Perfect Strangers

I sob, overcome with sensation, oblivious to anything but his voice and the convulsions wracking my body, knowing in a hidden dark corner of my brain that we’ve each unleashed something in the other. Something long suppressed or forgotten, some unnameable, powerful force that only time will reveal to be good or bad.

This casual summer fling has the potential to burn the whole city down and leave a path of smoking ruins in its wake.

Then it’s over, and he’s kissing me.

And I’m a crying, shaking mess in his lap.

“Hush. Sweetheart, you’re okay. It’s okay. Here, put your arms around me.”

His words are so gentle now. So tender. The contrast shreds me up even more. He gathers me into his arms, cradles me against his chest, and starts to rock me, smoothing his hands over my hair and down my back.

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know why I’m c-crying.” I hiccup, sniffling, my face buried in his neck.

He says warmly, “Because I’m a sex god. Obviously.”

I start to laugh through my tears. “I could’ve been faking it, you egomaniac.”

He tips my head up with a finger under my chin and looks deep into my eyes. Smoothing a thumb over my wet cheek, he murmurs, “Except you weren’t faking it, sweetheart.”

The way he keeps calling me sweetheart is screwing with my mind.

Or is it my heart?

“Talk to me,” he says, brushing his lips over mine. “You’re all up in your head. How do you feel?”

“I feel…” Scared. Confused. Satisfied. Thirsty. Worn out. And I need to pee. “Um…I feel good.”

James surprises me by throwing back his head and laughing.

“What?” I ask, a little defensive.

“I think the only time you’re unflinchingly honest with me is when I’ve got my hand between your legs is what. You want to try that again?”

I grouse, “Stop grinning at me like that. It’s not exactly easy for me to talk about my feelings.”

His smile dies. With the speed of two fingers snapping, he grows somber, staring at me with a furrow dug between his brows. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

I stare at him, helpless against his devastating combination of sweet sensitivity and raw masculinity. How is this perfect man single?

I drop my head against his chest and sigh. “Okay, here goes. For starters, I feel—physically—amazing. I mean, wow, James. You’ve reduced me to a smoking pile of ashes. That was incredibly intense.”

When I pause, he says quietly, “I’m glad. Thank you for trusting me. It means a lot to me. You have no idea how special that is, and how much of a turn on it is for me to watch you fall apart under my hands.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Someone’s feeding you lines through an earpiece, aren’t they? You’ve got a team of script writers on call 24/7, and right now they’re frantically scribbling the most outrageously romantic things they can think of and whispering them into your ear. Right?”

“Oh yes,” he says seriously. “It costs a pretty penny, mind you, but it’s totally worth it.”

When I peek up at his face, he’s biting his full lower lip and trying hard not to smile.

He’s so handsome it hurts.

In the dim of the apartment, with only the moonglow and the city lights shining through the windows to light his face, he looks like something from a dream. Part myth and part man, a visiting angel sent in all his dark beauty to dazzle me with his charms.

The swell of emotion I felt earlier returns and begins to expand inside my chest. My heartbeat picks up a notch. I have the strangest sensation of weightlessness, as if gravity has vanished and I’m floating in outer space with nothing holding me down to the ground.

His gaze locks onto mine, and those blue, blue eyes of his…they do what they do best.

Burn.

“Tell me the rest,” he demands in a rough tone, all teasing gone. “Tell me what you’re feeling right this second.”

My lips part. The words are whispered as I gaze into the endless depths of his eyes. “Every single thing I thought I’d never feel again.”

His face contorts. He looks as if I’ve just stabbed him in the gut.

When he looks away, drawing a deep breath, I go cold with horror. What the hell have I done?

“It’s my turn to apologize,” I say stiffly, trying to sit up. “That was over the top. We’re not supposed to be getting person—”

“Stop.”

He grabs my arms and holds me in place so I can’t stand. We sit in silence for a moment as I listen to his irregular breathing and watch the erratic rise and fall of his chest. Then he swallows and slowly exhales, and I catch a glimpse of how hard he’s trying to hold himself together.

“What we just did is about as personal as it gets, regardless of whether or not we exchange histories.” A muscle flexes in his jaw. His voice turns gravelly. “I love that you said that. It was just...unexpected.” His eyes close. “This whole thing is unexpected. I’m afraid I’m not handling it very well.”

I’m drenched in shame. Burning with it. All my skin is peeling off, eaten away by the acid of humiliation.

I took something insanely sexy and fun and turned it into melodrama, and for that I’d like to punch myself in the face.

“I guess I’m not either,” I say, my voice tight. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

He swings his head around and stares at me with that same gut-stabbed look. “No, it’s not a bad idea,” he says urgently, pulling me closer to his chest. “Please don’t say that.”

I crinkle my brow, utterly confused. “James, you’re going to have to help me out here. You asked me to be totally honest with you. You asked me to tell you my feelings, and I did. Then you freaked out. Then I freaked out because you freaked out. And now…” I huff in frustration. “I honestly don’t know what’s happening now.”

He rests his cheek against my forehead and quietly sighs, gathering me close against his body and tucking my head into the crook of his neck. “What’s happening is that I’m a fucking idiot.”

When it becomes obvious that’s the only explanation I’ll get, I say drily, “Oh good. That explains everything, thanks.”

He lifts his head and slants me a heated look. “Someone’s looking for her ass to get spanked.”

I smile sweetly at him. “No, actually I’m looking for a neck brace, because these mood swings of yours are giving me a serious case of whiplash.”

I’m about to add another smart remark along the lines of “Did you forget to take your medication?” when I realize that might be a legitimate question.

He could be medicated. He could be completely unhinged for all I know.

His eyes narrow. “If you’re thinking I’m a serial killer or something, the answer is no.”

I exhale a shaky breath. How the hell can he read my mind?

“I’m just fucked up, Olivia. It’s nothing sinister. You’re not in any danger from me. I’m just very fucked up, and I don’t know how to be normal anymore, and I hope…I mean I want…” He blows out a hard breath, then mutters, “Fuck.”

Watching him look so wretched and hearing how negatively he thinks about himself gives me a one-two combo punch of sadness and maternal instincts right in my solar plexus.

“Hey,” I whisper, taking his face in my hands. His cheeks are hot. The stubble on his jaw tickles my palms. “Fucked up I get, okay? Fucked up I’m good with. Me and fucked up are best friends, if you want to know the truth. So don’t feel bad about that. Please don’t feel bad about anything.

“This is completely unexpected for me, too, but I think you’re amazing. I feel amazing when I’m with you.” I pause for a moment. “Actually I feel hysterical and on the verge of a mental breakdown or a massive heart attack most of the time I’m with you, but in a good way, if that makes sense. You make me feel…”

I have to stop to think of just the right word. It comes to me accompanied by a deep sense of astonishment.

“You make me feel alive.”

In the low light, James’s eyes shine like gems. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Wrapped tightly around me, his arms shake. So does his voice when he says, “Same.”

One word. One syllable. Yet it conveys his true emotions more clearly than if he’d gone on and on.

I imagine a tightrope stretched out in front of me, stretched high and taut over bottomless darkness, stretched so far into the distance I can’t see the end. The air is silent and still but tense with anticipation, like a held breath. The only sound is the thundering roar of my heartbeat in my ears as I gaze in concentration at the slender length of cord awaiting my decision. Waiting to find out if I’ll turn around and climb down from the high platform I’m standing on or step forward and give it the weight of my foot.

If I’m going to stop this thing with James, I should stop now. I should tell him it’s too much, too soon, too dangerous a thing to play with. I should tell him to walk away.

Instead, I ease one bare foot off the platform of safety I’m standing on and step out onto the rope.