Strong Enough

“What? Why not?”

The waiter appeared with our drinks, and asked if we were ready to order. Once he’d left us alone, I asked again. “Why don’t you want to see the house?”

“Because what’s the use? I can’t buy it. My dad was right—I don’t have the time for a project like that. I probably never will.” He picked up his wine and drank.

“You asked your dad about it?”

“Yeah. It didn’t go well. He wants me to take on more work, not less. I’ll get more money too.”

“But what about all the things you told me about creativity and risk and passion?”

He shrugged. “It was just an idea, and not a very practical one. There are other things I want more. And you know what?” He drank again and set down his glass before leaning toward me. “Let’s not talk about that stuff. We’re here to have fun, and I don’t want to think about anything beyond that. All that matters is now.”

But I don’t want to be just fun to you. I want to matter. I want to mean something. I want to talk about where we c

an go, what we can be.

I want you to let me in.

I was beginning to worry it wasn’t going to happen.

Thirty-One

DEREK

Denial was a game I played well.

The field was familiar, I had all the strategies memorized, and the uniform fit like a glove. I’d worn it practically my entire life. Don’t want to feel something? Refuse to feel it. Don’t like the thoughts in your head? Reject them. Don’t like the person you really are? Pretend he doesn’t exist. You’re only lying to yourself—and what does that matter? Thanks to years of practice, I was an expert at keeping the outside neat and tidy, even if the inside was a fucking wreck. Especially if the inside was a fucking wreck.

And it was.

I kept waiting to be sated, to feel as if I’d had my fill of him, so I could walk away from this experiment and get on with my real life. But it didn’t happen.

Every day my feelings for Maxim grew stronger. Every night we spent together brought us closer. Every moment we were apart was spent thinking about the next time we could be together. What was supposed to be a quick, indulgent fuck fling was trying to be something else entirely.

I refused to let it. My limit had been reached. After that night in the shower, I’d folded up my feelings like a sweater and packed them away. Told myself it wasn’t love; it was infatuation. Novelty. The kick of eating forbidden fruit. The rush of being bad. It was just his presence in my house that was making it seem so intense. Once he was gone, I’d be fine.

I’d be fine.

But for our last weekend together, I would be greedy. I wanted him all to myself, no distractions. I wanted more than just a few stolen hours in the dark—I wanted his days and his nights, his full attention, a taste of what it would be like to belong to him, to call him mine. I would gorge on him and on us until I was fully and utterly gratified.

Then I’d be able to let him go.

Like all my plans where Maxim was concerned, the get-my-fill vacation was not working.

“I never want to leave this place.” He looked out at the ocean from where we sat on the restaurant patio Saturday night. “The water, the warmth, the palm trees. It’s paradise.”

Maybe it was, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. His skin burnished from the sun, his hair neatly styled but tousled by the breeze, the white dress shirt cuffed to show off strong wrists and beautiful hands. God, those hands and what they did to me. The way they moved over my body like molten gold, slow and sensuous and fiery hot. They could be gentle or rough, kind or cruel, tender or savage. They could tease and torture, stroke and sheath, bring me to my knees or send me soaring above clouds. I loved and hated their power over me. Last night I’d bound them with a belt, as if rendering them useless would lessen their effect, but somehow the sight of them restrained by the leather strap had only heightened it. Tonight he wore a watch with a leather band, and every time I looked at it, my pulse quickened. But I tried not to look because I hated thinking about time—it was moving too quickly. Every hour that elapsed brought us closer to Monday. Every minute that passed made it more difficult to keep my feelings buried. They were rising toward the surface like tar seeps from the ocean floor, thick and dark and threatening.

“Derek?”

I raised my eyes to his and realized he’d asked me a question I’d been too distracted to answer. “What?”

He smiled, and my pulse quickened. “Don’t you think it’s paradise?”

“Yes.” I picked up my wine glass and took a big drink.

“What was your favorite part?”