I wondered if he’d find it. Probably not. Would probably need a hint or two.
I wasn’t sure why I’d done that. Just that I wanted to, so I did. Because the man needed to get his sexuality back, and the taste of it that I’d gotten was…so impossibly good I knew I’d be haunted the rest of my life by it. If nothing else ever happened between us, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that what I’d had with Ink that night was far and away the best thing that had ever happened to me, and probably ever would happen.
And I’d had to make him pull out.
I should have stopped for condoms so I could wake him in a sexy way.
But I was scared of that, too. Terrified. It would be too good.
I’d never want anything else.
I already didn’t.
I couldn’t fathom touching another man, or letting another man touch me. Not after Ink.
I put his phone back where I’d found it, summoned my courage, and climbed up the ladder. Ink was still asleep. He looked…innocent. Huge, powerful, sexy.
Troubled.
A small frown furrowed his brow, even in sleep.
I’d put that there.
I sat a couple of feet away, just looking at him. Wired, not tired at all, wondering what the hell I was doing here, and what I would do if he woke up, what I would say.
I just looked at him.
At his tattoos—a deer walking through mist, head turned, eyes bright. An owl swooping among trees, round yellow eyes. An elk with the sun framed between its huge antlers. A bear. Wolf tracks, abstract and blending in with runes and lines and dots. Lost in the jumble, a little bumblebee, fat and cute. Ants in a line, disappearing into an anthill.
I wanted to kiss them all, taste them all. Trace and touch and mark them all as mine.
The power behind that word—mine...it shocked me. Mine.
He wasn’t.
And I wasn’t his.
I’d never belonged to anyone. I’d never felt like I belonged anywhere, except on stage, lost in the dance. The troupe, Europe, my apartment in Paris with Rick, back home on the East Coast. Here in Alaska…
I’ve never belonged.
But I wanted to.
I wanted to belong to someone.
I wanted to be someone’s.
Not just someone’s.
HIS.
My eyes watered.
Stung.
This couldn’t be. Couldn’t be.
How did this happen?
How the hell was I falling for this guy? And why?
He stirred, and I froze. I felt his breathing change. Felt the air solidify.
“Cass.” That deep, quiet, smooth, powerful voice.
“Ink.” I swallowed hard. Tried to breathe. “I…I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left the way I did.”
“You’re here, now.”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you come back?”
“Because you…you deserve better than for me to run away like a scared little girl.”
“And why’d you run?”
“It was…a lot. You and me, that night.”
He sighed. “Yeah, it was.”
“It’s still a lot,” I muttered.
He nodded. “Yeah. It is.”
“Not sure what else to say.”
“The whole honest truth, babe.” He was still lying as he’d been when asleep—on his side, head on his crooked arm. Hair loose and splayed everywhere behind and around him.
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Why you ran. Start there. Start small.”
“I don’t fucking know.”
“You do.”
I hated the anger that rose up—why did he have to push? Why couldn’t he just let me have my stupid lie?
I blinked. Gave up trying not to cry, and put the effort toward not sobbing, instead. Just, sort of quietly letting tears trickle down. Keeping the anger buried. It was my anger, but not at him. It was irrational, and I knew it.
But it came out anyway.
“If you know so damned much about me, then you tell me why I ran.” Good god, I sounded petulant.
Didn’t take it back, though, because he was pushing deep into my psyche, and I didn’t want my demons exorcised. I didn’t want my layers of shit unearthed.
“Because you’re scared.”
I felt the tears flow harder. “I’m not scared of you, Ink.”
“Didn’t say that.” He sat up, but didn’t move any closer to me. Just stared at me in the darkness. “Of yourself. Of feelings. You’ve kept yourself closed off your whole life. Something to do with your dad. And I think sex is confusing for you because you want to use it as a substitute for emotions, but you’re too emotional for that, and not very good at keeping your equilibrium. So you shut down. Pretend to be all stoic. And something about us threatens all that. So you’re scared.”
“And I think you’re scared too. I think you know damn well that I can handle everything you’ve got, and more, but you’re still scared of rejection. It’s not about hurting me. It’s about me hurting you. I hurt you by leaving, and that’s what I’m sorry for. I was scared, you’re right. I’m still scared. But I’m here.”
“Yeah, you are. That’s something, and I see it.” He sighed. “I think you used me, in a way.”
I flinched. “What?” I swallowed hard. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“You have shit you haven’t dealt with. Your dad. Your future. I don’t know. Mainly who you are and what you want, now that you don’t have professional dance anymore. You’re too scarred and scared to face that, and you don’t know how or where to start. So you latched onto me, and this, and us, as a distraction. As a way of putting off having to face yourself. And when shit got super fuckin’ real between us that night, it scared the shit out of you because us bein’ real with each other made it harder for you to keep pretending you’re okay not dealing with the fact that you got no fuckin’ clue who you are now, and what the hell you’re gonna do with your life, because you put all your eggs in the one basket.”
I felt the anger as a protective shell, keeping his truth bombs out. It wasn’t working for shit, but damn if I wasn’t going to keep trying.
“Yeah? Well…I think you’re…you’re scared me. I think you want things with me that scare you shitless. So you held back, not out of fear of me or hurting me, but because the things you want and how bad you want them scares you. But you’ve been hurt and you don’t trust me to be there and to accept who you are, what you are, what you want.”
“Yeah, I’m fucking scared!” he yelled, a shocking loudness in the small space, more shocking yet because it was coming from him. “No one has ever wanted me! My own parents couldn’t fuckin’ handle me! My school, my team, the woman I fuckin’ loved, nobody can fuckin’ handle me. And yeah, I want shit with you that I don’t know how to fuckin’ deal with. It’s too damn much, Cass.” He seemed to swell, to take up more space than he usually did. Became bigger, louder, more. “You wanna know my truth, Little Sparrow?”
I was not afraid of him. Despite his size, despite the increase in his massive presence, despite the way he prowled toward me, I was not afraid. I was excited. Thrilled. “Yes, Ink. I do.”