Worth The Wait Page 13

  "So how do you deal with it?"

  Her gaze lifted back to his face. She'd been worried he'd zero in on the "alone" part, yet it was the death part that interested him. His expression was neutral, but she wondered how he'd dealt with it through his formative years. Death was a specter that usually grew in size as one aged. As a child, it was a barely understood concept; as a teen, a fly brushed away, inconsequential to their misguided sense of immortality. Yet he'd had to live under its shadow in a way different from a healthy child, teen or adult with typical fears about the ephemeral nature of life.

  "I think about Skye Bartusick and James Garner."

  "Excuse me?"

  She grinned. "It's rare to see a clueless look on your face. It's cute."

  "Annoying woman." He snorted and flicked her fingers, still linked over his bent knee. "Who is Skye Bartusick?"

  "She was in the movie The Patriot with Mel Gibson. She played his youngest daughter, Sara. The actress died at twenty-one, complications related to seizures, or something like that. When I saw a picture of her on the Internet, she still had that sweet little girl's face she had in the movie. It upset me, thinking how panicked she might be, how afraid, when she wasn't expecting death to happen so suddenly. Then I found out that James Garner died on the same day."

  Julie paused as a man walked by with a trio of Australian shepherds. She went to her knees to pet the enthusiastic threesome, and asked the man for their names. When she settled back, she was feeling a little foolish about her complicated answer and was going to drop it, but she saw Des was waiting for her to continue, his expectant look asking for more.

  "James Garner was so reassuring and fatherly in a lot of the roles he played later in his life. I saw the two of them arriving at the gates of Heaven together, this little girl from The Patriot and James Garner, maybe like in his older Maverick reprise role, also with Mel Gibson. Seven degrees of separation, right?" She plucked at a couple blades of grass, wondering if Des was thinking she was nuts, but she was going to finish the story, because he'd asked.

  "When you get to Heaven I think you can be any age you need or want to be, so I could see James deciding to step into that reassuring fatherly role for Skye one more time. He'd hold her hand so she wouldn't be scared. Even if he was looking forward to being young again in Heaven, and knew she had nothing to fear now, he'd want her to feel safe, and nothing does that like holding someone's hand."

  "Hmm." He was looking at her, but his eyes weren't focused, as if he was thinking about her words. So she finished her thought.

  "I thought, if the Powers That Be took them on the same day, there has to be something making sure we're all okay, right? No matter how dumbass a theory it is, it makes me feel better."

  "It's a good theory." He stroked her hair away from her cheek. "I like it. I like you."

  Suddenly nervous, she rose to her feet and offered him her hand. "I like you, too. Want to go walk by the lake?"

  He grasped her hand but used his own strength to pull himself up. He retained his grip on her, though. Holding hands. "Sure."

  "My turn again," she said, seeking to fill in the silence. "Your most embarrassing moment?"

  "Why would you want to know that?"

  "Because I want to know you're not perfect."

  Des laughed. "I've never been called or considered perfect in my entire life." He stopped and put his hands on her face in a caress, but like he was removing glasses.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm removing those rose colored lenses I must have accidentally put on you."

  She gave him an amused look. "You did tell me once if you touched me a certain way I would see an irresistible guy hung like a moose. Maybe the enchantment hasn't worn off yet."

  "Even after I yelled at you about Pablo?"

  "Oh, well see, I'd forgotten that. Enchantment blown. And you still haven't answered the question. Most embarrassing moment."

  He didn't let her pull away, bringing her back to his side. "Just the stereotypical shit. In middle school I was the self-conscious skinny guy. I was always getting called out of class to handle stuff related to my diabetes and other health crap. The weak get targeted; it's the law of nature. A bunch of guys stripped me down in the locker room at PE and shoved me into the girls' area."

  As she winced, he grimaced. "That wasn't nearly as bad as the epileptic seizure I had because of the stress. They all bolted, except this one girl, who called the coach and put one of her books in my mouth so I wouldn't bite through my tongue. She had an epileptic brother. She was also one of the prettiest girls in the ninth grade."

  "Oh, Des."

  He shook her head. "That wasn't the most embarrassing thing. Every time she saw me after that, she was really kind to me. Probably because she knew how her brother had to deal with the same thing, but I was a stupid seventh grader. The other guys would pat me on the head after she talked to me, mocking me, making me feel like she pitied me. One of them told me I was her little pet. When I denied it, he dared me to steal her bra out of the locker room and hang it over the school entrance with her name written on it."

  Julie stopped. "You didn't."

  He gave her a pained look. "I did. I'll never forget her face when she knew it was me. That was the most shameful, embarrassing moment of my life, because I'd repaid her kindness with being a shit, just because I wanted not to feel like a special needs kid. Which is exactly what I was, of course. I'd like to say I've improved since then, but I still don't really like getting a lot of attention over it, as you already know. But at least I've evolved. I don't retaliate with underwear theft."

  "Progress." She linked arms with him. "Did you apologize to her?"

  "I did. She didn't forgive me, understandably, but I've always hoped when she became an adult, she understood better why I did what I did and realized I was just a dumbass kid who didn't know better."

  "Or she morally disintegrated from your unkindness and now grifts old ladies out of their social security. Which she spends on heroin instead of caring for the three kids she's had from all different fathers."

  "Oh, thanks for that. Come here."

  She shrieked and dodged as he made a grab for her, setting off an impromptu chase to the edge of the manmade lake. He caught her there as she tried to feint around him and he took her down to the ground, albeit gently, as if knowing she might still be sore from her Pablo experience. Julie had loaded up on ibuprofen, though, so she wouldn't mind if he was a little rough. Des handed out a far more pleasurable kind of pain.

  Her reaction probably showed when he pinned her wrists. She quieted as his hands closed around them, holding her arms to either side as he bent over her.

  "I like how you get when I hold you like this," he said. "Quiet, like a bird cupped beneath my hands. Waiting."

  Her breath went somewhere else at his intent look. But either he realized they were in a too-public venue for such intimate play, or he recalled they were supposed to keep this casual, because he eased off, though his fingers caressed her wrists.

  "Want a snack?" He pulled out one of the sandwiches from his pack and offered her half. As they chewed in companionable silence, they shared a bottle of water while sitting on the grass shoulder to shoulder. He posed the next question.

  "Worst moment of your life?"

  "It'd be hard to top the one you just described."

  "That was the most embarrassing. Nowhere near the worst. My childhood is one big tragedy." He winked at her. "It's why I'm so warped now. You're avoiding."

  "A little bit. I don't really want to go there. Okay?"

  "All right. But you can tell me sometime, Julie. It'd be okay."

  She met his gaze, and believed him. "What about you? Can you answer the question?"

  He found a napkin in the tote and used it, offering her half. "I don't really think of my life that way. During a bad moment, I think of what's going to happen next, or what good I can get out of the bad, because there's usually something. I just don't think a
bout things being a worst moment."

  "I like that." She ate most of her sandwich, but gave some crusts to the hopeful mallards and sharp-eyed imperious Canadian geese gathering around them.

  "I always imagine them as a biker gang." She looked toward the geese. "Their wings like leather jackets, cigarettes dangling from their bills. I told Thomas that once, and he did a sketch of it for me."

  "Who's Thomas?"

  "One of my two best friends."

  "Ah. The ones whose approval any potential suitors have to have." He had his arm propped behind her so she could lean on it as he ate his sandwich. When he looked toward her, their faces were distractingly close. "I know how women are about their BFFs liking their boyfriends," he said. "Are they very intimidating? Just asking hypothetically, since this isn't a date."

  She stuck her tongue out at him. "They're...well, a picture makes more sense." She called up the photo she had on her phone. It had been snapped at a nightclub where Marcus and Thomas had taken her dancing. When Des glanced at it, his expression became far more speculative, giving her stomach a nice roll.

  "You have two male BFFs?"

  "Yep, that's Marcus and Thomas. They're the gay couple I mentioned earlier."

  "Hmm." Des studied the photo more critically. "What I see is you in a sexy red dress, between two men whose body language makes it clear they think you're amazing. And this one, he's angled in front of both of you, saying he's the alpha and he'll fuck up anyone who messes with either of you."

  "That's Marcus. You're good," she said. "Thomas can do good old boy Southern macho in a heartbeat when he's riled, but otherwise he's the lake. Marcus is the crashing ocean. Thomas's storms come out mostly in his paintings. He's an artist and Marcus represents his work. He's also a gallery owner in New York. They keep a second house in North Carolina, because that's where Thomas's family is. You might get to meet them."

  She studied the picture fondly before tucking her phone back in her pocket. "They're married. To each other, in case your superpowers didn't pick up that they're wearing wedding rings."

  He made a face at her. "It's a small picture."

  "You got all that other stuff off of it."

  "That's body language, easier to translate even in reduced size." He shifted, his side pressing into hers, and bent his head to trail his lips along the tender flesh beneath her ear. Julie drew in a breath at the sensation and was glad she'd pulled her hair up.

  "So explain one thing to me," he said. "Why does Marcus have Dom vibing off of him, and the body language between the three of you suggests they've seen you naked?"

  He caught her off guard. She prized her honest nature, but sometimes she wished she had a poker face, where she could avoid certain subjects without a single ripple on her countenance. Instead, she tripped over her own tongue or hesitated, like she did now, making it obvious there was something to tell.

  She was an adult. She didn't have to say anything. She could say, "I don't want to talk about it."

  Yet he was looking at her in that way he had, and it was like truth serum. It was also making her ridiculously flustered, because his gaze was pinned on her like he was...jealous? No, not jealous. That was a negative emotion she didn't think was a positive in any relationship. But possessiveness came with a kick she felt all the way to her vitals. He wanted to know what his competition was, and he wasn't going to be patient about it.

  "It's not like that," she hedged.

  "You said I was your first Dom/sub experience."

  "Yes and no. Yes, in all the really important ways." She grabbed for her dignity, though it was going to be fleeting. "It's...I want to say it's embarrassing to talk about, and it is, but up until the time I met you, it was one of the most special sex memories I had."

  She looked down at her hands. "Which would normally sound like the 'oh, it was the best sex I ever had until you', ego stroke, but it's not. It's...sad, in a way, and that's the embarrassing part. But..."

  When he put his hand over hers, she saw his expression had softened. "Hey. Sorry. I didn't mean to back you into a corner, love. Not about something that's special to you." He cleared his throat. "Sounds to me like whichever one of them had the privilege was the damn lucky one."

  "Oh, well...thank you." She shifted. "It was both, actually."

  His brows lifted and she would have laughed if she wasn't so nervous. "It wasn't like that. I'm going to do this with my eyes closed and get it over with. No chance you'll let go of my hand so I can bolt?"

  "Not a chance."

  "Figures." Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath so she could get it out in one rush. "For my birthday one year, Marcus orchestrated a scene where Thomas used a vibrator on me and Marcus took control, did the Dom thing. Then they slept in my bed on either side of me. Well, eventually. They were worked up by the situation, which happens when they barely think about one another, let alone orchestrate a birthday sex party. They had sex in my bed while I watched them. After that, they held me through the whole night and made me pancakes for breakfast."

  "The pancakes were included."

  She cracked open an eye, relieved to see he was trying to alleviate her tension with dry humor. His hand was still curled firmly around hers.

  "Absolutely. Their pancakes are to die for. Almost as good as an orgasm. Before you, I might have even said they were better than. You don't look horrified. Or amused in the wrong way, like you're laughing at me."

  "I would never do that." He leaned back on his arms again, their sides still touching. "Was it then you realized you had submissive cravings?"

  "I suspected before then, but that sort of stirred the pot. I can't believe I'm telling you all this."

  "I can. You're a very open person." His expression still held an intriguing, simmering testosterone current, but he'd dialed it back, his tone matter-of-fact. "I can handle your honesty, love. I prefer it. And when honesty moves into nervous babbling because you're worried about losing control or being perceived in a way you think is wrong, which is bullshit, then I know how to deal with that."

  "How is that?"

  "A gag."

  She pushed at him and he caught her hands, grinning. Rising, he helped her up and they continued their stroll along the water. As she did some idle people watching, she came up with a far less emotional question, a transition she thought they might need.

  "Why do you see so many skinny men with larger women? Or large men with petite women?"

  "Maybe petite women make bigger men feel more masculine, and a skinny guy loves the idea of being surrounded by a lot of woman, an earth mother thing. I like those netsukes, how they twist and twine the characters together. It makes me think of all the ways you can manipulate soft flesh with rope. Particularly a woman who's got an hourglass shape, with the right amount of nice curves."

  His gaze slid over her, telling her which woman he was thinking about. "You know," he mused. "I haven't kissed you yet. Not a real kiss."

  She blinked. "That was quite a segue."

  "Only if you weren't paying attention." Then he turned thought into action.

  Drawing her over to a large tree, he put her against the trunk, keeping her there with the press of his body and his hands caressing her jaw, her face.

  She was done insisting this was just a casual date, and not merely because her body was telling her to shut the hell up. She couldn't find words with him so close, his eyes on hers. She'd backpedal later.

  He put his mouth on hers and she swam in that feeling, the heat, his hands gripping her, kneading the sensitive skin at the waistband of her jeans since he'd found his way beneath her shirt. The breeze ruffled against her cheek, and she inhaled him, her arms sliding up his back to hold on. When he lifted his head, she was lying in his arms in a standing position, her head propped on his biceps.

  "You know trust is the foundation of every relationship," she whispered. "You did lie about this being a not-date."

  "I can't think of you just as a friend, Julie."

/>   "Why not?" She moistened her lips.

  "Because I don't want to."

  He wasn't being flippant. His eyes and mouth were serious.

  "Oh. Okay. Good reason."

  He allowed himself a tight smile but eased back, though he kept her inside the frame of his body. Brushing her hair back from her temple, she scrambled for distraction again.

  "Look, a toy sailboat." She pointed to it. It had drifted to the center of the lake and appeared to be caught alongside the turtle platform.

  "I think they prefer to call them models." Des turned to look with her.

  "Pfft. Boys and their toys. An actual one this time." She nodded to a boy standing on the edge of the water. From his working of the controls and his distressed look, it appeared he couldn't untangle the boat from what was holding it to the platform. "It's stuck."

  "It may also be out of signal range," Des mused as they moved down the slope of grass.

  The boy had turned to speak to an adult male sitting under a nearby tree. Surmising it was his father, Julie watched as the boy appealed to him. The man responded with impatience, not taking his eyes off the phone he was scrolling. As they drew closer, she heard what he was saying.

  "I told you that you were going to lose it if you didn't keep it close to shore. There's no swimming in the lake. If it doesn't drift loose before we go, you'll just have to leave it. I told you to be more careful."

  The boy bit his lip and looked back out at the boat. "But Dan gave it to me."

  "Well, it's not Dan's day with you, is it?" The sudden blast of irritation brought the man's head up. "I'm your father. Why'd you bring one of his expensive toys with you? Just to rub my face in it?" The boy flinched.

  "Asshole," Julie muttered. She was already starting forward, not sure what she planned to do, but Des stopped her. Winking at her, he stripped off his shirt and started to unbuckle his belt.

  Her brows lifted. "It was a nice kiss, but I'm not sure it overwhelmed my aversion to public sex and subsequent jail time."

  "I'll have to work on that." Handing her his shirt, he detached the connector between the insulin pump on his belt and the cannula. Putting the pump in his pack, he pulled out a small cap that went on the now open end of the cannula. Then he secured the tube and connector end against his body with a couple pieces of medical tape.