsible and completely unfair to Lucy.
It had also been the best week of her life. She’d had more fun pitching in and helping feed and help care for the animals on the farm than she would have believed possible.
She and Nate had been to town early in the week to get her some essentials. They’d taken long walks, he’d even gotten her up on the back of one of his horses—a first for her. She’d been terrified, but the mare was a gentle ancient plodder and she discovered she loved being up on the horse, her body moving naturally with the motion of the animal. They’d ridden the all terrain vehicle around the perimeter of his property. He’d been so proud showing her the fruits of his labors. Initially, she’d thought it sad, perverse even, that he’d given up music, his life in L.A. She’d seen his move to the farm as escapist.
After a week she had a much better understand of him as a man, a person committed to the land and the environment. She understood what he was trying to accomplish with the CSA, the restoration of the estuary and ecosystem and she admired his ability to leave his damaged life and start anew. They’d talked about every topic under the sun—except her departure.
Ava wouldn’t torture herself pretending this could continue long distance. Her life barely allowed time for a relationship, let alone one with a man who lived five hours north and off the grid. And despite her reassurances when Nate had admitted his illness, his bipolar disorder did give her pause. His was no mild form of manic depression, not if his history was anything to go by.
Ava had seen the way bipolarity could suddenly and drastically change a person’s whole life, their entire personality even. Her college roommate Bella, had gone off her medications for bipolar disorder their senior year. It had been shocking and horrible to witness her considerate, serious-minded friend throw herself into the party scene with a vengeance. Her parents finally pulled her out of school a few months before graduation and she’d been hospitalized with “exhaustion,” but word had gotten around that it was actually bipolar disorder a few months later. They’d lost touch over time, but Ava found out via Facebook a few years ago that her former friend had eventually committed suicide.
Nate managed his illness well, here on the farm. But he’d shared enough of his history for her to know that returning to L.A. was out of the question.
That night, after they made love, as they were drifting off to sleep, still tangled in each other, Ava whispered “tomorrow” into the darkness. Nate stilled against her, but she was too tired and too chicken to talk. She wanted one more night in his arms to remember.
• • •
Ava put on the work boots Nate had bought her in town and shrug
ged into his fleece jacket for a final walk around. He joined her on the porch, looking every minute of his forty years. They’d been up half the night. He’d woken her once, and she’d returned the favor. Then they’d lain silently, not sleeping, holding each other until dawn.
She reached for him and he walked with her, hand in hand as they visited the barn.
“Down there is where they’ll be having the Valentine’s dinner next weekend,” he said, pointing to the field behind the wooden structure.
“And where you can show off all the amazing things you’ve done with the slough.”
“Not just me,” he protested. “My team of non-native plant removal specialists.”
Ava laughed. “I’m going to miss these sweet specialists,” she said, stroking Margie the goat who had approached the fence hoping for food.
They strolled down to the water’s edge and Nate pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist. Ava sighed and leaned back against his strong chest, watching the white pelicans paddle lazily. She turned in his embrace, and his kiss was so gentle tears sprang into her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his chest and clutched him to her.
He bent his head. “Stay,” he whispered.
“I can’t,” she whispered back, silent tears soaking into his soft flannel shirt. She couldn’t stay here, on a farm, off the beaten path. This had been a wonderful interlude, a daydream, but reality beckoned. Her life and work were four hundred miles and a world away from this place. There were people relying on her, good, charitable organizations that depended on her to raise the money that funded portions of their programs in this era of cutbacks and diminishing budgets.
They needed her, and what did Ava need?
Well, her needs didn’t really seem all that important in comparison.
Chapter Five
When the phone rang late Friday afternoon, Ava was sitting on her sofa with her laptop, exhausted from a week of playing catch-up. She scowled at the phone when she recognized the number.
“Did you find him?” Asher asked, without preliminaries.