Can't Hold Back (19 page)

She broke the kiss off when he slid his hands under her shirt. “I think it was probably implicit in my promise to Jake that there would be no happy endings in my office.”

He laughed. And then his face got very serious. “How would you feel more generally about a happy ending?”

She was very slowly, very cautiously, allowing herself to believe in what was happening. The care package, his being here—

But she didn’t want to misinterpret him now. Didn’t want to read too much into the kidding around. Like thinking that by “happy ending” he meant
happily ever after.

“Li. I love you. I can’t help it. Because you’re you and I can’t get enough of you. And I missed you so much, and after I read your letter, I realized I’ve been hiding, too.”

“Hiding?” That was the word that popped out of her mouth, which was crazy, because of all the amazing things he’d said, she should have responded to one of the other ones, but all she seemed to be able to do was ask this asinine question.

“You know. Like you said in your letter, that you were hiding behind Becca and then just plain hiding. I was, too. Hiding out. Wrapping myself up in J.J.’s life. Because it felt wrong to be happy. It felt wrong to let myself have you. When—when he—”

“Shh.”

“I don’t cry,” he lied. “Ever.”

“I know.”

“I’m not crying.”

“I know.”

He held her so hard it hurt her ribs, but she didn’t care. At all.

“What are we going to do?” he asked her.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to take you away from this job. If it’s what you want. But I do love you. And I would like to spend a lot more time with you. Like maybe all the time. Like maybe sleep in the same bed with you and wake up in the morning next to you and tell you everything that goes through my mind. Everything that happens.”

She was flummoxed by happiness. Struck dumb. She opened her mouth, tried to gather her thoughts, closed her mouth again. Tried one more time: “But you have to take care of Jim and Suzy and Braden.”

“No. I don’t. That’s what I mean about…about hiding. I wanted to think they needed me because then I would have somewhere to be and something to do and I wouldn’t have to think about what it meant that I was going to have a life and J.J. wasn’t. If I had
his
life—if I took care of the things he was supposed to be taking care of—then that would somehow be okay. But it’s not. It’s not, and I realized, Jim is Braden’s dad. He doesn’t need another dad. A kindly uncle, maybe, but not a dad. And—they’re missing J.J., of course they are, they miss him like fury, but they’re also
complete,
if that makes any sense at all.”

It made perfect sense. “They love you. But they don’t need you.”

“Exactly.”

Because that,
she thought,
is what it means to love unselfishly.

“Well,” she mused. “I was thinking about moving to Seattle and starting my own pain-management practice. It would be a lot of work, and some risk—but I think it’s what I want to do.”

“Give up this job?”

“It all ties together. Did Becca ever tell you what it was like for her and me?”

He shook his head.

She told him. A father who had vanished behind a closed door and then from the face of the earth. A mother who had hidden herself behind another closed door—still physically there, but nearly as much a ghost as her husband had been.

Two little girls, one equipped for the world, the other barely getting by.

“There was no payoff for me in needing anyone to love me. There was no payoff for me in
needing
anything. All of me was wrapped up in
being
needed.”

He was an even better listener than Becca was. He listened with his whole body, and when she cried and he wrapped her up, that was the best of all. She stayed there for a long time, letting him hold her.

“I could get used to this,” she said, and he said, “Please do.”

When she’d gotten herself all sorted again, she explained, “Wanting this job so desperately was me being seduced by being needed again. But I realized sometimes it’s the people who don’t know they need who need the most. Like my old patients in Seattle. The rehab center I worked for. They didn’t think they needed what I could do, but that just means I had that much more to offer them.”

He grinned at that. “Twisted logic. I like it.” And then, cocking his head, giving her a wicked smile, he said, “Seattle, huh?”

“Baseball,” she said. “Cow Chip cookies. Winter rain.”

“Fall rain. Spring rain. Summer rain.”

She laughed. “Admit it, you love it.”

“I do. I’m one of those weird Pacific Northwest people who love the rain.”

His lips found hers.

“What about happy endings?” he asked, when they surfaced for air. “Are there happy endings in Seattle?”

“Oh. Lots of those. Multiple times a day, if you want.”

“I
want,
” he said.

She had forgotten a lot of important details in a week and a half. How hot his mouth felt on hers. How expertly he used his tongue. How he often seemed to have more than two hands. That sound, caught halfway between grunt and groan, that he made when she found him under the denim of his jeans.

The dark, covetous look in his eyes. And she had to admit it to herself, she would never not want him to need her like that. Never. She could be a little bit selfish about that.

She looked at her watch. “I have a client in three minutes. But I will meet you in my room in sixty-three and a half minutes.”

How his fingers felt pushing her hair behind her ear, how his expression could change in an instant from ravenous to tender—and back again.

“Deal.”

It was different from every other time with her. He guessed each time would feel this way, something new, a set of revelations.

This was slow and sweet. No playing, no talking, because there were no games and nothing to say. Just two people who felt comfortable enough in each other’s arms to come out from hiding.

There were kisses, blending into more kisses, and he’d missed this so much, kissing her, holding her, her body yielding against his, but strong, too, resistance in all the right places. The kisses softening so there were no distinctions, only mouths and tongues and then just heat and wet and pressure and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so much like he wasn’t a body with parts but a single glowing self. Although—he wasn’t going to get all sappy about it—he was a guy and that never-ending goddamn
demand
that drove him was still alive and well, and after a while of just kissing and touching her tenderly, he’d had about enough of that.

She had, apparently, too, because she’d managed to get one of his thighs between hers and was rubbing herself against it, and the little noises she was making into his mouth got deeper and huskier and more demanding, and he wasn’t sure she had any idea what she was doing with her hands anymore. One of them was pulling his hair and the other was sliding into the waistband of his pants—

She resisted when he tried to put enough distance between them that he could peel her out of her clothes and get himself out of his own, almost tearing his T-shirt in the process. Between each item of clothing, she tugged him back into those deep, sweet kisses, whimpering each time he pulled away from her. He lifted her, set her on the bed, tried not to break the kiss as he flailed at the nightstand for a condom—

This time, she was the one to pull away. Breathless, eyes sleepy, face flushed, lips swollen. The curves of her body laid out before him like the best feast ever.
God,
she was gorgeous.

“I have an IUD. You don’t have to do that. Assuming you’re—”

“Clean.” He’d already torn the packet open, and he looked at the thing with the loathing he always hid in a dutiful, gentlemanly way, and then threw it gleefully across the room and grinned at her. “I’ve never done it without a condom.”

“Me neither.”

He was worried about his staying power, because right now it felt like he’d go off the second he got inside her, or maybe before if he didn’t hurry the hell up.

But as it turned out, that wasn’t a problem. Because once he was inside her all he wanted to do was stay there as long as he possibly could. To be in her, on her, over her, raised up on his arms so he could stare into her eyes, watch them go all cartoon-spirally when he thumbed her nipples and slid a hand down to find her swollen clit, all the while marveling at how hot and tight and sweet she was, how he could go all night like this, the perfect rhythm, long strokes, filling her completely and watching her eyes close in bliss—

Well, he
could
have gone all night, except then she clutched him and lifted her hips suddenly and made an
oh!
sound of surprise, her body clenching around his, her head thrown back, her mouth open, and she was so unrestrained, so unhidden from him, the way she thrashed under him, her face screwed up with it, that he gave up and poured himself into her.

Later, his arm tight around her, she said, “You still didn’t explain about the scarf. I get all the rest of it. But not the scarf.”

As they lay there quietly together, he told her all the stories of the last couple of weeks. What it had been like to see Jim doing his job, the Olympic champion of hardware-store ownership and unexpected fatherhood tinged with tragedy. How Nate had given the kayaking trip back to Jim and Braden, whose trip it always should have been. How he’d gotten the oxy prescription and kept it in his pocket. What Suzy had said to him at the dinner table, about living the life he was meant to live.

About how he had gotten up from the table, his hand in his pocket, and gone to the bathroom. Broken the seal, opened the bottle, dumped the pills into the toilet. Flushed and walked away without looking back.

She just grinned at that, and nodded. Like,
Of course you did. I never had any doubt.

And he told her the other stories, too. The smaller ones he’d wanted to be able to tell her as they happened. Including the customer arguing passionately (and incorrectly) about the male and female hose ends.

She laughed out loud, and
man,
that was what life was about. Making Alia laugh.

Finally, he told her the scarf story. The poor misguided bastard with his horrible scarf choice, and how it had turned out, after all, that the scarf had been an act of love and understanding. And how much Nate had wanted to tell Alia. How much he’d wanted to tell her—

He hesitated. It felt like a lot. Maybe too much.

“No hiding,” she said.

He nodded. “No hiding,” he agreed.

So he told her. How he’d thought about there being another guy someday, that guy and Alia grown old together, and how that guy would be the one to give her the scarf, and how Nate couldn’t stand it because he knew no one would ever do as good a job of knowing her as he could do. As he wanted to do.

“Oh,” she said, the same sort of pleasure and surprise in her voice that had been in it when he’d unexpectedly made her come. “Well. I don’t
want
anyone else to know me like you do.”

“And then it seemed obvious that I needed to send the care package.”

“You mean after you got my letter.”

“No. I sent the care package before I got your letter.”

She wrinkled up her nose, looking adorably confused. “But you said after you read my letter you realized—”

“I realized I was hiding,” he clarified. “I’d already realized I wanted to send the care package.”

“But I hadn’t said! That I wanted you to love me.”

He crossed his arms and gazed at her sternly. “I didn’t feel like I needed your permission.” Then his face softened and he smoothed her hair off her forehead and kissed her nose. “I was planning to love you whether you wanted me to or not.”

“Huh,” she said thoughtfully. “So—you don’t want me to tell you, extensively, just exactly how much I want you to love me, and specifically, how?”

“Oh,” he murmured, smoothing the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, then pulling back to let her see his eyes. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I wouldn’t say that at all. Do your worst.”

And she did.

Pain to Peace was having its grand-opening celebration. The spacious offices, with their sunny (by Seattle standards) studios—perfect for Pilates, yoga, and meditation—were filled with doctors, nurses, Jake’s VA contacts, former and current clients, friends, and family. Also cookies—both Suzy’s homemade
and
Cow Chip.

The last year had been the most wonderful—and stressful—of Alia’s life. Meetings with banks’ small-business loan officers and private investors, scoping out neighborhoods, innumerable walk-throughs with realtors, finally choosing the space she loved so much—and then working with architects, contractors, equipment suppliers.

There had been many setbacks, like the days when she’d despaired of ever finding the right space. When she’d been knee deep in financing, trying to make the numbers add up. When the manufacturer of the Allegro machines ceased production without delivering Alia’s order. When the hardwood floors in the studios had been finished a much darker color than Alia had requested.

But there had been many wonderful moments, too. The day she’d convinced the best acupuncturist in Seattle to join forces with her. The day her own primary-care doc had called her out of the blue to say he’d heard rumors of her plan, and when would she start taking referrals? The day she’d hired the hilarious massage therapist who was currently plowing through her third Cow Chip cookie and looking like she’d discovered nirvana.

The small revelations, too—walls coming down, walls going up, the offices taking shape.

And through it all, Nate working across from her in the small home office they’d made in the second bedroom of the apartment they’d rented together. Nate chasing after financing for his own youth college-prep and scholarship project, the two of them sharing the ups and downs of real estate transactions, griping late into the night about contracting woes.

With frequent breaks. Frequent naughty breaks.

Sharing a home office wasn’t always the best way to ensure productivity…

Nate’s project was still in the late construction phases, his own launch party still weeks away, but that hadn’t diminished the joy he took in the culmination of her efforts. He stood across the room, smiling at her, his eyes tracking her affectionately as she accepted congratulations and hugs, as she networked with her new colleagues and potential clients.

Mira and Jake leaned against a far wall—Jake, who’d been nothing but openly thrilled for her, both about the happily-ever-after that she and Nate were pursuing and the business she’d ditched him for. Now
that
was a good boss.

Suzy and Jim stood chatting with one of the equipment vendors. Jim was probably trying to work out whether he could start stocking exercise equipment in his shop. A new Walmart up the street had only increased traffic to the ever-thriving store, though Jim sometimes griped, on the occasions when Nate and Alia visited them and scarfed up Suzy’s home cooking, that there were
too many strangers
coming into the store these days.

But Alia secretly suspected he was full of it. That he loved the new faces and their endless questions and crazy projects—which had prompted Jim to start a whole arts-and-crafts section to cater to the mom-and-kids set that stopped in on their way to Walmart,
just in case.

Mira and Jake’s son, Sam—lean, earnest, and in possession of an intense blue-gray gaze he’d inherited from his dad—had taken Braden under his wing and they were bulking up—Sam’s phrase—on the Reformer. Becca was keeping a watchful eye on them. “They’re good boys, but those are seriously expensive machines and the last thing you need is to have to repair one the day before you open for business.” Becca was fulfilling her promise to take care of her sister and frequently checked in to make sure Alia had paused between Pain to Peace–related tasks to eat three meals a day. When Alia protested at Becca’s solicitousness, Becca reminded her, “I would probably have wasted away in high school if you hadn’t made me eat.”

Fair was fair, Alia had to admit. She ate what Becca served her.

“Hey,” a voice said in Alia’s ear, deep and familiar.

“Hey yourself.” She leaned back against him, resting her head against his broad chest, sighing as he slipped his fingers between hers. It felt good, him solid behind her, backing her up, when she was tired and grumpy—and when she was ready to celebrate. In the last year, she’d learned so much about the man he was—always there for her at her worst and best moments, and all the ones in between, but also instinctively knowing when she needed to do something herself. In their few buoyant, blissful days at R&R, it would have been difficult for her to imagine that she could love him more than she already did, or that working hard together to build their businesses from scratch would be every bit as satisfying as the fun and games they’d gotten up to while hiding from themselves and the world—but it had proven to be true.

“Quite a party.”

She smiled up at him. He looked back down at her with an expression she recognized well. “Dragging on too long for your tastes, huh?”

“I just think there are better ways to celebrate,” he murmured against her ear.

The soft shift of his breath over her skin had its intended effect, and she took a small step back, then caught herself and put a little more space between them. After all, all eyes
were
on her.

“Later.” The word touched the curve of her ear and made her shiver.

The Cow Chip cookies were still piled high, but guests were stopping by to congratulate her and thank her and say goodbye. She figured in an hour or so they’d be alone in the office—after they shooed out their most loyal friends and family, of course.

“Promise?” she asked coyly.

He moved closer to her, let her feel how solidly she could count on his promise.

“It’s your office,” he said, and when she tipped her face up to look at his, his eyes were full of that dark intent. “You’re allowed a happy ending.”