Page 128 of Resist

There’s the word I’ve been trying to deny.

The word I swore I’d never feel for anybody other than Lucy and Samantha.

But there it is. In my head. In my heart. And I feel it—whatever it is—when I look at him. It’s scary and thrilling, and I have no clue if I’m even ready to feel it, but I don’t think it cares. I think love is love, and it comes without warning and strikes without caution.

“Thank you for coming this weekend,” he says as he refills my glass with wine.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

I love him.

“Definitely a good first day.”

“A walk on the beach, some being lazy in the pool—”

“Did I mention I was a huge fan of that bikini you were wearing?”

“Only a dozen times or so.” I laugh.

“Just wanted to make sure you knew that it’s perfectly fine with me if you wear it again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Come here,” he says, and I shift beside him so that he can put his arm around me with the fire in front of us and the waves crashing on the beach in the darkness beyond.

This feels right. It feels normal. And as much as I can accept it, it also scares the shit out of me.

The thought owns my mind. With each crash of the waves on the beach. With each crackle of the logs on the fire. So much so that I finally ask the question that’s been ghosting in the back of my mind all day.

“Ryker?”

“Hmm?” The heat of his breath hits the crown of my head when he murmurs it.

“What are we doing here?”

“Enjoying the nice night. The warm fire.”

“No, I mean . . . what are we doing here? You and I?”

His body tenses momentarily, and I suddenly fear that maybe I’m bringing up something he hasn’t really thought about. Maybe I’m broaching a topic that is no-go territory for him.

“Why are you asking?”

I fumble for any reason other than the truth. For any reason besides because I want to know. I clear my throat. “We’re bound to run into people this weekend, and you said yourself that you have a certain reputation to uphold with your job . . . I just didn’t want to mess that up for you. I thought maybe you wanted me to have a specific term, or I don’t know . . .”

The thumb brushing back and forth on my arm falters momentarily. “The answer is it’s none of their goddamn business.”

“Oh. Okay.” Silence falls again as I decide to let my question die. But I can’t. This is all too new to me, too unsettling, too damn perfect. “And what if I were the one asking the question?”

His lips are near my ear. “Then I’d have to give you a better answer, now wouldn’t I?”

Jesus. The things the quiet rumble of that voice does to me inside and out. The sudden goose bumps that chase over my skin have nothing to do with the chill in the air.

And completely sidetrack me from my thoughts.

Until he brings them back.

He presses a kiss to my bare shoulder but leaves his lips there so that I can feel them move when he speaks. “Nothing about us has been conventional, Vaughn. Not how we met, not how I pursued you, not even now. We’re not people who can be defined by one single term. Not alone and not together. Trust is hard for both of us, but we’re trying, so I say we just let whatever this is play out between us. I’m not sleeping with other women, and you’re not sleeping with other men, and as long as we acknowledge that, let’s just enjoy the now—this weekend—and take everything day by day.”