Nature Of Desire: Worth The Wait Part 11

Des broke the water's surface a few feet away and started back to sh.o.r.e, his expression cheerful as he saw the boy navigating the craft in the same direction. Man and s.h.i.+p arrived at almost the same time.

As he trudged out of the water, he slicked his hair back, an effect that sharpened the planes of his face and made even more of his deep set eyes and moist lips. She'd been right about that plastering effect. Thank goodness the shorts were a dark fabric, else others at a greater distance would be enjoying the well-defined view she was getting.

"Hey, you said this isn't a date situation," he teased her. "No ogling. And no comments about cold water."

"A fine, male form is worth ogling, whether it belongs to a friend or more than a friend," she informed him. "I suppose you don't look at female strangers with nice racks."

"Of course not. That would be treating them like s.e.x objects, and-" Whatever else he was about to say was m.u.f.fled as she tossed his T-s.h.i.+rt over his face. He removed it, eyes twinkling, and used it to dry off before putting his feet back in his jeans and working them back up his still damp thighs.

She chuckled as he grimaced but managed it with an intriguing flexing of muscles. "It's like taking off one of those Chinese finger puzzles, in reverse," he complained.

"Hmm." She'd automatically put out a hand to balance him, but as he straightened, her touch drifted across his chest, over the short hairs glittering with water droplets. From there, she slid her fingertips up to his throat and along the strands of wet hair on his head. His eyes stilled at her caress and she almost drew her hand back, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. He tilted his head to brush his jaw along her wrist, but lifted a brow at her bemused expression. "What?"

"I like this look. Very...Tarzan."

"You can see all of it in the shower. If you agree that friends help friends scrub noxious water off one another."

She dimpled, but uncertainty nixed her overwhelming desire to agree. She stepped back. "Ahem. I think someone wants to talk to you."

Des turned. The boy had pulled out the boat and was walking over to them. "That was really cool," he said, sticking out one adolescent hand. "Thanks, man. I'm Lawrence."

"You're welcome, Lawrence." Des shook the outstretched paw. "Tell me about your boat."

The boy launched into an enthusiastic enumeration of the boat's specs that went far over Julie's head, but Des seemed to take it in stride.

"Hey, your rigging snapped here. Let's get that fixed. Do you know how to do a bowline?"

The boy didn't. He brought the boat's stand over so he and Des could prop the vessel up and go over the finer points of rigging knots. In the meantime, Julie noticed Lawrence's father had finally stopped checking his messages and realized his son was talking to a wet stranger.

"Dad, Des got my boat loose," Lawrence said as the man approached with an expression caught between fixed politeness and a scowl.

"Yeah. Thanks. Time to go. I'll pick you up some McD's on the way back to your mother's. Let's go."

As he strode past them with a grudging flicker of acknowledgement to Des and Julie, Julie wished she had a Taser handy. The boy bit his lip, but he saw Julie's look. "It's okay," he told her in a low voice. "He's kind of a jerk. I like Dan, my stepdad, much better. And my mom's really cool. But he's my dad, so..."

"He's your dad." Des shook the boy's hand once more. "You're pretty cool yourself, Lawrence. You take care of yourself."

"I will. Thanks again, man."

Des and Julie watched the kid go, trailing after his father.

"Thank G.o.d for Dan," Julie said hotly. "Else I was about to kidnap that kid and take him home."

"He'd like Betty's horses," Des agreed. He looked at himself and sighed. "Guess this calls it a morning for us, love. I should wash off before I start to glow. I'll drop you back off at the theater. Unless you're interested in that shower offer...?"

"I'm sticking to the friends.h.i.+p idea. Until after opening night," she allowed.

"Really?" He s.h.i.+fted closer. "That's new. What changed?"

"Your heroism impressed me."

"All part of my diabolical plan," he said, but he touched her cheek, his expression serious. "Julie."

She pressed into the contact briefly, then stepped back and took his hand. She liked holding his hand, for practical purposes as much as other reasons. She could somewhat control him touching her elsewhere, because she didn't think clearly when he was doing that.

"Let's keep it as friends, until I know how I feel about what you do with other subs. That just feels right to me. I don't want to talk about it, because we've talked about it enough. This is something I have to figure out from the heart. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah. So does this."

Okay, so maybe she couldn't keep him from touching her whenever, however he wanted. When he bent and put cold, damp lips on hers, she knew she couldn't get close to him without getting wet herself, but after two seconds she didn't care. She curled one set of fingertips over his bare shoulder, the other hooking into the waistband of his jeans and the elastic of the wet boxers. His hipbone pressed against her knuckles.

As he kissed her, the suns.h.i.+ne warmed her body outside as he warmed her inside. He cupped her face, fingers tunneling in her hair below her barrette. He drew it over her shoulder to stroke.

When he lifted his head, she stared into his eyes. What she saw there made her wonder if she wasn't the only one rocked by what happened between the two of them whenever they did that. He kept his tone light, though, as if he knew how easily spooked she could be.

"Until opening night, then," he said.

Chapter Six.

Despite staying insanely busy for the next few days and avoiding Des the couple times he came to the theater to go over his scene with Harris, it preyed on her mind. She wasn't going to be able to wait until opening night to resolve it. Or maybe she just wanted to get the letdown over sooner rather than later.

When he tied up another submissive, touched her, and became aroused by her responses the way he had with Julie, she wouldn't be able to handle that. No matter what she'd rationalized, she knew it was far different from watching two actors kiss during a play.

She really wasn't amused by the term rope bunny anymore.

Despite Billie Dee-Lite's taunt about that "branding," she couldn't trust herself to believe Des's possessiveness that day was anything more than his natural protectiveness and pride in the integrity of his craft. He'd have reacted the same way if another of his submissives was the one who'd been nearly lynched.

And she was so certain of that because of the d.a.m.ned intuition that Madison had praised. Des was funny, kind and s.e.xy, and made her feel wonderful. But there was a wall inside him. A wall that suggested his only interest was exploring her submission and enjoying some friendly pleasure together.

She wasn't wired that way. She wished to G.o.d she was, because it was obvious Des was more than capable of giving a girl a great time. But if she was going to have s.e.x without love, she'd have it with her vibrator, not with a living human being who could f.u.c.k with her head in the worst ways.

She wasn't going to make it awkward for him. She'd summon up the courage and figure out a way to confirm her suspicions without sounding like she was asking for more than he wanted to give. Then she could walk away with her dignity intact. Sure. Piece of cake.

She should do it by phone, because it was impossible when she was with him. But each time she picked up the phone, she'd remember him standing behind her at the Conservatory, his breath on her throat. Or him bringing her to o.r.g.a.s.m on the stage, his gaze riveted upon her. The aftercare he'd done, wrapping a blanket and himself around her, holding her, calling her love. Him swimming in a polluted pond to rescue a boy's boat, his pleased expression when he saw the boat free and the boy's relief. His hair slicked back on his head and body s.h.i.+vering slightly in the cool air.

"You do not seem like the Taylor Swift type to me."

"Hmm? What?" She broke out of her absorption to see Harris studying her with a peculiar look on his face.

"You're humming 'Today Was A Fairytale.'" Light dawned in his expression. "You're thinking about Des, aren't you? Spiderman. His subs always seem to get that starry-eyed look when they have sessions planned with him."

What a perfect way to underscore a point, like a dull edged knife sawing through her middle. "Des and I aren't like that," she said with forced casualness. "He showed me some rope stuff once, so I'd understand it better here. I'm just happy we're on schedule and things are unfolding so well for the performance."

Harris gave her a dubious look but moved off the topic and back to the dry tech run they had coming up tonight, when their student stage hands finished their cla.s.ses for the day.

She had no one to blame but herself for his or anyone else's doubts, including her own. But that was the final straw. She'd visit Des at his work. He couldn't do anything to overwhelm her defenses at work, right?

It was time to get to the bottom of this in whatever convoluted, awkward way was needed. G.o.d help her, and poor Des. He'd be glad she was walking away. The thought only made things worse, but also confirmed what she kept telling herself. Her heart could refuse to listen, but her brain knew the truth.

She needed to abstain from romantic relations.h.i.+ps of any kind. Period. Otherwise this hamster wheel of redundant emotion would drive her to insanity.

Julie pulled up to the job site. Harris had fortunately known where Des was working today so she hadn't had to alert him with a text. While she told herself she wasn't going to lose her resolve, now that she was here, faced with the actual task of having the discussion, it seemed more daunting. And ludicrous. She'd had an overreaction fueled by too much thinking and her dysfunctional and overly dramatic personality.

Being confronted with an army of men working on the new construction site didn't help. Their pickups and vans cl.u.s.tered around the house like a drive-in movie. Hammering, sawing, power tools and men's voices created a drone like bees around a hive.

She noticed a half dozen children of varying ages gathered on the sidewalk, watching. Two straddled bicycles, one held a skateboard and another was on roller skates. The remaining two were on foot. The myriad transportation options available to the young. She idly imagined skateboarding to work if she eventually found a small place near the theater.

Which she would do if she was planning on a long term stay in Matthews, which she wasn't. The thought wouldn't have occurred to her, if not for a couple over-the-top experiences with a skinny, young roofer who didn't seem that skinny or young when his strong arms were holding her, or he had her captured in his ropes.

Which was exactly why she was here and needed to go through with this, even if she had to have the discussion in front of a battalion of wide-eyed grade schoolers and sweaty men in tool belts.

She'd parked near the kids. Since she had the windows down, she heard several of them call out. "Do the Slinky. Slinky!"

As she glanced back at the house, she discovered the roofing crew coming down the ladders. They must be taking a scheduled break. She took it as a sign, one that made her feel better and worse about the chances for her private conversation that couldn't wait.

She looked to see if Des was one of the men coming down and didn't locate him. Then she lifted her gaze to the roof and did.

He was by himself, standing straight and tall as if he wasn't on a steep incline that looked miles above the ground. When he raised a hand to acknowledge the kids, they whooped in response.

His hair was tied back under a bill cap, and he wore a gray T-s.h.i.+rt with some kind of logo on it over his jeans. Standing on one leg and then the other, demonstrating the balance of a flamingo, he removed his work shoes and socks. Putting the socks in the shoes, he tossed them off the roof, letting them thud to the ground.

"What is he..." She'd left the car and was a few feet from the knot of children. None of them noticed her, their eyes all on Des. A blink later, she understood why. Her heart jumped into her throat.

Up on the spine of the roof, he levered himself into a nimble handstand, his back to his audience. He held the pose for several beats, then slowly let his feet come over his head, down toward the roof's slope. It seemed like an impossible angle for anyone's spine, but then everything speeded up. His feet came down to complete the full backbend, and he used the propulsion to catapult him swiftly to his feet and forward into another handstand, but this time he didn't pause. Julie bit back a cry.

As he kept going, building speed, he did look like a Slinky going down a set of stairs. Three times, and he was at the edge of the roof. He somehow slowed his forward progress enough to hold himself up in a handstand again. He twisted around and his body swung toward the house like a trapeze artist, his toes finding purchase against the siding. He hung there for a second, then pumped his feet out and he let go, dropping two stories to the ground, light as a cat. As the kids cheered, he did a standing somersault and took a bow in their direction.

Julie noticed some of the other contractors chuckling and waving at him, that gesture that communicated yeah, you're a crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d. This was apparently all routine. Since the kids had called for "the Slinky", she guessed it was.

As the children moved off, the show over, she saw Des's attention s.h.i.+ft and find her. His brown eyes lit with pleasure, which made her want to ignore all the warning signs of a crushed heart. That was why they called it a crush, right? Because the heart could be frozen, pulverized and served up like a snow cone.

He put his shoes and socks back on, and said something to a couple of the guys. A few wolf whistles followed him across the street, which he answered with a quick flipped bird and a comment she didn't catch but they did, laughing him off. She heard them using the same name for him the kids had.

"Slinky?" she said as he approached with that relaxed, sinuous walk he had.

"Yeah, it kind of stuck. I actually thought about it as a scene name, the Kinky Slinky, but it was too campy. And I'm not really into scene names. I like just Des."

"Good decision. What else did they say?" She nodded toward the men.

"The usual. Tell her when she wants a real man, they'll be here waiting. And that you're way too hot for me, which that part is true."

She flushed, even as she felt silly for the unsophisticated reaction. "What did you say back?"

"To the real man thing? That you didn't have any use for a guy choking on his own broken teeth. What are you doing here? Just couldn't wait one more day to see me covered in work filth?"

"Oh, you're nothing next to the homeless guy behind the theater. He hasn't bathed since Y2K."

"I'm surprised you could keep your hands off him." He smiled, but his brown eyes were suddenly far more focused on her. "I'm going to get you dirty, so you'll just have to deal. You've been avoiding me, and you're the best looking thing I've seen all day."

"Um...since you're working with a bunch of equally grungy men, I think I'm insulted."

"Come here." Ignoring that, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her to him with that effortless overwhelming strength that didn't give her breath for refusal before he was kissing her. Yes, he was dirty, but beneath it, he was Des. She pressed her body against him, reveling in his hands pus.h.i.+ng into her hair, taking control, possessing her from head to toe.

When he lifted his head, she blinked and blurted it out. Desperately. "I can't do this anymore."

He drew back and studied her expression. "Do what?"

"Let you overwhelm me with the Dom thing and the rope thing and these kinds of kisses that only happen in The Princess Bride. And how old are you anyway? For real? You won't even tell me that, because this doesn't mean anything to you."

As his brow furrowed, she bit her lip and revised. "I didn't mean it to sound like that. Of course it means something to you. It's your art, like a religion, and I'm like a canvas or an altar. I should be grateful for any moment I get like that, because how many women get the chance to be wors.h.i.+pped? To totally be the center of a man's attention to that depth and intensity, ever. It's an incredible gift, like going on a once in a lifetime trip or doing something on your bucket list."

She shook her head fiercely, denying herself. "But I don't want the once in a lifetime trip. I want the whole lifetime. I want eggs for breakfast, or pancakes or cereal. I want those kinds of decisions with someone I love, not jumping out of an airplane or saving baby seals in Alaska, though I don't want seals hurt. What I'm trying to say is that, for me, quiet moments are just as breathtaking as adrenaline s.h.i.+t is to other people."

His lips parted to speak, but she rushed on. "Yet in those intense moments, you invite me into your soul, which is a huge wow factor. But I don't know if you want me to stay. And next week, next performance, next session, it will be someone else, another woman you take to the same level of ecstasy. Some part of me says to ignore it, to ride the same train, refuse to allow it to be more than that, but see, that's where I always f.u.c.k up. I can't settle. I want more, and I'm afraid you're not a 'more.'

"You're a drug masquerading as a 'more,' and I'll get addicted to it. Every man has a shoe drop factor, when you realize they're too good to be true. Your problem is you are too good to be true. I'll be in your soul watching other females go through like a revolving door. I'll wither and die there."

She closed her eyes, stepped back from him. "I'm a private person, a possessive person. When I decide I'm falling in love with someone, I don't want to share the house with anyone else. I'm not that friendly. Yet everything you're doing to me, it's so incredible, and so I wonder if I'm letting the decisions I've arrived at after so much careful thought derail the chance for something incredible, even if it is temporal. I'm not strong enough to handle my heart getting crushed, Des. I'm not. And everything about you says you're capable of crus.h.i.+ng my heart. You're too much, too amazing, too...beyond anything I ever expected to be able to call mine, so I know it can't be right or real..."

She took a breath. "And all of this is why I shouldn't be doing a relations.h.i.+p with anyone, let alone you."

She'd finally run out of words before those fathomless brown eyes. This was the part where he could tell insane, babbling woman it was okay, they could just be friends. And that would be that. Or maybe she'd learn she hadn't done it in time and her heart would be crushed anyway.

"Thirty-five," he said. "Thirty-six in three months. That's how old I am."

She stared at him. He was somehow holding her hand, his thumb rubbing her palm, her rabbiting pulse. "No way," she said. "You're in your twenties."

"Thought you were getting a much younger man, did you?" His lips curved but there was no humor in his eyes. Her words had made an impact and she realized his touch was as much firm hold as caress. "I've always looked about ten years younger than I actually am. Arrested development. It was a b.i.t.c.h when I was seven. Must be why the kids in the cla.s.s nicknamed me Fetus."

"Great. Like most men don't already have the advantage in aging; you got the extra helping."

"Most gifts like that come with strings attached." He tipped up her chin before she could pursue the faint bitterness she heard in his tone. She was too worked up anyhow. She realized she was shaking and so did he.

"Hey," he said, dropping his hands to run them up and down her arms in a soothing manner. "It's okay."

She shook her head. "I really liked what happened on stage that night. I wanted more of it. But I don't want to become whatever the term is for someone who's strung out on sub experiences. And I don't want to go down a road with someone whose interest in me... It's like the 'everyone is special' argument. If everyone is special, no one really is, according to the literal definition. I want to be special to someone. I want to see a look in their eyes that says I'm the person that makes their day better. I'm the one who lights up the room for them, even if it's just a sixty watt bulb. Actually, I prefer it that way. I don't want to be this grand explosion of light and pa.s.sion that happens for one rope session or for a short, unforgettable relations.h.i.+p."

She curled her fingers in his s.h.i.+rt. "I want to be the person who will always keep the porch light on for the other person, and he knows that, he can count on it. I'll put a night light in the bedroom so he can find his way to me without stumbling in the dark."

She didn't want to blind her soulmate. She just wanted him to know he'd always be able to find her heart, because the light they shared would be soft, steady and strong, like love itself. And why was she telling this to Des, when she knew he wasn't willing to go that far with her? Was she using him like some kind of bizarre confessor?