If only those words were real, but how could they be? It didn’t matter; I’d take them at face value, because this was the last night we’d have together like this.
I took a shaky breath and tugged on his lapels. “The first time I heard music that no one else had written was that day you caught me, hanging from the cliff. I spent all night capturing it on Othello, the storm, and you, my hero. I’m so sorry about your sister. I know that you’ll never forget her or forgive me, but?—”
He kissed me, cutting off my words with lips against mine that burned with urgency. It’s like he knew that this was the last night we’d have together, and wanted to make it as beautiful as the concert had been. When he pulled away, I was breathless, and he was heavy-lidded, almost as though he really did want me. Perhaps he did. Perhaps he could compartmentalize his feelings that way.
The door opened, and I realized that the car had stopped. A man in a baseball cap handed Dirk a shopping bag, the cheap plastic kind, and then Dirk handed it to me. “Pull it over your head, and I’ll unfasten your dress.”
I pulled an extra-extra-large pink sweatshirt out of the bag, the logo from a community college, like pink wasn’t a bad thing for some boys. I pulled it over my head, while Dirk unzipped my dress, letting it slide down my body while the sweatshirt covered me, so he never saw an inch of skin. Didn’t he want to see myskin? I had very good skin, slightly worse after my accident and all the bruising, as well as how much chocolate I’d been eating, but still, not terrible. No, he was being a gentleman because he was wearing his tuxedo. I kicked off the dress once my arms were in the sleeves and pushed his jacket off his shoulders then started on his bowtie and buttons while he held very still.
“What are you doing?” he asked, stilling my hands while I knelt on the seat, the sweatshirt nearly covering my knees.
I pressed my lips together. I’d never really told anyone this story, but I needed to tell Dirk something real. “My cousin Philippe drowned me when I was eleven because I wouldn’t kiss him. He gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, so I woke up like that, and afterwards I was sure I’d never want to kiss anyone else ever again. And then on top of that building, you kissed me to help me defeat my fear. You transformed kissing from something terrifying and revolting to something that saved, something that defeated fear and replaced it with happiness instead.” I swallowed hard with the way he was looking at me, face a mask of emotionless perfection. He wasn’t the languid socialite anymore, and he wasn’t the rough, blunt fighter, either. He was looking at me with all of his attention, listening to every word and analyzing it with the full faculties of his serum-enhanced being. And I was talking about the person who had killed his sister. There was rage beneath the polished veneer.
I studied his chest, the skin between the two white panels of his silk shirt. His skin was much better than silk. He must hate me so much.
I shouldn’t say this, but when would I see him again? I had to want something, to admit what I wanted even if I couldn’t have it. Him. I cleared my throat, feeling very small. “I don’t know how much you knew about my ex-fiance, but I learned how to seduce him with leather and bondage equipment before I’d ever done anything with a man more than kiss you. It felt likesomeone else, like I stepped away and let my training take over while I played music in another room with Straw. Intimacy?” I shook my head. I couldn’t keep talking about this, or I’d start crying, and I wouldn’t be able to stop. Ever. And it wouldn’t be tidy tears rolling down my face, but messy gut-wrenching vomiting pain that wracked me to the bone. “I want you to fix intimacy for me like you fixed kissing.” There. I’d said it, and I hadn’t started crying. I kept staring at his chest, unable to look up, to see his reaction to my most idiotic and desperate wish.
He released my hands and gently touched my chin, tilting it up until his eyes met mine. Soft eyes. Compassion mingling with anguish. He cared about me, or he put on the best show I’d ever seen. My heart beat faster and butterflies flew around my stomach as he said, “Daniela, I want nothing more than to help you recover from the trauma you received at the hands of those who should have been your protectors. Intimacy isn’t something I’m terribly good at, not when I’ve spent a long time, even before my sister died, keeping people at arm’s length, but I will try. I will give you the care and tenderness that you need.”
Yes?! That was a yes. Right? I hesitantly started to pull up the oversize sweatshirt, but he grabbed me, rolling me so that he was on top of me, gazing down at me with burning intensity that set all of me on fire.
His voice was a low growl while his eyes burned. “You asked for intimacy. Too much skin will unravel all of my self-control, and I promised you tenderness.”
I blinked up at him, frowning. “Intimacy means sex.”
“It means more than sex. It means that you feel treasured and adored with every touch, that you feel safe and comfortable with me on every level, physically as well as emotionally.”
I bit my bottom lip while tears rose in my eyes and panic fluttered in my chest. But we didn’t have time for that kindof therapy. I wanted one night of perfection before everything ended. “I meant sex, not therapy.”
“But this is a therapy marriage.” His lips twitched, like he was laughing at me.
I glowered up at him, helplessly pinned beneath his weight unless I found some super strength somewhere inside my hurt pride. No, that came out to save, and not my pride. “You could at least pretend that you want me.”
He broke into a full grin, a sexy, fabulous grin while his weight settled on me as he shifted slightly, so I fit into all his planes and angles. “I really can’t pretend that I want you, Daniela. It is absolutely impossible for me to pretend something that true. Of course I want you. Everyone who’s watched Dani Divine perform wants you, and I’ve also seen your tears, and gotten dumped out in the desert by you. Those things only make me want you more.”
“But your sister?—”
His frown was stern as he cut me off. “You aren’t my sister, and you aren’t the one who hurt her. You are the one I need to save like I couldn’t save her. That’s why I’ll always catch you when you fall, and why I’ll never take advantage of your weakness or desperation.”
I frowned up at him. Was this him saying that he wouldn’t sleep with me because he knew how messed up I was, and having one last big fling would only mess me up worse, or was he lying about wanting me? If only my super power was lie detecting. That would be useful.
“You don’t believe me,” he said, studying me. “But you will.” He shifted, pulling me so I was spooned against him, supporting my arm while he enveloped me, tucking my feet between his calves, warming them up.
The rest of the ride home was cuddling with Chinese, cuddling with Scooby Doo on the flight, and then at home, cuddling on the couch after he put his large socks on my feet.
He murmured against my neck, “Your feet are so hard to get warm. I could probably come up with some genius tech to take care of that.”
“It’s called a water bottle.”
He pulled me closer, nuzzling my hair. “Such an old-fashioned idea. Hot water for heating? Archaic. I love it. I’m tired, you’re tired, should we go to bed or just stay up watching cartoons all night?”
I sat up, turning to study him. “Bed?”
He smiled and kissed me. “I know, it does sound shocking, sleeping in a bed together, but you asked for intimacy.”
“My mistake.” I pouted at him. Had I ever pouted before in my life? I wanted to get my way, but he’d refused me. I should accept it with cold indifference, but I didn’t want to pretend I didn’t care. Pouting felt dangerous, childish, but he made it safe to show my vulnerabilities.
“Oh, come on, Princess Pink, would you pass on the opportunity to find out if your husband snores?”
