Played (Gaming The System Books 1-3) - Brenna Aubrey

At Any Price A Gaming the System Novel Brenna Aubrey For Jeff, my rock

Achievement Unlocked: Geek Virgin When Mia Strong, proud geek-girl and popular gaming blogger, auctions off her virginity online, she knows she'll make waves. But what she will not be making is a love connection. Her rules are set in stone: One night. No further contact. It's a desperate step, but it's the only way she can go to medical school and pay her mother's mounting hospital bills. Difficulty Level: Millionaire CEO Adam Drake, the enigmatic auction winner, is a software prodigy who made his first million at seventeen. Now, in his mid-twenties, he's sexy, driven and—as CEO of his own gaming company—he's used to making the rules. Before Mia knows what's happening, he's found the loophole in the rules of her auction. Every stipulation she's made to protect her heart gets tossed by the wayside. She can't tell if he's playing her...or if he's playing for keeps. Click here to sign up for my newsletter.

“A Virgin’s Manifesto”—Posted on the blog of Girl Geek on March 14, 2013 I will shock most of you, I think, by stating that at the nearly unthinkable age of twenty-two, I still possess an intact hymen. No, I won’t answer any questions about why this is. Yes, I am heterosexual. No, I won’t go out on a date with you. Throughout history there has been a global truth established that a woman has higher personal value if she has kept herself “pure” until she reaches the married state. It is ubiquitous across all cultures. In certain countries, that value is more than moral or philosophical; it’s monetary. In India, for example, a husband expects to pay a bride-wealth to his bride’s family in exchange for her purity. In old Europe, a bride’s family put up the money, called a dowry, that helped her make a favorable match. Money and property changed hands between the patriarchs of powerful families. And for all this, a woman was de-virginized on her wedding night, whether she loved her new husband or not— usually not. Sex with a virgin was so valued in Japan that a wealthy man could “sponsor” a young apprentice geisha, called a maiko. All of her upbringing and training with a mentor geisha was paid for, her living expenses and many luxuries provided by his hand. And in return for this enormous expenditure? The man gained the right of mizuage, the ritual in which he was given the privilege of taking her virginity. It was expected that he would never see her again. So this expense was for that one night only. Virgins weren’t just bartered to powerful and wealthy men, however, but were of value to the gods of the ancients across all cultures as well. Virgin sacrifices to the gods represented the ultimate offering in exchange for something needed, most usually by men. In legendary ancient Greece, the offended goddess Artemis demanded a virgin sacrifice in payment for the insult rendered against her by Agamemnon. The Greeks desperately needed the wind to sail for Troy in order to wage war, but the goddess had prevented it. Agamemnon’s daughter, Iphigenia, and her mother, Clytemnestra, were tricked into appearing at the altar of sacrifice with the promise of her impending wedding to the hero Achilles. Instead, Iphigenia was slain and the winds promptly blew. Off the previously becalmed heroes sailed, hardly fazed. The ultimate prize in all of these examples was the woman’s virginity and in most cases the woman in question hardly profited from keeping herself pure. So I ask, in our day and age, can a woman change this pattern and profit from her own purity? I find myself in the unusual position of being able to find out. I’ve decided to decry the crimes and impositions put upon my sisters from the beginning of time until now. And I offer, therefore, a new paradigm. One where a woman can sell her purity and enjoy the fruits thereof. The right to my virginity will be ceded to the highest bidder.

Chapter One I’d refreshed the web page at least twenty times during that last hour, endless minutes slipping in between each click of the button. The Manifesto was reality now, and it was about to affect my future in a very big way. In the end, I sat back in disbelief, the wind knocked from me. It was final. A complete stranger had just pledged to pay three quarters of a million dollars in exchange for my virginity. I blinked a few times, looking at the figure, with all the zeros following, barely able to breathe. My mouth was as parched as the Mojave but I doubted I had the strength in my legs to get up and grab a glass of ice water. As I leaned back in my chair staring up at the ceiling, my phone rang. Without even looking at the caller ID, I knew who it was. “Hey, Heath,” I breathed. “Welp, your crackball auction is now closed and it looks like someone wants to pay a freaking fortune to get in your pants. Are you ready to give up this redonkulous scheme yet?” I took a deep breath and expelled it slowly, wishing my heart wasn’t thumping like I’d just run a threeminute mile. “Of course not.” He sighed. “Yeah, I figured. But I’m not going to stop trying, Mia, you know that.” I grimaced. “And you almost never change my mind on anything, you know that.” He cursed under his breath. “This has been the longest and most expensive game of chicken that I’ve ever played,” he said. “I told you, I’m not backing out. My heels are dug in nice and deep.” He laughed. “That’s not the only thing that’s going in deep.” I gasped, sitting up. “Shut up. You promised you weren’t going to taunt me about this.” “Fine. But we do this on my terms or we don’t do it at all, just like we agreed. I’m not shitting you— I’ll pull my support.” I sighed. “Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to keep saying that. I get it.” “Stop rolling your big brown eyes. I’m not thrilled about having to sift through all the bullshit and find out what lech has been ogling your pictures on your website.” My stomach squeezed at his words and I didn’t say anything for a long moment. This really was lunacy and every time I talked myself down from the panic that hovered at the edge of my consciousness, something else would trigger it to summit levels once again. “You’re not helping,” I said, fighting to keep the irritation from my voice. “Who the hell set up the damn thing? I’m a conscientious objector to your crazy ‘new paradigm’—yes —but I’m still not going to leave you hanging.” Relieved, I coughed, wanting desperately to change the subject before he lapsed into another lecture about the self-destructive potential of my actions. “Okay, so… Next steps?” He cleared his throat. “I evaluate the top three bidders based on your all-important criteria. If they’re losers, I move down to the next batch and so on until I find someone who isn’t a dirty old creep, if indeed there is someone who isn’t a dirty old creep.” “Okay, you have that list somewhere, right?” I grimaced, picturing the mountainous heap of papers and crap on his desk. He probably hadn’t seen it in weeks. “Christ, Mia. I don’t need the damn list. I remember it all. He can’t be married. Needs to provide a complete lab workup to rule out STDs. Umm…” “See? You can’t remember half of it.” I paused. “Find the list and clean your damn desk once in a while.”

He was riffling through paperwork on the other end. “It’s right here under the pile of—” “Shit?” “I remember another one—criminal history?” “Uh huh…And what else?” “Ahh. Here it is—see, I told you I’d find it right under my stack of Minecraft notes. Let’s see—lab workups, marital status, yadda yadda, okay—proof of money set aside in an offshore holding account.” “And last but not least…?” “A really big one?” My eyes shot to the ceiling. Typical for him to jump to something like size mattering. “We don’t all think like you do.” “Well, yeah, that would be one of my criteria—what of it? The last one is that you both make an agreement that there will be no future contact between the two parties after the terms of the contract have been fulfilled.” I sat back. “Great. I’m in good hands, then.” “It’s my job to make sure you will be.” That tight feeling in my gut wrenched again. “That’s the plan.” “I’ve already got e-mails in to the top bidders.” My brows shot up. That was quick. It wasn’t really like him to be so Johnny-on-the-spot like this. Heath—my best friend since the eighth grade and a surrogate older brother even if only by six months— was always this protective. When I’d showed him the Virgin Manifesto post about to go up on my blog, he’d freaked. Fortunately, he’d calmed down and demanded to have control over the result. It was the compromise I had to put up with in exchange for his help and I knew I could trust him. Heath was the only man on this planet whom I did trust, actually. We said good-bye and I closed my browser with a decisive click. I was sure my blog readers would demand a recap of the auction results tomorrow. This whole thing had gone semi-viral within the online community of gamers, and even beyond—Huffington Post, Jezebel, even Twitter. I squeezed my eyes closed, dreading the thought of writing that post. The readers would want answers and I didn’t have any. Not yet, anyway. Regardless, there’d been complaints for the past few weeks that the auction had interfered with my regular posts. After all, it was a gaming blog, for God’s sake! During the auction hoopla, most of my male readers had apparently come to the consensus that I rated an eight or higher. My opinion was probably closer to a solid six. But gamer dudes weren’t usually too picky when it came to women in our community. The main requirements were that a woman was breathing and had reasonably sized breasts. As a girl gamer, if you stuck your name tag across your cleavage at Comic-Con, you were likely to never have them meet your gaze. With shaky hands, I went about the next few hours in a haze. I made some tea from the small box of expensive orange pekoe—my favorite. I allowed myself the treat because it was a special occasion and I vowed to reuse the bag for breakfast in the morning. Nowadays, I had to enact cost-cutting measures like that. My scholarship money had dwindled and expenses were barely being covered by the ads on my blog and my part-time orderly job at the hospital. The auction idea had spawned from that necessity, despite the “high ideals” of the Virginity Manifesto. I honestly had posted it to open the conversation on reclaiming the age-old tradition of profiting from a woman’s purity. And yes, I’d wanted to make a statement about the value of my virginity being used for my own gain. I firmly believed in those ideals but my number one motivation was money, security. After using most of my loan money to help Mom with her medical bills, I had nothing saved up for medical school.

My only option was to hock my future completely by weighing it down under the burden of impossibly huge student loans. Did I really want to graduate medical school saddled with a huge debt and go into three years of residency and throw in an oncology fellowship on top of that? I slipped an ice cube into the piping hot cup of tea and sipped at it while I broke out my study guides for the Medical College Admission Test (MCAT) with that same sinking feeling that accompanied my study sessions of late. I’d started out this year so hopeful that, with a retake, I could improve my abysmal score of the previous year. But as time had passed, it grew harder and harder to be optimistic. The test was a little over three months away and there was still so much to review. With a deep breath I dug in and went over the topics for this week: hydrocarbons and oxygen-containing compounds. I checked the clock. I was due to meet Jon at the library for still more studying this evening. The group study would be the next day and, as always, I wanted to be ahead. If I didn’t walk into that session extra prepared, I always felt as if I was making a fool out of myself. So I got to work. *** That night, I met Jon at the university library at our usual study carrel. And truthfully, I was grateful for the distraction from my mind’s unswerving preoccupation with the auction. “So?” Jon said as I settled into my usual chair. I scrunched my brows at him. “What?” “Can you come?” He looked at me with his pleading baby blues. Jon and I had met during the previous year of premed at Chapman University. He’d transferred from one of the high-and-mighty Ivy Leagues. I never did get the full story on what had happened there. It wasn’t like he was saving money by going to Chapman, a private university with a steep price tag. My undergraduate tuition had been covered by my academic scholarship and I had worked extra hard to finish the requirements for graduation in three and a half years instead of the usual four, so this last semester was dedicated to work and study. If I didn’t improve my MCAT score, this would all be for naught and I’d be looking for something else to do with my BS in biology. Because of the low score on the test, I was forced to work in a gap year I hadn’t planned on because no medical school would have looked at my application with a score of under 20—even though my GPA was 4.0. I would have to wait for a higher score in order to apply to medical school. So, I was using this time to look on the bright side of things. There was no denying that I needed the time to gather funds. My gaze flitted across the table to my study partner with more than a little envy. Jon had no financial concerns and was headed straight to medical school after he graduated next year. Seeing my continued blank stare, he heaved a great sigh. “Did you forget to charge your phone again?” I reached into my bag and pulled it out. Dead as a doornail. I sent him a crooked smile and a shrug. “I don’t do the texting thing much. I already told you.” He ran a hand through his curly blond hair. “Mia, you need to enter the twenty-first century. First of all, only old people have phones like that,” he said with a disgusted wave of his hand. I pulled my phone back, a protective wave of misplaced affection rising in my breast. What was wrong with a prepaid plan? And dare I tell him that the reason I hadn’t received the text was not because I had forgotten to charge the phone but because I was out of minutes and had no money to purchase more? He knew I was a typical struggling student. He just didn’t know quite how much because I never ever invited him to my place. One look around my dive studio and he’d know my financial circumstances in an instant. I’d never had guys at my place, aside from Heath, but even he usually sniffed down his nose at my converted studio. We had been roommates until the year before, when he and his steady boyfriend had decided to move in together. Due to my financial constraints, I’d had to trade down, way down, to my

studio that rested above the detached garage on one of those cute vintage craftsman homes. Unfortunately, it was hotter than hell in the summer and a deep freeze—if that was possible in Southern California—in the winter. “So what were you asking me?” My chest clenched in dreaded anticipation. Please don’t ask me out again. Please don’t ask me out again. I was getting tired of telling him no. He was more persistent than most guys. I tucked a strand of long dark hair behind my ear and looked at him expectantly. “There’s this dinner…” He stopped when I took a deep breath and shot him a look. When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “It’s a charity event. My parents participate every year and asked me if I’d attend since they can’t make it down.” “When?” “Next week.” “Dress?” “Formal.” “I don’t do those types of events.” To say nothing of the fact that I didn’t have anything to wear that could even remotely be classified as “formal.” “C’mon, Mia,” he breathed, with a groan. “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me.” My back straightened and a tense ball tightened between my shoulder blades. I tried to feel flattered by his obvious attraction, but I truly found it more of a hindrance to our quality study time. “I’m sorry. Please don’t take it personally. I just don’t date.” He shook his head, blowing out a breath. “And you are never going to end up with anyone if the only guy you ever hang out with is gay.” I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. I knew he didn’t mean any harm. He got along well with Heath, actually, had mentioned that Heath could take him easily (kind of a stupid comment because Heath could take out most guys—I was glad to have him on my side). “What makes you think I’m interested in getting together with anyone?” Jon sat back, frowning. He was a good study partner and a nice person or I really wouldn’t bother. But this was getting tiresome and I knew I needed to get him to drop his delusion or else start looking for a new study partner. His face fell and I couldn’t suppress a twinge of regret. I’d never sought to hurt his feelings, so I figured I’d throw him a bone. “How about we go out for a celebratory drink after the test?” His eyes lit up. He really was a good-looking guy. A guy I could see myself dating, if I dated. But I’d just about made it through all of undergrad without ever dating a single guy. We went out in groups and I’d been asked out here and there before word got out that I wasn’t here for social reasons. Besides, spending almost all of my spare time playing online computer games and tinkering on my blog tended to kill a social life. And mine had died years ago. “Okay.” He smiled and took up one of his computer-generated note cards. “Name all oxygen-containing compounds that are also acid derivatives.” I took a deep breath, hoping that little concession to softness wouldn’t ultimately bite me in the ass. Then I answered the question. *** The first ring of the phone was included in my dream. I was about to cut into a cadaver during my first year of Gross Anatomy in some nondescript medical school class. I’d placed my scalpel against the skin, ready to cut away the subcutaneous tissues, like I’d read in my books on cadaver dissection, and the corpse began to ring like a telephone. On the second ring, I was ripped from my dream and so groggy I could hardly place where I was. I checked the caller ID and fumbled for the receiver.

“Mom,” I breathed, reaching for the clock. Seven thirty a.m. Why did she always insist on calling so early? “Were you sleeping?” I cleared my throat. “No.” “Liar,” she said. “You need to start training yourself to get up early. Doctors don’t keep late hours.” “Aspiring doctors keep late hours when they have been up half the night studying.” She sighed. “Well, that’s no good, either. If you end up exhausting yourself by the time that test rolls around, you won’t be worth a single question.” I rolled my eyes as my head fell back onto the bed. Yeah, that made me feel so much better, Mom. Thanks. I settled my head against my warm pillow. “Why did you call me this fine morning?” “I want to know if you need any money,” she said lightly. I gritted my teeth, feeling my jaw bulge just under my cheeks. In my best light voice I said, “No. I’m just fine…” “Last night when you weren’t home, I tried calling your cell phone.” Shit. She’d got the recording that said the phone was no longer in service. “Oh, I must have forgotten to pay for more time.” “Emilia Kimberly Strong.” “I’m fine, Mom. I get paid this Friday.” Irritation crawled up my spine like a swarm of ants in search of a picnic. Like she had the right to get upset with me for lying to her when she was lying to me in the first place! I’d seen the notice of mortgage default the last time I was at home. Second warning, third. Late fees. She was barely afloat with the ranch. The entire time I was growing up she’d never had a mortgage. She’d bought the ranch outright when I was just a baby with the money that the Biological Sperm Donor— my not-so-affectionate term for the male who had fathered me—had paid her to go away and have her baby somewhere else. “Mia, you’d tell me if you needed anything, wouldn’t you?” Mom, you’d tell me if you were about to be turned out by the bank, wouldn’t you? I longed to reply with those words but, as usual, lacked the courage to even bring it up. The ranch—a sort of cross between a guest “dude” ranch and a western-themed B and B—was Mom’s livelihood. But she hadn’t been able to run it properly since the cancer diagnosis and treatment. So she’d had to take out a mortgage to help cover her medical bills. I managed my fake-bright voice again. “Of course, of course. Love ya!” “We haven’t even talked—what—” And damned if the call waiting didn’t click through at that moment. I checked the ID. Thank you, Heath! If I could have reached through the phone wire and kissed him, I would. I loved that guy. “Mom, Heath is calling through and I think it’s pretty important. Can I call you back?” “I’ll call you. It’s long distance.” “Okay. Maybe tomorrow?” “Tell him I said ‘hi’ and I’m still waiting for him to come up with you next time so I can see him.” “Sure, sure. Love you, Mom.” And I clicked off to take the waiting call, took a deep breath and sat up. “Dude.” “Dollface.” “What’s up?” “I got it narrowed down to two guys. I’m going to meet with both of them within the next few days.” “They’re in the area?” “One of them doesn’t live too far away, actually. The other one is back east but he’s flying out on business this Thursday. I can meet him then.”

My heart kicked up to high-speed velocity. “Okay. What—what are they like?” “The younger guy is only sixty-two—” I tensed. “What?” “Kidding.” I sat back in relief. Shoulda known. “Asshole.” “The third guy was kinda up there. Almost fifty. He was a ‘no’ based on other criteria, too. The younger guy is only a few years older than me. The other one is in his thirties. Pretty yummy. I’d do him, but you know I like blonds.” So the younger guy wasn’t blond. “What else can you tell me?” “Rich as hell, of course. Both keenly interested, especially after I sent them the face shots.” I rolled my eyes. Aside from his many other technical achievements—Heath designed and built websites for his day job—his beloved pastime was digital photography. And he was very gifted at it. He was the one who’d insisted, when I’d cooked up this crazy scheme in the first place, on dressing me up in a bikini (one I bought at Anthropologie and ended up returning because it was way beyond my price range). He took snapshots of me on the rocks of the jetty at Corona Del Mar beach. The pictures he’d posted on the auction website were from the neck down. I guess I had a nice figure even if my breasts were pretty small. But I was on the taller side, which gave me the side effect of long legs. Nevertheless, I’d been pretty sure that my lack of surgical enhancement or fake bake tan would affect the results of the auction. But apparently that wasn’t the case. Despite how much I knew it was time to get it over with and just lose it, it wasn’t just a matter of surrendering my virginity to the guy willing to pay the most. I had a carefully laid-out plan in place. First he’d have to submit to a thorough screening by my “bouncer.” “Yes, I’m going to have to find a way to appropriate the one who doesn’t win you.” I laughed. “Let me know how that works out for you. Then again, maybe not. I’d rather not know.” “I’m meeting the Californian guy tomorrow for lunch in Irvine. After I meet the New Yorker, I’ll be in touch. I asked them both for medical records and I’m having some background checks run.” “It all sounds good.” “Mia, I need to tell you this again—it’s not too late to back out of this. Once money is exchanged and plans are made, it’s a done deal. But you still have that freedom to walk away and be completely anonymous. I mean, this is not an easy thing to ask of yourself. You’ve never had sex before and planning to do it with a complete stranger—” “Heath—” “I mean, I did make sure to put into the language of the auction that you might require a ‘get to know you’ period. Maybe a few dates first so it’s not just so—sudden?” I shook my head, trying to suppress a rising mound of frustration. We’d been over this before—several times. “I already told you I’d rather not know him. I just want to get it over with as quickly as possible. It’s not a romantic act for me—just a bit of skin. I have no emotional attachment to it. It’s high time I lost it. This way, I can move on with my life with a nice fat bank account.” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I sat up and squeezed my eyes shut and thought of my mom. She’d need another melanoma therapy vaccination soon and those came dear, especially with no medical insurance. She’d probably refuse to get it and choose to pay the mortgage instead. Anger at our helplessness burned at the edge of my awareness. “I told you I’m not backing out.” “Okay. I just felt obligated to say it again.” “And again. And again.” “Right. Now I’m going to ask you another question that will annoy you.” I braced myself but didn’t say anything. “What do you think your shrink would say about this?”

I arched an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen Dr. Marbrow for years.” I couldn’t afford her anymore, either. “She released me to my own recognizance. Declared me all healed.” “Riiight.” “You think I’m crazy?” He sighed. “I think that the shit you were dealing with takes a long time to get over.” I swallowed. Six years wasn’t long enough? If not, then how much time would it take? A decade? Fifteen years? “I’m a tough woman,” I breathed. “Hell yeah, you are. I’m just saying—” “Okay, that’s all the preach you get today. No more. Talk to you at the end of the week. I gotta start getting ready for work.” “Are you logging in tonight?” he asked. “It’s our regular game night. You know I’m always there.” “Any word from Fallen?” Heath referred to a regular member of our group by his game name— FallenOne—as we all did, since he’d never given us his real name. We’d all been gaming together for over a year, along with another good friend from Canada, and Fallen hadn’t been making our regular group nights for nearly two months. “I’m not sure what’s going on in his personal life right now.” “He hasn’t told you? You two talk about everything.” “Not anymore,” I said with a twinge of regret. I knew that Fallen read my blog. He’d vehemently opposed the Manifesto. We’d been up half the night chatting in game text chat and arguing about it. Was he upset with me because of the auction? The thought of losing friends over this thing didn’t please me, so I hoped this wasn’t the case. After we ended our call, I hopped out of bed and into the shower, then pulled on my scrubs and headed to the hospital. And I tried to keep my mind on what I was doing and not the issues that Heath had dug up —nor the end results of the auction. With any luck, things would be all taken care of before I had to retake the MCAT. I could only hope, anyway.

Chapter Two I passed through the next week like an automaton, going through the motions at work, on my blog, getting various things done. I felt poised on the brink of something—something big. But I wouldn’t let myself entertain that idea. This had to be smaller than me. This had to be an insignificant moment in my overall timeline. Soon it would be over and I’d move on with the rest of my life. But I couldn’t help wondering what kind of person I would end up with. If I was lucky, I’d find him attractive, at least. Maybe he’d be good, gentle. He didn’t have to be amazing as I was hardly in a position to judge, given my lack of experience. Ideas like these flickered through my mind and a couple times I caught myself fantasizing about this mystery guy and jumping every time the phone rang as I waited to hear back from Heath. Thus, when the phone finally did ring, it was no surprise that I was, again, in bed—this time for a quick nap after an overnight shift working in the ER. “What?” I mumbled into the receiver, still mostly asleep. “Were you sleeping?” Heath’s amused voice came over the line. “Mm. Late shift last night, this morning.” “Ah, okay. Well…get up and brew yourself a pot of coffee because I have your winner and he wants to meet you this afternoon.” I groaned. “He can wait. I’m half-dead, Heath. Can’t we do this tomorrow? It’s my day off and I need some warning, I haven’t done laundry for—” “No can do, doll. He has to fly to the East Coast on business first thing tomorrow. He won’t be back until the end of the week.” “Heath…” “Come on. I’ve reserved a private conference room at the Westin South Coast Plaza.” I remembered my one serious skirt—a crisp business pencil skirt—was at the bottom of the clean laundry basket, wrinkled beyond recognition. “I have to iron my skirt and my iron’s broken.” “I’ll bring my iron when I pick you up.” “I don’t have a board, either.” “Then use the table, for chrissakes. Listen, I’m not here to solve your first-world, heterosexual female problems. Get up, get your makeup on and get with the program.” I sighed and hung up, my heart racing. It occurred to me that he hadn’t told me whom he’d selected. I followed his instructions, got up, showered, styled my hair and, surrendering to the inevitable, pulled it back into a ponytail because it wasn’t cooperating. My makeup went on satisfactorily and I was in my blouse—a white, tailored button-down—and skivvies when Heath showed up. He didn’t have his iron. “What the hell, Heath?” “I couldn’t find it. I think that stupid little twerp swiped it when he packed his crap and left.” He referred to the recent demise of his two-year relationship. It had not been a good breakup and Heath was still nursing the broken heart from it. I shot him a puzzled look. “Who steals an iron?” “Spoiled little brats like Brian, that’s who.” I sighed and glanced at my pathetic excuse for a skirt. “Why don’t you hang it up in the shower and run the hot water?” he asked. “Give my skirt a shower?” “The steam will take some of the wrinkles out. A dryer works, too.” “Well, I don’t have a dryer, so I guess steam is going to have to do. Do you think it will work?”

“Hell no, but might as well try.” I ran the shower until the hot water ran cold—which didn’t take long in my little studio. Since living here, I’d become the queen of the snappy shower. When I pulled the skirt off the hanger and tried to smooth out the damp cloth, it failed to cooperate. Once dressed, I left the bathroom. Heath made a face and twirled his finger, signaling that I should turn around. I complied. “That bad?” He shrugged. “It doesn’t take a fashion expert to see that that thing is a hot mess—literally.” I blew out a breath. “How much time do we have? Maybe swing by the mall to pick up a loaner?” He pulled out his cell phone, glanced at it and shook his head. “You’re going like that. Besides, he’s not paying the big bucks to sleep with your skirt, fortunately for you.” I glared at him. “Sometimes you annoy the shit out of me.” “I know.” He shrugged and jerked his shoulder toward the door and walked out. I followed him into a gorgeous spring afternoon. Once in his blue Jeep Wrangler, Heath maneuvered his way to the nearest freeway entrance down sleepy residential streets cloaked in bright purple jacaranda and whispering pepper trees. Out on the wider boulevard, towering palms—ubiquitous in Southern California—shivered in the cool ocean breeze. “So who is this guy?” I asked him as we zipped down the 55 freeway. “You’ll find out soon enough. Name’s Drake.” He shot me a glance like I should know who that was. “Adam Drake.” “And which rich dude is he?” “The one from out here. Lives in Newport Beach, of course. Don’t they all?” I snorted. “And you said he’s young?” “A bit older than we are. Twenty-six.” “So how’d he get so rich? Trust fund? Daddy’s company?” “Nope, he’s completely self-made, actually.” That bit of info blew me away. “How is that possible at his age?” “He’s a software architect—video games.” My mouth opened in surprise. Heath’s sense of irony was not lost on me. “I can see why you picked him. He develop anything that I know?” Heath shrugged. “Maybe.” I shot him a pointed glance. “Just how thorough was your background check?” “Oh God. I think I know him like a brother by now. We spoke on Monday for three hours. Then had another long chat on Wednesday on the phone. I was already half in love with him before I even met Mr. New York.” I snorted again. “Yeah, don’t do that when you are in there. He might back out of the whole thing if he hears you laughing like a piglet.” I slapped his shoulder with the back of my hand and he grinned. Not half an hour later, we sat at a glass-and-chrome conference table in black leather chairs, sleek granite décor ensconcing us in all that was modern and exuding wealth. I’d driven by this hotel many times but never been inside—and never hoped to have the chance to stay in a place so nice. My hands drummed on my lap, slapping against my bare knees. Heath stopped me once by placing his large hand across mine but I only resumed the minute he removed it. “You’re driving me up a tree with that.” I shot him a look. He’d just have to deal with my nerves. “Are we really that early?” “No, he’s late.”

“If he was that anxious to meet me today, shouldn’t he be here on time?” “He’s coming up the 405. After three, it’s an instant parking lot. He’s probably stuck in traffic.” I huffed. “Can’t he take the filthy rich limo lane or something?” Before I could even finish my sentence, two men approached the frosted glass door to the conference room. One of them leaned forward to snap open the door. He was the taller of the two and wore his dark hair in a close-cropped style. The other man—well, I hardly noticed him when I locked eyes with the first man’s obsidian stare. Heath and I jerked to our feet. My pulse ratcheted up to a near-fatal rate, threatening acute hypertension. The first guy with the dark eyes was the software mogul—I would have bet my every measly belonging on it. He hesitated at the doorway once he’d caught a full glimpse of me, and my breath caught when I looked into his stunningly handsome face. He was about six feet tall and wearing an expensive suit—the kind with a vest under the jacket that looked like it had been tailored for him, hugging his tapered waist and slim hips. The suit looked so good on him that I knew it had to be designer, even though I was the first one to confess that I knew nothing about designer anything. He was finely built but not imposing. His slacks clung to muscular thighs, his jacket stretched across solid but not broad shoulders. His suit was a crisp steel gray with a slightly darker shirt and tie. The silver tie clip caught the light and my eyes flicked to it and then back to his face. He had the chiseled masculinity of a marble god. All angles and strong, clean lines. My heart felt like it might fibrillate or—as a non-medical student would say—flutter. I’d never been so strongly affected by a man. Especially one I’d only just laid eyes on. His dark eyes met mine and my chest felt like it was about to explode. He stopped, his eyes narrowing. While he gave me the once-over, I sucked in a lungful of air because I’d almost forgotten to breathe during this initial lightning strike. Shit. It was at that precise moment that I realized I was in trouble. Drake never took his eyes off of mine, not until he came to a stop just opposite the conference table. He moved like a cat—a sleek predator. Heath leaned forward, offering his hand, and Drake finally looked away to shake hands with him, an arrogant smile on his lips. “Good to see you again, Bowman,” he said with a clear, deep voice that only made my heart race faster. His voice was a caress—a gentle but firm hand that skimmed down my bared spine to settle in a tight fist just at the base. Every sense came alive and my awareness of everything around me heightened. Elevated respiration. Increased perceived body heat. Speedy pulse. Classic signs of sexual arousal. I almost fell off my heels in shock over the strength of it. Was this me? Me? Who’d wondered for at least a year if I might be a lesbian because I didn’t find any men I met attractive? His gaze flicked back to me as Heath laid a hand on my shoulder. “This is our semi-famous blogger, Girl Geek.” Drake’s chin tilted in a fetching way as he seemed to be studying me. I bit my lip, every nerve pulling taut. It was amazing how the body’s response to arousal and fear were so very similar. And at that point, I’d have been hard put to discern the difference. Drake waved a hand to my seat while he took his. I sank slowly into mine, the leather sticking to the backs of my sweaty knees. I looked at the man flanking him for the very first time, suddenly realizing I hadn’t even spared a thought or a glance for him before this. He was older, balding, with a middle paunch and he appeared to be in his midfifties. He carried a briefcase, apparently a lawyer. When I looked back at Drake, I almost jumped at the intensity of his gaze. His eyes shot points right through me, like icy darts. My eyes held his but I swallowed what felt like a watermelon in my throat and tried to ignore the pulse bumping at my temple. Heath began riffling through a stack of papers on the table before him and Drake looked away from me

to follow what Heath was doing. By coincidence, I’m sure, I finally remembered to take a breath at that exact same moment. Heath pulled out the paper he was looking for and Drake turned back to me. “So do I call you Girl Geek or do I get to know your name?” I cleared my throat and refolded my hands in my lap. “My name is Mia.” His eyebrows rose. “Mia?” I fought the urge to fidget, tightening my hands on top of my bare knees. He looked down, as if watching my hands through the glass table. “Emilia. But everyone calls me Mia.” A small smile danced on his lips when he looked up again and met my gaze. “I’m not everyone.” His eyes traveled down to my conservative neckline—but no lower, to his credit—and back. “Emilia.” My fists clenched. Was he deliberately trying to provoke me with this arrogant attitude? Because if it was unintentional, then this was a really bad sign. Drake cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Heath’s stack of papers. “So let’s go over the particulars of the contract. Is this just about the penetration of one organ by another or are there specifics laid out? What about touching, kissing? How many times? What about kink?” My jaw dropped. I couldn’t help it. I scrutinized him and he seemed to detect my study even though he was looking at Heath. His sensual mouth tugged up at the corners. That’s when I realized that this was deliberate. Was it an act? I turned to Heath, who appeared to be barely able to contain his laughter. He looked at Drake with a strange expression. “That’s a lot to cover. And this is a strange venue to do it.” Drake shrugged and his eyes flicked back to me. “How about we just start with deal breakers, then?” I exchanged a glance with Heath, who nodded and turned back to Drake. “I know of one that we can discuss right now. There will be no fellatio.” Drake leaned forward. “Excuse me?” I folded my arms tightly against my chest, already burning with resentment. “You heard him correctly. No cocksucking.” Yeah, I said it. If he could be deliberately provocative, then why couldn’t I? His black eyes darted to mine, mildly amused, still insufferably brash. “Are you on birth control?” he asked abruptly. I blinked. He was definitely one-upping me in the obnoxious department. Drake’s lawyer jerked a surprised look at him, frowning, clearly surprised by the behavior. Well, at least that was a sign that this sort of thing was unusual from Drake. Still didn’t excuse him, though. “All of that is delineated in the paperwork for the terms of the auction, Mr. Drake. Yes, I’ll be using birth control but there will also be condoms—” I stopped as his handsome face split into a patronizing grin. “If I’m going to lay down a fortune for the privilege of experiencing your quivering virgin flesh, I think it goes without saying that I expect to do it without a barrier.” I sat back, clenching my teeth so hard that my head started to ache. My gaze was held fast by the challenge in his ebony eyes. He might have been the most gorgeous creature I’d ever laid my eyes on, but he was also an asshat. He tilted his head at me, puzzled. “Why is that a problem? If we are both cleared by a physician—” I unclenched my jaw just long enough to reply. “Recent medical clearance is not sufficient for me. I’d require celibacy for at least the previous six months, so—” “Then there isn’t a problem.” I highly doubted that. I opened my mouth to call him a liar when Heath leaned forward and put his hand on the table in front of me. Drake’s lawyer cleared his throat, throwing a bland look at me and turning to Drake. “We can work all these details out later in mediation. Mr. Drake does have a plane to catch later today.” Drake’s eyes darted to Heath and back to me. I could tell he was trying to gauge our relationship. It

wasn’t the first time a person had looked at the two of us in that unsure, questioning way. Heath was not obviously gay in any way. He wasn’t “fabulous” or flamboyant. He was very masculine in his behavior and mannerisms, so he rarely set off people’s gaydar. My gaze turned back to Drake, drawn to him like a flame pulled into a hot, dry wind. I resented the heat on my cheeks. I was not a habitual blusher. Hardly ever, actually. But this man was bringing my Irish up, as my mother liked to say. And what was worse, the more annoyed I grew with him, the more amused he seemed to be. Drake flicked a glance at Heath and then his lawyer. “Gentlemen, could you excuse us for a moment? You’re free to wait just outside the door.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he glanced at me. “If, of course, that is okay with the lady?” My face flamed hotter and I folded my hands on my lap. “Fine,” I said, wondering if the thirtysomething New Yorker was still interested in the deal. There was no way he could be more offensive than this jerk. Heath looked at me for confirmation and I nodded. He patted me on the shoulder and the two men exited, leaving the two of us across the table from one another, staring. Finally he cleared his throat and laid his hands on the table before him, lacing his fingers together and dropping his gaze. “I’m sorry if my bluntness has offended you. I assumed that a woman who has placed herself on the block like you have would be comfortable with straight talk.” I laughed. “Oh, is that what that was? I just thought you were being an asshat.” When he smiled, the arrogance was gone and the most delicious dimple appeared at the side of his mouth. I wanted to lick that dimple, to know every nuance of its taste. I shifted in my seat, furious with myself. Why couldn’t I control these crazy, darting thoughts? “Mr. Drake. You are not leaving me with the best impression of yourself—” I cut off at his dry chuckle. “Do I need to? I thought my bank account did that for me.” Anger sizzled hot and my muscles tensed. I breathed in one long draught and then released it. “I am not a prostitute and I’ll thank you not to treat me like one.” “You’ve sold yourself. You may not see yourself as one, but clearly…” His eyes traveled down my body again. I shook my head. I couldn’t understand his motivation for provoking me like this. As beautiful as he was, each time that he opened his mouth I was finding it harder and harder to picture myself in bed with him. “One night in my life and a bit of broken skin does not constitute prostitution.” His dark gaze intensified, as if with one long, determined gaze he could break through my defenses. I drew back. “Sex for money is prostitution.” I shrugged, determined not to let him see that he was getting under my skin. “I prefer not to put a label on it. One night of my life does not define me.” Those generous, sexy lips turned up in a knowing smile. “A lot can happen in one night.” I couldn’t look away no matter how much I wanted to. My heart pounded, pulse screaming through my veins in concerted throbs, but my head kept telling me to kick this asshole to the curb. There were many things I would do for almost a million dollars. Submitting to this overinflated jerk might not be one of them. He looked at me with an analytical expression that I might wear while studying platelets under a microscope. “It takes a curious type of morality to save one’s self for so long only to sell off that asset to the highest bidder.” My jaw tightened. It was getting harder and harder to cloak my irritation with him. “You didn’t pay to get inside my head, Mr. Drake.” To cover my discomfort, I pushed Heath’s stack of papers across the table to him. “Here’s the fine print

—everything that I could think of.” He flicked a glance at them and then away, almost bored. “I’m not going to read through that now, obviously. And, of course, I’ll have addendums of my own. Along with a nondisclosure agreement.” I frowned. No one had said anything about an NDA to me. “You do know that I’m a blogger, right?” “Of course. But, aside from your Manifesto, you blog exclusively about gaming, not your sex life. The document is pretty standard, with a little extra wording about our special situation.” He pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk to me. I looked it over. It did, indeed, seem standard, and it specifically mentioned the fact that I could not blog about our night together. I’d never planned to go into any details. I don’t write that kind of blog. But I did plan to mention that it had happened. I did have credibility to maintain, after all. With a bored sniff, I asked for a pen, surprised that he handed me a two-dollar plastic thing instead of a platinum- and gold-plated ostentatious rich guy’s pen that shouted, “Look at me, I’m disgustingly wealthy.” I hurriedly scratched out my signature on the form. As I pushed it over to him, I said, “I’m going to need a copy of that.” He bent and signed the paper as well and I had a chance to admire him unnoticed for a few seconds. He really was unbelievably handsome. My heart hadn’t stopped drumming its silly ska tempo since he’d walked in the door. “Of course,” he murmured, taking out a shiny chrome-plated smart phone from his breast pocket to photograph the document. After a moment, he typed some commands into it and looked up at me. “Heath Bowman now has a copy in his e-mail. He can forward it to you. I’ll have a physical copy mailed to you as soon as possible if you put your address on the back of the form.” I bent and complied, hurriedly scratching down my address. I straightened, ready to give his attitude back to him, now. “It’s too bad, really, that I won’t be able to write about it. I could have made it sound so mind-blowing—I might even have thrown in a few ‘earthshatterings’ for good measure.” A smile played about his sexy mouth as he tucked his pen back into his jacket. “Oh, our encounters will be all that and more.” I shook my head, hiding, yet again, the shock at his words. “It’s one night, Mr. Drake. That ‘encounters’ should have a parentheses around the s.” His look could only be interpreted as smug. “Encounters…no parentheses necessary.” My heartbeat slammed against my ribs. Why was his arrogance turning me on? I wanted nothing more than to slap that smug look off his handsome face. His gaze brazenly lowered to my cleavage and breasts, lingering there. My nipples tightened in automatic response and without looking down I knew he could see. I cursed the fact that I had opted to wear a thin white blouse. His eyes returned to mine and this time his face split into a boyish grin. “This is going to be fun.” Self-consciously I folded my arms tightly across my chest, covering my traitorous breasts. I fumbled for something smartass to say in return but failed. “I’m sorry to make this brief, but I’m on the way to a business meeting. We can work out all the details so that we’re both satisfied. I’ll be reachable by e-mail, however. Or you can text me.” I almost fell over in relief at the news that he was leaving. I wasn’t sure I could take ten more minutes alone in a room with him. Which didn’t bode well for our night. Alone together. Naked. In a bed. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of my temple. How did he manage to look so cool and crisp in his umpteen-thousand-dollar suit? And how did he manage to look so young and yet act like a thirtysomething businessman at the same time? I cleared my throat. “My cell phone isn’t working.” His forehead creased for a moment and he opened his mouth, shook his head and then closed it as if

he’d changed his mind about what he was going to say. “I have nothing but your best interests, health and safety in mind, Emilia. Both physically and legally.” Nothing else? Again, I highly doubted that. My skepticism must have been apparent because he settled back, dark brows rising just a little. “Well, I do have my own expectations of how this should go, of course.” I smirked, hoping this time to get some kind of reaction from him. “Of course you do.” But his eyes only narrowed as he stood. I mirrored his actions and he waited for me to come around the table before walking toward the door alongside me. He stood so close that his jacket brushed my shoulder once and I thought my heart would go into arrest from the electric shock that zinged through me. I waited while he reached out to pull the door open. I could see no one beyond the frosted glass of the conference room door. But he didn’t open the door. Instead he turned to me, pinned me down with that dark gaze. “Was there something else?” I hated how breathy my voice sounded. I took a step back to put some space between us, but it didn’t seem to matter. The intensity did not let up. Then that willful smile again. “No. I’d better not ask,” he muttered, almost to himself, and I wondered what he’d had in mind. But he still didn’t move. His hand on the chrome door handle tightened, the skin around his knuckles paling. This close I could see every feature, his glossy black hair, his dark eyes, his long straight nose and strong jaw. I swallowed and glanced to the side. “Mr. Drake—” “Adam,” he said, his voice quiet, firm. Then he did something I could hardly believe. He put his free hand to my chin, tilting my head up so he could look at my face. His thumb ran along my jawline and I forced myself not to jump back. I didn’t hate the touch—quite the opposite. Even as my nervousness grew, I had to remind myself that he’d be touching a lot more than that very soon. I met his gaze, managing not to flinch. “Call me Adam,” he said, brushing his thumb over my jaw again. “It’s only fitting, given that we’ll be seeing each other naked soon.” My mouth dropped, cheeks flushing. The reaction seemed to amuse him. I knew this must be some kind of test to gauge my response. I didn’t care. Things were finally starting to get real. I stepped back from his grip and lifted my chin. “This isn’t a done deal. I could always change my mind.” I said, hating how my voice trembled. He nodded. “You could. And if you can’t bring yourself to hear it talked about, you probably shouldn’t go through with it.” It wasn’t that he was talking about it. It was the way he was talking about it. But I stayed silent, strongly wishing myself out of this room and miles away. He leaned toward me so that our faces were only inches from each other. I caught a whiff of his clean scent. My senses reeled, my heart hammered. “In the end, after all the legal talk, after all of the technical Latin terms we’ve been throwing around, this is going to be about two people. In bed—and probably other places. Fucking.” The guy had the social skills of a caveman. Any minute I expected him to grab me by the hair and drag me out of the place with a club resting on his shoulder. Maybe he had to pay regularly to get his sex. He was a computer geek, after all. A hot computer geek, I’d admit, but still. Those guys planted their butts in front of the computer for hours, crunching code. When did they have the time to go out and pick up a girlfriend? I decided to give him a little of his own medicine, giving him the once-over, resting my eyes on his chest, his crotch. Unfortunately, that didn’t bring about the desired effect. He had that boyish grin again. “Yes, this is definitely going to be fun,” he said. “You’ll be paying enough for it.”

The amusement evaporated from his eyes and they hardened so suddenly that I almost gasped to see the change in them. “We’ll be in touch, Emilia.” He stepped back and jerked open the door, waving me to pass through before him. The gentlemanly gesture came too late to impress me. I straightened and managed not to wobble on my heels, remembering to keep my shoulders back. My mother’s voice nagging me about my poor posture rang in my head. Maybe it came from all the time I spent hunched over my keyboard playing video games. It occurred to me that I still had no idea who this guy was. Video game designer? Multimillionaire? How does a designer get so rich? What was his story? He was really young. I would have pegged him for younger than twenty-six, yet still so arrogant, so in command and sure of himself. Well, there was always the Internet, where no question need go unanswered. At least I had been able to cover my bill for the month. I didn’t really care about the cell phone, but I’d go without water and gas before I’d give up my Internet. It helped me put food on the table, at the very least. I’d go home and Google him, of course. He was bound to come up, even if he was, as he claimed, a “very private person.” He couldn’t make the whole damn world sign an NDA. When I caught Heath’s eye, he turned from his discussion with Drake’s lawyer. The tight ball between my shoulder blades had migrated to my stomach, twisting and knotting as we made it to them. Drake and Heath shook hands again and we went our separate ways. I made sure he was out of sight before I balled up my fists and spoke to Heath through clenched teeth. “Are you fucking kidding me?” “What?” “Seriously, that’s the guy you picked? How in the hell did you think I would tolerate him?” Heath shot me a puzzled look. “I actually thought he had a lot in common with you.” “What, because he makes video games and I like to play them—too much, yes, I know—and review them on my blog?” “Look at it this way, doll. If you don’t like your time together, you can give every product he’s made a shitty review.” “Hilarious. Did you tell number two to go away yet or is he still an option?” Heath’s mouth thinned. “Simmer down, now. Give it a day or two, okay? He said he’d e-mail you. Maybe he’ll be more polite.” “He’s not paying to send me e-mails. I’m going to have to be alone with him all night…” Heath shook his head and sent me a look that said, “I told you so.” I sighed and looked away. “That’s the nature of the beast, Mia. It’s what you signed up for when you decided to go through with all this—‘Virgin Manifesto’ ideals or no. You claimed you were taking back the power that had been robbed from women for centuries. Find a way to take back the power from him. Don’t let him go all alpha wolf on you and start peeing on every tree. You’re stronger than that.” “What about the other guy? Is he an alpha wolf, too?” “Sweetie, they’re millionaires. They’re all alpha wolves. For what it’s worth, his behavior with you was very different from what I saw with him when we spoke both times. Maybe it’s just a façade he uses around women. It would explain why he’s participating in this—what did you call it again?—‘new paradigm’ in the first place.” The knot in my stomach twisted again. “It’s a bad sign if he can’t behave himself around a woman. How do I know I’ll be safe? What if he’s into some sadomasochist shit?” “Yeah, that’s all in the paperwork. No fetish. No bondage. Nothing unusual. You’re a virgin for chrissakes, it’s not like you would be into any of that. He knows. He was the one who wanted it put into the language of the agreement, kept saying it was important to protect you.” I remembered what he said when we were alone. That it was his sole interest to ensure my safety, physically and legally. Was this some sort of sting? Was he an undercover cop in reality? Could Heath

have been able to find that out? We had arranged for this entire transaction to take place overseas, in countries where sex in exchange for money was legal. The web server had been stationed in Brazil, the auction run by proxy by Heath’s contact there. The actual act would take place in a legally friendly country. Money would not actually change hands. Overseas bank accounts would effect the transfer. Heath’d had a gay banker friend set up an account in the Cayman Islands for me. It made me feel so clandestine and mysterious. Drake had one too (probably long before this transaction). And the money would soon be resting in a holding account before the transfer was made. The only thing that was marginally illegal was our meeting on US soil to iron out the details of the deal. However, my pride at the neatness of this deal was beginning to fade in the face of Drake and his alpha wolf asshat personality. As Heath and I got into the car to return home, I shot him a veiled look but was quiet the remainder of the way. I had a decision to mull over. I had to learn more about who Adam Drake really was. But further than that, the reality of my ideals had just slammed me in the face and I had to see if I had the courage to continue with this plan. The way my nerves were tied up in knots, I doubted if I could.

Chapter Three I Googled him the minute I got home and turned on my computer. Read a brief Wikipedia entry on him and spent the next hour with my mouth open in shock as I read article after article. I knew a whole lot more about him but I also had tons more questions. Somewhere in the back of my mind I’d thought the name Adam Drake rang a bell. A distant bell, but a bell nonetheless. Adam Drake was founder and CEO of Draco Multimedia Entertainment, the parent company of one of the most successful and popular massively multiplayer online role-playing games (MMORPG), Dragon Epoch. I played it daily and wrote about it in a regular column on my blog. In fact, I was due for a new DE update sometime this week. Something prickly formed in my throat. I saw pictures, press releases, reviews, interviews, write-ups. Pictures of him on panels at the San Diego Comic-Con. He was some kind of prodigy with programming and had developed a unique artificial intelligence engine within a game called Mission Accomplished before he’d graduated high school. He’d sold the program to Sony at the age of seventeen. For 3.2 million dollars. A millionaire at seventeen years old by his own doing. From there it just got worse. He’d attended the California Institute of Technology but had dropped out after a year and founded Draco Multimedia out of a warehouse in Irvine. Eventually that company built its own multi-complex campus in the same city. They produced several games—the culmination of which was currently Dragon Epoch, a subscription-based fantasy environment in which millions of players worldwide paid for the privilege of playing. Including me. Now I knew exactly what Heath had meant when he’d said that Drake and I had things in common. Or maybe it was his own starry-eyed gamer worship that had gotten in the way. If I was a hardcore gamer, Heath was worse. He was the one who’d gotten me into the whole thing in the first place. Now I was growing skeptical about Heath’s judgment. No doubt he’d been fan-geeking during those “multiple interviews” where he and Drake had spoken for hours both in person and on the phone. I brewed myself a pot of tea and glanced at the clock. I had hours yet before work, no desire to study and tons of blog posts to write—at least three reviews, one interview and a couple of spotlights. And yes, my weekly report on Dragon Epoch. But I wondered how I could keep that completely neutral —as if I didn’t know he was watching. Then again, while my blog was quite popular in the gaming community, I doubted a child prodigy genius CEO had time to regularly read the tripe I wrote. His game was far larger than the trivial comments I made on it. He’d probably been alerted to the auction by one of his underlings. Maybe he’d even glanced over the blog once he’d won. I’d criticized his game all over my blog. I loved playing it and found it a deeply immersive and fun experience but, as with practically every fantasy-based role-playing game in the industry, it was rife with misogyny. After all, the companies knew who their main customers were: young, horny guys in their late teens and twenties, suffering through college and all types of social awkwardness. Why not create female avatars and nonplayer characters that were all lithe, sexual and scantily clad? Anything to sell game subscriptions… My objections were mostly mild and sarcastic. I’d make scathing comments like, “Come on, boys, can you imagine your local half-elf healer jaunting down to the pond to collect herbs in her chainmail bikini? Hope she got her Brazilian wax before she donned that thing or else, ouch.” Sometimes I got hate mail, but usually my snark amused the male readers and got a lot of “hear, hear!” from my female readers. I wondered if Drake had ever seen the column. I wondered if Drake, himself, was a misogynist. His

behavior this afternoon had not led me to believe otherwise. Flustered and distracted, I had the choice of engaging in one of my two favorite activities when I had things on my mind: running or playing on the game. With a sigh and a flick of the computer switch, I picked the easier one—once I’d changed out of that dreadful skirt and into my forgiving yoga pants. I needed to get my mind off of that afternoon’s weird encounter and logging into Dragon Epoch was the best way to do it. I was all set to go slaughter a horde of monsters when my notification list lit up. Your friend FallenOne is online. I was shocked, pleasantly so. He hadn’t been on in weeks. A pang of some feeling I couldn’t describe resonated in my chest—longing, excitement. Before I could start the chat, my screen flashed. *FallenOne tells you, “Hey.” *You tell FallenOne, “Hey, stranger! Where have you been?” *FallenOne tells you, “Haven’t logged on in forever. School is kicking my ass.” *You tell FallenOne, “Should be over soon, no? So glad I don’t have classes this semester.” *FallenOne tells you, “Lucky. Had to get on the game to blow off some steam. Wanna go kill stuff?” *You tell FallenOne, “Always. You going to be on for our regular game night? Fragged misses you, too.” Fragged was the name of Heath’s Barbarian Mercenary. I waited. Fallen didn’t reply for a few minutes and I wondered what was going on. Fallen and I had had a friendship, as with Heath and our other friend, a girl from Canada who used the character name of Persephone, for over a year. Fallen had never wanted to join our guild but he played with us regularly, even though he never used in-game voice chat and only texted in game. He seemed shy and unwilling to come out of his shell. Still we’d joked around and spent hours LOLing and giggling at the stupidest things. For a while there, I’d really thought I had a bit of a crush on him. Sometimes I still felt the pangs of it even though my logical thoughts ruled that as being ridiculous. I hardly knew anything about his real life except that he was on the East Coast somewhere and in college. I wasn’t in danger. You couldn’t fall for someone over an online game and long IM chats, could you? But then I’d posted the auction. We had argued about it and he’d all but disappeared. And even now he was still distant, hesitant. I had no idea what university he attended or what his real name was—he was that shy. I could have labeled these two instances—my auction and his disappearance—as coincidental if it hadn’t been for what came next in our conversation. *FallenOne tells you, “You still going through with that auction?” I grimaced. *You tell FallenOne, “Yeah.” *FallenOne tells you, “I know it’s none of my business, but is it really a good idea? You’ve been through a lot of shit this past year with your mom being sick and that big test. Maybe now isn’t the time for you to do something drastic like this?” I sighed. Why didn’t guys understand that for a woman of my age, being a virgin was a burden more

than anything else? I just wanted to dump it already. Why not profit from it? *You tell FallenOne, “Everyone’s gotta lose it sometime. Why not go out with a bang?” *FallenOne tells you, “Pun intended, I hope?” I laughed. That “sounded” more like the Fallen I knew. We chatted for a few more minutes before we traveled to the same game zone—the place where our characters were located, the Misty Caverns, in order to go hunt bad guys together. Little more was said about the auction or our personal lives after that. Fallen didn’t promise to log in again on our regular game night and with no small amount of sadness I realized that this might be the end of our regular gaming relationship. Our mutual friend, Persephone, would be sad. She’d been trying to play matchmaker for Fallen and me for months and she hadn’t been subtle about it. And me, well, I wasn’t sure how I felt. More confused than ever, I guess. After a few hours, a few hundred oozing undead and several quest rewards, Fallen decided to log off. I kept going—a form of procrastination and avoidance of the things I should have been doing and thinking about. The question of Drake, Mr. CEO of the game I so loved, and his arrogance was still on my mind. Killing monsters didn’t help so I resolved to go for a run later that evening. But I never got there because less than a half hour after Fallen logged off, my door was nearly pounded off its hinges. I’d have recognized that knock at midnight in the middle of cyclone. With a smile I got up and jerked open the door. My two besties—besides, Heath, of course—stood in the doorway, shoulder to shoulder. I grinned at Alex, the daughter of my landlady, who had her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She had beautiful olive skin and was wearing a tight T-shirt with a printed-on bowtie and the motto Bowties Are Cool across her ample chest. Jenna, her best friend and roommate, with the brightest blond hair I’d ever seen on a person out of childhood—complete with a shock of brilliant purple—fidgeted beside her. “Password?” I demanded. The two girls glanced at each other and in unison they chanted, “I aim to misbehave.” I grinned at our favorite quote from Captain Mal Reynolds of Firefly. Jenna sidled into the room, squeezing ahead of Alex. She held a Tupperware container that rattled and said, “Can we come in?” As she was already mostly in the apartment anyway, I stepped aside with an exaggerated sigh. Alex grabbed my arm and gave me a dramatic shake, her dark brown eyes widening. “We are doing a Doctor Who marathon at our place tomorrow night. You gotta come. There’ll be a drinking game. We shoot tequila every time the Doctor uses his sonic screwdriver. We do a beer bong when he says ‘I’m the Doctor.’” I laughed. I loved Doctor Who but I knew I wasn’t up for that. Not this week. “I’ve got my study group —” Alex stomped her foot and the sound of it echoed on the floor below, which was the ceiling of her mother’s garage. “Come on, Mia! There will be cute boys there. Cute boys who love Doctor Who.” I snorted. “Yeah, and they’ll be even cuter after the beer goggles are on.” Jenna shook her box again and it rattled as she plopped down on my half-broken-down couch—the fabric was shredded and patched with duct tape. “Okay, so you don’t like to party. We get it. We’ve been asking you for months. But at least tell me you are going to come to my Dungeons and Dragons game next Saturday.” I groaned inwardly. Not this again. “I’m sorry, Jen, I have to work a double shift on Saturday.” She raised her pale—almost invisible—brows at me and popped off the cover of her plastic container.

“You think you’re a gamer, punching around on your keyboard, hunched over your monitor? You haven’t truly gamed until you’ve used these,” she said, holding her palm open to display some tiny threedimensional plastic pieces of all sizes and colors. Some were shaped like pyramids, while others were multifaceted spheres. Some gleamed like gems in the late afternoon sunlight. All of them were covered with plain white numbers. “That little tiny pyramid looks cool,” I conceded. Her face fell. I’d somehow displeased her. “This is a d-four—a four-sided die. It is perfectly balanced to give me the perfect chance for a completely random one-in-four roll every time.” “Um. Okay.” Jenna pulled out an oilcloth and began polishing the shapes. “You don’t get to use cool stuff like this for computer games.” I sighed. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll come soon. But this test has me so stressed out I can hardly think of anything else but studying and working so I can eat in order to keep myself alive so I can continue to stress about this damn test.” Because I’d failed it last year. I’d bombed so abysmally that that failure hung over my future like an executioner’s axe. It froze me with fear so that the thought of taking it—and failing it—again made me physically ill inside. Instead, I studied and studied and put off the retakes. The test was offered every month and everything—everything—I’d planned for my future rested on that godforsaken test. I hadn’t yet found my confidence, or the courage, to try it again. But if I didn’t do it, I’d never be a doctor. Since school and testing usually came pretty easily to me, I’d thought that the MCAT would be the same. How terribly wrong I’d been. I swallowed an icy pebble of fear, willing myself not to think about it. Alex plopped down beside Jenna and fingered some of the dice in the box, avoiding my eyes. “We get it,” she said, but it was easy to hear the hurt in her voice. I sighed, sinking down onto the metal folding chair opposite them—I had such fashionable furniture. It was bad, even for a college pad. “I’m sorry. Really.” Alex looked up, her eyes hard. “I said we get it.” Jenna placed a hand on her arm. “Alejandra, calm down please. I’m sure she’ll hang with us again when the test is over.” I shook my head. “Don’t you two have finals coming up or something? Why aren’t you studying?” They attended nearby California State University in Fullerton, which was on a slightly different schedule than my school, Chapman University. Alex cleared her throat. “Because I’m a communications major and she has such good grades that she opted out of most of her finals, because she’s a fucking brainiac,” she said, jerking her thumb toward Jenna. Jenna looked up and despite the crap she’d just given me, I could read real empathy in her pale blue eyes. She was stunning, really—like the love child of a Norse goddess and Alexander Skarsgård. “It’s okay, Mia, really. If you ever need help studying or anything, let me know. I could quiz you. I don’t know much about bio, but I know there are some physics-related questions on the test and since that’s my major…” I sighed, running my hands through my hair and resting my forehead in my palms. “I’m the worst friend ever.” “No. You’re just stressed out and if you keep this up, you’ll fail just because you’ll be too keyed up to even focus.” I rubbed my forehead with my thumbs, feeling the beginnings of a stress headache. This day! It felt endless, between the lack of sleep after my late shift, the rushed preparations, the unexpected meeting with a pompous but very hot asshole, the weird gaming session with Fallen and now this.

Alex got up from the couch and came over to crouch beside my chair. “Pobrecita,” she murmured in Spanish, meaning “you poor thing.” She slipped an arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry.” I sighed again and leaned my head on her shoulder. Then she invited me to eat downstairs with her mom and we pigged out on her awesome enchiladas. “You leave it to me and Jen,” Alex said. “We’ll find you a hot nerd and then you won’t be able to say no to our parties.” I grinned and swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. I’d met a hot nerd earlier that day and found I didn’t like him much.

Chapter Four As the next few days rolled on, my mind constantly dwelled on the question of whether it was the right decision to proceed as planned. I was finding it awkward to even force myself to do my weekly DE report. This week’s had been a bland, neutral commentary on some of the lamer quests in the game. But what about next week and the week after? What about after Drake and I slept together? Would I always be worried that he’d be stalking my blog? I could opt to cut my regular DE report from the blog. Readers would protest that. I received lots of hits, re-blogs and comments on that feature. My blog was my livelihood. It brought in more money through advertisements than my hospital job currently did. Hopefully it would keep paying the rent throughout med school as well. So, after days of mulling it over, I came to a decision. And while procrastinating making the call to Heath, I happened to log on and find him on the game. *You tell Fragged, “Hey dude, whatcha doing?” *Fragged tells you, “Killing trolls in the Golden Mountains. This new hidden quest chain is driving me up a tree. Come help me, I need your enchantress. They keep stunning me.” With a sigh, I complied, running my character over to the nearest magic portal chamber to take her to the location where Heath was tirelessly hacking his way through troll parts to find some small clue to the game’s latest mystery. *You tell Fragged, “You and everyone else who plays the game. You didn’t try to weasel the secret out of Drake, did you?” *Fragged tells you, “No. I doubt he’d tell me anything anyway.” *You tell Fragged, “You sure? You definitely chatted with him for a long time.” My character was almost to Fragged’s location in the game, at the base of the Golden Mountains, when she got jumped by an aggressive mountain goblin. *Fragged tells you, “Where are you? I’m up to my asshole in troll guts.” *You tell Fragged, “I have aggro. Goblin jumped me. I’ll be there in a minute. Oh and by the way, I need you to get in touch with the number two guy in the auction. It’s not going to work with Drake.” I was just finishing off the mountain goblin, my character at half her full life, when he replied. *Fragged tells you, “Um. What?” *You tell Fragged, “Just do it. I’m almost there—shit! Another goblin! Come help me. He has friends and I’m only at half my life.” I watched as my red health bar—the indicator of my character’s life—started to dwindle. I punched buttons left and right, waiting for his Mercenary to show up with his mighty sword so he could stand between me and the bad guys. We spell-casters referred to the big brawny warrior-types as “meat shields” because they stood between us and the monsters while we shot them with magic spells. *Fragged tells you, “I’m on my way. I strongly disagree, by the way. If you’re going to go through

with this, then D. is your best bet. And we probably shouldn’t be texting each other about it in his own fucking game.” Fragged arrived to save my bacon when I had only a sliver of health left. I backed up, drank a healing potion and punched my highest-level spell, “Bedazzle,” to stun the goblin and his friends. They swayed back and forth with stars in front of their eyes while Heath’s Barbarian Mercenary beat them down one at a time. “Take that, sucker!” I muttered aloud. I turned back to my keyboard, quickly typing in my next message to Heath. *You tell Fragged, “So why do you disagree about calling it off with him and going to the other guy?” I finished off the second goblin with a lightning bolt and then sent a healing spell to Fragged, who was down to a third of his life. *Fragged tells you, “Because D. is the best prospect, hands down.” I gritted my teeth, frustrated. *You tell Fragged, “Are you saying that because it is in my best interest or because you have DE stars in your eyes? You are hooked on this game and I know that’s what you spent your hours talking to him about—wheedling game secrets out of him.” *Fragged tells you, “WTF.” His character turned to mine and made a rude gesture. In response, I flipped off the screen, though I knew he wouldn’t see it. *You tell Fragged, “Real mature.” *Fragged tells you, “I’m not very mature when I’m pissed. If you think, for one minute, that I was putting my own interests ahead of yours, then how can you even call me a friend, Mia?” *You tell Fragged, “I don’t believe that. I’m sorry. I was mad. Drake pissed me off and it’s not going to work.” *Fragged tells you, “Stop using his name, goddamn it. Either abbreviate or call me on the phone, and don’t effing insult me.” With a heavy sigh, I grabbed the phone and called him. He picked up the phone and without a greeting, he said, “Okay, I get it. He came across about as aggressive as a mustang stallion. I have no idea what that was all about but I’m assuring you right now that he’s a far better choice than New York and I’m putting my foot down on this. Now get your ass over to my spot. These trolls are going to take me forever to kill without your help.” “Heath—” “No, Mia. If you want to back out with Drake, you are going to have to tell him yourself. I’ll send you his e-mail address. You let him know what you’ve decided.” I stiffened. “Fine. I will. I can’t blog about his company and his products if I’ve had a personal relationship with him. It just wouldn’t be right.” Heath snorted on the other end. “No, at least be honest with yourself. He scared the shit out of you

because you have never been that into a guy you’ve just met before.” “Whaaaaat?” And in spite of the fact that I was alone, my cheeks heated, my entire body grew hot and I started to sweat. It was a good thing I had to focus on killing trolls and saving his Barbarian Mercenary’s smelly loinclothed ass or I would have died of embarrassment. “We’ve been best friends since eighth grade. Back when you were still interested in guys, before that fucker screwed you up, I could always tell who you were into. It’s been six years since you dated that little prick and you’ve never so much as looked at a guy since. In our little meeting, you were flushed and breathing like you’d just run a marathon. Drake turned you on and that scares the shit out of you.” My fist closed on the table and my T-shirt was starting to stick to my ribs. His character was running low on life. I prepared my gate spell to take me away from the area and out of harm’s way. I’d tell him I accidentally hit the wrong button instead of healing him. “You have no idea what’s going on inside my head, so stop trying to figure it out.” “Doll, when you asked for my help with this auction, you gave me the right to voice my opinion. My work is all over this venture. Quit squawking because you’re losing control.” I wasted the second-to-last troll with a killing enchantment. He could fight the last one by himself— with only a sliver of life left. “I am not losing control.” “Then admit that you want Drake.” I took a deep breath. “He’d be a conflict of interest.” “Heal, please? And that’s not what I asked you.” My finger hovered over the heal button, but I didn’t press it. “Are you bound and determined to humiliate me? Yes, I think he’s hot. Okay? But that was never a requirement. Now, if I e-mail him and tell him he’s lost his chance, will you set things up with the New Yorker?” There was a long silence at the end of the line. “I’ll consider it. A heal any century now would be great.” “Drink a potion,” I snarled. Then I wussed out and shot him a small heal…just enough to let him think he might make it out before I gated out on him. “Mia, I really think you should think long and hard about Drake.” And then he laughed his typical juvenile boy laugh. “Huh. See what I did there? I said ‘long and hard.’” “Can you hear me dying of laughter over here?” I hit my gate spell and disappeared. Ten seconds later, Fragged showed up next to me in ghost form. The troll had finished him off. “Now who’s laughing, sucker?” I giggled. “I forgot how bitchy you get when I’m right and you’re wrong. Go write your e-mail, then. I’m not playing with you when you’re in one of your moods. But for the record, I think you’re making a big mistake.” I swallowed my frustration, at last relieved that I apparently had won him over. “Yes, yes. It’s noted.” So after I hung up, I sat down and wrote it. Dear Mr. Drake, I appreciate your interest in my auction and your willingness to lay down a considerable sum to see things come to pass. But since our meeting I’ve had some time to reflect on the matter and I feel that we would not be compatible in this venture. It was clear to me at our meeting that you lack the desire to put me at ease. This was never a requirement and I know you will point that out in your reply, but as the plans for this have solidified, I’ve decided that I need someone who is willing to make those extra efforts. As well, I do not think we would work well together and though it is only for a brief time, I still think it would be in my best interest to go with one of the runners-up in the bidding. I wish you well and thank you again for the opportunity to have met you.

Regards, Mia Strong Holding my breath, I pressed “send” and sat back, staring at the blinking cursor on a blank screen. After a few tense moments, I released it, realizing that I was a coward. Heath was right. I hadn’t been this affected by a man in—well—never. And I had no idea why that was the case, but at the very core of this cold feeling inside me was an icy kernel of fear or thrill. It dried my throat, made my palms clammy. I wiped them on my jeans and stood, unwilling to let myself dwell on it. Then I went about my day, tidying up the apartment in between writing blog posts and making still more tea. When I got back from vacuuming—a short break because I only had one room in my studio—I saw the “new e-mail” indicator flashing for my attention. I clicked on it and noted the return address: [email protected]. Not the address I had sent it to, which was a generic Google mail account. I opened it up and it was very short. Hi Mia, I’d like to talk with you again. As soon as possible. Adam I sent off my reply immediately. Mr. Drake— My decision is made. Mia Strong Next I did the windows—actually a bit astonished at my burst of desire to clean. I hadn’t cleaned like this in months. I hated to clean, but I’d found that, since sending that first e-mail, sitting around and doing nothing, or even just writing blog posts, was driving me crazy. After finishing the windows, I pulled on my shorts and running shoes, tucked my long hair up into a ponytail and decided to burn off my excess energy with a 5k run. I was almost out the door when someone knocked. I pulled it open and started in shock. Filling up my doorway with all of his masculine beauty was Adam Drake. In the very solid flesh. He wore jeans, a casual short-sleeved black button-down shirt and designer aviator sunglasses. He was leaning against the doorframe with one hand and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his firm bicep. He looked even more delicious than he had the day I’d met him at the hotel. “Um,” was all I said. How the hell did he know where I lived? Something tickled at the back of my memory—a hurriedly scrawled address on the back of the nondisclosure agreement that I’d signed. My heart started its furious staccato. I could feel it in my throat, my wrists. I couldn’t see his eyes, but he smiled—a genuine smile this time, not that sarcastic bullshit. “Hi. May I come in?” I hesitated. My apartment was clean but very humble. This guy probably had a mansion on the harbor somewhere—I was guessing Balboa Island. Worth at least five or six million, probably more. He probably had his own boat in a slip and he lived just down the street from the legendary home of the late John Wayne. His master bathroom was likely bigger than my entire studio. “It’s okay, Mia. I just want to talk.” This was a far cry from the caveman I’d met the previous week. I held his gaze through the shades and then he reached up and pulled them off, folding them and putting them in his shirt pocket. The gold watch

on his strong wrist flashed in the sunlight. I blinked and, not believing what I was doing, I stepped back and let him in, folding my arms over my chest. “You caught me at a bad time,” I murmured. “Yeah, I can see you are about to go running.” I frowned. How had he known that? Sure, I was dressed in exercise clothes, but how did he know I wasn’t headed for the gym instead? Then I remembered that I’d mentioned that I was a runner on my blog. Maybe he’d read it there? He entered slowly, moving as if he was afraid he might frighten me away. He glanced around the room, his face expressionless, but I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed when his gaze settled on my old rattletrap computer. At least I’d been able to swap out that old blocky CRT monitor for a newer flat screen when Heath had upgraded his system and given me his hand-me-down. But it was still a source of shame, especially for a techie gaming addict like me. My fingers dug into my arms where I held them across my chest. I shifted uneasily. “What are you doing here, Mr. Drake?” His gaze met mine, that studious look in his eyes again. “I’d like to know why you’ve changed your mind.” My lips thinned. I squared my shoulders, preparing for his hard sell. “I don’t believe I’m required to supply that answer, but out of the goodness of my heart I will say that Heath is the one who chose you, not me. I’m changing Heath’s decision, not mine. I’m still going through with this. Just with a different person.” His expression remained completely neutral but there was a speculative look in his eyes. “Because of our conversation last Thursday?” I blinked. “No. I wasn’t terribly impressed by that conversation, but that’s not the reason.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t I deserve to know why, then?” I shifted my weight from one leg to the other and looked down. “Because of who you are.” He nodded as if expecting that answer. “Yes, I wondered when that would come up. I was surprised there was no discussion of it at the meeting and didn’t surmise that Bowman hadn’t told you until after it was over. It wasn’t by my choice that you didn’t know.” I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “Heath Bowman is my closest friend. I don’t believe he meant any harm. He just thinks of this gaming thing as something that you and I have in common. But it’s a conflict of interest.” He nodded but didn’t say anything and for a long moment there was silence. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten yet. He smiled. “Can we grab something to eat? I’m feeling pretty hungry myself.” We walked to the sandwich shop at the end of the street. It was a little diner with tables on the front patio under a slatted wooden cover. On a breezy spring day in early May, it was the perfect place to sit. Drake and I ordered our sandwiches and sat while waiting for them to be brought out. My heart was doing its weird offbeat fibrillation again and when I swallowed, there was a cold excitement in my throat. Christ…just from sitting at a table with him? This guy was pure danger to my senses. What was it about him that set me on edge like this? I cleared my throat and began. “I don’t think you’re aware of this, but my blog is my livelihood.” “I’m aware of your blog, Emilia. I have been for quite some time.” This caused me to sit back against the chair. The cold of the metal back seeped through my T-shirt. “Is that so?” He smiled. “Why does that surprise you? Considering the industry I’m in and the fact that yours is one of the best blogs out there reviewing gaming material.” I glanced at him skeptically. “Thank you for the compliment, but that’s just not true. GameShopper.

GeekWorld. All of those other multiauthor platforms far outproduce me in content and hits.” “But they reference you often enough.” I shook my head. “I can’t wrap my head around the idea that you even read the blogs.” He laughed. “I’m a normal person, just like everyone else.” “But you’re busy CEOing and designing and stuff.” “I was an architect on the game once and take an active interest in my product. I’m always looking for ways to make it better. What’s been on my mind a lot lately is appealing to a certain demographic that we seem to have trouble with.” I knew how he’d answer before I asked the question, but I had to ask it anyway. “What demographic?” “Female, sixteen to twenty-four.” It was my turn to crack that sarcastic smile. “Ah, I get it. So I’m research for you, am I?” He laughed. “No, but your blog is.” I nodded. “It’s comforting to know that all my snarking is being noticed by those who count. Maybe someday you might take a comment or two of mine to heart.” His tilted his head, studying me. “I think you have a lot of valuable insights to provide to the gaming community from a young woman’s point of view. We need more female gamers speaking out about what they want.” “Great. So then you understand why I’m stopping this.” He shook his head. “It’s an unfounded worry.” “But if I’m reviewing your game and you and I are—how could you not see that as a conflict?” “Because there are ways you can handle it that you haven’t thought of.” I clenched my jaw. “Oh, is that so? Like what?” He looked to the side, considering. “You could temporarily go on hiatus with the DE column and find something else to take its place for a few months. Or you could get a guest blogger to handle it for you.” I laughed. “Are you actually suggesting I drop the free publicity of your game? I can’t believe my ears.” But he’d planted the seed of an idea in my mind. One of my closest gaming friends, Katya, who played as Persephone, had been wanting to guest post for some time. I’d never met her in person but, as with FallenOne, Heath and I played regularly with her. I could probably set her onto the task. She was a diehard DE fan. Still, I hesitated. And at that moment, our sandwiches were delivered to the table. I dug into mine— turkey and avocado on a wheat roll—with gusto. I hadn’t had breakfast and was running low on groceries, as usual, and I was still a few days out from the next paycheck. “I’m still not convinced it’s a good idea.” “Then let me resolve your other concerns,” he said, taking a bite of his spicy chicken po’ boy and commenting on how good it was. “I don’t think you can.” I said in between my next bites. “Try me.” “I don’t think we’re compatible.” “How compatible would we have to be for one night?” I shrugged. It wasn’t what I’d really wanted to say. It wasn’t compatibility that concerned me. It was this scorching sexual tension that crackled through the air whenever we were near each other. Or at least that’s how it was for me. I had no idea what he was feeling. He seemed as calm, cool and collected as on the day we’d met. I cleared my throat and leaned forward, my elbows on the table in front of me. “Mr. Drake, it’s very important to me that you understand that I am in control of this entire situation. It was my auction, my drive, my desire to see an end to an archaic value system that for centuries worked against women and to

turn it on its ear.” When he looked at me, his eyes sliced right through me, lanced me to the core. “It all sounds very noble and revolutionary when you put it that way. And here I’d been convinced this entire time that you were doing it for the money.” I sat back, watching him. So the Manifesto hadn’t fooled him in the least. I affected a shrug that I didn’t feel. “I won’t lie. I could use the money. I want to go to medical school and I don’t want to be in debt. Some women waitress at topless bars to put themselves through college. Some dance at strip clubs or sell phone sex over the Internet. My decision was to use one night in my life to change the course of things, if possible.” He didn’t have to know about my mother’s hospital bills and her cancer treatments or even the threat to the mortgage on the ranch property. He didn’t have to know about the way I felt like vomiting whenever I thought of any of those things, of the panic that laced the edges of every thought that concerned money. I’d let him think I was just doing this for me. I’d never claimed to be a selfless saint. His forehead creased and he got that strange, cold look he had when he’d dismissed me at the end of our first interview. “But ultimately, no matter who it is you choose to submit to, you will end up ceding control. You won’t be in control of the entire situation for the entire night.” I looked away but hesitated from biting into my sandwich. “I’d like to feel like I’m in control now.” “And my coming here to change your mind threatens that?” I tilted my head to the side, considering. “It depends on what you’ll do if you fail to convince me.” He hesitated a moment, then set his jaw. “I’ll step aside.” We watched each other over our empty plates—or at least his, for he had finished his sandwich and half of mine remained. I was still hungry, but that other half was earmarked as my dinner. It was another cost-saving measure I regularly employed. Any time I ate out, I saved exactly half my meal to have later. That way one meal became two. He stared at my plate. “You didn’t eat much. Didn’t you like your sandwich?” “It was great,” I said in a cheerful voice as I asked our server to bring me a take-home box. He scowled. “Eat the rest of your sandwich, Emilia.” “I’m saving it for later.” I blushed, refusing to admit that I was so destitute that this half sandwich, a box of cereal and half a carton of milk were about all I had to eat until payday. When the waitress returned, he took the box from her before she could hand it to me. He ordered two more sandwiches—one of which, I’d told him when I’d been suggesting things for him to order, was my second favorite here. “Can you bring those boxed to go? She’s decided to finish this one.” Then he turned and looked at me. “Now will you finish that?” It didn’t take more convincing. Though I was embarrassed, I mumbled my thanks around my last bites. His perceptiveness impressed me. Most guys wouldn’t have picked up on the fact that I was still hungry. Even Heath probably wouldn’t have. He’d never commented on my boxing up my leftovers. Drake carried the sandwiches back to my apartment as we walked the three blocks in silence. I crunched noisily on the peppermint candy the waitress had left with the check. “Do you always chew your hard candies like that?” I darted a glance at him and raised my eyebrows. “I don’t suck, remember?” And to my astonishment, he laughed. “How could I forget?” He came in again, but only to lay the sandwiches on the kitchen counter; then he headed for the doorway. I followed closely to see him out. Before he opened the door, however, he turned back to me. Given the narrow entryway, we were in close quarters. My heart started hammering at my throat again. He looked at me for a long moment. “Emilia, I’m asking you to reconsider. The choice—the control— is in your hands, of course, but don’t eliminate the possibility just because of some fears that can be

dispensed with.” Despite the strong physical reaction to him, my ire rose to his challenge. “You think I’m afraid?” He paused, studying my face. “I think there are some things you don’t understand. Like this effect we have on each other…” My throat tightened. So he was feeling it, too. My heart rate kicked up a few notches as if I was already in the middle of my run. Breathing was difficult, too. “I’m quite aware of it.” He watched me, eyes boring into mine. “But do you understand it?” “I’m quite capable of understanding sexual attraction, Mr. Drake.” “Adam,” he said quietly, his eyes lowering to focus on my mouth. My heart skipped a beat in its frenetic pace. “Adam.” “Why does it make you uncomfortable to call me by my first name?” I locked gazes with him, suddenly intensely aware of how close we were standing. I could smell him— a subtle scent, masculine, clean, like the ocean and the hint of peppermint candy on his breath. I could almost feel the heat and power oozing off of him in waves. I swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. “I don’t know.” “I want to give you one more thing to think about.” “And what is that?” He leaned closer, his head approaching mine. I didn’t have the time to step back nor, I think, the willpower to do it even if it had occurred to me. His mouth met mine in a firm, sure kiss. It wasn’t overpowering. That was the first thing that surprised me. It was a subtle give and take— gentle, at first, a warm pressure of his lips on mine. Then he took a step closer and slid a hand around my waist, the other going to my back. He retreated, just slightly, just enough to allow me to pursue him. His mouth moved against mine, teasing, pressing it open. Now his body pressed against mine, his head angled down to reach me, for I was at least five inches shorter than him. I opened my mouth to him then and his tongue slid in easily. Nothing tentative in this kiss. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was telling me I had the control, declaring the decision mine and then swooping in and taking no prisoners. His hands stayed put. I was glad of that though I wanted his touch everywhere—my aching breasts, the throbbing between my legs. Goose bumps prickled up and down my arms. His tongue explored my mouth with surety, easy possession. And—to my utter humiliation—I let loose a small whimper at the back of my throat. The arm around my waist tightened when he heard it, responding immediately, almost instinctively. He pulled his tongue back, as if inviting me to follow him with my tongue. And tentatively, I did. I’d been kissed before—back in high school when I was normal and I actually dated. But it had been years, now, and I’d never, ever been kissed like this. My tongue entered his mouth and he made a noise at the back of his throat, not quite a growl, kind of more like a huff. It emboldened me. Empowered me. I thrust my tongue, lacing my hands around the back of his neck. Our heads moved together for long minutes and I felt like I hadn’t breathed in a lifetime. Everything was spinning around me and I—I was spinning, too, delirious with want. Like a woman drowning in the middle of a stormy sea, in desperate need of a life raft. That sea was Adam Drake and he was pulling me adrift, stranding me in some strange and forgotten land. When finally he ended the kiss, he pulled away so slowly that I could hardly tell our lips had parted until cool air passed between us. It was then that I saw that he was as affected as I was—his cheeks flushed, his breath coming fast, his eyes dark and drunk with desire. I licked my lips and took a step back, but I didn’t remove my gaze from his. He stared at me for a long

moment and then fished his sunglasses out of his pocket. Before speaking, he coughed into a fist, as if consciously trying to affect that previous cool demeanor and knowing he was failing. “It was…That was just something else to consider. I hope you make the right decision.” And with that, without even waiting for me to say good-bye or reply in any way, he was gone. I fell back against the wall, aware of my aching, awakened senses. Every time I thought about his smell or the feel of his mouth on mine, a new shard of arousal cut me to the bone. Thank goodness I was already decked out to run. I had planned on 5k but I ended up running twice that before I could even begin to feel the sexual energy burn off. This man had fired me up, intoxicated me. And why? Because of his gorgeous face? His solid, masculine body? Because of his confident manner? He possessed maturity beyond his years. He seemed much more experienced than other twenty-something men I knew in college. Could life have changed him so much since his college days or had he always been that way? I found questions like these sliding through my mind constantly for the rest of that day—all through the night as I worked. They harangued me on my day off, too. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and wanted to call and ask him to come over and give me a good night kiss like the one he’d given me the day before. I laughed at the thought. How silly. But I surprised myself with the realization of how much I really wanted it. On day three after The Kiss, I called Heath and told him to throw away the New Yorker’s contact information. We would proceed as planned. Still, my feelings were mixed. I had a hard time reconciling the behavior of Adam Drake at the hotel conference room the day we’d met and the man who’d come to my place and bought me lunch and, thanks to his perceptiveness, dinner, too. I’d told Heath, but I waited a few more days to tell Adam that I’d decided to go through with it. I didn’t want to appear as eager as I was beginning to feel, after all. I didn’t want to be eager at all. This was business. And every time I relived the fire of that kiss in my memory, I had to remind myself of that. Business. Business, Mia. Just business. Nothing meaningful would ever result from this encounter between us. I’d designed it expressly to be that way. One night of anonymous abandon from which I’d emerge a new woman—or maybe just the same old me, without my virginity but with a lot of money in my bank account. But now, this man was stirring a whole different pot. A bubbling, roiling cauldron of thrilling need. This night might be too dangerous, like staring into the sun or flying too close to the fire or… Mr. Drake, I’ve decided to go through with the agreement as it stands. Please proceed with the business arrangements as outlined in the packet of papers provided to you by Mr. Bowman. If you prefer, you can speak with him if you have any questions. You’ll need to set a date at least two weeks from now but no more than three months. We can discuss locations, choosing from the list I provided. Regards, Mia Strong My heart thumped in my throat when I hit “send.” I sat and stared at the screen for almost twenty minutes, numbly paging through my regular gaming news sites and clipping things for my blog. I stared at that e-mail icon until it drove me crazy that he wasn’t replying. Did I think he’d change his mind? Was I afraid he would? Or was I just dying to see what he’d say in reaction to this? Maybe he was in a meeting or on a business trip or unable to get reception. Maybe he was screaming through the atmosphere on his private jet with a pretty hostess in his lap and a martini in his hand. I

scrunched up my face at that picture, like he was some kind of young, American James Bond, and laughed at my own silliness. After I got home from that afternoon’s run, I checked again. Nothing. Then I made dinner and sat down to watch an old Friends rerun while I ate. I’m proud to say I only interrupted my meal once to check my computer and make sure the alerts were working properly. Maybe he had changed his mind? Maybe he’d decided it was too much trouble. After all, I had to question why he’d be interested in this deal, anyway. He was young, rich and gorgeous. Weren’t there women beating a path to his door? Why would he bid so much money on a woman he’d never met— before he’d ever seen a picture of my face—for one night? Why did he care? Why did it mean so much to him to remove the virginity of a stranger? After dinner, I dug into my study books for a couple of hours before finally dozing off around ten. Yes, I was living the high life. When I woke up, Gray’s Anatomy was digging a sharp corner into the small of my back. I pushed the huge book to the floor and the computer chirped. I don’t think I’ve ever jumped awake faster in my life. I opened up my e-mail and saw his address flashing with the “unread” tag on it. I plunked into my chair and, with a shaky hand on my mouse, opened it. Ms. Strong, May 18th. Amstel Amsterdam. 15:00 local time. Check in at the desk, reservation under my name. Pack light. Bowman will make the flight arrangements per my instructions. See you in two weeks. Drake My heartbeat thrummed on every inch of my skin. My forehead broke out in beads of sweat. He’d thought everything through. Amsterdam had been on the list, of course, because of the legality issues of what we were doing. And I’d secretly hoped he’d agree to it, as I’d always wanted to go there, even if it was just for a night. Maybe I could do some sightseeing. I’d always dreamt of seeing Europe. Holland was an excellent start. I immediately opened up another window and did a search for the hotel and gasped at the pictures I hit. Easily five stars, over a thousand euros a night. I was getting my cherry popped in style. But…he had made all the arrangements without consulting me. And while they were splendid arrangements, I was still irked by his assumption of command—again. He’d promised me he’d let me drive this, let me be in control. It was likely that he didn’t even think about things like that. That they were so easy for him to arrange that it didn’t even occur to him that he was wresting anything from my grasp that I didn’t want to cede. After minutes of staring at the blinking cursor in the reply screen, I picked up the phone and dialed Heath. There was no answer. With a huff and a sigh, I closed the program and shuffled off to bed. Despite being exhausted and having to report for an early shift in the morning—as in five a.m. sort of early—I couldn’t sleep. I kept wondering if I should be irked or not—if I should be reading so much into his gestures. Were there ulterior motives or was this just second nature to him? My mind wandered over everything and ultimately kept returning to that feeling I got when he watched me with that intense stare. My skin flushed all over in response. And that kiss. I could remember the tiniest detail of it. Would sex with him be like that—only more? His mouth had felt so good I couldn’t help but wonder what his lips, his tongue would feel like on my body. My nipples immediately tightened at the thought of that hot tongue sliding over them. I imagined the pressure of his hard, heavy body on top of mine, pressing me into the mattress.

My hand moved between my legs, stroking faster and faster against that knotted ache that had stirred into being when we’d kissed. My eyes screwed tight as the pleasant anticipation built. His hands on my body, his body between my legs. His back under my stroking hands. Yes. I gasped as I tumbled down that precipice, my body convulsing with the orgasm. At two a.m. I finally drifted off, but not before becoming aware of an unease at the edge of my fatigued awareness. I was captain of my own ship, yes. But I still had to answer to the sea, the weather, the storm on the horizon. And Adam could be any one—or all—of those things. And in my sleep-induced haze, I couldn’t help but fear that he was.

Chapter Five “To Save a Distressed Damsel”—Posted on the blog of Girl Geek on May 15, 2013 Have you ever noticed that one of the greatest motivators for champions embarking on an epic fantasy quest almost always involves a woman? Either the knight-errant departs on a crusade to prove his love to his lady fair or, more commonly, the lady has been captured and dragged off by big baddies and awaits her hero while locked in a tower or (shudder) a dank dungeon. Take, for example, the latest in a series of mysterious quests in our oft-bemoaned but much-loved game Dragon Epoch. Players have been summoned to action by the capture of innocent elf princess Alloreah’ala by the race of evil Stone Trolls, who live far under the Golden Mountains. Every quest, every motivation has something to do with our princess. Every illustration referring to the new expansion of the game has her scantily-clad likeness splayed across it—just to reinforce why it’s important to save her. Because she’s PRETTY and innocent. And helpless. Oh, and because the King has issued the edict to save his beloved daughter. Okay, that bag of gold and laundry list of magical equipment might be pretty important, too. My question is this: why can’t these games assume that the women can fend for themselves? My Spiritual Enchantress has a pretty mean Bedazzle spell in her arsenal and she’s capable of holding her own. So why is this nonplayer female character so pathetic—one of a long line of pathetic females? Why can’t she defend herself? Why can’t she pull some kickass moves, steal the jailer’s weapon and keys, bash in some bad-guy heads and save herself? Why must she sit and wait, imprisoned, and in the process become just an object to save? It’s time for the pretty princesses of Yondareth to rebel! Fight your own fight and stop waiting for some dudes to do it for you. A few days before I was set to leave on a red-eye from LAX to Amsterdam, I went to Heath’s house to go over the details of the trip. He printed out my ticket and whistled, waving it under my nose. I snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it into my bag. Heath’s green eyes sparkled as he laughed at me. He had unruly dark blond hair and his cheeks were roughened with a few days’ growth of golden whiskers. “British Airways, first class. So high class, Mia. LAX to Heathrow for a layover and then on to Amsterdam.” I sat on his plush couch shaking my head while he tapped away at the computer. I’d only flown a few times before—all domestic flights. The farthest was a trip to Washington, DC with my eighth-grade class. I’d never flown out of the country and in fact had only just received my first passport the month before in anticipation of the auction. He hit a few more keys. Heath typed fast, but always with only two fingers at a time—his pointer fingers. I often teased him about his hunt-and-peck approach, but he never bothered to learn how to use the home keys. “He e-mailed me a signed PDF of the contract, which I printed. So, you need to sign a copy, too. Not that this thing would be legally enforceable, mind you. It’s an illegal agreement in our country, but it’s couched in all kinds of verbiage. Either one of you could weasel out of it. He doesn’t pay any money until you put out and you won’t put out until you see that the money is safely set aside for that purpose. Strange little situation, with these holding accounts.” I sighed. “I’m so glad I have you and your bestie Joe to work this stuff out for me. There’s a reason law school never interested me.”

“I had a nice long talk with Drake when I got the contract. He’s pretty easy to get to know. He’s not a bad guy—for someone who’d pay almost a million dollars to pluck a virgin flower, that is.” My mouth quirked at the irony. What type of person was I, for selling it in the first place? I took a deep breath. A practical person, I decided. “I made sure to emphasize certain stipulations—once the contract has been ‘fulfilled,’ there is to be no further contact between you. No phone calls, no e-mails. Essentially like a restraining order, though we won’t have to go that far unless one of you loses it.” I looked away, ignoring a weird twinge at the thought of one of us possibly getting obsessed over the other. “Uh huh.” He tilted his head at me, the glow of his computer monitor reflecting on his stern features. “So, you think you can do this? You were pretty annoyed with him after that first meeting. I knew you were into him in other ways, but you were so determined to go with someone else until something changed your mind. What was it?” He kissed me and it blew my mind, I thought. How ridiculous. A woman my age being reduced to a blithering moron by one kiss from a desirable—albeit insanely desirable—male. “I just…did a lot of thinking. He’s young. He’s attractive. It could be a lot worse.” Heath gave a dry chuckle. “Attractive. Huh. I’d say he’s smoking hot, but maybe that’s just me. He’s not even my type, either, but I’d do him.” I smothered a giggle at that mental image. “So I thought Amsterdam was a good choice, given their legal support of prostitution.” I rolled my eyes. “Can we stop using that word?” Heath smirked at me. “Doll, you can call it a freaking clown rodeo if you want. Still won’t change the fact that you are going to have sex with a man and he is going to pay you for that privilege.” I looked away but my cheeks heated. I fiddled idly with a hole in my jeans—fraying it so that it grew. I shook my head. I was not a prostitute and I wouldn’t be a prostitute after this whole thing was finished. It was one night of my life. Just one. I was empowering myself— And I was going to have sex with a man. That man. His hands would be on my body, that lush, hot mouth on me. I stayed silent and didn’t meet Heath’s gaze. “We also went over what he can and can’t do. I wanted to be very clear on that. No kink. No bondage of any kind. Straight vanilla all the way for my girl.” “Vanilla is a very tasty flavor, in my opinion.” He sighed and shook his head. “You haven’t lived, my dear. But just wait, once you get a taste, I have a feeling you’ll be wanting all sorts of flavors after this.” I blew out a breath. I highly doubted it. This was a business deal and I was benefiting from something that not only mattered little to me but had only served as a burden up until this point. I wanted to be rid of the stigma of being the twenty-two-year-old virgin without having to deal with any messy entanglements. I hadn’t wanted a relationship for quite some time and didn’t see that changing at all in the foreseeable future. “And no oral, right?” Heath asked. I looked at him like he was an idiot. As if he had to ask that. “That hasn’t changed and it’s not going to.” He sat back against his computer chair, which squeaked in protest. His gaze grew intent. “The man might want to get his money’s worth, after all…” Heath said. He tried to give it that jokey air that he gave most of his words, but these held a dark edge. A cold pulse thumped at the base of my throat. “Don’t go there, Heath.” His stared at me. “I don’t think you’re ready for this. You can’t even talk about it.” “I can talk about it. I have talked about it. You know everything.”

But despite his words, I still couldn’t get the picture out of my mind…that dark summer night, dry winds coming out of the foothills. Out on the edge of town, watching the lights, and I was sobbing, on my knees. Hands wound into my hair so tightly, pulling so hard that my scalp would ache for days afterward. I shook my head, my hands crunching into balls. “Stop it. I’m fine.” He shrugged, that nonchalance returning. “Okay. If you say so. Let’s see…what else did we talk about? Oh yes, one night of straight vanilla sex. Positions of your choice and comfort.” My eyes bugged. “Positions? It’s just one night.” Heath seemed to be stifling laughter. “Yeah—one night, but who knows how many times that means? He’s young, very fit—he’s probably good for at least two, probably three. More if it’s been as long as he says it’s been. Eight months. Christ.” “What?” I screeched, horrified. “Doll, you act like you’re getting your legs waxed or something—well, admittedly it’s your first time so it will hurt a little, but I can guarantee you’re going to be having too much fun to notice. Just hope that he’s not really big—” I clapped my hands over my ears as if to block off the rest of his diatribe. “Mia,” he said and waited until I dropped my hands. “Mia, I’m not shitting now. If you can’t even talk about it like this, how in the hell are you going to go through with it?” I watched him for a moment. My best friend since the eighth grade. We were each other’s only comfort during some of the worst years of our lives—growing up in a small high desert community as awkward misfits, the both of us. When he came out in the ninth grade, I was the first person he told. When my boyfriend sexually assaulted me in the tenth grade, he was the first person I told. I shook my head. “I thought it would be just as simple as me drinking a bottle of wine and then lying back and thinking of medical school.” He gave me a sad smile. “It’s never even occurred to you that you might enjoy it, has it?” I shrugged. “You’ve screened the guy. You say he’s trustworthy. He won’t hurt me?” Heath shook his head. “There are no guarantees. You’ve got to trust that he won’t. I tried my hardest. Had him investigated. No criminal record, no dirty rumors of deviant behavior.” I ran a hand through my hair and began to twirl the dark brown ends of it nervously around my forefinger. Heath cleared his throat. “I gotta ask and I know it’s a really personal question but… did you start taking your pills from Planned Parenthood?” I nodded. I’d had my period four weeks before and began the Pill at the prescribed time. “He’s cleared, medically. I saw the report with my own eyes.” I fidgeted. I wanted to back out. But I’d never in a million years admit that to Heath because he’d jump on that hesitation like a golden eagle swooping down on a rattlesnake. “He’s in the UK, rolling out the European launch of the latest game expansion. But it’s not too late to back out of this.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Please, Heath! Don’t keep saying that. I need your support right now. I don’t need you to talk me out of this.” “I wouldn’t be your best friend if I didn’t try to talk you out of this.” And then he approached, plopped himself down on the sofa beside me and wrapped me in his big arms. I planted my face against his broad chest. He smoothed my hair and the panic melted away. When I left an hour later, I was calm. Reserved. Resigned. *** I took the entire week off before I left so that I could write, plan and schedule my blogs to be published during my absence. I hoped this would throw readers off the track about what was going on in my

personal life. I planted seeds of diversion by mentioning how busy I was getting with my day job. How I’d have to work double shifts for the next little while. White lies to throw the gossips off the trail. The gossips were already out discussing on other sites when and if the transaction would take place. I had mentioned, briefly, that I would not be able to discuss the results of the auction for many reasons. I’m not sure how many were really interested. My site was about gaming, after all. Most of those guys would rather go on epic raids for their elite gear than get laid—or hear about me getting laid. I understood that. I was one of them. I also took care of one last thread of unfinished business by telling my mom I was going to be hitting the books heavy for the next few days so I’d be unplugging my phone. It’s true that I was bringing study materials on the plane, but the less I told her, the better. “You sound tired, Mia. Are you sure you haven’t been studying too much?” “There’s no such thing as studying too much, Mom. People in my study group have private tutors and one went to a special test prep retreat.” I sighed inwardly, wondering how I would be able to compete with the myriad of hopeful medical students who went to these measures to succeed on their exams. Especially when I’d already proven myself a failure. My chest tightened thinking about how, if I had scored well last year, I’d have my acceptance letter to begin med school in the fall already in my hand. “I worry that with all you’ve got on your plate between your jobs and studying, you are burning the candle at both ends.” “I have no classes this semester. Believe me, if I could do all this while I was going to school, I can do it now. Don’t worry, Mom. Now I get to ask you how you’re doing.” “Oh,” she said lightly. “I’m just great. Things are looking up for me.” I frowned. Looking up? Had she gotten to be a better liar when I wasn’t noticing or were things actually improving for her? “What’s going on? Has something happened?” “I’m—I’m not really ready to talk about it.” I sat back, bewildered. Was Mom finally dating again? I blew out a breath. She’d never had any relationships the entire time I was growing up. She had male friends in the community and I knew some of them may have wanted a romantic relationship, but my mom had never been interested. When I was a teen, I’d asked her why she never dated and she’d shrugged and said she was waiting for me to grow up. Well, I was grown up now. Had she finally decided to get on with her life? “If it was something serious, you’d tell me…right?” “Of course,” she said evasively. We hung up a few minutes later and I stared at my phone for long moments. That was one of the weirdest phone calls I’d had with my mom in a long time. She was always an open book with me. But who was I to talk, really? I was keeping one hell of a secret from her. One that, if she ever discovered it, would hurt her. I had no right to go digging in her business if I wasn’t prepared to open up about mine. But still, I was worried. I was protective of my mom and given her experience with the Biological Sperm Donor, she hadn’t chosen well in the past. But Mom was smart and I had to trust that she’d learned from her mistakes. So to take my mind off of my worries and also because I didn’t have much to pack, I spent most of the day before my departure wasting monsters on Dragon Epoch. I kept checking the player list for FallenOne but I was not in luck. My notifications list said that he hadn’t logged in since that day we had played together weeks before. *** The next day I was on a flight to Amsterdam with a small overnight bag. I had packed light, per Adam’s instructions. He’d clarified in later e-mails that he’d gotten my dress size from Heath and would have some clothes waiting for me. I’m sure he guessed, after spending five minutes in my little dive, that I wouldn’t have clothing fit to be seen at a place like Amstel Amsterdam.

I traveled in my most comfortable pair of jeans, a T-shirt and walking shoes, with a small bag of toiletries and unmentionables tucked under the enormous recliner in first class. I’d gone through every short line at the airport and not a single person had blinked an eye at my scruffy clothing and threadbare backpack. Everything was full service and everybody catered to my whim. I’d had a glass of chilled white wine at the first-class lounge. It took the edge off of traveling alone and the uncertainty of what I’d be facing in the Netherlands. I snacked on smoked salmon and crème fraîche to go with the wine. The jitters only dulled instead of dissipating. But the plane ride was something else entirely. I’d have fifteen hours of travel yet before I would touch down in Amsterdam. So I enjoyed myself in the top floor, front row of the immense 747. Shortly after takeoff for a direct flight to London, I was served more wine and handed a full menu. Dinner came on a white tablecloth with china and full silverware. I unabashedly enjoyed the pampering and the lovely, lilting British accents spoken all around me. I didn’t sleep a wink on the plane—staying true to the term “red-eye” flight as my eyes were scratchy and gritty by the time I’d deplaned. Upon our arrival in London, an airline employee greeted me, holding up a card with my name on it. She showed me down to the Heathrow First Class lounge and spa, giving me a list of all the appointments she’d made on my behalf. I was treated to a manicure, pedicure and facial before being handed a towel and a shiny green-and-gold shopping bag. Then she led me into a private bathroom with shower. After the long plane ride, it felt like heaven. And I still had a few hours before the flight to Amsterdam. The bag contained new clothes—the tags still on them from Harrods department store. A smart darkgreen-and-black sundress and even new underthings—silk panties and a matching lacy bra. I blushed to look at them but felt so pretty when I wore them that I could hardly be upset at the presumption. I’d never been spoiled before. And I could definitely see the appeal. I applied my makeup and dried and styled my hair, feeling like a fresh, new person. I’d stepped into a whole new world, like a modernday fairy tale. It was just a short one-hour hop from here to Amsterdam, and Adam, who was waiting for me. In Amsterdam, a driver met me and whisked me off to the hotel, speaking cheerfully in almost perfect British-accented English, though he was clearly Dutch. He had the white-blond hair and pale blue eyes of his Viking ancestors. I arrived at the hotel just around noon and checked in, per Adam’s instructions. The clerk handed me an envelope and inside was a smart phone. I asked the clerk if it would work in Amsterdam and he gave me a puzzled look and nodded. I glanced at it and noticed a waiting text message from Adam. It told me to order myself some lunch in the suite and he would see me at three p.m. for a day of sightseeing. The bellhop guided me through a palatial lobby carved out of white marble and up an elegant Yshaped, carpet-covered staircase to the elevators. I’d learned online that the majestic building dated from the nineteenth century and featured all the exquisite architectural details of an earlier era. The bellhop loaded me into a small elevator—the type that had been fitted in as a nod to modern conveniences and seemed alien in this elegant, old-fashioned building. On the top floor, he directed me to the penthouse suite. And inside I found a space that could have fit my studio four times over. It was appointed in antique furnishings, with a bedroom and bathroom on the lower floor as well as a sitting room with couch and bar. A dark wood staircase led up to the unknown and I stared at it for a moment, determined to go exploring the minute I was alone. I wasn’t set to meet Adam for another hour, so I had no idea where he was or if he had checked in yet. “Mr. Drake…” I said to the bellhop. “I’m sorry, Miss. I do not know. You can call down to the lobby and ask.” I smiled. “That’s okay. I can text him.” The bellhop, who had insisted on carrying my ratty backpack for me, didn’t even hesitate or wait for a

tip. Instead, he bowed himself out. A tingle of anticipation started at the base of my spine. I punched in a message on my phone. Am here. Waiting patiently. I hadn’t seen him in three weeks and in my mind he’d steadily grown more attractive and delicious. Hell, he’d reached almost godlike proportions by now in my imagination. I was anxious to see him again. This would be the next and the last day that I would. There was no reply to my text. Likely he was still in meetings or maybe still in the air. I blew out a breath and fidgeted nervously, determined to satisfy my curiosity. I walked around downstairs and briefly glanced at the room service menu before deciding I was too nervous to eat. I looked in every corner around the bar and the single bedroom, where I’d dumped my stuff. I wondered—if the bedroom was downstairs, then what was upstairs? A terrace? I galloped quickly up the stairs to find out and landed in an even grander bedroom. It was elegantly decorated with a giant four-poster bed accompanied by similar period furniture in dark woods. The curtains on the sidewall had been pulled aside and the windows looked out over the canals of Amsterdam. A fresh set of clothes—which I assumed were Adam’s—had been laid across the bed, but there was no one in the room. I entered and walked to the bed—a king-size, decorated in blues, silvers and light gray French toile fabric. My eyes skimmed over the bed, wondering if this would be the place where things would happen tonight. My heart thrummed again and I swallowed, but there was no way I could tell if that was from fear or excitement. He was here already. I heard a noise at the same moment a doorknob—presumably to the bathroom— rattled. I jumped back but before I could skitter out of the room, it opened and Adam stood in the doorway, frozen in midstep. He’d just exited the shower. Our eyes locked and my breathing froze. He had one snowy towel slung low around his hips, another draped around his neck. He’d obviously just toweled his hair dry. The short cut was frizzed in every direction as if it had been artfully arranged that way. And his chest—every creased valley, every firm muscular angle chiseled in perfect flesh—gleamed with steam. I sucked in a quick breath. “H-hi,” I finally said, tearing my eyes from his bare chest with reluctance. “Emilia.” He smiled openly with no apparent self-consciousness. “You made it!” “I’m—I’m sorry for—I didn’t know you were even here yet. I was just exploring.” “No worries. My meeting let out earlier than expected so I beat you here. Did you have lunch?” I fought to keep my eyes from drifting downward again, from fixing on those perfect abs, lightly dusted with dark hair, that seemed to have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. “I—I wasn’t that hungry.” “Order room service. I could use a roast beef sandwich and theirs is delicious. We can catch up over lunch.” “Um,” I stammered and looked away and then back to him. “Sure. I’ll—just go do that, then.” He laughed and pulled the towel from around his neck, throwing it back into the bathroom behind him. And that’s when I saw the tattoo. Scrawled in elegant jade-green script just under his left collarbone, it was easy to read and very simply designed. Just one word. A woman’s name. Sabrina. I couldn’t look away, my eyes zeroing in on that interesting detail. He glanced down to follow my gaze and then looked up again. “If you’d just give me a moment…unless you want to stay and do this now?” he said with laughter in his eyes.

My mouth dropped. “I’ll go order lunch, then,” I repeated lamely before fumbling my way out, nearly tripping down the stairs. I ordered his roast beef sandwich with the works—he hadn’t told me what he wanted on it, after all— and for myself, a grilled cheese with smoked brie and Gruyère. By the time I was done with the order, he had entered the room, now fully dressed, thank God. Even in jeans and a button-down shirt, he was the epitome of handsome elegance. And even in my breezy sundress I felt awkward next to him. I wondered if that mega-suit he’d worn at the hotel during our first meeting was a fluke. Computer geeks typically didn’t suit up. Most of the coders I knew liked to brag about the casual dress their jobs allowed. But he didn’t seem like a typical computer geek. Then again, how would I know? I knew so little about him. That was the way I’d wanted it, right? Wham, bam, here’s your cash, ma’am? And suddenly it occurred to me—with no small amount of fear—something I’d never worried about until this moment. What if I didn’t please him? What if he found me wanting in the bedroom? I was completely inexperienced, after all. Would he feel cheated? Like he hadn’t gotten his money’s worth? I shook my head, ridding it of the odd thought. What was happening to me? “Cold?” he said, misinterpreting my headshake. “No. I’m fine. Thank you for the dress.” I said, smoothing my skirt. “Thank Heath, actually. He had to talk me out of ordering a chainmail bikini.” When I shot him a weird look, he laughed. “Kidding. I asked him to pick out some pretty things for you on the Harrods website and have them delivered to the airport lounge. Seems everything went off well.” I snorted. “Heath picked this out?” He looked puzzled. “Yeah. Why’s that surprising?” “He has the fashion sense of a barnacle.” “He is gay, right?” “He’s gay. But he’s not that kind of gay. He’d wear a burlap sack to work if they’d let him—or if burlap sacks were comfortable.” Adam’s eye traveled down my form appreciatively, but not lasciviously. “He knows colors, that’s for sure. That color suits your dark hair and eyes perfectly. You look radiant. And more importantly, you don’t look like you’ve just spent fifteen hours in transit.” I spread my arms out in front of me. “Good thing.” “Are you tired?” “I chugged a Dr. Pepper on the flight from London and bought another one when I landed here.” “Good. Let’s eat and then we can see some sights. I was thinking maybe the Royal Palace and a trip down the canals?” I brightened and he smiled at my obvious excitement. “That sounds wonderful. I’d love to!” Room service arrived then, and the waiter set it out on the table as if he was a maître d’ at a Michelinstarred restaurant. And we weren’t just eating some sandwiches. My croissant and melted cheese was to die for. Adam laughed at my obvious pleasure in the food, but I could tell he was having a similar reaction to his roast beef. “If I could get away with flying these in for lunch every day from Amsterdam to Irvine, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” “Oh, that’s probably pocket change for you.” “Nope. I could never bring myself to do it. An ostentatious waste. I already feel enough guilt over my carbon footprint and I pay to offset it. But when I do get a chance to stay here, I make sure to have one. I also took one to space with me.” “Shut up!” I said, my eyeballs almost falling out of my head. “You’ve been to space?” He nodded, finishing up his next bite. “I spent ten days at the International Space Station last year. Biggest high of my life.”

Every minute I spent with this man, he managed to surprise me even more. “Are you an astronaut, too?” “A space tourist, more like. The Russians sell slots on their launches to the highest bidder. I got lucky. It happens often,” he said, shooting me a meaningful look. But he hardly got a reaction from me. I was still reeling from the news that he’d been to space. “What was it like?” His eyes drifted off to the side and had a sparkling quality about them, like polished onyx. “It was… indescribable.” I blew out a breath of disbelief. “Give me something to work with. Come on, just a few adjectives?” He paused. “Unforgettable. Unbelievable. Like…the entire world had gone silent. The whitest of white points against the blackest black, and the huge, blue world below my feet.” I took another bite of my delish sandwich, contemplating his words. “That’s very poetic for a geek. It’s fortunate that I can never quote you because you might have to have your geek card revoked if it gets out.” He grinned. “I’m a geek for life. Not only am I president of the geek club but I’m also a member.” I snickered and bit into my sandwich. “If your geek card isn’t revoked because of the poetry it should definitely be revoked for having all those muscles,” I said and then blushed scarlet, realizing I was still remembering that vision of him with his shirt off. The firm pecs, the clearly defined abs and biceps, like he’d been chiseled from marble. “Geeks don’t have muscles,” I said, lamely covering my embarrassment. It was true. What kind of computer programmer had a body like that? He smirked. “The geeks who didn’t like getting picked on in school and decided to bulk up as a deterrent do.” I studied him as I finished up my sandwich, hard-pressed to imagine any idiot picking on Adam. But I had no idea what he’d been like as a youth, so how could I know? Whatever the incentive, it had worked. It, along with his brilliant mind, handsome face and dark good looks, completed a whole dreamy package. One that, I’d bet, many women tried to get their hands on. I pondered that in silence over the rest of my sandwich. I’d found no information about any previous relationships online. Maybe he’d made those women sign NDAs, too. We spent the afternoon at the Royal Palace and then on a guided tour down the canal. The city was vibrant, clean, a stunning fusion of old world and new. I’d now stepped into an even stranger world than the one I’d entered in that first-class line at LAX. This world included only one other person and I was sharing every experience, all the conversation—for we were rarely without something to talk about—with him. To use his words, it was like the entire world had gone silent and we were the only two in it. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like the next day when it was time for me to get back on the plane for the return trip home. How would it feel to go back to the real world after dancing at midnight like Cinderella at the ball? At least I knew better than to expect my Prince Charming to show up at my doorstep the next day, ready to jam a glass slipper onto my foot. We returned to the hotel at around six p.m. and Adam said we should change for dinner. He told me that everything I’d need was in the wardrobe of my bedroom. So I threw it open. There were three gowns— one red, one black and one in filmy crème, all with matching shoes. I chose the black and wondered if Heath had picked these out, too. There was no way. They were all so gorgeous. I quickly showered, redid my makeup and arranged my dark brown hair in a simple straight style that brushed past my shoulders to the middle of my back. The black dress was beaded at the waist and at the scoop of the bodice, catching the light with glamorous sparkles. It hung on thin straps and was backless to the waist, gathering in loose folds there. Because of the design, I’d have to go braless to wear it, but it seemed to support me perfectly, regardless. I picked out a new pair from a handful of pretty underthings—this one a sheer and lacy pair of panties that made me feel naughty just wearing them. I felt like a princess. Or an actress about to take the stage at the Oscars.

I slipped into the matching heels—I wasn’t accustomed to wearing them, but these strappy sandals were works of art, glittering with rhinestones. Every step I took sent a flare of brilliant light in every direction. When I entered the living room, it was to a wolf whistle. Adam stood near the ice bucket with an open bottle of champagne in his hands, about to pour. I turned—carefully, so as not to trip all over myself—and he shook his head. “You’re going to be the toast of Amsterdam tonight, Emilia.” My cheer faded suddenly. I was only going to be the toast of this room. Of his bed. And for far less than a whole night. I’d stepped into a dream and now, in the middle of it, was all too aware that it would be over before I even realized it. “We’ll be dining at Ciel Bleu and, if you are so inclined, there will be dancing nearby in the hotel afterward.” I gaped. “Dancing? What sort of dancing? You mean like waltzing and stuff?” He shot me a strange look. He was adorable when he screwed up his face like that. Like a little boy, almost. Almost. He looked stunning in just about everything he dressed in, whether it was jeans and a casual shirt, a designer business suit or this scrumptious black evening suit and crisp white dress shirt. I couldn’t forget what lay under that polished suit. That perfect body, those hard, defined muscles. That tattoo with a woman’s name just above his heart. Who was she? And why wasn’t she in his life anymore? I wondered if I’d find the courage to ask before the night was through. He held a bubbling flute out to me. “Come, have a sip. Then let’s be off.” I should have told him that I didn’t date. I should have told him that this would be so much easier if we didn’t go out. If we just took our clothes off and did this now. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want the magic to go away so soon and somehow I knew that the moment the act was finished, it would be. *** “Not even one little hint? Come on…” I whined over my glass of iced mineral water. His dark eyes flickered with amusement. “The secrets are not mine to reveal.” Players of Dragon Epoch had been searching for clues to start the secret chain of quests that lay in the Golden Mountains region for months. It was one of the most notorious Easter eggs ever hidden in an online game, and here I had the CEO and chief designer of the game as my captive audience. Hell yeah, I was going to take advantage and try to weasel some clues out of him. “It’s your company. Your game! And players have been working on that quest chain for months. There are entire wikis and databases full of clues.” He grinned, looking off to the side, as if remembering something funny. “Yeah. Half of that stuff is pure bullshit. Some of it was planted by our own developers.” I sat back and groaned. “Pretty please?” “Emilia, you can bat those gorgeous brown eyes at me all night and I won’t tell you. I am sworn to secrecy.” I sighed, surprised at the heated flush crawling up my cheeks. I’d been told before that I had pretty eyes. They were large, round, dark and my lashes were thick. I suppose people found them attractive and I usually accepted the compliment with a self-deprecating smile. No one ever told me that I had a gorgeous butt or lovely breasts. Thank God for that because it probably would have made me die of embarrassment. But it was something about the way Adam complimented my eyes that made me react so strongly. It was so nonchalant. He didn’t throw out the compliment as a way to score points with me or butter me up. He stated that I had gorgeous eyes as if it were a well-known fact—and that no amount of batting them (and for the record, I never batted my eyes!) would get me what I wanted.

I wanted his secrets. The game secrets would be great to start with but as I had come to spend more time with this man throughout our day in Amsterdam I found myself wanting to know all of his secrets. What drove him to be so successful in his business, to enjoy the trappings of his money without being so ostentatious as to fly in a sandwich for his lunch? What was his family life like? Why hadn’t he slept with anyone in eight months and why wasn’t he with someone now? And who was Sabrina? Why did he have her name tattooed over his heart—a man who seemed so unlikely to make such a sentimental gesture? Perhaps he’d had it done when he was very young or drunk. She was the lost childhood love who broke his heart by moving on to someone else once college came along. Or maybe she was a college sweetheart. I remembered reading that he’d dropped out of college. He’d already made his first couple million by then. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t finished what he’d started—especially when he seemed to be such a driven person. As I was musing over this, he asked me about my own college plans. “So Heath mentioned that you had finished your BS in biology early and are taking the semester off.” I took a sip of wine from my other glass. I shot him a look. “Yes. I’m calling it a ‘gap year’ without the Europe experience, but this might well count for that, even if it’s only for two days.” I sipped again. There was no reason to tell him I was an utter failure and waiting to retake the damn test that was the bane of my existence. I affected a nonchalant shrug. “I’m taking next year off and then on to med school.” He nodded. He already knew that, obviously. “What kind of doctor do you want to be?” I hesitated, as I often had since I’d done so horribly on the MCAT the previous year. Since that afternoon when I’d stared at those results, slowly watching my dream twist down the drain in a whirlpool of suck. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. “An oncologist.” He tilted his head towards me, focusing his attention. “Really. Hard stuff. That would take a special kind of strength to deal with cancer patients all day.” “Cancer is a bitch that needs to get the crap smacked out of it. I intend to stand on the front lines with a big-ass bat.” He watched my fist clench on the tabletop. “Sounds like it’s very personal to you.” I took another sip of wine, studied his strong hand resting on the table next to his dinner plate. “It is. My mom had it.” “She’s okay now?” I nodded. For the moment. But as close as I came to losing her, there was always the specter of recurrence hovering near. Were it not for her regular inoculation therapy, that specter would be more than just a wispy ghost. But she’d been telling me for months that she didn’t have the money to keep going in and getting treatments. The possibility that she might consider forgoing them entirely almost paralyzed me with fear. I lifted my eyes to his. They penetrated like arrows. “That must have been rough on all of you.” “It’s just us. Me and her. I’m an only child and I have no idea who my father is, nor do I care.” His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even move. “So Strong is your mother’s name?” Another sip. “Yep. She’s both my mom and my dad. And she’s done a pretty good job of it, I’d say.” “I agree.” “You don’t even know anything about me.” “I’ve read your blog.” He looked away with a shrug. I gazed at him with suspicion. “So just how regular of a reader are you?” An enigmatic smile hovered on his mouth. “C’mon. Spill it, Drake. How long have you been reading?” He shrugged. “I don’t know, a year or so.”

“A year?” He nodded while gazing at the ceiling. “Yeah. Something like that.” “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” “Because you were already freaked out enough when you found out who I was. I wasn’t going to add fuel to that fire.” “Shit. Then you know a whole lot more about me than I know about you. You asked me questions like you didn’t.” “How else was I going to get you to open up?” “And here I thought you were just interested in opening me up in another way.” At that precise moment, the sommelier appeared to pour us more wine. I blushed crimson, horrified, knowing he’d heard what I said. Adam laced his hands together in front of his face, suppressing his laughter behind them. I shot him a dirty look, which only served to increase his amusement. My eyes narrowed. “Very funny.” I said, once he left. He pulled his hands away from his mouth. “Yes, it was, actually. I couldn’t care less about his reaction, but the mortification on your face was hilarious.” “It’s your turn now. Cough it all up.” His brows knit. “Cough what up?” “The goods. Come on. I signed the NDA. It’s not going on the front page.” He took a deep draught of his wine—the same glass he’d been nursing all night. “What do you want to know?” I asked him what I’d been wondering earlier. “Why’d you quit college?” He seemed surprised that I knew that. It was on his Wikipedia page, after all. He’d dropped out after his first year at Caltech. “I wasn’t learning anything new.” Well, well. He was a boy genius, after all. Had I expected any other kind of answer? He cleared his throat and continued. “Sony offered me a lot of money to work for them.” “They couldn’t wait a few years?” “Apparently not. I didn’t work for them long, anyway. I quickly learned that the only boss I cared to answer to was me.” I studied him. So he had issues with authority—professors, bosses. But he’d been a model citizen, no records of arrests or juvenile delinquency. He’d likely had a strong family to guide him. “Where were you born? Where did you grow up? Did you have a big family?” He grinned. “That’s a lot of questions.” I shot him a sweet smile. “We don’t have a lot of time.” “True enough. I was born in Pasadena. I lived in Washington State until my early teens, then came back to California to live with my uncle in OC.” The article on him in Wikipedia had provided scant information about his childhood. He’d already divulged way more than I’d learned by scouring Google. And it was not lost on me that he hadn’t answered the question about his family. Fair enough, I really didn’t want to talk about mine, either. All two of us. I tried another tack. “What does your dad do?” “He died when I was four. He was a professor at Caltech.” “Oh, I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember him at all.” Another thing we had in common, then. We never knew our fathers. But at least his father had wanted him. Hadn’t handed a wad of cash to his mother with the curt order to “get rid of the problem.” I cleared my throat and coughed. “Okay, so more speed-dating questions…What’s your favorite color?

What is your astrological sign? Where does the Golden Mountain quest chain start? What’s your favorite book?” His eyes narrowed with suspicion but he could not mask the smile curving at the corner of his mouth. “Blue. Aries. Not gonna tell you in a million years. The Art of War.” “Crap,” I grumped and then we both burst into laughter. Dinner continued like that. I learned that he loved Mexican and Chinese. Didn’t care much for Thai. I told him about my absolute obsession with the perfect pizza—New York-style Zito’s in Old Towne Orange. He told me he’d had the authentic stuff and refused to eat New York-style anywhere outside of New York. He was astonished to discover that I actually preferred the Special Edition version of the original Star Wars trilogy. He shook his head, eyes widened in mock horror. “I can’t even—” “Oh, c’mon. Three words: better special effects.” His expression grew dead serious. “Three words: Greedo shoots first.” I grimaced. “Okay, you have a point there, but I’m not going to change my mind just because of that one little thing—” “One little thing?!” His mouth dropped. “That one moment changed the entire characterization of Han Solo.” I tilted my head to the side. “You know, I think I’ve only seen the original version once before?” He blinked. “Your education is seriously lacking.” “Hey, last time I checked I was the one with a soon-to-be conferred degree and you weren’t.” His eyes glowed over his deepening smile. “Touché.” He jerked his chin toward me. “Now it’s your turn. Where’d you grow up? OC?” I shook my head. “I didn’t move there until college. Heath and I come from the tiniest backwater community in the high desert hills in California called Anza. Our only claim to fame is that the Pacific Crest Trail goes practically through the center of town. Only freaks and geeks come from Anza.” We talked for a long time, until after dessert. We’d shared a cherries jubilee flambé that had threatened to set the room on fire. At one point, we ended up using our spoons to fence for the last bite. He won, scooping up the last morsel in his spoon and then gallantly holding it out for me to eat. And just next door, for I had been listening to the strains of the orchestra for most of the night, was the dancing. He offered me an arm, like a gentleman out of a nineteenth-century period miniseries. Awkwardly, I took his arm and let him lead me toward the dance floor. “I don’t dance like this at all. Just sayin’ that I hope your shoes have metal tips for toe protection.” “Just follow my lead. It’s the foxtrot. The steps are easy. Slow. Slow. Quick, quick. I’ll lead you.” I frowned. “And how do you know how to dance like this? Did you time warp out of Downton Abbey?” He smiled. “My cousin danced ballroom dance for competition. She forced me to be her practice partner.” “Ah.” Though I had a very tough time picturing him being forced into anything by anyone. “Come,” he said. “Just follow my cues. I’ll guide you with the hand on your back.” And after a few minutes of fumbling, I eventually got the hang of it, though I was quite sure no one would ever mistake us for Johnny and Baby from Dirty Dancing. In this dress, with these glittery heels, in the arms of this man, the sensation of being outside of myself —of living in a waking dream—continued. After we’d danced a few dances in silence, he spoke softly. “You cold?” “Nah.” “You’re shaking.”

Well, yes. Yes, I was. His smell was fantastic and doing indescribable things to me. And he was so close. One large hand clasped mine, the other rested just below my shoulder blade. On my bare back. The heat of him threatened to burn a hole right through me. I was having trouble remembering to breathe and he wanted to know why I was shaking. “You nervous about tonight?” he finally asked after a long pause. I looked up and met his scrutinizing gaze. “Perhaps.” But that wasn’t the truth. I wasn’t nervous. I was already dreading the drop into reality. The return to normalcy afterward. And the fact that I’d never see him again. How insane. I didn’t even know if this was something I’d enjoy yet. For all I knew, I’d hate every second of it. But that’s not what was on my mind at that moment. Instead, all I could think of was how much I enjoyed being in his company, trading banter, smelling his smell. And I already knew that my plan to guzzle wine and lie back and think of medical school had gone up in smoke. I doubted this man would allow me to lie back and think of anything else but him. We danced only two more before he collected my wrap and the car came to take us back to the hotel. After all the joking and laughter earlier, the air between us had grown somber, tense. Weighted with the expectation of what was to come. My insides clenched, just below my navel. I was becoming aware of some new inner fire. It felt like a candle inside a lantern, glowing bright and hot. It was as if my body was already preparing me. The entire ride back—less than ten minutes, actually—Adam did not touch me or speak to me. He stared out the window, one hand resting on his knee. He was distant, tense and definitely not present in that limo. When we entered our suite, he placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me inside. Every nerve in my body instantly jumped at the contact, as if he’d shocked me. The muscles beneath his touch tightened and my breathing rate jumped. The lights had been turned on and then down, to an ambient glow. A bottle of wine rested in the place of the champagne of earlier that evening. He pulled his hand away and went to it. “Wine?” I cleared my throat. “Anything stronger?” I joked. I actually rarely drank hard liquor, but his reaction to my light joke startled me more than anything else. He wore a dark scowl before his features went blank again. “They don’t stock anything hard when I’m here, I’m afraid,” he said in a neutral voice. So he didn’t approve of drinking. “But you drink wine and champagne.” “Yes. Sometimes. On special occasions. Or a glass with dinner when it’s called for.” I took the glass of deep plum Cabernet Sauvignon that he’d poured. “Sounds like it’s very personal to you,” I said, echoing his own words back to him. He took a small sip and settled the glass on the bar, leaning on the hand braced there. “It is. My mother is an alcoholic.” I nodded, instantly regretting the question. That would explain why he’d come to live with his cousins at such a young age. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He shrugged. “I haven’t seen in her in years. She lives her life and I live mine.” “Are you afraid that if you drank the hard stuff, it would happen to you, too?” He looked up. “It’s a disease, and addiction has a genetic component to it.” Like cancer. I nodded, suddenly understanding him a whole lot more from the last few minutes than I had in the entire day we had just spent in one another’s presence. He picked up the glass and reached out a hand. I hesitantly placed mine in his. “Come. There’s something I want to show you.” I snorted. “Isn’t that someone’s cheesy line to get a girl into the bedroom?”

He laughed. “Not mine.” He led me up the staircase and to a closed door just before the bedroom. I hadn’t noticed it before, when I’d come up this afternoon. He opened it and we were immediately on a rooftop terrace, looking out over one of the canals. Here on the top floor, we could see the roofs of Amsterdam and twinkling lights stretched out before us. The tiny cars in the distant square jockeyed for position around a complex traffic circle, their headlights glowing bright yellow and white. A chilly spring breeze danced about our hair and shoulders. I went to the rail and he moved behind me, adjusting my wrap over my shoulders. His hands lingered there long moments before slowly slipping down my arms. I suddenly forgot about the gorgeous view in front of me. He was touching me. Like he meant it. Like he wanted it. I gasped for breath and his hands fell away. “I remember the first time I saw this city,” he murmured, still behind me, gazing out at the view over my head. “I had just sold my first code. Took the summer to travel across Europe and started here. Still had about a year until college. I wasted a lot of time that year, but it was the most memorable of my life.” The display before us seemed otherworldly—all gold, silver and red, like Christmas in fairyland. I remembered the glass of wine in my hand and shakily downed the rest of it. Adam took the glass from me and set it down on a nearby table. When he returned, he stood behind me again, so close he almost touched his chest to my back. After a few more moments of awkward silence, I leaned backward into him, craving the contact. He exhaled in surprise but said nothing. I shook, feeling every nerve ending where my body touched his. And suddenly I was aching to have his arms around me. “I wanted to do study abroad when I was an undergrad, but the scholarship didn’t cover it. I’ve only been in Europe less than a day and already I’m falling in love with it.” “It’s easy to do. And you haven’t even seen France yet.” Paris. God, I’d love to see Paris. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against him. No gasp of surprise this time. My shoulder blades pressed into his hard pecs. His head tipped down, his mouth pressing to my crown. Energy crackled right through me like a live electric tower. Fear was there, too, lurking in the background like a clammy mist. Then he reached up and tangled his fingers through my hair, pressing along my scalp. I tensed and jumped, instantly reminded of another man’s hands wound tightly there, pulling with all his strength, forcing my head down. Icy terror sliced through me. I gasped, my heart beating its way out of my throat in cold fear. I struggled, pushing away from him, my breath not coming fast enough. “Get away! Don’t—” The world twisted around me and I hit against the railing, holding my hands up to protect myself from him. He’d hit me—so many times—grabbed my long hair and wrapped it around his hands like rope, pulling so hard—so hard. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get away. “Emilia—Mia!” Adam’s voice cut through the fuzzy haze of panic that clouded my thoughts. He approached me slowly, eyes wide with concern. Spots formed at the edge of my vision and I felt like I might faint. Breathe! Breathe! I couldn’t draw the air in fast enough. “Mia—My God, are you okay? What is it?” I put my face in my hands, shaking so fiercely I didn’t think I’d be able to talk. “Emilia…do you hear me?” I turned away from him and closed my eyes. I was safe, a distant voice tried to tell me. I wasn’t up on the Ridge, alone and begging Zack not to hit me again. I was with Adam. I was safe. I couldn’t stop shaking. “Mia,” he said again, quietly. He stood closer now. “I’m… fine…” “Like hell, you are.”

“Please,” I said, putting an icy hand to my cheek. My heartbeat danced in my throat and I could hardly catch my next breath. I reached up and smoothed my hair. It was all still there. There was no blood. I was safe. There’s no way Adam could have known—hell, there was no way I would have known that him putting his hands in my hair would do this to me. “Emilia. Slow down. If you keep breathing like that you’re going to pass out.” He took my arm gently and turned me toward him. “Gently. Hold your breath. Close your mouth. Look at me. Look in my eyes.” The panic receded as I stared into his dark eyes. He held both my shoulders now. “You’re safe, Emilia. There, breathe in through your nose. Keep your mouth closed.” I shook my head, my eyes squeezed tight. “Just…” My voice faded, the cold fear dissipating slowly but leaving an oily trace in its wake. I took a deep breath and continued when I could. “It was just a bad memory. That’s all.” “You’re white as a sheet. What did I do wrong?” I shook again and he moved closer, quieting me while I shook in his arms. He pulled me to him and I pressed my face to his shoulder. “I’m sorry—so sorry.” “There is absolutely nothing to apologize for,” he murmured. “I just…I don’t like my hair pulled.” There was a long silence. “Okay. I’m sorry.” I shrugged my quivering shoulders. “You didn’t know.” He cleared his throat. “We shouldn’t do this.” “No,” I pulled back from him and stared into his eyes again. “I’m fine. I’m just fine.” But doubt clouded his handsome features. “But if that happens again—” “It won’t. I took care of what I could think of in the paperwork. Except I didn’t think about fingers in my hair.” I shuddered at the memory of it. He paused. “Did someone hurt you? Do you want to talk about it?” I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about it. I hoped he took the shake of my head to mean that someone hadn’t hurt me—hadn’t wound his hands into my hair, tearing chunks from my scalp as he forced his erection down my throat. I shivered again. He gently pulled me toward him again, as if expecting me to bolt over the rail at any moment. “Whoever did it deserves to have the shit beat out of him.” I leaned into him and his strong arms came around me, pulling me tightly to him. I was instantly soothed, but my heart was beating an even harsher staccato, pressed up against his sternum. His body felt so hard and powerful next to mine. The smooth material of his jacket caressed my cheek. I closed my eyes. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine now. Thanks,” I said, my voice sounding as if it came from a far-off place. From that dreamland I’d drifted to all throughout the previous day. Then I lifted my head and looked into his face and I asked him for the one thing I’d wanted all evening. “Will you kiss me?” I asked in a tiny voice. Without hesitation, his mouth descended slowly on mine, our lips meeting half the distance between us, both heads pressing in for an urgent taste of the other. His touch was gentle, at first, lips firm but closed. But I wanted more—I wanted a kiss like the one he’d left me with that day in my apartment. My tongue darted out to outline his lips. He expelled a sudden breath and lowered an arm to the small of my back, hooking my waist closer to him. He opened his mouth to my tongue. I deepened the exploration until he met me with his. Another tight gasp from deep within his chest and I was cinched so tightly to him that I detected every contour and ridge of the muscles beneath his shirt. I tilted my head back, eager for more. I locked my hands atop his shoulders, holding him to me. And suddenly the control was no longer mine. One hand settled at the back of my neck, careful not to

twine in my hair while he laid me open with nothing more than his tongue and lips. His tongue delved into my mouth and I couldn’t breathe, dizzy with desire. I wanted to whisper his name but I couldn’t say anything with the contact so intimate, so deep. And this night it would be deeper still. Fear trembled in my belly. I was actually going to go to bed with a man. This beautiful man. His mouth left mine, traveling along my jaw to take my earlobe between his lips. His caresses were white hot and ice cold at once. Everything in the center of me curled into a tangled tension, crying for release. His teeth grazed my earlobe and I whispered his name. His mouth and tongue blazed a trail across my neck, my throat. Each touch made my body jump. I arched my breasts into his chest. A deep groan emanated from the bottom of his chest, the first vocal acknowledgement of his arousal. “Let’s go inside,” I said, emboldened, my center feeling as if it was on fire and he the only one in the vicinity holding an extinguisher. The boldness was an act. Inside I was shaky and not a little terrified of what this night would be like. Adam stepped back and took my hand to lead me inside. A rush of warm air surrounded me as we stepped into the bedroom. I thought he would pull me toward the bed, but he stopped beside the couch against the wall. He removed my wrap from my shoulders, slinging it over the back. Then he unbuttoned his coat and did the same. But his eyes never left mine and mine never left his, which glowed like coals under a bonfire. I was in no doubt now, if I ever had been, really, that he wanted me. That it was as powerful and as ferocious a want as the one singing through my own veins. Before he said another word, I turned toward the bed while I still had the courage. “No,” he said, stopping me. “Not yet.” I turned back to him and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me down with him onto the sofa. I landed in his lap and he was kissing me again—hungrily pressing his mouth to mine, my neck, my throat… and then lower. When he pulled his face away, he looked up at me, his eyes glazed with desire and his features flushed. He lifted a hand to my shoulder, stroking softly along my upper arm. “Your skin is so soft,” he said, his fingers gliding over me as if he’d never touched a woman before. “Vitamin E,” I said lamely when I didn’t know what else to say. What does one say when the man who is about to sleep with you lavishes you with compliments? “Thank you” seems kind of stupid. His eyes didn’t leave mine. His hand traveled gently along my collarbone. “Here, too.” I let out a slow breath, excitement jumping into my throat. His touch was igniting new fires I never knew lay dormant in my body—between my legs, all over. My eyes fluttered closed, concentrating on his touch. His hands stroked lower, dipping into the V between my breasts. “And here,” he murmured. And before another moment passed, he pulled me off his lap and sat me beside him on the couch, slipping one strap off my shoulder. I felt the cool air touch my naked breast. Here we go, I thought. It was not unlike staring over an abyss from atop a rollercoaster that had just paused before plummeting full speed down the hill. My stomach dropped. I opened my eyes. He was watching me as his hand came up to cup my breast. The breath hissed out between my teeth, and his eyes—if it was even possible—seemed to darken. I’d never exposed myself to a man before. Not like this. Back when I’d dated, there’d been the typical groping in the dark underneath our clothes, parked at the overlook on the Ridge or one of the other places frequented by teenagers. That was as far as it had ever gotten for me before I’d shut it all down and vowed never to date again. He ran a thumb over the already erect nipple and his breathing quickened. I reached up and grabbed his tie, pulling his mouth to mine. The kiss immediately deepened, his mouth crushing against mine, owning the kiss, like I presumed he owned everything else around him, with confidence, surety. But his mouth didn’t stay on mine for long. Soon he was pushing me back on the couch, so that I lay flat

on my back. He hovered over me, hurriedly undoing his tie, unbuttoning the first three buttons of his dress shirt. With each motion, those black eyes pinned me down—almost dared me to look away. And I couldn’t. I was so turned on I could barely breathe, the tightness between my legs knotted so that it was almost painful. When he settled against me again, his erection pressed against my leg. I almost jumped when I realized what it was. I was under him now—half wondering if he would even bother to move us to the bed for the actual consummation of our deal. I supposed there were worse places one could lose one’s virginity than the couch in the penthouse suite of the most luxurious hotel in Amsterdam. His mouth was on mine, pushing his tongue into mine with urgency, ferocity. He lifted up his body enough to pull the other strap of my dress down, baring me to the waist. I was too delirious with the sensations he was evoking in me to feel embarrassment. Then his mouth was on my neck, my throat, gliding along my collarbone before it settled on my nipple, licking and sucking tenderly. White-hot fire blossomed from my breast and I gasped, arching my back. He surged against my leg. If he pushed up my skirt and did it here and now, I would have no complaints. I couldn’t wait much longer. And I’d never even bothered to ask Heath how long this would last once it started. I wanted it to last forever. My fingers clutched at the nape of his neck, wanting to drag his gifted tongue and hot mouth to my other breast. The throbbing tension inside me grew impossibly urgent. “Adam,” I whispered. “I want—” And that’s when his cell phone rang. At first he froze but didn’t move, his mouth still pressed to my nipple, his body tensing beneath my hands. It stopped. After not even ten seconds, it started ringing again. He lifted his head and sat back, fishing it out of his jacket pocket. When he looked at the caller ID, he exhaled sharply. “Fuck.” And then he put the phone to his ear. “What?” he barked, and I felt sorry for whoever it was on the other end of the line. I sat up and looped the straps of my dress over my shoulders, my body throbbing from lack of release. Adam looked at me as he listened for a long time on the phone without saying a word. With each passing minute, his face grew grimmer. I reached over and put a reassuring hand on his thigh and he immediately stood up and walked to the window. “How bad is it?” he finally said, his posture stiff, his shoulders tense. I grew cold without his body heat near me. I grabbed my wrap off the back of the couch and pulled it around my shoulders. “Walt, it’s fucking midnight here, the team is still at work. They have mandatory overtime in all their contracts. They’re putting in late hours tonight.” He turned back to me and shook his head apologetically. I shrugged, giving him a smile. I could be patient. He could deal with this and then come back to me. Strangely, I wasn’t tired at all despite the lack of sleep in the previous twenty-four hours. “No,” he said, and it was a sharp, irritated sound. “I’ll handle it. That won’t—I said I’ll fucking handle it, but no one goes home, is that clear? If they do, then they clean out their desk and take their shit with them.” He started to pace in front of the window and I sat back, reminded of a puma. His movements were sleek, graceful. I could watch him walk for hours. It would be better if he were only wearing that white towel around his hips, though. “Give me a minute to get wired in. Yes. Call me in ten.”

He set the phone down and turned to me. “I’m sorry. That was my operations manager. We had the servers down today to install a patch. The team found some corrupt code and servers can’t come back online until it’s fixed—” “Oh shit, yeah, you don’t want a horde of angry gamers pounding at your door. If I wasn’t here, I’d be one of them, demanding you get my game up.” In spite of his darkened mood, he smiled. “I’m going to get my notebook so I can see what’s going on. Why don’t you grab something for yourself out of the bar? I’m sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Will this take long?” He sighed. “Yeah, probably. I think our night is shot.” And despite his obvious irritation and disappointment, he sounded remarkably calm about it. Me? I was very annoyed. All my hopes fell. So much for the auction. So much for coming to Amsterdam a girl and leaving a woman. So much for— I turned and left the room. He met me downstairs a few minutes later with a stylish leather laptop case from which he extracted one of the sleekest, most expensive-looking machines I’d ever laid eyes on. His name was engraved in the stainless steel across the top: Adam Drake, Draco Multimedia Entertainment, with the company’s logo: a field of stars depicting the constellation Draco. Some girls got excited about jewelry, others about designer bags. Me, I got all hot and bothered over hardware. And while that earlier impression of his other hardware had begun to affect me, this bad boy he’d just whipped out of the case made my heart palpitate. That sexy little box was probably ten times faster than mine. Adam set the notebook on the table, opened it and looked at me. When he noticed the focus of my attention he smiled wryly. If I could only jimmy his password…I wondered how many game secrets that thing carried on it. “Why don’t you go get comfortable? This is going to be intermittent and if you’re not tired, I could use the company.” I trundled off to my room where the bellhop had dumped my bag. I shimmied into some clothes I’d brought with me—yoga pants and a tank top. Then I went to the mini bar, and pulled out a chilled glass and a Dr. Pepper for myself. After asking what he drank—he took coffee—I fiddled with the automatic coffeemaker and brought it to him, settling on the couch to watch him work. Once in a while he’d glance up at me. “Why don’t you see if something’s on TV?” he asked, his hands moving over the keyboard with lightning speed while he spoke. “I’m going to be running a program here in a minute and can come watch with you while I wait.” My mouth quirked. I wondered if they aired reruns of Friends 24/7 in Amsterdam. In the lounge, I flipped through the channels until I found a showing of a famous B movie from the fifties, Forbidden Planet. I’d seen it several times before and could have followed it easily had it been dubbed into Dutch. But this late-night version was in the original English with Dutch subtitles. After two more phone calls and about ten minutes, Adam joined me on the couch. I grimaced, realizing I looked wretched in my yoga pants and tank top—a far cry from the glamorous black dress and glittery heels from earlier. During the commercial break he told me he’d be right back and climbed the stairs. When he returned, he was wearing dark blue pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt. He again settled on the couch next to me. This time, I leaned against him, nestling into the crook of his arm. He rested his arm on my waist, almost hesitantly at first. As if he was reluctant to touch me. When I looked up at him, his expression lay somewhere on the spectrum between fear and puzzlement. Had I surprised him with this show of sudden affection? It was nonsexual yet comforting, at least to me. And I had no idea if I could explain why it was so. After an hour, he was back at the computer and soon I felt my lids growing heavier as Commander John

Adams and Altaira, wrapped in each other’s embrace, witnessed the explosion of Altair IV from space. I was soon drifting off to sleep. Sometime afterward, I had the sensation of being carried by strong arms. Was this the moment? Would he lay me across his bed, wake me and have sex with me now? But it didn’t happen and my brief flirtation with consciousness soon evaporated as I sank back into blissful slumber. I dreamt of Adam, of dancing on a cloud with the sound of the orchestra emanating from a bank of computers in the background.

Chapter Six We left Amsterdam the next day after a late brunch—we’d both slept in until ten o’clock. We checked out at noon and Adam’s car took us to the airport. In spite of getting nowhere the previous night, we took our flight home as planned, as Adam hinted that he had to return to work as soon as possible. I hardly knew what to say to him. We’d talked about everything else under the sun, but never discussed the fact that our deal remained unconsummated. What did this mean? I wouldn’t get the money until we’d done the deed. Did he still want to? Or had the near-disaster with the game cooled his ardor? Adam was on the phone for almost the entire trip to the airport and I pulled out my MCAT test guide but couldn’t concentrate. My mind kept drifting to his conversation. He was making plans to visit some investment property the following month in some place called St. Lucia, which I’d never even heard of before. I shot him a sideways glance, wondering about him. He’d grown up without a father, raised by an alcoholic mother who, it would be presumed, was such an unfit parent that he’d been placed with his uncle two states away as a teenager. How did that formula add up to an extremely successful and uniquely brilliant man in his field? What drive did he have to pull himself from such a low starting point in life? And what tireless energy kept him going, day after day? Not long before reaching the airport, I turned to him and he put down his tablet when he noticed me watching him. “So, what now?” I asked. His jaw visibly tensed and he turned to face me. “What do you mean?” His manner was so cold it threw me off and I pursed my lips, irritated. As if he had the right to be brusque with me! It wasn’t my fault that we hadn’t gone through with the deal. I glanced toward the driver and Adam, following my thought, pressed the button to raise the partition before I spoke again. I began. “Well, we had our night together. That’s what the contract called for. I suppose we call it fulfilled and go our separate ways?” I knew what he’d say before the words were even out of my mouth. He looked askance at me. “And that means, what? We separate in accordance with the points on the contract? No contact? Act as if there’s a restraining order between us?” I shrugged. Wasn’t that what we’d both agreed to? “And then what? You’re still a virgin. Does that mean another auction?” I tilted my head to the side. Hell no, that did not mean another auction. I wasn’t going to put myself through that again. And I was one hundred percent sure that Heath would refuse to participate again. Nevertheless, I frowned as if in deep thought. “That’s a wonderful idea! I could cash in twice.” But the look in Adam’s eyes, when they hardened like black ice, sent a cold streak of premonition down my spine. He stuffed the tablet into the back pocket of the seat in front of him. “I don’t think so.” I crinkled my brow at him. “Wait…what?” He turned to me as matter-of-factly as if he were discussing the daily weather forecast. “I purchased a product that has not been delivered to me.” I folded my arms. “I am not a product. I am a person. You purchased one night with me and that was it. We had our night together. It was through no fault of mine that I…remain intact.” “I disagree. I purchased your virginity. Therefore it belongs to me. It can’t be resold.” Now I felt some heat rise to my cheeks. Not from embarrassment, but anger. “This was not a flesh trade transaction, Mr. Drake.” A fist closed over his knee. “What is prostitution besides a flesh trade? I own your virginity and I can

remove it whenever I wish. Whether it be now or ten years from now, that honor is mine.” I blinked and shook my head, unable to credit my own ears. “Are you saying that I’m beholden to you until you decide to swoop in and collect? I think not.” “Really. So you’ll stick with that position. You honestly think our agreement supports your position over mine?” My mind raced, trying to remember the precise wording of our agreement. My blood began to pump and I cursed that I had relied too heavily on Heath and his buddy to put the wording together to even remember. “It’s hardly a legally valid document in the first place.” “Then why draw it up?” I gritted my teeth. My face heated and muscles tensed. “For protection, to make it clear what the agreement entailed.” “For whose protection? Yours or mine?” “For both of us.” He folded his arms over his chest, sitting back. “Well, then, I stand with my position. The auction was for the right to remove your virginity. That didn’t happen. I still have that right.” “Not for life. There’s the six months limitation that was outlined in the contract.” He nodded. “Right. Then I’ll call you in five and a half months?” I blinked. Mom’s mortgage foreclosure came due in two months. “Are you willing to pay me now?” “Of course not.” I turned to him. “You don’t trust me?” “I make it a policy never to buy what I can’t pay for and never to pay for what I can’t own immediately. It makes for good business.” I sighed. “Then we should compromise. Because I need that money soon.” He tilted his head to the side, studying me again. “I thought this was about feminist ideals and the ‘new paradigm.’” “I never said it was only about those ideals.” He said nothing, just grazed me with that cold stare. I shook my head. “You aren’t allowed to judge me. Not until you’ve sat where I’m sitting.” He looked annoyed. “What makes you think I haven’t?” I waved pointedly at the interior of the expensive town car driving us to the airport. We were sitting as far apart from each other as you could possibly get in the back of that car, but the energy still crackled between us. For some reason I’d thought that last night had killed that tension between us, but it only seemed to be stronger this morning. I was aware of everything about him, his posture, his movements, the way he tapped his index finger on his knee when his hand rested there. The way his muscular form perfectly filled his clothes. His clean, masculine scent. The way his dark eyes watched me, calculating. Assessing. “Next week, then.” A week? A rush of heat rose to my features, but this time not from frustration or anger. This heat was one of anticipation. Because despite his annoying talk of “owning” my virginity, the feelings I’d begun to feel last night—the unfulfilled sensations he’d stirred in me—were rearing their heads, screaming to be heard. Last night I’d been sad that this would be over by today. Now I had another week. The mixed feelings swirled and tightened in my chest like a whirlwind about to lift from the ground. I glanced out the window to cover my reaction. The airport was just ahead. “Will you be in some other glamorous location next week?” “I’ll only be at home. I’m having some guests over for dinner. You could come. Afterward, we’ll take the yacht out past the twelve-mile mark.” I turned back to him, my annoyance bleeding through in the sarcasm in my voice. “Because, of course

you have a yacht.” He smiled. “Of course.” We didn’t speak again through the airport check-in process. Adam was attentive, carrying my bag for me and running it through security, but his manner was brisk, efficient, cool and impersonal. It was as if we were strangers. And in truth, we really were. When we took our seats next to each other, we started to talk again. We chose neutral, safe territory— the game. He was usually reluctant to discuss it, I’d noticed. He was probably concerned that I’d try to start digging into game secrets again. But I’d waited until after we’d been served a delightful lunch by a lovely blonde British Air Hostess who was extremely attentive to all of Adam’s needs, complete with her own unsubtle brand of flirting. I began to wonder if he had this kind of effect on every woman in his proximity. He turned to me over dessert. “So, I know from your blog that you play a Spiritual Enchantress. But you’ve never mentioned your character’s name.” I look askance at him. “Of course not. If my readers knew my character in the game, it might affect the game experience. Gotta keep the trade secrets under the pointed wizard hat.” He smiled. “So what is your character’s name?” I gazed at him suspiciously. “Why do you want to know my character’s name?” He shrugged. “Just curious.” “Are you going to look me up or something?” “Okay then, what server do you play on?” “Omni.” He looked pensive. “Hmm. Power gamer.” I shrugged. “Does that surprise you?” “No. I’m starting to realize you have a thing about power and control.” “Wow, you make me sound so…dominatrix. Maybe that should be the next class of character you introduce into the game with the next expansion.” He laughed. I tilted my head at him expectantly. “Do you play?” I asked. “DE?” “No…World of Warcraft,” I snarked. “Of course DE.” “I have a character.” “A secret character? Other than your public persona, Lord Sisyphus?” He looked away with a smirk. “Yeah, I have a secret character.” My mouth dropped. “The truth comes out. You’re like King Henry the Fifth.” “What?” “Oh yeah, you dropped out of geek college, so you wouldn’t have read up on your Shakespeare. Henry the Fifth dressed up like a common soldier and went around his war camps to see who was talking trash about him.” He barked a laugh. “Shit, if I was worried about who was talking trash about me, I’d have quit this business a long time ago.” “So, how often do you play? Do you group up with other players?” “Once a week and of course. You know you can’t get any of the good stuff done without a large group.” “Why?” I puzzled. “Why would you want to play when you know all the secrets—all of the quest chains, all of the back story? Wouldn’t that be boring?” He shrugged. “I playtest my own product. It’s being thorough. I’m always very thorough.” He seemed to be saying something to me, a weighted double entendre, but I didn’t get it. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he said suddenly.

“Character?” “Yeah, but you can’t rat me out on your blog.” I shook my head. “Of course not. I’m under an NDA, am I not? With no expiration date. If you want to know so badly, couldn’t you just look me up under my account information? My real name is on that.” “I could. I’d rather you told me.” “Her name is Eloisa.” He nodded. “Okay. Maybe I’ll add you to my friends list.” “And you are…?” I raised my brows at him. He looked at me and hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Magnus.” Of course. Magnificent. And parts of him truly were magnificent. And other parts seemed dark, shrouded, and brooding. I never knew what Adam I was going to get from one moment to the next. During the latter part of the flight, he’d managed to take a nap and I watched him sleep, utterly fascinated. But it wasn’t until we’d landed that I remembered the cell phone he’d given me in Amsterdam. I reached into my jacket pocket and handed it to him. “Here’s your phone back.” “Actually, that’s yours. I have my own…an irritating one that tends to ring at the most inopportune times,” he said with a grimace. “But—” “You said yours wasn’t working. I want to be able to get a hold of you, so I arranged for that one and I don’t need it. Keep it and keep it charged. I want to be able to reach you.” “Ah, I see. Is this part of that whole thing? You’re keeping tabs on me until this transaction is complete?” He shrugged. “If you want to think of it that way.” I glared at him, tempted to cram the damn thing down his throat until he spoke again. “Besides, you can use the web feature to respond to comments on your blog from wherever you are.” Now that I liked. “Hmm. Well, I can keep it until we are…through with each other. But then I’m giving it back.” The expression on his face was enigmatic. “If you must.” When he dropped me off from the airport, he walked me to my door, insisting on carrying my ratty bag. We stood at the door staring at each other for a long, awkward moment. “So, I guess I’ll see you this Friday?” I said. “Yes. I’ll text you.” “Not sure my old car is allowed on the road in Newport Beach amongst all the glittering Bentleys and Beemers. I might get pulled over the minute I cross the city limit.” He laughed. “I’ll arrange for a car to come get you.” “Fancy. Don’t suppose I can persuade you to turn off your phone that night.” “I might be very tempted.” He grinned that boyish grin that made my heart flip. “Remember, the early dinner will be before. I’ve invited some friends, so bring your best manners.” I crinkled up my mouth. “I’ll try to find some by then.” He took a step closer to me, reached up to brush the hair away from my face. I looked up into his eyes and a jolt of heat shot through me, remembering the feel of his mouth, his hands on my body that brief night in Amsterdam. Now the magic had followed us home, and swirled around us as we stood on the tattered, rubber mat on my doorstep, likely with my landlady watching through her vertical blinds. “Until Friday, Emilia,” and he dipped his head to drop a chaste kiss on my lips before pulling away, turning to walk down the steps and back to the town car. I watched him the entire way, my mouth slack in surprise. I was at least hoping to get a little tongue.

It was Sunday afternoon and I was exhausted, of course, but I knew I had to call Heath right away—on his strict orders—and let him know how the whole weekend had unfolded. “What?” he shrieked when I got to the part about the phone call, but for a minute I couldn’t tell whether it was his concern over the near-crisis with the game patch or that he couldn’t believe Adam had delayed the entire thing on account of business. “He had you on the couch stripped to the waist and playing with your girl parts and he answered the phone? He’s gotta be gay.” I laughed. “Wishful thinking, I’m afraid. It was very obvious that he was turned on and very reluctant to answer the phone. Apparently the guy had been warned not to call unless it was an emergency.” “Shit. So what’s the upshot? He gonna pay you? He had his night.” I cleared my throat, fidgeting from one foot to the other. “Hello? You still there?” “Yeah.” “So…?” “So I think he might have been cool with doing that except I had a big mouth and joked about doubling my money by running another auction.” “There’s no fucking way I’m doing another one, doll. Your favor debt to me is epic as it is.” “It was a joke. I was trying to be funny—ha ha. It was awkward, he was acting all cold and distant, not like the night before.” “Okay. So you joked around…and then what?” “Well, then he gets all weird and starts saying I don’t have the right to sleep with anyone else but him until the contract is fulfilled.” “Uhh.” “Is that true? Is he right?” “Doll, you can do whatever you want…it’s not like he can sue you for breach. The money has yet to be transferred into your account.” “What if he’s planning never to pay me?” “Oh, I made sure the agreement states that the NDA goes bye-bye if he doesn’t pay you. If he goes through with it and doesn’t pay, you sell your story to the press and he’s fucked.” I took a deep breath. “But what about the other? That I can’t be with someone else until…” “Were you planning on it?” “No.” “Does he intend to drag this out for six months and not pay you?” “That’s what I asked him. He made arrangements to get together Friday night and…do the deed in international waters on his yacht.” “Hmm. Okay. That works. Can’t help but wonder why he didn’t just get ’er done the morning before you left.” I shrugged. Maybe he wanted it to be more romantic? But I couldn’t help but wonder at that. The day we were touring around Amsterdam and Adam had asked me about my dating habits, he’d admitted to me that he didn’t do romance. That he’d never been in a relationship before and had little interest. Yet another thing in which we coincided. “Well,” said Heath. “As long as he has a backup plan…but you gotta call me before you leave and when you get back. I don’t like the thought of him strangling you out there and dumping you overboard.” I huffed. “Gee, now that’s reassuring.” “Mia, I don’t think he’s a bad person, but he had a pretty shitty childhood.” Now I sat up, interested. “What do you know?” “I did a background check on him. Mostly public record stuff, really. His mom was an alcoholic and he

was placed in the child protective system as a young teen.” “Yeah, that I know. He told me as much.” “Yeah, well, when he got here and started at the new high school he apparently was the victim of one of the most notorious bullying cases in the county.” I tried to picture any suicidal idiot trying to take down six-foot, exquisitely ripped Adam. I’d touched him—he was solid, athletic, strong. My heart bounced at the memory of his body under my shaking hands. Then I remembered what he’d told me when I’d been teasing him about those muscles…that he’d chosen to bulk up as a deterrent to being bullied. “What happened?” “Track team. I guess he was a runner—” He was a runner! “One of the better members of the team, but he was the new guy and some of the older kids singled him out. I found several old newspaper clippings at the library from the OC Register. A whole group of them beat the crap out of him and then duct-taped his hands, legs and mouth and shoved him in a locker overnight. He was in the hospital in critical condition for over a week. There was a lawsuit filed against the district, and the perps were arrested and thrown in juvey. ” The air hissed out of my lungs. “That’s horrible.” “Yeah.” “But that doesn’t mean he’s going to strangle me and throw me into the ocean.” “I know. But I’m just saying. It doesn’t matter how rich or powerful a person is, they’ve all got their demons.” “Do you know who Sabrina is?” “Huh?” “He has a tattoo, just above his heart. It says ‘Sabrina.’ Was that his girlfriend?” “Nothing I ever saw written up on him ever mentioned a relationship or girlfriend. I have no idea what the tattoo means.” “Maybe it was his dog.” “I took him for a cat person, actually.” We chatted for a few more minutes before I begged off with exhaustion and hopped into the shower. In spite of that, I did manage to cram in about three hours of studying, interrupted briefly by the usual bang at my door. “Password,” I shouted from the couch. She heard me through the open window. “I aim to misbehave,” Alex said and then opened the door and bounced across the room like the Tasmanian Devil on caffeine and landed right beside me with a plop. My old couch groaned down to its wooden frame in protest. “Studying again?” I held up my Gray’s Anatomy by way of answering. She huffed. “Why don’t you just watch the TV show instead of reading that big fat book?” I feinted throwing it at her and she lurched back, holding up her hands, laughing. “Mom wants to know if you’ll come down and eat dinner with us and I want to know who is that hot man who dropped you off this morning.” Yep, her mother had definitely been peeking through the blinds. “Ah, being a chismosa?” I said, teasing her with the Spanish word for a gossipmonger. “Always. So give me the chisme,” she said, leaning forward and pinning me down with her large, dark eyes. “He’s just some guy I know,” I said, shrugging it off and twisting to set the heavy book down on a side table made from a wooden telephone cable spool. She looked askance. “In a town car with a driver?”

Shit. How was I going to explain that? I took a deep breath, deciding to go on the offensive. “Alejandra Carmen Arias. Are you grilling me?” “If that’s what it takes. Are you dating him?” I sliced a glance at her and then away, shrugging. I was keenly aware that I was the worst liar ever. But better she think we were dating than know what was really going on. Alex went to Mass with her mom every week and I was pretty sure she wouldn’t approve—feminist ideals or no. “Kind of.” “Mom said he was really good-looking.” I suppressed a grin. “I’m glad she approves.” Just how long had she been peeking at us through those blinds? “Come on, Mia! Spill! You are killing me.” I stood up and brushed off my jeans. “Not yet. But soon, okay? I don’t want to jinx anything.” I hoped that threw her off. Alex had a bit of a superstitious streak in her. Before she could ask me another question I went to the door and motioned her out with me. Who was I to turn down a free, guaranteed delicious dinner? “Can you do my hair for Friday night? I have a date and I want to wear it up.” Mischief sparkled in her dark eyes. “I’ll do it if you tell me his name.” I grabbed her hand and shook it. “Deal. Now let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

Chapter Seven The week dragged on and I muddled through hospital shifts and blog posts and studying a little more grudgingly than I had before. The dream of Amsterdam was a distant memory, like the glitter falling off a cheap knockoff souvenir brought back as a memento of an otherworldly vacation. I’d only been out of the country for forty-eight hours, including travel—but I knew I wanted to go back, and very soon. I continued taking the birth control pills and bought a few back copies of Cosmo to read up on their “great sex” articles, all the while realizing how ridiculous it was to use pop culture as sex education. Until the trip to Holland, I’d never been concerned with having to please a partner. But now, I was determined to make him feel as good as he had made me feel in those few moments when we had been kissing and touching. Two days before the dinner party, a box arrived from the Netherlands. I opened it up to find all three gowns that had been hanging in the wardrobe in my room in Amsterdam. I gasped. The card inside said only, Wear one of these Friday. Since he’d already seen me in the breathtaking black, I chose the long crème-colored one. It had a halter top that looped around my neck and it, too, was backless. This dress, though long, felt like it exposed me more and I couldn’t explain why. It was an extremely feminine dress, with a full, pleated skirt of gauzy material—the kind that Marilyn Monroe wore when her dress famously blew upward over the air grate in The Seven Year Itch. There were also matching shoes for this dress and the selection of lingerie. Since a bra was again not possible, I selected a tiny pair of lace white panties and left everything else in the box. My landlady, Lupe, came up with Alex and together they tried to pry my secrets out of me while they worked my hair into an elegant updo. At one point Alex whispered to me that her sister had seen my mystery guy, too, and labeled him “totally yummy.” I agreed with her. I had tasted him. And he was, indeed, delectable. But there was a dark edge that I had no idea how to describe. Like the bitter cocoa powder sprinkled on the outside of a rich chocolate truffle. Perhaps it just brought nuance to his flavor. Or maybe it threatened to ruin an otherwise scrumptious dish. As the week had worn on, I couldn’t stop thinking about that bullying story. For it to have been so severe, so brutal as to merit a lawsuit, multiple arrests and a couple of write-ups in the paper made it serious in the extreme. My heart went out to him. I was unable to even imagine what that must have been like. Except I could. After my assault, I’d feared the possibility of being bullied if I stood up and spoke out for myself. I’d never found the courage to do it. I examined myself in the mirror, avoiding my own eyes and that whispered word at the back of my thoughts that sounded a lot like coward. With the dress, the updo and the careful application of makeup, I’d spent more time on my appearance that night than I usually spent getting ready for three days in a row combined. I studied myself in the cracked full-length mirror on the back of my front door for the full effect. I looked like an old-time movie star. I twirled around again and again, watching the skirt spin up around my hips and giggling like a little girl. I almost fell over when someone knocked. Adam’s driver stood at the door. And he walked me to the town car, opening the door. It was four thirty in the afternoon and in spite of that, the 55 freeway was clear going southbound. We sped down the carpool lane and I watched the relentless parade of expensive hotels, billboards and mile-high palm trees speed by. The northbound side of the freeway was, of course

another story, as it always was at this time of day. Cars were packed end-to-end and moving inches at a time. I was grateful that wasn’t us, because I didn’t want to be late for the big night. I watched carefully as the driver headed straight down the freeway until its very end. So my guess about Adam living in Balboa was right—either on the island itself or the equally impressive peninsula. A thin finger of land stretching across the harbor, encapsulating the opulent Newport Bay, Balboa housed the county’s glitziest homes and their wealthy inhabitants. I wondered why the driver was heading down the peninsula instead of approaching the island from the north, where there was a bridge. From this side, he would have to take the tiny ferry across to Balboa Island and there was often a long line at this time of day. But blocks before the turn-off for the ferry, the driver hung a left and headed toward the bay. I was now completely perplexed as to where his house was, unless he lived in the middle of the bay. And then the driver parked on a tiny street near a small walkway that led to what appeared to be the smallest island I had ever seen. “Where are we?” “We’re going over the bridge to Bay Island, Miss. I’ll take you. But we have to park and walk across the bridge. There are no cars allowed on Bay Island.” It was a tiny island, sitting smack dab in the Newport Back Bay. I’d been down in this area many times but had never noticed it. This area was a popular tourist destination in the summer and Mom often drove the two hours down to soak up the sun and ambiance when the heat of Anza grew too much for the both of us. Who even knew this place was here? There was no more densely populated area in all of Orange County than the Newport Bay, with houses crowded along the shores like soldiers lined up for inspection. Nevertheless, in the middle of it all was a private island. The briny smell and clean ocean breeze hit me first, when I stepped out of the town car. I glanced toward the late afternoon sun, still hours from setting, my heart pounding faster with each step I took over that bridge. Bay Island was like no other place I could imagine. About twenty houses ringed the sandy shores, central tennis courts and a private park. The island even had its own caretaker. The driver keyed in at the gate and led me to one of the golf carts waiting nearby. I wondered why we didn’t just walk. How far away could his house truly be on this tiny speck of land? But of course, it was the one furthest from the gate, with its own little corner beach and lawn. And it was one of the biggest homes. As we approached, I mentally sized it up, wondering how many bazillions it must have cost him. All this for one single guy. I thought about what Heath had learned during his investigations. Adam had had no romantic relationships. Why? It was true he was driven and worked long hours. Perhaps he just didn’t make the time for anything else? But why work so hard without having the time to truly enjoy it all? And why not find someone to share it with? Maybe he saw no need for a relationship or had no desire for it? It couldn’t have been for lack of women wanting him. Not only was he ridiculously rich, but he was ridiculously hot. And I had no way to judge, but I imagined he was good in bed—maybe even phenomenal. Or maybe that was just my hope. But then, I had no basis for comparison, so how would I know? He greeted me at the door, dressed in a camel-colored dinner jacket with skinny black tie and matching black trousers. He was arrestingly handsome, and welcomed me with a kiss on the cheek. “You look gorgeous,” he whispered against my temple as the driver receded with the golf cart to fetch the other guests. “I didn’t want to make a bad impression on your friends, being a north-county bumpkin and all. Best

not mention my phone number starts with a 714 area code,” I said, instantly knowing how lame that sounded because what did it matter what sort of impression I made on his friends? They’d never see me again after Adam and I went to bed later that night. A shiver of excitement slithered down my spine and bumps appeared over my arms at just the thought of it. Adam’s eyes narrowed as if he noticed, but he did not comment on it. He proceeded to show me around—briefly, because a full tour would have taken at least an hour. The house was arranged around a wide central hall with rooms opening off to the sides and a mezzanine wrapping around three of the four sides of the floor above. Overhead, a giant skylight let the sun in and the room was bright and airy, emphasized with white furniture. I’d stepped into another dream. If I lived here, with my own beach and view of the bay, I’d never jump on a plane to Amsterdam or St. Lucia or anywhere else. I’d be grateful for this, my own little cove of paradise, and too scared that it would vanish while I was gone. Adam watched me with an amused smile as I looked around, commenting on this feature or that. I couldn’t get over the private beach and he murmured, for he was standing very close, that maybe we could enjoy it later that evening. Alone. My pulse raced. “But we’ll be on the yacht by then.” And, because I had only just remembered, I glanced down toward the bay and saw an empty slip with a little electric Duffy boat bobbing forlornly beside it. “Yes, about that,” he said, just as the guests were arriving at the front door. “We’ll have to postpone our trip in the yacht. I had to put it in for a minor repair.” I opened my mouth, about to question him, when he stepped forward and received the other couples— there were six people in all—and welcomed them. One couple was considerably older than Adam— thirties and forties. One of the men I recognized as Adam’s lawyer from our first meeting. He had the light of recognition in his eyes and he darted a strange look at Adam. Heat crawled up my neck. I knew what was going through his mind. Why’d you bring your prostitute here? I wondered who Adam usually invited with him to parties. If he hadn’t been in long-term relationships, then who was his “plus one”? Adam stood at my side making introductions. The fairer guy, Jordan Fawkes, was Adam’s CFO and apparently ignorant of our arrangement or masked his reactions very well. He stood beside a woman who looked like she could be a Victoria’s Secret model. She wore makeup from her hairline down to her cleavage and her body was flawless. Her dress was so tight it left little to the imagination. I half expected her to start strutting like she was moving down a catwalk. She was, however, very kind and greeted me with a smile, complimenting my dress. One of the other women present was a pretty blonde who looked like she was in her midthirties. Her husband seemed a lot older than her. She smiled widely for Adam, kissing him on both cheeks. Creepily enough, her husband was leering over her shoulder—at me! His eyes scoured me from head to toe and rested on my cleavage, staring at me like I was a steak and he was four weeks into a hunger strike. I’d gotten those looks before and brushed them aside without much thought. I’d always figured they were some men’s way of making a power play without ever having to say a word or touch a thing. I lifted my chin haughtily and jerked my head away. He wasn’t worth another thought. I also noticed the way his wife attended to Adam’s every word and move. She’d been introduced to me as Lindsay Walker, a very old friend. Actually, Adam’s exact words were, “We’re friends from way back.” But the way she kept touching Adam suggested more. She cast a perfunctory—almost dismissive— glance at me when we were introduced and then proceeded to chat him up, reaching out occasionally to touch his shoulder, or his elbow. In truth, I was bored the entire evening. I had nothing in common with these people and they were all very much a part of the scene here in Newport Beach. And I was very much not. I was easily the youngest

one there, aside from Ms. Victoria’s Secret. I’d guess that Adam was amongst the youngest as well. A few asked what I did and when I told them I was a hospital orderly and a hopeful med student, they made a little more small talk and then drifted away. I really didn’t care about the brush-offs. It was a relief, actually. That way I didn’t feel obligated to them to try and entertain them. When we ate—around a beautifully appointed glass table on the covered porch overlooking the harbor—I was at the opposite end from Adam and his “old friend.” Lindsay had entered before most of the others and hastily switched dinner cards—I’d watched while she did it, shocked at her audacity—so that she’d be sitting next to Adam. She wasn’t old enough to be a cougar, but she was clearly quite a few years older than him. I began to suspect they had a history as I watched them over dinner. The guy to my right was a financier and he spent the entire meal talking to the lawyer across from me. I sat in silence and picked at my food, wondering where tonight would lead. Without the yacht, we wouldn’t be able to go out to the twelve-mile mark, where, in international waters, we would no longer be subject to the law of the land. We sure as hell wouldn’t be making that trip in the Duffy Boat, which was designed for tootling around the harbor. So, then what? Were we halted again? In irritation, I glanced at Adam, whose head tilted toward Lindsay, listening to something she was saying but looking bored beyond words. He glanced down the table and our gazes met. I froze and he smiled and winked, before looking away. The guests stayed only an hour after dinner—they were on their way to a concert at the Performing Arts Center in Costa Mesa. Lindsay and her husband were the last to go and again I got that cold once-over from her. It was beyond awkward. Her behavior was possessive. I wanted to tell her not to feel threatened. One fuck and it would be over with Adam. She had nothing to worry about. But curiously, I was having a harder time getting over the irritation I was feeling, both at her presumption with him and his open acceptance of it. Maybe they were friends like I was with Heath. But I just didn’t get that sense from them. She touched him like she had done it a thousand times before. Like she knew him intimately. Like a lover. And surprisingly that brought my claws out. It was beyond stupid of me to feel that way, but I was like a guard dog with hackles up every time I saw her mouth go near his ear to whisper something funny. But to my relief, everyone was gone before eight o’clock. Adam asked me if I wanted something to drink and poured some mineral water for himself and a glass of chilled pinot grigio for me. “Let’s go down to the beach,” he said with a smile. And how could I resist? There were plush, padded lounge chairs and a cabinet with towels and blankets. He set the glasses on a low table between two lounges and grabbed fleece blankets. He had the complete setup, including a propane heater—the big industrial kind they put out on restaurant patios. It wasn’t quite chilly enough that evening to turn it on. After the yard lights were dimmed, we sat on our lounges. I gazed out over the bay watching the golden lights dance on the water’s surface. It was just after sunset and the sky was an otherworldly shade of lavender reflected in the waters of the bay as dusk dropped quickly, like it always did close to the coast. Boats returned from the ocean, their running lights flickering across the water. The distant sounds of a party drifted from one of the neighboring houses on Bay Island. I glanced over at Adam, who had his phone out, reading e-mail and occasionally replying. I sipped at my wine and burrowed under the blanket, watching him. It wasn’t freezing but, like every spring night in Southern California, though the days were temperate, the nights got chilly once the sun went down, especially on the beach. Without looking up from his work he asked, “Warm enough? You want the heater on?” “No,” I said, getting up from the lounge. “I have a better idea to keep warm.”

I picked up my blanket, walked over to his lounge, and plunked down beside him. With surprise he gazed up at me, then scooted, putting his legs down, one on either side of the lounge, and indicated that I should sit between them, which I did, lying back against him. At first I got that same feeling of weird stiffness—like he didn’t know what to do. Clearly Adam wasn’t a natural cuddler. But I was. I’d grown up in an affectionate family. And I had no idea why I needed to connect to him. Hell, I cuddled with Heath sometimes, when he tolerated it. It was just who I was. But the sense I got from Adam was more hesitant than reluctant, as if he didn’t know how to handle it rather than being repulsed by it. Adam finished his latest text and set his phone aside. I leaned my head back against his shoulder and slowly he hitched his arms around me, pulling me fast against him. We sat in silence for many long moments as the night darkened around us. My blood pounded in my throat, an exquisite tension building at the center of my being. It felt so good, just sitting here. “How’s work? All disasters averted?” “The old disasters are swept aside by the new ones, as usual,” he said. “One of your guests said something tonight that I found remarkable.” “What was that?” “I hope he was joking, but he said something about hardly believing you had a chance to enjoy your gorgeous home when you work a hundred-hour week as your norm.” “A hundred hours? That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” Amusement tinged his voice. “But not much, I’d wager, because he also said you regularly sleep at your office.” He paused. “I’ve never pushed any employee harder than I push myself. If they’re doing seventy-hour weeks, then I’ll do ninety.” I angled my head to look up at him. “But why have all this, then, if you can’t enjoy it?” “Who says I don’t? Besides, Miss Doctor, I don’t think you’ll soon be a stranger to ninety-hour workweeks yourself.” I shrugged. “I guess I’ve been preparing myself for it. Probably why I’ve never bothered with a personal life.” “You and I have that in common, then.” I sighed and settled back against him. The phone chirped. Adam picked it up. He typed one-handed while holding me with the other. “Don’t you ever turn that thing off?” I could almost hear him smile. “Never.” “If I asked you to turn it off now, would you?” He paused and set down the phone. “If you gave me enough of an incentive.” I smiled. “I’m sure I could think of something.” He brought a hand to my hair. “I like your hair up. But it’s much prettier down.” “If you take the pins out now, it will still stay in its same shape, I’m afraid. My landlady did it and she loves a good bottle of hairspray.” “Hairspray or rubber cement?” he laughed. “Yeah, it’s going to hurt like a bitch to brush it out.” He paused for a moment. “I hope you didn’t put it up because you thought you had to.” I shrugged, prepared to let him think that was the reason I’d put my hair up—and not because I’d wanted to keep his hands well away from my hair. I did not want a repeat of the balcony freak-out in Amsterdam. I took a deep breath. “I know it’s silly, but I really did want to impress your friends. I don’t think I did.” “On the contrary, I think several of them were quite taken with you.” I couldn’t resist. I had to say it. “I don’t think Lindsay Walker was.”

A pause. “I wouldn’t worry about that.” But I couldn’t tell what that meant—whether he meant I shouldn’t bother because I’d soon be out of his life or that Lindsay’s opinion wasn’t worth worrying about. I decided not to ask. “So…” I said, hesitating. “With no yacht here, I guess that puts a damper on our evening.” His head dipped down, his mouth very close to my neck. “You smell amazing,” he said. Urgent need raced through me with those hoarsely uttered words. I turned my face toward his, tilting my head back so I could look him in the eyes out of the corner of mine. His stare pinned me down and I licked my lips. I wanted him to kiss me again. But he tilted his head away, settling back against the lounge. After a long moment, he kissed my hair, just below my temple, then lowered his mouth to my ear. When he spoke, his breath caressed me, sending frissons of desire down every nerve ending. “We can’t be together tonight.” But I wanted it, and judging from the bulge of his arousal pressing into the small of my back, he wanted it, too. I angled my head to bare my neck without saying a word. His mouth sank to my nape, kissing me there. I gasped at the shock of pleasure that touch evoked. Every cell on my skin came alive as my body readied itself for him. It wouldn’t be tonight, but my body didn’t know any better. It wanted what it wanted. And that evening I was right there along with it for the ride. And the phone chirped again. I tensed. He didn’t pull his mouth away from my neck, but damned if he didn’t pick that wretched thing up and look at it again. He sent off a quick reply and when he put it down, I locked my hand over his. “Turn it the fuck off,” I groaned as he sucked at my neck. “Are you willing to make it worth my while?” he breathed. His hands slid down my shoulders, slipping over my dress to cup my breasts, rubbing his palms over the ready nipples again and again until I wanted to scream with pent-up frustration. I moaned, my eyes squeezing tight, losing myself in the sensation. “Yes,” I murmured. His hands glided into my bodice, under my dress, and he rolled my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. My body glowed hot as if on fire. I arched my back against him. God, his hands were magic on my body. The fucking chime went off again. I stiffened and he hesitated. Would he pick it up again? It was almost nine o’clock on a Friday night, for God’s sake. Couldn’t it wait? He reached for the phone but instead of answering the text, he clicked the red button and the phone obediently powered down. “Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice gruff, husky. “I want you.” That seemed to cause something in him to snap because suddenly he flipped me in his arms and we were facing each other. I straddled him as his mouth pressed to mine in a ferocious kiss. His hand wandered up my skirt. Between kisses, his dark eyes glittered in the low light. “Oh, Emilia, I want you, too.” Our mouths came together again in tangled abandon and his hand caressed my inner thigh, higher and higher until it rested atop my panties. When he stroked me there, my mind seemed to unhinge for a moment and everything swirled around me. “Soaking wet,” he said in a hoarse voice and without another word, a finger hooked up over the hip of my underwear and he yanked. The delicate lace shredded and the panties were off. My level of arousal shot through the roof. I suddenly imagined him tearing off my dress in the same manner, laying me down underneath him on the sand— “Fuck. You are making it impossible to resist you,” he said. He lowered his head and his mouth landed on my nipple, suckling at it through the thin fabric of the dress before pulling it aside with growl and landing on bare skin. I arched into him again. The bulge of his erection pressed against my thigh and his hand was beginning to do wicked things to me. His thumb stroked softly against the most sensitive parts of my flesh. I couldn’t breathe for the longest

moment, everything in me tensing. “Deep breaths, Emilia, enjoy this.” And I did breathe in deeply as he increased the pressure against the bundle of nerves, each touch sending shocks of pure pleasure to every corner of my awareness. My head crushed against his shoulder and I let out a long, low moan. His mouth descended on my neck. “I’m going to make you come.” “Yes,” I agreed. And it wouldn’t be long, as far as I could tell. And he stopped rubbing just long enough to slip a finger inside of me. First tentatively, and then deeper. Then he slid it in and out while I gasped in the rhythm his hand had set. I was so close. So close. And delirious with pleasure as I was, I hardly had time to realize where his hand was or whether or not I should be embarrassed or self-conscious. “I’m going to come,” I finally said. He did not reply, speeding up the rhythm of his touch. It was just enough to push me up and over the top. I threw my head back and gasped, feeling the convulsions of release wash over me like raindrops in a high desert storm. But he continued stroking and stroking against my too-sensitive flesh. “I’m going to do it again. And you are going to say my name. And if you don’t, I’ll keep doing it until you do.” The pleasure was so intense it almost hurt. I tried to push him away. “No, it’s too much.” “You’re going to come and my name is going to be on your lips,” he uttered fiercely against my ear. “Come on, Emilia.” And it was building again and Lord, I couldn’t believe it but I wanted it so badly—again. I never knew it could happen again so fast. But I was still resisting him and his hand, my body stiffening. He pressed his mouth to my ear. “Surrender to me,” he commanded as he entered me once again, his finger sliding into me—and then there were two fingers and I fell slack against him, deciding, ultimately, to allow myself to go where he would take me. “You’re so tight,” he muttered. “So innocent.” And I was close again, biting into his jacket at the shoulder to keep from screaming. “Come for me, Emilia.” And it was so intense—so much more intense. The previous orgasm—as good as it was—was nothing to this one that was approaching like a monstrous wave from far offshore, about to crash down on the rocks. I could barely remember my own name, let alone his, as he pushed me toward a higher climax than I’d ever known. “Oh God,” I said. “I’m good but I’m not that good.” “Adam—” I panted. “Better,” he whispered. “Say it again.” “Please.” “Again, Emilia.” “Adam. Adam. Adam.” And just as I felt the crest of release take hold, he lowered his head and sank his teeth into my earlobe, the pleasure and small, sharp pain clashing with each other. I fell against his chest, panting. It was several minutes before I remembered where I was or even who I was. There was nothing but an aching, haunting bliss and the feel of his chest rising and falling under me —very quickly with each rushed breath. He was very turned on and I wondered why he’d done this in the first place—why he’d started this when he knew he wouldn’t be able to finish it for himself—at least not tonight. Or maybe he could. I stroked my hand along the rigid line of his erection, easily discernible from base to tip. He stayed my hand, hesitating.

An almost involuntary groan escaped his lips. “No,” he breathed. “Tomorrow morning I’ll have the boat back. We’ll spend the afternoon out, have lunch, go swimming, make a day of it. You can stay the night there.” I looked at him, the question in my eyes. “I can wait, Emilia. You’re worth waiting for.” The kindness of those simple words took my breath away. You’re worth waiting for. It was so opposite of what I’d known from my only serious relationship—if a self-involved high-school boyfriend could even be considered serious. Zack had had no desire to wait. Had decided to force the issue when I told him I wasn’t ready. That wasn’t the answer he’d wanted, so he’d taken what he wanted anyway. I shivered against Adam and he pulled me to him. “Thank you,” I said, voice trembling with an emotion I couldn’t fully explain. When he turned on his phone shortly thereafter, there were four text messages and a missed call. Adam swore under his breath, but took the time to answer each one of them while I sat beside him, huddled under the blanket. His car took me home soon after. Restless yet depleted, I reclined against the leather bench in the backseat, mind wandering over the evening’s events. Hopefully things would come to a conclusion tomorrow. But that shard of desire came with a double edge—because it meant that tomorrow night together would be our last. And as much as his hands on me were driving me to new and undiscovered countries of pleasure, I suddenly realized how much I would miss him, beyond just his magic hands. His conversation, his boyish smile, his caring consideration, his keen perceptiveness, his clean, ocean smell. I tried my best to ignore the ache at the center of my chest that hadn’t gone away since he’d said that simple sentence, You’re worth waiting for. But I had to remind myself that a relationship with someone like Adam would be impossible. I would not allow myself to entertain that dream. On the outside, he seemed perfect. But on the inside, he was a man, just like all the rest of them. And they couldn’t be trusted. Once home, I checked my messages. Alex had left two, demanding the chisme immediately. Heath had called, instructing me to call him the minute I got home. I glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight so I opted out of calling. Instead, I wandered the apartment—cleaned a few dishes, picked up my study guide and threw it down just as quickly. Going to bed didn’t even cross my thoughts. I knew it would only lead to hours of tossing and turning. I was too wound up by the thoughts of Adam’s hands and the delicious sensations they had awoken in me. Of the memory of his voice commanding me to come to climax, to say his name. Shivers slithered all through me at the memory. So I did what I always do when I couldn’t sleep. I logged on to the game to while away a few hours. Heath had not logged on, nor had my other two game buddies, Persephone or FallenOne. Fallen hadn’t been on since the last time we’d played together, three weeks before. An hour later, when I was about to log off, my in-game message screen flashed. *Magnus tells you, “Why are you still awake?” Magnus. The one and only. I ran a command to find out Magnus’s class and level. /whois Magnus The game obediently told me: Magnus is a level 75 Fire Mage. Because of course he was a Fire Mage. Fire Mages were the most overtly powerful character class in the game. They had the element of

fire at their command, could throw fireballs and command flame to dance on the heads of their enemies, or burn them slowly down with heat damage. I bit my lip, trying not to giggle at the irony—the thought of his hot hands still burned in my memory. How appropriate. *You tell Magnus, “A Fire Mage? Really? No wonder you have magic hands.” *Magnus tells you, “At your service.” *You tell Magnus, “It begs the question…what are *you* doing up so late? Working still?” *Magnus tells you, “Turn on your headset.” *You tell Magnus, “It doesn’t work right. Makes the game lag when I’m on voice.” *Magnus tells you, “How are you playing on that ancient rig of yours?” *You tell Magnus, “Don’t insult my Franken-puter, the trusty little box that could.” *Magnus tells you, “Get some sleep or you are going to be exhausted tomorrow. I want you well rested.” A thrill of anticipation sliced through me. Tomorrow would finally be the night. *You tell Magnus, “Bossy. I was just about to log off. Enough lag for tonight.” *Magnus tells you, “I’ll pick you up at 11 sharp.” I lay down with a nice, dry study book to lull me to sleep, trying hard to get my mind off of all that would happen the next day. It took an hour, but it finally worked.

Chapter Eight Adam appeared at my door at exactly eleven a.m. Somehow I knew he’d be the type to be ultra-prompt, despite his tardiness at our first meeting. He wore khakis, white deck shoes and a casual button-down, short-sleeved shirt. And, of course, those same sexy designer shades. He had his ubiquitous cell phone in one hand and a cardboard box under his arm. I jerked open the door. “I’ll be right out. Wait here.” I said, leaving the door ajar to grab my toiletry bag from the bathroom. When I came back, he was standing in the middle of my studio, opening up the box. Of course. “Dude, what are you doing? The place is a mess. I told you to wait outside.” “Is it?” he said, sounding preoccupied. “I hadn’t noticed.” I swatted his hard arm with the back of my hand, stunned that it felt like smacking my knuckles against a rock. “Very funny. What the heck are you doing?” “Your rig is a piece of shit.” “Thank you,” I answered acerbically. “I had this lying around. Figured you could use a loaner.” He pulled out a sleek new laptop that immediately made my heart palpitate with toy-lust. It was ultrathin, made from a matte dark metal. “What…? What do you mean ‘loaner’?” He spoke slowly, as if to a toddler. “I mean that I lend it to you and you use it for a while and then you give it back to me when you no longer need it.” I made a face at him. As if I’d give that luscious thing back. Like, ever. He’d just opened it up and booted it. It was already loaded with everything. The palpitations turned into out-and-out fluttering. My God. It was a work of art. It was a gamer’s rig, fully tricked out with all the essentials and a seventeeninch high-definition screen that was as clear as looking through a window. “This looks just like the notebook you were using in Holland.” “It’s close. Not quite as mighty. It’s my backup but I never use it.” Nevertheless, I noticed there was no log-in for him. He’d already reconfigured everything for me, even created an account. “What password did you set?” He shrugged. “Magnus rules. You can change it later, if you must.” I smirked. “Oh, I think I must.” The machine was gorgeous, and easily came with a several-thousand-dollar price tag. I knew I should refuse it. After all, if we were never going to see each other again after tonight, how would I even return it to him? So I asked him. “How would I get this back to you?” He paused and I couldn’t tell whether he had no answer for the question, didn’t wish to answer the question or hadn’t even heard the question. His fingers were flying over the sleek backlit keyboard. I was just about to repeat myself when he said, without looking at me, “Just give it to Bowman. He can bring it down to the complex. I promised him a tour, anyway.” Shit, a tour of Draco Multimedia headquarters? Lucky bastard. “That asshole didn’t even tell me,” I grumped. He glanced at me. “You can have one, too.” Our gazes held and my heart pounded. That couldn’t be possible. If tonight we were going to—then I shouldn’t go anywhere near his workplace after that. I swallowed. He must have known what I was thinking. I think he was waiting for me to say something, maybe expecting me to back out of tonight. I straightened. I wasn’t going to back out. I couldn’t. So I just shook my head.

He looked away, features clouded, but I couldn’t tell whether he was troubled or just preoccupied. I was starting to feel both—troubled about our inevitable farewell after this evening and preoccupied with how everything would go, finally, tonight. If things had gone according to plan, this would have been over with a week ago and by now, we’d be strangers once more. And before, I’d felt like that was absolutely the right thing to do, but now…It was weirdly illogical. I wanted to know all about him before we never saw each other again. Alex showed up just as we were descending the stairs to leave less than an hour later. When she looked up and saw Adam, her jaw dropped and her gaze shot to me, eyes rounding. Subtle she was not. I wondered how she’d managed to get over here so fast from her apartment in Fullerton once her mom had called to tell her he was here. I sighed and made introductions. “Good to meet you,” Alex smiled, leaning to shake his hand and bat her big eyes at him. “Mia’s told me so much about you!” My lips pursed. What a little liar. Adam smiled and shot a sidelong glance at me. I shrugged, throwing my hands up. “We gotta get going.” Alex watched us go and when I looked back, she waved her hand in front of her face to fan herself—a clear indication that she found him hot. Then she put her hand to her ear, mimicking holding a phone and mouthed an exaggerated Call me. We hit the road and I breathed a sigh of relief. That had been a close call. The more I kept Adam separated from my friends, the fewer awkward questions I’d have to answer later. When I glanced over at him, he had a grin on his face. “What?” I asked. “You’ve told her all about me, huh?” I looked away, cheeks heating. “She’s a hopeless liar,” I muttered. The day was truly beautiful. I was convinced there was no more gorgeous weather on this planet than what we enjoyed in Southern California in May. The smells of the white jasmine bushes that were planted everywhere combined with the blossoms on the orange trees and imbued the air with a honey scent. It was too early for the June Gloom, where mornings were overcast until they burned off into hot afternoons. In May, every day was fresh, crystal clear and sunny. And in his convertible—a dark blue vintage 1950s Porsche—we zoomed down the freeway in the carpool lane, bypassing Saturday beach traffic. I’d bundled my long hair as best I could into a ponytail band, making a messy bun. Still errant strands of hair whipped around my face and into my eyes as I squinted through my cheapo drugstore sunglasses, tapping my foot in time with Depeche Mode’s “Pleasure Little Treasure” on the stereo. So he liked his music like he liked his cars—classics. I was beginning to realize that Adam was the rock star of computer geeks. And apparently a lot of the tech magazines agreed with me. Adam parked at a small underground garage a few blocks away from the bridge and we walked the rest of the way—he insisting on carrying my bag, which wasn’t heavy at all. I resisted at first, but he practically yanked it out of my hands. “Your mama raised a very nice boy,” I said and then immediately regretted my words when I saw his jaw tighten. How could I have forgotten? I stopped, placing a hand on his rock-hard bicep. “I’m so sorry.” He shook his head. “No worries, Emilia.” But those dark brows creased over his sunglass-veiled eyes. I cleared my throat, still feeling terrible. Taking a deep breath, I started walking again. I decided to ease the awkwardness by talking about a subject I hated as well. “No, I know how it feels whenever someone brings up my dad or asks me about him. I never had a dad. I don’t even know his name so I call him the Biological Sperm Donor because that’s all he is to me.” He glanced at me. “You were never curious to meet him?” I shrugged. “He didn’t want me so why would I want him?” And we kept walking, past the park

gardens of Bay Island, alive with bright pinks, vivid yellows—all of spring in a flowerbed. “He was married with a family and he never bothered to reveal that little detail to my mom before he got her pregnant. When she told him she was going to have a baby, he paid her a big sum of money to shut up and ‘go take care of it.’” “Ah. A right bastard, then.” “Yep. So I don’t give a shit who he is.” He glanced at me again. “But he’s well-off. You could have, you know, tried to get the money you need from him.” Now it was my turn to tighten my jaw. “Why ask from him what I can do for myself?” And I could tell he wanted to say more but cut himself off with a slight shake of his head, his grip tightening on my bag. Was he actually angry? I paused, watching him carefully. This wasn’t the first time I’d gotten the impression he had torn feelings about the auction—this entire arrangement. I remembered the insults he was slinging around when we first met—and some of the other offhand comments he had made during our brief time in the Netherlands, always questioning my judgment and reasons for entering the auction in the first place. If he didn’t approve, why had he even bid? Though I wasn’t about to question him now. In truth, I was glad he had bid. But I was getting this weird tight feeling at the pit of my stomach. It felt like a cold rock sitting there and never moving. It had something to do with the fact that I was allowing feelings to get involved. As much as I wanted the money, yes. As much as I wanted him, yes. I found myself not wanting this to be over yet. There was too much to find out before that. I wanted to know what drove him. What his fears were. What his goals were. Had he already arrived at the ripe age of twenty-six or was he striving for more and if so, how much higher could he go? And what about a personal life? Why was he still driven, after being so successful, to spend ninety hours a week in his office and half his life on airplanes and in hotels? Then there were the personal details. Had he ever been in love? Who was Sabrina? Why did he have her name permanently inscribed over his heart? These were things that I would never know, ever, if we slept together tonight. But there was another voice inside my head, along with the one dying of curiosity to get to know him better. The logical one. The one that said that a man like Adam would only hurt me in the end if I opened up to him. Just like the Biological Sperm Donor had done to my mom. He’d crushed her and she’d never been able to move on. And if I let just one weakness in my fortress show, Adam would do the same to me. With new resolve, I swore to carry out the original terms of our agreement, no matter what I was feeling inside. *** The boat was gorgeous, of course, like all of the other things he surrounded himself with. A onehundred-foot yacht appointed with the most glamorous details, all chrome and marble countertops, wood paneling and recessed lighting. It looked nicer than the nicest home I’d ever been in—besides Adam’s. There was a large kitchen, called a “galley,” from which Adam’s chef/housekeeper worked. She had come along with the captain and they were the only other two aboard besides us, which left us a great deal of room to move about. Adam told me he often had team parties on the yacht for his employees and used it for other business, about which he was vague. As we talked, I got the impression that his business interests were diversified —he had investments in the hospitality industry and technology hardware beyond just his own company. Draco Multimedia, particularly Dragon Epoch, was his main source of income, but he was beginning to branch out. We ate a gourmet lunch straight away—poached salmon over a crisp bed of greens. Then Adam

showed me the rest of the boat. And I don’t know if was by design or by happenstance, but the last room he showed me was his. A room almost as big as my studio, with a lush king-sized bed. We stared at each other awkwardly in the doorway and he looked almost embarrassed. “I really didn’t mean for us to end up here. Not yet, anyway.” I laughed. “I bet you say that to all the girls you bring on your yacht.” “Actually you’d be the first one.” I shot him a teasing look. “New yacht?” He shrugged, sheepish. “It’s not old.” “So you never brought Lindsay here?” He looked at me sharply. “Lindsay? No…no. No.” I laughed at his vehement protest. “It’s okay. I realize you two have a history that I know nothing about.” He shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. “Lindsay and I go way back.” I couldn’t resist. Not with it dangling out there in front of me like that. “How far back? And was there a bedroom involved?” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and affected nonchalance, putting his hand in his pocket. “We had a history as sexual partners.” “Interesting.” I folded my arms, leaning back against the doorjamb. “You don’t use the term ‘lovers.’” He snorted. “Love had nothing to do with it.” “Was she married then?” And Adam’s expression grew so horrified that I almost laughed. “God, no. It was like ten years ago.” That meant he’d been just a teen. I wrinkled my nose. I was like a dog with a bone with this, unwilling to give it up. “Dare I ask if she was your first?” He actually blushed and that’s all I needed to answer my question. He gave another one of those fake shrugs. “You can always ask.” I ignored the evasion because I already had the answer to my question. Lindsay had popped Adam’s cherry. “So, does she always act like that with you?” He frowned. “Like what?” “Like you two are still a couple?” He looked at me like I was an alien. “First of all, we were never a couple. We got together and we fucked and that was about it. We didn’t date. She was too busy with her career and I didn’t really care about relationships. I was too young for that. We’re friends now. She’s a partner in my uncle’s firm.” I was not convinced, wholly, of Adam’s cluelessness. He was far too perceptive a person not to have noticed Lindsay’s flirtatious behavior. And beyond that I was a little shaken by how strongly I felt about it. Why did I even care who Adam had slept with in his past? He knew my sexual history—well, most of it, anyway. Shouldn’t I have a right to know his? A grin flickered on his lush mouth. “So why all the questions? You’re not jealous, are you?” I widened my eyes, “Oh, no. No, no. God, no.” I blathered, flustered. Now who was overdoing it? “What’s there to be jealous of? You and I have a business deal, nothing more.” But when I talked, my voice was a little too shaky and his handsome face was completely devoid of any emotion. He turned and moved to an inner doorway. “There’s the bathroom if you want to change into your swimsuit. I’m going for a swim once we stop.” “Out—in the middle of the ocean?” He shot me a puzzled stare, as if I’d just spoken Mandarin. “Yeah.” “But aren’t you going to freeze your ass off? That water is cold.” He shrugged. “We have a Jacuzzi on board. We get too cold, we get out and hop in the hot water.”

I bit my lip. “Maybe I’ll just watch from the edge.” He picked up my bag from where it sat on the table and tossed it to me. “Get in your suit.” I grabbed it and went into the bathroom and shimmied into my trusty one-piece. It wasn’t the fancy bikini that I’d posed in for the auction, but it was still a nice suit. And it was his favorite color, too. Blue. When I went to open the door, I heard him moving around out in the bedroom and realized he must be changing out there. Not wanting another awkward repeat of that first afternoon in Amsterdam, I tapped on the door and he told me to come in. He was shirtless with his trunks—long board shorts—hanging off his hips. I smiled and walked into the room and he ran an appreciative eye down my form, giving another wolf whistle. I couldn’t help but devour the sight of his body again. He had a narrow waist and solid shoulders, every muscle clearly defined from firm pecs to rock-hard abs. He wasn’t as tan as I’d expect of an inhabitant of Newport Beach, but of course he spent most of his life under fluorescent lighting in an office in Irvine, so that was understandable. His finely chiseled chest was covered with the slightest dusting of dark hair, with a narrow trail leading down to his navel and beyond. I looked at the tattoo again. He wasn’t attempting to hide it but he didn’t say anything when I studied it, either. “Are you ready to go?” he said. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He led us on deck to the ladder that took us down to the waterline. He shot me a boyish grin and then dove in headfirst. I hung my feet off the side and dipped my toes in, the shock of cold shooting up my legs. I squealed when he splashed me. “Come in. Just jump in fast. Get it over with. It feels great after a minute.” “I’m not diving. How do you know there are no sharks out here?” He laughed, watching me as he treaded water. “I don’t. Come on.” And we swam for the next hour or so and it was wonderful fun. Adam pointed out the distant spouts of humpback whales. I saw a pod of dolphins jumping out of the water in the distance. When it grew too cold to stay in the water, my entire body shivering uncontrollably, Adam shot up the ladder first and, still dripping himself, reached into a cabinet where a stack of towels were warming and extracted one, holding it for me to walk into when I climbed the ladder. It felt wonderful and I thanked him while he stooped to grab one for himself. “Let’s go warm up in the Jacuzzi.” On the back of the middle deck, open to the sky, we soaked in the warmth of massaging bubbles while the chef brought us champagne and appetizers. The captain turned the boat around so that we could watch the sunset over the ocean. We talked and stuffed ourselves on Chef’s amazing appetizers: bacon-wrapped scallops, baked brie, and all kinds of great munchies. So much so that our appetites were ruined for dinner. Graciously, Chef told us she would pack a cold picnic for us to take up to the top deck when we were hungry. And then we were alone watching the sunset paint the sky in deep reds and oranges reflecting out onto the ocean. “So this is what you do in your copious amounts of spare time?” He smiled. “I’d like to take the boat out at least once a month. Maybe over to Catalina, down to Mexico or just out on the water.” “Taking your work with you, of course.” He kept his gaze on the horizon. “Perhaps.” I narrowed my eyes. “Uh huh. With your satellite Internet—I saw that big old office you have below decks. It’s not for bringing women out here.” “I told you I don’t bring women out here.” “You brought me.”

He glanced at me. “Yes, but you are an exception.” “Have you ever had a long-term relationship?” I asked. His dark eyes darted to the ocean once again. “No. I never had the time.” “Ah. So you just have…fuck buddies.” He was amused. “If you want to call them that. And what about you? No fuck buddies obviously, but you don’t date, either.” I shook my head. “Nope. Tried it. Didn’t like it.” I shrugged. He watched me carefully. “How old were you when you made that decision?” “Sixteen.” He cursed under his breath. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else!” I said brightly. He shook his head. “No, I want to talk about this for a few moments longer.” I shook my head right back. His gaze hardened. “Don’t get like that, Emilia. I think it important that I know if anything painful happened to you. I want to do everything I can to make you comfortable. What happened in Amsterdam—” “It won’t happen again—no need to worry. I did a lot of therapy.” “I disagree. I should worry.” I sighed and glanced off to the side. “I had a boyfriend in high school. He was a football star, a senior, and I was a stupid little sophomore with stars in my eyes. He treated me like shit. One night he got drunk and assaulted me. I broke up with him. The end.” Now his face was grim. “He assaulted you…sexually?” My breathing froze. I had never talked to many people about this. Heath knew it all. So did my therapist. Mom knew some of it but I’d refused to say any more about it after she started talking about going to the police. It was dropped and she got me the therapist to talk to instead. I took a deep breath and took a leap. For some reason, those dark eyes compelled me to do so. Sometimes I was a coward—most of the time I was. But I could be brave today. Just for today. And speaking of this took pretty much all the courage I had. “He wanted to have sex and I said no. He got pissed and slammed my head into the steering wheel— we were parked up on the Ridge—up in the foothills. I’d been driving because he was hammered from the party we’d gone to. I got out of the car and took off running. He caught me and—” My voice trembled and cut off. Adam watched me, his expression grim, but did not move, did not say a thing, waiting patiently for me to collect myself. I took a deep but shaky breath. “He grabbed me by the hair, pulled me on my knees and made me go down on him.” Eat it, bitch, he’d slurred while I sobbed. Remembered fear closed my throat. I didn’t mention the scars on my scalp, where he had pulled so hard on my hair that he’d torn small chunks of it out. Hair wouldn’t grow on those spots for years afterward. “I hope he got a long time in jail for that,” he said and my chest tightened. I avoided his eyes. Here’s where Mia showed herself for the gutless wuss that she was. I swallowed. “He didn’t go to jail.” Adam scowled. “What?” I swallowed. “I didn’t press charges.” Silence. He said nothing and didn’t even move. I knew what he was thinking. Because I thought it of myself every day. Coward. Mia is a coward. “I know you are wondering why…” He slowly shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me.” But I couldn’t stop. It was like a valve had swung open on a dam. “I was too scared. He was popular and the quarterback on the football team. Everybody worshipped him. I didn’t think anyone would believe me.” My voice trailed off and I was disgusted by the whining in my own voice. I straightened.

He glanced away for a moment, as if trying to collect himself. “I understand.” And I knew he did, given his history with being bullied. I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Thank you for not judging me.” His eyes fixed on mine again, holding my gaze as firmly as a physical grasp. “I don’t have the right to judge you.” We sat in silence for a several long, weighted minutes. Then I cleared my throat, gathering courage. “Now will you tell me something?” He took a deep breath, almost as if he was bracing himself. I had the sudden urge to scoot up next to him. I suppressed it. “Who is Sabrina?” He swallowed and looked away. “My sister.” My jaw dropped. That was so not an answer I was expecting. And I couldn’t describe the reaction welling up inside of me. Surprise, relief, puzzlement. Who tattoos their sister’s name on their chest? “Oh. How cool. I didn’t know you have a sister.” “Had,” he turned back to me, his face and voice utterly emotionless. “Had a sister. She’s dead.” I sat back, the wind knocked out of me, shocked both by the news and his expressionless delivery of it. Before I could respond, he leaned forward, readying himself to get out. “Let’s go shower off and look at the stars from the top deck. And the view of the shoreline is great now that it’s dark.” There was only one shower in the master bathroom and two of us. Adam grabbed two monogrammed terry bathrobes, handing one to me. “I’ll go shower in a guest bathroom.” “You don’t have to,” I said in a shaky voice. He froze and turned back to me. “You could shower with me. I saw the place. It’s huge.” His eyes lit up but I could tell he thought I was kidding. Likewise, the thought excited me, too. The image of spreading soap across his abs with my bare hands was making my heart pound a little harder. “Emilia, if I shower with you we will never get up to the top deck.” Instead of replying, I dropped my towel and then shucked off my wet swimsuit in two smooth, quick moves. Then I shot him a grin and backed into the bathroom. “You’re going to have to show me how this damn thing works anyway.” A cold thrill thrummed in my throat as his hungry eyes traveled down my naked body. I felt daring, bold, empowered, desired. By the time Adam took off his swim trunks, he was fully aroused. I tried not to look—much—but I have to admit that curiosity got the better of me. His body was beautiful, magnificent and—well, I tried not to let the size of him terrify me. I backed into the hot spray. The shower had dual heads, one on each side, so we each got our own. And for the first few minutes, we stood on opposite sides of the shower, awkwardly cornering our own spray, warming up while cautiously watching the other. I lathered my hair before offering the bottle to him. Once he reached for it, I poured shampoo into my own palm and then put it on top of his head, setting aside the bottle to lather his hair. He watched me with a longsuffering, tolerant expression, but his eyes were dark with desire. His slick, hot, naked body was only inches from mine and I shook with anticipation, with the blood pumping through my veins at five times its normal speed. Moving closer, I swallowed in a tight throat. I stood on my tiptoes to reach the top of his head, and he steadied me by placing hands on my waist. Then he ducked his head for my attention. His hands, where they held me, touched me lightly at first, but as I continued to massage his scalp, his hold on me tightened, fingertips pressing into my flesh. Thrill danced across my skin. I wanted to press my body to his. But I remembered his warning, about not making it to the top deck. Did I want our first time to happen in here?

I pulled away and turned back to my side of the shower to rinse my hair, my eyes closed. But he came up close behind me. He picked up the bottle of shower gel and poured it into his hand and I twisted to look back at him, ready to feast on the vision of this gorgeous man lathering his abs. He said, “Stand still. I’ll wash your back.” I took a deep breath and did as he told me. His warm hands slicked down from my shoulders, across my deltoids and trapezius muscles to the small of my back. Every inch that he touched sprang alive and I trembled. The soap allowed just the right amount of give and the sensation of his strong hands gliding over my skin set my insides aflame with impossible heat. Then he reached around and smoothed soap across my belly, my hips. His hands skirted my pubic region before slipping up to my breasts—and apparently he must have thought my breasts in extra need of washing because his hands lingered there for quite some time. My nipples were erect and sensitive under his touch, each stroke of his hands piercing my core with lancets of desire. I was panting, leaning against him. His erection pressed into the small of my back, hot and hard. His head came down to take my ear in his mouth. Shower spray pelted us. “Emilia, if I wasn’t a gentleman, I’d pin you to that wall right now and fuck you.” My breath hitched. “Who said you had to be a gentleman?” His mouth was on my neck now but I squirmed out of his arms, pouring some gel in my hands. “That mouth of yours proves that you are a dirty, dirty man…” I said suggestively. He laughed and turned. I started on his shoulders and back and his posture grew rigid. My hands glided over his perfectly defined muscles. My hands sank to his waist, then down to his hard butt. I turned and filled up on gel again and moved to his front. His body felt exquisite under my hands. A quiet moan escaped his mouth as he closed his eyes, savoring my touch. I bent my head to kiss him but stopped myself. Was I ready to start things here, despite what he’d just told me? I stepped away so he could rinse himself off. I exited the shower, my body still singing with his caresses. I shivered in anticipation of what would happen later tonight, perhaps even on the top deck, under the stars. We toweled off and dressed in casual clothes to go up to the top. All of OC hugged a south-facing coast that was the curve of Southern California as it twisted its way toward Mexico. At this distance from the coast, the plentiful lights of OC and LA were but a glow along the horizon. The moon was a tiny sliver of a waxing crescent and so, being just about to set, provided little competition with the stars. The lights from the coastline, however, did prevent maximum viewing. Still, it was far better than trying to stargaze on land. The light pollution over the Los Angeles metropolitan area was considerable and on the best of nights, it was difficult to discern more than a dozen or so stars. It wasn’t like the skies over Anza, which were so dark and clear you could see satellites gliding through the quiet night skies. But out here, you could see almost as much. Adam had stopped by his office to check his e-mail and I had wandered up to the deck, alone, trying not to be annoyed. It was a wonder, really, that he had ignored it for as long as he did. I couldn’t expect a miracle. So I waited for him for almost an hour. He came up carrying two big blankets and—of course— his cell phone tucked into his pocket. After finding the most recognizable constellations, we lay back on a wide cushioned bench beside each other, gazing up at the black dome above us. “I still can’t believe you were up there.” “Yep. For ten days. And if I get my way, I’ll go up again.” “How did you turn off work for that long?” He shrugged. “I didn’t. I worked by satellite for a few hours every day. But I also had to participate in

science experiments, too. I enjoyed that a lot.” From here the blackened sea stretched out around us, calm, rocking gently. I sighed. “It must be so satisfying, to see your wildest dreams come true.” He was silent for a long moment. “What are your dreams, Emilia?” I shrugged. “You know, I don’t have an answer for that besides ‘become the best badass doctor ever.’” I frowned, glad for the darkness that cloaked my face. He couldn’t see the valley of worry that had etched itself into my forehead. Though I’d finished my premed program, I was still far from that dream. It was a sobering thing, to see the thing I wanted so much in the world just beyond my reach. The one barrier was something I feared more than anything—failure, yet again. It had paralyzed me, prevented me from retaking the test over and over again until I got it right. No, I wouldn’t take it again until I’d paid the price with blood, sweat and tears, studying hours and hours a day until I had the material ingrained as a part of the fabric of my brain. “That’s a worthy enough dream,” he murmured. “But there’s got to be something deep inside— something you’ve always wished to do or see.” “Thanks to you I think I can cross a couple things off the list I never even knew I had.” He turned his head and looked at me. “That trip to Europe should hardly count. You deserve to go back, to enjoy it like it should be enjoyed.” I sighed. “Maybe I’ll do that.” “So what other things have I helped you with?” “Hmm. Flying first-class. Swimming with dolphins. Spending a day on a gazillion-foot yacht…” I took a deep breath. “Experiencing the most amazing kiss ever.” He was still watching me, and in the dim light I could tell he was smiling. But if he made a sarcastic remark right now, I knew I would die of humiliation. I was still reeling from the fact that I’d even put that out there. He cleared his throat. “What a coincidence,” he breathed. “I had that one on my list, too.” I turned my head to look at him. “Had?” “Yes. But I can cross it off now, too.” He rolled onto his side toward me, watching me still. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to do what I always do.” “Oh? And what’s that?” He ran his finger along my jawline before tracing the outline of my lips. His touch burned hot and cold and my lips shivered. “I always try to top my own personal best,” he said quietly. When he leaned over and kissed me, it was with the force of all the suppressed tension between us the entire day. That talk in the Jacuzzi had brought us closer together and that shower had ensured that both of us had our motors revved and ready to go by the time he first kissed me. He rolled on top of me, pressing me into the cushion. His hands and mouth were everywhere. And he was going fast, unbuttoning my shirt, and reaching inside. I shivered and he stopped only to reach for one of the blankets to cover us. He immediately went to my fly and unbuttoned it, reaching inside. I tipped my head back, gasping at the sudden, but not unwelcome, invasion. He knew how hot and wet I was, murmuring heated words about how I was ready. He tugged my jeans off my hips and I lifted them while he pulled them off, tossing them and my panties aside. “Emilia, you are driving me insane,” he said as he pressed his body to mine again. My hands flew up to unbutton his shirt and pull it open. He immediately pressed his bare chest to mine and we both sighed in unison. The feeling was exquisite—his hard, male body pushing against my breasts, the desperate need between my legs. “Adam, I want you.” And he kissed me, his movements growing more urgent, if that was possible.

His head traveled down to my nipples, suckling each in turn while I arched my back to meet him, my body burning hotter with each passing minute. Then he kissed his way down my belly, across my navel. And lower. His head was between my legs and he nudged them open as he traced his hot tongue and mouth up the insides of my thighs. Every part of me began to throb in time with my own urgent heartbeat. I knew what was coming next. Adam was about to go down on me. Suddenly I tensed at the thought of him so close to one of my most intimate places—I didn’t think I would have baggage about this, since this had nothing to do with what had happened to me, but my fear of something possibly happening stopped me. He sensed it immediately and his head came up. “Are you okay?” I took a deep breath, forced myself to relax. And I let my knees drop fully open. “I’m okay.” He sank his head to my sex then, his hot breath bathing my inner thighs. I closed my eyes, willing myself to remain calm, to lie back and enjoy what was about to happen, but the anxiety of anticipation was not helping. I felt his finger first, separating me while he kissed my thighs. He pushed it inside me, curling it slowly so that it pressed at a certain spot—a place he knew well, apparently—and I immediately gasped, arching. He pulled his head up. “Bingo. Found it.” And all I could do was laugh. He’d tracked down the elusive g-spot. “They should give out merit badges for that,” he said. I gasped when the finger moved again. “I’ll give you a fucking gold medal if you want, just don’t stop.” “Emilia, I haven’t even begun,” he said and his mouth sank to my sex, licking along the ready flesh there before finding the most sensitive spot, my clitoris, and sucking it into his mouth. The sensation was indescribable. Like his mouth was made of fire and scorching me with the most exquisite pain and pleasure at the same time. I stopped breathing and then let out a little shout that I’m sure every human being within a mile radius must have heard. I was coming before I even realized what was happening. The spasms came in short, intense bursts and lasted for minutes. Just when I thought they’d stop, he’d press himself harder against me or adjust his head. My back lifted off the bench and I actually—much to my eternal embarrassment—squealed! I couldn’t help it, though. It was just that good. But even though I felt like a wet rag that had been wrung out, I realized, when he settled next to me again, that he was right. We had only just begun. And now, it was his turn to take pleasure from me. “You liked that, did you?” he said, appearing immensely proud of himself. I smiled. “No. Hated every minute of it.” He leaned down and kissed me then. A deep, soulful kiss. It lasted for long moments and with each passing second, I could feel the urgency build within him. I ran my hands over the supple ridges of his chest, around to his back, cupping his shoulder blades, pulling him down on me. He didn’t break the kiss to unbutton his khakis. It was so quiet out here, with only the sounds of the boat and the lapping of the ocean around us. I heard his zipper and an icy thread of fear shot through me. It was niggling—minor—but I tried not to think about what was about to happen. Knew that my fear was silly—unfounded. Knew that afterward, I would be relieved to have it over with. With a deep breath, I opened my legs so he could settle between them. He was fighting himself to keep his hands out of my hair, I could tell. One hand would approach my hairline and then drop to my shoulder or back. I appreciated it, even though forcing himself to remember probably yanked him out of the moment. I opened my eyes and saw him watching me. When our gazes met, he pulled back and broke the kiss. He was breathing heavily. “Emilia,” he said, and then kissed me again, pulling me closer. His erection nudged against my inner thigh and he groaned, his arms tightening around me. I adjusted my hips

underneath him, wondering why he was hesitating. “Fuck me, Adam,” I said, between clenched teeth. Another groan and he shifted. He was about to enter me. The tip of him brushed against my heat, but then he stiffened, tearing himself out of my arms. I sat up, watching him in shock as he grabbed his boxer briefs and khakis, pulling them on with a face frozen in something that looked like disgust. “What the hell?” I said, still completely naked under the blanket. He shook his head, grabbing his shoes and standing up—his shirt still completely open and exposing his perfect chest. “This isn’t happening,” he said in a distant voice. “Get dressed. You can stay in a guest room.” And without waiting for me to reply, he spun and moved down the stairs to the lower deck, leaving me with my mouth hanging open in shock. I watched him go, utterly lost. My whole body shook and my face burned with humiliation. My breath came fast and anger shot a heated streak down through my entrails. How the fuck dare he? With jerky movements I pulled on my clothes, trying to ignore the sinking sensation that made me wish the sea would rise up and swallow me here and now. Had I done something wrong? Had I not responded to him the way he wanted? In my mind I retraced everything that led up to the moment where he’d stiffened and pulled away. Had I touched him in a place he didn’t like or—oh, God—had he been fantasizing about someone else? My hands shook with fury as I dressed. *** What the hell was that? I couldn’t help but wonder. It wasn’t even ten o’clock when I checked the clock in my room—the guest room just down from his. His door was open, light off, so I assumed he wasn’t in his quarters. What had made him react so strongly? Why that look of revulsion on his face? Was Adam screwed up about sex? Maybe he’d been abused as a child or teen. The thought turned my stomach but alleviated some of my anger. What if he couldn’t help it? But he’d obviously had sexual relationships with other women— at least one of whom I’d met, Lindsay. But maybe it was something about my being a virgin? Of course if that repelled him, why bid on the auction? I paced in a tight circle for a while before deciding there was no way I could keep still. I slipped on my shorts and running shoes and headed down to the yacht’s little gym. Adam had showed it to me on my tour that afternoon—a room with a treadmill, elliptical machine, weights. I could use a nice long run to clear my head. With my trusty MP3 player and earbuds in, I descended a deck and—after a couple wrong turns— finally found the room I was seeking. I had the light shining from the doorway to thank for being able to find it. So this was where he’d run to. Undeterred, I queued my music to my running playlist and headed straight for the unoccupied treadmill. I caught a glimpse of him in the corner—in running shorts and a black tank top—at the pull-up bar. So I wasn’t the only one who had decided to burn off my sexual frustration with exercise. His head jerked toward me just as I turned my back on him and mounted the treadmill. I turned it on and quickly got my pace up, upping the speed probably faster than I should have. I wanted to burn off the energy as quickly as possible. Maybe, exhausted, I could find the courage to talk to him after that. I was all-out sprinting—Christina Aguilera’s “Keeps Getting Better” pounding through my pulse— when he entered my line of vision, standing just in front of me and mouthing something, shaking his head sternly. I shook my head and looked down. He wanted to talk now? Hell no. He could wait. Just like I’d

waited up on the top deck while he’d checked in on work. He didn’t move when I refused to stop running or look at him. Then he reached out and turned off the treadmill. The safety mechanism kicked in and the slow was gradual. If I turned it on again, I’d only fall, because it would start with a much slower speed than the one at which I was running. When it came to a stop I yanked out my earbuds. “What the hell was that?” He scowled at me. “You’re going too fast. You didn’t even warm up.” “I’ll thank you to keep your fucking nose out of my exercise routine.” “I’m not going to sit back and watch you hurt yourself. You can really fuck yourself up that way.” “Well, maybe I’m pissed off and I need a good run.” “Then at least do it properly.” Heath had told me that Adam was once a runner—probably still was—but that didn’t give him the right to butt in. I got off the treadmill and was about to walk off—wishing I had my computer and an Internet connection so I could log on to the game and go hack a few hundred orcs. “Emilia.” I spun on him, face burning. “What?” “You aren’t ready.” I knew he wasn’t talking about running now. I stiffened. “And who are you to determine that? It’s my decision. My body. I’m twenty-two years old, for chrissakes. I could go out tomorrow with anyone and —” “No, you can’t,” he said flatly, hands curling at his sides. I shook my head. “There’s no agreement if you refuse to go through with it.” “Oh? So you’ve just decided to do away with our impending bank transfer?” I swallowed in a tight throat. I needed that money, goddamn it. I shrugged. “Who says you were ever planning to pay me, anyway?” His jaw bulged. “I never back out of my agreements.” I shook my head. “I can’t take this. I opened up to you. You asked me to be honest and I was and now…” I gestured wildly. “It’s like you’re punishing me because I told you about my past.” He approached me, reaching out to touch my cheek. I closed my eyes and jerked my head away from his hand. “Emilia. Look at me.” I opened my eyes. “If I didn’t care about you as a person, I wouldn’t give a shit. I’d just do it. But I’m not convinced that it won’t somehow harm you. I’d never forgive myself.” I folded my arms across my chest. “So if not now, when? Never? Adam, I need that money.” He tilted his head, studying me. “You haven’t even applied to med school yet.” I glanced away. Could I afford to tell him the real reason? The ranch was literally in trouble. It sounded like a cheesy 80s movie plot, but if my mom lost her ranch and the bed-and-breakfast that went along with it, she’d lose her livelihood. And if that happened, there’d be no more cancer therapy. I’d just opened up to him about my personal life, and he’d taken the decision out of my hands. I couldn’t trust him not to do the same if I told him why I really needed the money now. “I don’t have the whole story, I take it. Why do you need the money?” I stiffened. “Why should I tell you? So you can use it against me?” Those midnight eyes were hard. Stern. I lifted my chin, staring him down. Did I have any choice but to go along with his decisions? I let out a slow breath. His gaze didn’t waver as he watched me intently. “You thought you were the one in control. Now you’re realizing that’s no longer the case.” I exhaled suddenly, as if he’d just punched me. “I was never in control, was I? You just let me think I was. I’ve always considered myself a smart person—smart enough to get a scholarship and get the grades

for medical school, but I’m not a prodigy genius and I’m not going to exhaust myself trying to outthink you. Am I just some little toy to play with until you get bored again?” He blinked, his arms tensed. “No.” “Because that’s your problem, you know. You’re bored. You’re empty. All you do is work. You surround yourself with every costly toy imaginable and keep people at a distance. Does anyone love you? Do you love anyone?” I don’t know if it was my imagination, but he seemed to grow a shade paler. He shifted his weight and ran a hand through his dark hair. But I turned and ran back to my room. I didn’t want to do this anymore. He caught me just outside the door to my room, wrapped his hand around my upper arm and pulled me around to face him. His mouth found mine and though I was still angry, I let him kiss me. His arms came around me and pulled me tight against him. When we came apart, his breath was harsh and his voice was dark, husky. “One more night, Emilia.” I said nothing, looking into his eyes. I put my hands up to push away from him and he tightened his grip on my waist. “Please.” I took a deep breath. “I need something—some kind of—we can’t just keep doing this.” He tipped his head down to rest his forehead against mine. His eyes squeezed tight and then opened again. My throat tightened at the determination in his eyes. “One more night. I’ll transfer half the money to you on Monday.” I shivered. When I spoke, it was with a shaky voice. “Okay…” I hesitated. “If you still want me.” He slowly released me, stepping back. He took a deep breath, his right hand closing into a fist. “Were you in any doubt until I stopped it?” I shook my head. “Then don’t allow yourself to think otherwise. I want you. Very much.” My heart thudded in my throat. He wanted me—for one night. And then what? For the first time since entering into this entire sordid scheme, I was beginning to think I’d made a very, very bad decision. With my strict rules, my frenzied grasps at control, I’d boxed myself into an impossible situation, because my feelings for him were starting to grow too big for just one night. Just one more night. He stepped forward to land a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Good night.” Then he turned down the hallway and disappeared into his quarters. It hurt to breathe. And exhausted, I dropped onto my bed, curled into a ball and slept. *** The next morning, when I woke, we were safely docked at the slip on Bay Island, nestled against Adam’s house. We had a brief, understated breakfast sitting in his kitchen, snacking on fresh fruit and warm crepes prepared by Chef. He glanced at me several times but I remained mostly quiet, still feeling awkward and completely in the dark about what had happened between us the night before. “Do you have plans for later?” he finally said. I shrugged. “Apparently I’m at your disposal.” “No, I mean for dinner. Just dinner.” “Tonight?” I thought for a moment. I didn’t have to be back at work until tomorrow’s late shift. I hadn’t had a chance to call Heath back, but I could take care of that this afternoon. “I have to work on my blog posts for the week.” “It’s just for a few hours.” I sighed. “Not if I have to spend an hour or two getting ready.”

“Oh, no, it’s not that kind of dinner. It’s a family thing at my uncle’s house. Barbecue.” I shot a glance at him out of the corners of my eyes. A family thing? Had I heard that right? Suddenly that old beast, curiosity, seized me by the throat and wouldn’t let go. “Okay.” He drove me home and, as always, walked me to the door, carrying my bag. I entered and noticed a sudden movement near my couch. Startled, I screamed. Adam darted inside past me, pushing me behind him. “What the—” Heath jerked up from the couch to a standing position. “Fuck. Way to scare the shit out of me.” I breathed a huge sigh of relief and then started laughing. “Heath, what are you doing here?” “You vanished. I came over here to try to track you down.” Heath and Adam exchanged manly nods of greeting. “Drake.” “Bowman.” Heath turned back to me with the strangest look on his face. “You been gone all weekend?” I glanced at Adam. “More or less.” “Ah. Okay.” Adam shifted, obviously sensing the awkward moment. “I’ll get going, then.” He turned and landed a kiss on my cheek, handing me my bag. “See you at six.” Heath stared at the door with narrowed eyes and an open mouth for almost a minute after Adam shut the door. I began. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your message. When I got in on Friday night it was too late to call and then I totally forgot on Saturday morning because I woke up late and was busy running around getting ready.” Heath, still staring at the door, shook his head and blinked. “Mind telling me what the hell is going on?” I dropped my bag on a nearby chair and moved over to the fridge in the corner of the studio that served as a teeny tiny kitchen. “Want some water? I think I have a Dr. Pepper.” “I’m fine. I bought a coffee on the way over here. I know better than to come over here and expect anything to be in the fridge.” “Why are you here?” Heath’s face fell. “Because I was fucking worried. Your mom keeps calling me because she can’t get a hold of you and it’s driving me bananas and what the fuck is going on between you and Drake?” My head spun—all of that had shot out of his mouth in less than ten seconds and I was still trying to process it. “I have a new cell phone. I don’t have any numbers punched into it.” I pulled it out and handed it to him. “Can you put your number in there? And I’ll call you so you’ll have—” “Where’d you get this? This is the brand new Galaxy. People are on waiting lists for these.” “Adam gave it to me.” Heath shot me a pointed look, then focused on putting his number into the phone. Then he dialed the number, letting it ring his cell once and hanging up. “So are you two banging yet or what?” I took the phone back from him, pressing my lips together. “Or what.” “What’s his deal? Can’t he get it up? You spent the entire weekend with him and he didn’t get busy?” I took a deep breath. “Friday we couldn’t. The boat wasn’t there. So we went on an overnight trip last night and…” “And?” “And nothing.” “Shit. I knew he was gay.”

“What? No…no, he’s not gay.” “How do you know?” “I’m not going to go into details. I just know.” “Then what?” “Things just keep getting in the way and then last night…” I unscrewed the cap from the bottle of water and took a long sip. “What happened last night?” “We spent the day together—had a terrific time. And yesterday before dinner we were talking in the Jacuzzi. He asked me about what happened to me in high school.” Heath’s frowned. “How much did you tell him?” I shrugged. “Everything. It was easier to tell him than I thought. It just all came out.” “Okay, so what does that have to do with not—” Then his face flushed and he grimaced. “Oh, I get it. He doesn’t want to touch you now because you’re damaged goods?” “What? No. No. I think it freaked him out for the opposite reason. He said he wasn’t sure I was ready. He said he wouldn’t forgive himself if I freaked out about it.” “Are you sure he’s not just procrastinating? Maybe it’s an excuse not to pay you.” I shrugged. “I really don’t think that’s it. I just don’t know.” Heath shook his head. “Are you two dating or something? He’s picking you up at six?” “It’s a family barbecue.” Heath cursed. “What?” I said. “He’s playing you, Mia. This was a deal for one night. Now he’s treating you like his own personal call girl.” I shook my head. “That’s not true. We haven’t—” “You haven’t fucked. But you’ve done other stuff,” Heath said. “You don’t even have to tell me that. I know.” I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. He hasn’t even…” Heath shrugged. “There are all kinds. Maybe he gets off on denying himself.” “Shut up, Heath. Stop trying to make this all sound sick.” “Girl, it started out sick. It’s just getting worse.” I plunked down at my kitchen table and Heath’s eyes flew to the shiny new laptop. He waved a hand toward it. “New phone. New computer. A fancy overnight stay on a yacht. What’s next? A car? What’s he buying with all these expensive gifts? He wants something. He wants more than one night.” I rubbed my forehead. I felt so stupid at this moment, unable to figure out what the simplest things meant. Was Adam using me? For what? I couldn’t get the vision of that expression on his face out of my mind—right after he’d stopped himself and pulled away. He’d looked so disgusted. “You picked him out, Heath. You said he was the best choice.” “I wasn’t lying. He was. But this whole thing started out in bizarro world and took a sharp left turn into fucked-up land fast.” I shook my head, no snarky reply forthcoming. I must have been off my game. After staring through me for a few tense minutes, Heath finally blew out a breath. “Listen, you are a big girl. I love you, but I can’t stand by and watch you get yourself fucked by this guy—in more ways than the intended one.” I couldn’t breathe, suddenly close to tears. “Heath, why are you being so hurtful?” Heath’s words were only confirming my worst fears. Adam was using me. Adam wanted something from me. Adam would discard me like garbage once he was done with me. Just like the Biological Sperm Donor had done with my mother. Because they were all the same.

“Because I’m worried about you. You aren’t actually developing feelings for him, are you? A guy like that will chew you up and spit you out.” I looked into Heath’s eyes and shook my head. “I have to take my chances, Heath.” Heath spread his hands out wide. “Fine. You don’t have to listen to me. But I’m not fielding your mother’s calls anymore. You handle it. Handle it all. I’m out.” And with a disgusted wave of his arm, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him. I might have laid my head down and cried. I sure felt like it. But I didn’t. I logged on to the game instead and took out about two dozen orcs, checking at least a dozen times to see if my friends FallenOne or Persephone were on. Fallen hadn’t logged into the game since the day we had chatted, weeks ago. I sent him a quick e-mail, asking how he was and when he was going to come back, then started working on an article for my blog. Heath’s words repeated themselves over and over in my head and I could hardly concentrate on all the things I had to do. Was Adam playing me? For what reason? Was what we were doing truly sick? I couldn’t answer. Every time I thought about Adam, strange feelings rose up in my chest and threatened to crowd everything else out. It made it hard to think, hard to breathe. With a shuddering sigh, I moved around that apartment like a mindless robot, getting the things I needed done before dressing in a pair of white capris and a pale blue T-shirt for the barbecue. *** Once again, Adam was prompt when he came to pick me up to take me to his uncle’s house. He opened the door for me and I settled into the vintage leather seats of his Porsche. His uncle lived in the next city over from mine, Tustin, near the rolling hills that swept toward the canyons in OC’s backcountry. The homes here were nice. Not mansions like in Newport, but uppermiddle-class homes with established but not wealthy inhabitants. And it was in the long white driveway of one of these that Adam parked his car. We were hardly out of the car before two young boys—no older than six or eight—came racing out of the house. “Adam!” they shouted, clearly excited. Adam bent and scooped up each one in a muscular arm, pulling them off the ground. “Holy crap!” he said with an exaggerated groan. “You two are getting heavy.” “Put me down!” one of them said. I pegged him to be a few years older than his brother, as he was slightly bigger. Other than that, it was difficult to tell them apart. They had similar features and their hair was the exact same color. “DJ, I get to drive first!” But the younger one had caught sight of me and tried to squirm out of Adam’s hold, his eyes widening and jaw dropping. “Adam brought a girl,” he said in clear disbelief. I laughed—I couldn’t help it—especially when Adam rolled his eyes, dropping both the boys and putting his hands on their heads. “These two knuckleheads are Gareth and Dylan—we call him DJ. They’re my cousin Britt’s kids.” DJ was still staring at me in wonder and approached me while his brother Gareth hopped into Adam’s car and started making pretend motor noises while tugging at the steering wheel. “Hi,” he said with a cheeky smile. “You’re pretty.” “Well, thank you,” I said, laughing. “Are you Adam’s girlfriend?” “Uhh,” I said with a glance at Adam, who seemed more amused than embarrassed. “Stop putting the moves on Emilia, DJ.” DJ turned to his cousin. “Why’d you bring a girl? You never bring girls.” “I’m sorry? Did you forget your cootie spray?” Adam said. Soon, Adam was ushering me inside, leaving his cousins out in the driveway to pretend-drive the car

with the strict instructions that they were not to touch the gearshift or the emergency brake. Clearly he trusted them, and that this was all the supervision they needed. I could hardly believe he’d let those kids fiddle around in that car, which was clearly worth a fortune. “Don’t worry. They get bored with it after about ten minutes,” he said. In quick succession, I was introduced to four more people, all full-sized. The first two were Britt, Adam’s cousin, and Rik, her husband—the parents of the two out in the front. After initial introductions I thanked Britt for teaching Adam how to dance. “He taught me the foxtrot and blamed it on you,” I said with a grin and Britt shot an amused look at Adam. “All that bitching and yet he still remembers all the dances—and is using them to impress the ladies. Why am I not surprised?” “Hey, I was bitching about the arm twisting—I mean literally.” Adam turned to me. “She’d sit on me and twist my arm up behind my back until I agreed to be her partner.” Britt snorted. “Let’s just say that I weighed a bit more than Adam back in those days.” I couldn’t help giggling at the mental picture. Next, Adam introduced me to his uncle, Peter Drake, a tall, thin and soft-spoken man. He wore a silly barbecue apron with writing on it that said, “I’m grilling the witness.” Adam’s Uncle Peter must have been tipped off that I was coming because he showed absolutely no surprise that I was there. “Welcome,” he said. “How do you like your steak?” “Medium well,” I said. And he shuffled out the back door with a plate of raw meat. Adam was called away to make a phone call—no surprise. He worked even on Sunday during a family dinner. I had no idea how long he would be, so I wandered off to see what kind of trouble I could get into. I knew Adam had another cousin about his own age but I didn’t see him until I ambled down the hall to find the bathroom. On my way back, I saw movement in one of the bedrooms and poked my head in. “Hi,” I said. A tall man in his midtwenties sat at long L-shaped table that held two nicely tricked-out computers. He was bent over something tiny, holding a paintbrush in one hand. He looked up at me and just as quickly jerked his eyes away. He was a good-looking man—clearly a trait that ran in Adam’s family—but he was dressed curiously, with a mismatched sweater vest pulled over a plaid shirt. “Hi. You’re Emilia,” he said in a monotone, returning to his detailed brushwork. I nodded. “Yes. How did you know?” “Adam told me about you.” I was surprised. He was so matter-of-fact about it. I wondered when Adam had mentioned me to his cousin and in what context. “What’s your name?” I asked, stepping into the room. This looked like his bedroom, but he clearly did not live here. The place was immaculate and there was no bed in it. “I’m William Drake, Peter Drake’s son,” he said formally. “It’s nice to meet you,” I chirped. Adam had mentioned that he had a cousin on the autism spectrum. For part of my qualifications for medical school, I had volunteered to work with special needs teens and adults—most of whom had Asperger’s Syndrome or some other form of autism. I crept up to get a better look at his handiwork. “May I ask what you are doing?” “Painting figurines,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing ever. My eyes flew up to the shelves above his head, filled to overflowing with painted pewter figurines. They depicted all sorts of fantasy heroes—wizards, thieves, magicians, warriors, elves and dwarves. “Wow, these are awesome,” I said, moving up to get a closer look. The figurines were not more than an inch tall, made of pewter and each painted in great detail, sometimes even with coats of arms on the shields and delicately rendered facial features, which must have required painstaking hours to depict.

“You must have hundreds of these here.” “We don’t use them anymore. Adam never plays D and D like he used to in high school.” “Oh, these are for Dungeons and Dragons? I’ve never played.” “We used to play all the time. A big group of us. Adam was the GM.” Huh. Adam had been the Game Master. Why didn’t it surprise me to find that out? The Game Master was the one who controlled the story and the game environment for the other players, moving their characters within that world. With his penchant for control, I was not surprised that Adam played that role in his group of friends. “And you painted all the figurines?” “I paint for my job, too. I work in the art department for Dragon Epoch.” I took a seat across from him, following his delicate movement. He was painting a female sorceress with flowing purple robes covered in golden symbols. “So you must get to see Adam all the time, then, if you work with him.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes but kept working, his head tilted down. “No, hardly ever. I barely see him at all anymore.” I paused, reflecting on that. Especially since this was the first time in our entire conversation that William had shown an emotion—regret. I watched him as he quietly continued his work. He looked sad, lonely. He missed his cousin, who had likely been one of his closest friends—and yet they worked in the same building every day! What did that say about Adam? Why employ a cousin, someone who was once a good friend, and then never spend time with him? It was true Adam’s work kept him immensely busy, but I was certain he could manage thirty minutes to sit with William over lunch once a week. I decided to change the subject. “I play DE. Did you design anything I know?” “I’m a colorist. I fill in the color on other peoples’ designs.” “So did you work on any designs I’d know?” “Probably,” he said and I couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t tell her any game secrets, Liam. She’ll try to weasel anything she can out of you,” came a dry voice from the doorway and I turned to Adam, who stood watching us. William didn’t even look up when his cousin spoke. He just shrugged. “I don’t know any.” Adam came into the room and walked up behind his cousin to look at what he was doing. “Oh, I remember her. Didn’t you have her wearing yellow before?” “Different figure,” William grunted. “So, Adam, I heard you used to be a GM for Dungeons and Dragons.” He glanced at the shelf above William’s head. “Yeah, a long time ago. Liam likes to keep painting the figurines even though we haven’t played in almost a decade.” “He does an awesome job. Maybe you guys should play again sometime.” Adam shot me a curious look but said nothing. I could interpret the expression, though. It said something along the lines of: Like I have the time for that? We were called to dinner and ate on the back patio around a gorgeous pool. Britt regaled me with more funny stories from Adam’s adolescence while he bore the usual brand of family humiliation stoically. DJ, however, brought up a blush on both of our faces when he asked Adam if he’d kissed me yet. Britt shooed him away before Adam could answer. I offered to help with the dishes and Adam collected them for me, standing at my shoulder to rinse and dry after I’d washed. We didn’t talk much. I was at a loss for what to say. The questions swirled in my mind and knotted at the base of my throat in tight confusion. Why had Adam brought me here? Why risk introducing me to his entire family when he knew damn well I would never be in his life after our contract had been fulfilled? They were a delightful family and I was glad to know he’d had some happiness after the heartbreaks of his childhood.

When we were saying our good-byes, about to walk out the door, William stopped me and placed a small object in my hand. It was one of the figurines I had been admiring earlier. “Adam says you play a Spiritual Enchantress in DE. I thought you might like this,” he said, his eyes never meeting mine. I looked down at the figure in the dim light and sure enough, it was a non-scantily-clad sorceress waving a huge staff above her head while preparing to conjure a spell. She had long black hair and a red cloak that billowed about her. She was intricately rendered, a tiny work of art. “Thank you, William. It’s perfect.” Adam wrapped his hand around mine and we bid everyone good-bye as he pulled me to his car. Back at my house, after a mostly quiet ride home, he walked me to my door. We stood on the doorstep and he looked into my eyes. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, Emilia,” he said. “I had fun. But…” I shook my head. He tilted his head toward me, asking the question without speaking it, so I responded. “Why would you introduce me to your family? Won’t they wonder what happened, when we finally…?” His eyes fixed on mine, serious, sincere. “Because you asked me and I wanted to show you.” “Asked you what?” “You asked me who I love. They’re who I love.” He bent and kissed my cheek and stood at the doorstep while I let myself in and turned on my lights, then he faded into the darkness. That ache in my base of my throat was rising again. I was simultaneously dreading and anticipating the next time he’d call me. Because I knew between now and then he would never be far from my thoughts. I’d think about him while doing my drudge tasks at work. I’d think about him while writing my blog. I’d think about him while running errands, cleaning the house. And I’d worry. I’d worry about how I’d pick up the pieces when it was all over.

Chapter Nine Monday night was group study night at Jon’s. Given the weekend I’d had, I was woefully unprepared for this week’s subject: acid derivatives. I almost called to claim a sore throat, but I had to go in to work at midnight anyway and figured I might as well use the humiliation of being unprepared as a motivator to study harder for next time. As if failing the entire thing the first time hadn’t been mortification enough. Some people are gluttons for punishment. It seemed I was a glutton for humiliation. When I got there, however, I was in for a surprise. It was only Jon. The other three had canceled for various reasons and he’d decided to go through with it because he really needed to catch up. We cracked our books and got to work. I should have known that things were going to get weird when Jon opened a bottle of wine and sat a little too close to me on the couch instead of across from me. I was filling out index cards with important vocabulary terms and he seemed fidgety and nervous. “You getting nervous about the exam?” I asked, without looking up from my cards. He shrugged. “Nah. I think I have it in the bag.” I took a deep breath and released it, remembering that feeling of utter confidence last year, when I’d gone in to take it for the first time. Since then, I could have taken it a dozen times over to improve the score but I’d kept putting it off, certain I was unprepared and unwilling to face that defeat again if I was right. I murmured. “I wish I was as confident.” “You’ll do great. You’re so smart.” I didn’t respond. Jon was unaware of my previous failure, as I’d only told people I didn’t attend school with—my close real-life friends like Heath, Alex and Jenna, and my BFFs online, Fallen and Persephone. I couldn’t think about this tonight. Couldn’t dwell on it. I grabbed the glass of wine he had poured and sipped it, distracted. As always, my thoughts were a jumbled, preoccupied mess. Every time I tried to pull them on track, some fleeting thought of Adam or memory from the weekend would knock them off again. I also kept dwelling on Heath’s words from the day before—his accusations regarding Adam’s nefarious purposes. Was Heath right? Was Adam manipulating me? I puzzled over that, wondering what benefit it could possibly be to him. Adam was acting like we were dating but he knew damn well I didn’t date—and neither did he. Did he get off on having me under his thumb? Was this his own peculiar brand of kink? Our deal remained unfulfilled. That first night in Amsterdam hadn’t been his fault. His job had interfered. And Friday, the yacht had been out for repairs—or so he’d said. The more I ruminated, the more wine I drank. And that little creep Jon must have silently been refilling my cup because when I looked up, the bottle was empty. I’d never even asked for a refill. My note cards were now swimming in front of me. “Whoa…that wasn’t a good idea,” I said. “What?” Jon said, looking up from his study manual. “The wine.” He squinted at the bottle. “Shit, we polished off the second bottle already.” I checked the time on my phone. “Yeah, and now I’m feeling pretty messed up. I’m no good for studying. I have work in three hours.” He set his book aside. “You can’t drive home. You should stay here.” “How much did you drink? Can’t you take me home? I’ll come get my car tomorrow morning.” “I’m not going anywhere for a couple hours. Why don’t you just have a nap on the couch? I’ll grab a

pillow.” There was no way I was staying over here, especially in this condition. Jon seemed like a nice guy, but I didn’t know him that well and he’d been after me to go out with him for months. And now, he was tipsy. He seemed nice, but lots of people did until they got a few in them. Even with the wine goggles on, I suspected a convenient setup. “I think I’m going to go.” He took my hand in his while I was trying to shove index cards into my backpack. “Stay, Mia. Really. It’s okay. Call in sick and crash on my couch.” I shook my head. “I’m not comfortable with that.” I stuffed the rest of my things into my bag and wobbled to my feet. My head spun and he took me by the arm as if to hold me back. “Come on, you can’t drive.” “I’m gonna call Heath to come get me. I’m fine. Thanks, Jon.” I yanked my arm from his hold and teetered out the door, strode down the sidewalk and got in my car while he watched from the doorway of his apartment. I fumbled for my cell, opened my contacts and pressed Heath’s number, thankful that he’d put in the information the day before. He’d be pissed, of course, but I knew he’d come. That’s what best friends were for. The phone rang twice before he answered. “Heath, I need your help.” “Emilia? Are you all right?” Adam. Shit. I’d dialed the wrong number. Two contacts on this phone… two damn contacts and I’d picked the wrong one! I was drunker than I thought. “Uh. Hi…” “What’s wrong?” “I thought I was calling Heath and I got you by accident.” A pause. “Are you drunk?” Shit. “No. Of course not. I was just studying—he had wine and so I drank some and didn’t realize I was drinking so much ’cause he kept filling up the glass.” Realizing I was blathering, I sat back and sighed. “He’s gonna come get me and take me home. Heath, I mean.” “Where are you? I’ll come get you.” “No.” “Emilia, tell me where you are.” “I’m in Orange. It’s too far for you.” “I have a fast car. Open up the GPS app and send me your location. Can you do that?” I hadn’t used that app yet. “Is it easy to figure out?” “I’ll talk you through it.” And he explained how to do it. “Don’t you dare start that car, Mia,” he said, clicking off. I frowned, wondering how I’d gotten into this situation, when I heard a loud knock on my window and I jumped. Jon stood there, gesturing for me to open my door. Instead I rolled down the window. “I’m sorry, Mia. I had no idea you’d drink so much.” I blinked, the world spinning a little bit. “You’re the one who kept refilling my glass.” “Come inside. Seriously, you can sleep it off in there.” “Uh uh, sorry.” Then I swallowed. “I’m gonna be sick.” “Mia, stop being stupid and come in. I’m sorry. Just come inside.” “I said no, Jon. No means no.” I cranked up the window. He disappeared and then reappeared a few minutes later, trying to talk to me through the window but I ignored him. I tapped my foot and checked the clock on my dashboard, wondering how long it would take Adam and his fast car to get here. My insides clenched, sending the age-old warning that they were about to rebel. Nausea burned up my

esophagus. I wasn’t that drunk, but I hadn’t eaten much all day and the wine was irritating the hell out of my stomach. I stumbled out of the car and over to the gutter, doubling over. I heaved a couple times but managed to keep the contents of my stomach—although at this point, getting rid of it all might have made me feel better. As soon as I straightened up, Jon was beside me again. He had a couple books in his hand, holding them out to me. “I’m super sorry, Mia. I feel bad. You want to borrow a couple of my books to help you catch up?” I eyed the books. They were expensive study aids that I couldn’t afford. They’d be useful. They swam in my unsteady vision and I reached out for them and managed to grab one of them, but he pulled the rest aside. “Let me put them in the car. And then come in and I’ll fix you some coffee.” “No—I’m good. I’m getting a ride.” He took me by the arm. “Come on. I don’t want you to try to drive home.” I pulled back against his hold. “I’m not going to. Someone’s coming to get me. Stop pulling me around or I’ll puke on you.” His grip tightened and he bared his teeth, yanking at my arm. “Mia, stop being so stubborn. Just let me take care of you.” His grip tightened painfully. “You’re hurting me—let go!” My heartbeat raced in my eardrums and I grew dizzy with a sudden fear. What was this asshole trying to do? What did he want from me? I swung the book in my hand and cracked it over his head. He spun on me with a hiss. “What the fuck, bitch?” He raised his free hand as if to hit me and I pulled back against his hold with all of my strength, falling on my butt, raising a hand to shield my face. My fall pulled him, still gripping my arm, to loom over me. Images of that night with Zack up on the Ridge replaced Jon’s threat of violence. I’d had blood on my face, but he didn’t care. It ran down my chin, into my mouth—that bitter metallic taste mixed with my salty tears. No! I pulled back, trying to get away from him. “Let me the fuck go!” I turned to run, to scream, call out to the street. Those fuzzy spots were forming at the edge of my vision again and I could tell I’d be panicking a lot more if I wasn’t so slowed by the wine. For that I was grateful. Right at that moment, Adam pulled up to the curb behind my car. His gaze was fixed on me and then on Jon. He’d seen the entire thing. He was out of his car in a split second and moved so fast he was a blur. I could see the former track star in all his glory. In seconds, he was between us. “Back off and let her go!” Adam ordered. “I’m helping her. She’s going to drive off drunk,” Jon slurred. I yanked against his hold. It was as tight as ever. Adam grabbed Jon’s free arm and twisted it up behind his back. Jon doubled over, yelping in pain. “I said. Let. Her. Go.” “Who the fuck are you?” Jon screeched, yanking his hand away from my arm as if he’d burned himself. I fell back against the ground, rubbing where he’d grabbed me. “You all right?” Adam called to me. I didn’t say anything, rocking, holding myself, trying to get the panic to subside. “Emilia—” “I’m okay.” I finally said, looking up at him. His gaze on me grew intent and he shifted his hold on Jon. “Apologize to her, fucktard.” “What the—agh!” he yelped in pain when Adam tightened his grip on the arm. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry!” Adam let Jon go and stepped back. Jon spun, widening his stance as if he wanted to start something. Adam stood his ground, eyes locked on Jon—giving him a “mad dog” stare, as we’d called it in school.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to get her drunk?” he growled through clenched teeth. “Dude, I was just refilling her cup.” “Adam, let’s go,” I said, now worried that he wasn’t going to stand down. Adam’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He had at least four inches and about thirty pounds on Jon. “You pull that shit again, I’m gonna fuck you up.” True fear crossed Jon’s features. He wavered, looking unsure. Adam took a step forward. “Don’t ever touch her again, got it?” Jon’s face flushed a violent shade of red. He shifted to a more threatening stance. “What are you, her fuckin’ boyfriend? She doesn’t like men, you know.” Adam failed to look intimidated by the show. He moved up to Jon and got in his face. “She likes men just fine. Maybe she doesn’t like you because you’re an asshole.” Jon took a swing at Adam. But Adam shoved him away before his fist could connect. And that idiot landed on his back, staring up at Adam with open-mouthed shock. Adam took a step forward. “And a bully. And I really hate bullies,” he said, his eyes glittering dangerously. I pushed to my feet, managing to grab his arm. “Adam, please let’s go.” He didn’t respond, his arm stiff with rage. He pulled me forward with him. “Adam,” I said, moving in front of him. The look on his face—that chill glint in his eyes actually made me go cold inside, made me wonder what he could be capable of. I pushed against his chest. “Please, it’s over.” But he surged forward again and as I stepped backward, I stumbled. He caught me, wrapping his arms around me. Jon scurried up from the ground, taking advantage of Adam’s distraction to hightail it to his door, slamming it shut and latching it loudly. Adam stared at the door as if deciding what to do. “Adam, please. It’s over. Thank you for helping me.” I went up on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek—after bracing my hands to balance on his strong shoulders. His arms relaxed and he finally looked down at me, troubled. “He hurt you,” he said. “Not much. It’s fine.” He shook his head. “It’s not fine.” “Well, you scared him so badly I’m sure he’ll shit his pants the next time he sees me.” “He won’t be seeing you again because you won’t be going anywhere near him,” he said through clenched teeth. I took a step backward, deciding not to mention the regular study group. It was true, I’d never be coming over to Jon’s again. I resolved to talk the others in the study group into finding another location for our sessions. Adam cursed when I trembled in his arms. “You’re not okay, Emilia.” He guided me toward his car. I could tell by the way he held me that he was tense, a fist still clenched tightly at his side. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way up here from Newport,” I said as a means to change the subject, lest he get an idea in his head to pound down Jon’s door and finish the job. “I was just in Irvine.” “It’s after nine. Why am I not surprised that you were still at work?” He helped me to the car. “You okay? You feel sick?” “No. I think I’ll be okay.” “Because if you puke on my interior, I’m gonna make you clean it with a Q-tip.” I snorted. “You need me to grab anything out of your car?” “Yes. My backpack and my books, please? I’m so behind on my studying.” I handed him my keys so he could lock up my car.

Inside his car, I fell back against the headrest, grateful that the top was down and I could swallow gulps of fresh night air. It helped stave off the nausea. “You haven’t retaken this test yet?” he muttered when he set the books on the floor beside my feet. “If you keep putting it off you’ll never get it done.” I shot him a sharp glance, wondering how he knew that the MCAT was a retake for me. No one knew that besides my inner circle—not even my mom! Had Heath let it slip? I let my head loll back against the headrest, my thoughts swimming. I vowed to rip Heath a new one for that slip the next time I saw him. Adam was quiet the entire way home. We listened to Alison Moyet of Yaz begging her lover not to walk away from love. I suddenly felt a wave of melancholy wash over me as the golden lights of Orange’s antique streetlamps passed us by. I didn’t like to be saved. I usually saved myself, but here I was, letting Adam swoop in and take care of things. And the worst part? I found myself enjoying it. When he parked, the thunderous booms of the nightly Disneyland fireworks sounded in the distance, heralding the time as shortly after nine-thirty. Adam helped me out of the car, taking my bag and things in his other hand. “I can walk by myself just fine.” He guided me up the steps nevertheless and when we got into the apartment, the first thing I saw was the clock—almost ten, and I had to be at work at midnight. I sighed and sat down, putting my head in my hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I have work in two hours.” “You can’t go.” “I’ll make some coffee. I’ll be fine.” “You’re not going. Call in sick.” I shook my head. “I can’t blow off a shift—I need the money.” He walked over to my phone and picked it up, flipping through my list of important numbers. It wasn’t hard to find—it was labeled “work,” after all. He dialed the number without another word. “Yes, hello, this is Adam Drake, a friend of Mia’s. I wanted to let you know that she isn’t feeling well this evening and can’t make her shift. Yes. Yes, I will. Thank you.” He hung up and turned to me. “See? Simple.” “I’m sure you call in sick to your work without going into withdrawal convulsions.” He shrugged. “That’s a little different.” I rubbed my temples. My head was really starting to throb. “Yeah, easy for you to say with your fat bank account.” “If everything went through like it should have, your bank account is quite a bit weightier, too.” I looked up at him though it hurt my eyeballs to do it. “You sent me money?” “I told you I would.” I frowned. “But I haven’t even—we haven’t even.” “I said I never go back on my agreements. Now—where’s your coffee?” I thought for a moment. “Oh, crap, I used the last of it on Friday and never bought any more.” “Water, then? And aspirin? Or you’re going to feel like shit.” “When did you become the expert on hangovers? I thought you didn’t drink.” “I’ve had a hangover or two in my life. Not fun.” I put my hands to my eyes, my mind jumping to the subject it had been stuck on since my argument with Heath the day before. “Adam, are you using me?” He had my cupboard doors open, peering in with narrowed eyes, clearly disapproving of what he saw —which was probably old packets of rice mix and a herd of dust bunnies, if memory served me correctly. And with this much wine addling my brain, I doubted that it would serve me correctly. “Using you? What do you mean?” “Heath said you are manipulating me. He thinks you’re putting this whole thing off on purpose.”

Adam froze—just for a split instant, but even in my hazy state, I noticed it. “Are you?” I repeated. “Here’s a bottle of water—and your aspirin’s in the bathroom?” I glowered at his back as he disappeared into the bathroom. I took my aspirin and drank the water. Then I stood and walked toward him. “We can always take care of this whole thing now.” He pressed his lips together. “You’re drunk, Emilia.” “So… that was the original plan, anyway. Drink a lot of wine and then lie back and think of medical school.” I snorted, though at the back of my mind I was vaguely aware that I shouldn’t have said that. I probably shouldn’t have snorted, either. His dark eyes glinted in the low light. “Do what, now? Lie back and think of medical school? Was that your idea of how this would go down?” I shrugged and took another step forward, until we were touching, chest to chest. “Maybe. You plan on showing me it could be different?” He didn’t move, just stared at me. “When the time comes, you’ll see it’s very different.” I tilted my head up toward him flirtatiously. “Show me.” And I pressed my lips to his in an openmouthed kiss. He returned the kiss, sliding his tongue into my mouth before pulling back. “I will show you—just not when you are smelling like Ernest and Julio Gallo’s wine cellar.” I threw my arms around his neck with wild abandon. “Come on. My bed is right over there.” “You’re right. Let’s go, then.” He bent and scooped me up and I let out a little squeal of surprise. He carried me over to my little twin-sized bed and laid me down on it. “Time for sleep, Emilia.” I lay there, squinting in the light. “Why are you putting this off?” I asked quietly. He smoothed my hair back from my face, sitting beside me on the edge of the bed and didn’t speak for a long time. “Let’s talk about it when you are feeling better.” My eyes fluttered closed. I had to admit that my head was throbbing and all I could think about was how tired I was. “I’m sorry,” I finally whispered. “For what?” Sleep was reaching up to take me. “For saying you were empty.” And I don’t remember much after that—except for the vague impression, minutes later, of him leaning down to kiss my cheek and murmuring against my skin. “You were right.”

Chapter Ten I woke up fairly early—around seven—and it took me a few minutes to clear the cobwebs out of my mind, but thankfully I had no headache. I remembered everything that had happened the night before with a sudden rush. Cursing my own stupidity for having drunk so much wine at a study date, I crawled out of bed, working the kinks from my neck and back, and took care of my brief morning routine. Shower, dressing, breakfast. I opened up the computer and went to the webpage for my Cayman bank account to check the balance. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but I was curious. And it was just as he’d said. Transferred from his account into mine, dated the day before. First thing Monday morning. I shook my head, trying to figure out what the hell was going on and strangely feeling like I was digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole that I had no idea whether I liked or not. I had half the money. Shouldn’t I be happy? But for some unsettling reason, I wasn’t. This payoff represented a barrier between us—like a wall, half-built. The balance of our transaction would only complete that barricade, blocking us from each other forever. After his kindness the night before, I had to admit to the regret—even if I just allowed myself to wallow in it for a few moments before solidifying my resolve that things had to be this way. That it was for his protection as well as mine. We had the power to hurt each other. With this safeguard in place, it could never happen. We both knew it would end and exactly when it would end. Or so I hoped. There was still that niggling matter of why he kept putting this off. I bent my head, resting my forehead in my palm for a long moment, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the key sitting on the table next to the computer. It wasn’t mine. There was a sticky note attached to it with neat, even printing that I did not recognize. It was an address—somewhere very close, near the Old Towne area at the center of the city of Orange. I stared at it, puzzled, starting to understand Heath’s description of where we were: Bizarro world with a sharp left turn into fucked-up land. When I inhaled, my chest felt tight, my heartbeat thumping. Was this a key to his house? Why the Orange address? Just then the phone rang. I checked caller ID, blew out a breath and picked up the phone. “Hi, Mom!” “Mia, where have you been all weekend? I was worried sick.” I paused, clearing my throat. “I’m sorry. I got super busy. Extra shifts.” “I called your work,” her voice trembled when she said it. Fuck. Silence. Caught lying to her. I never lied to her. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking. “I’m sorry.” “What’s going on? Why are you lying to me?” I gulped. “I—I’m fine. Okay? You don’t need to worry—” “I’m a mother. I worry. If I can’t get hold of you, then I try to find out what the hell is going on. Heath —” “Mom, please don’t call Heath anymore. We are kind of not on the greatest terms right now.” “Okay, now I’m really worried. Can I come down there?” I took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just—I’m not ready to talk about it.” “Are you—are you seeing someone? Is that it?” I bit my lip. “Um.” “Mia, do you have a boyfriend?” “No.” “Then what?” “There’s someone. But I’m not ready to talk about it, okay?” And by the time I was ready to talk about it, he’d be long gone out of my life, so it didn’t matter anyway. A long pause. “Is it serious?”

I cleared my throat. “No. Not even serious enough to mention, which is why I haven’t. I’m sorry I lied to you.” “Mia, this is a good thing. I’m glad you’re dating.” Dating. A ball of sickness bunched in my stomach, but whether it was because of the thought of actually dating or of lying to my mom about dating, I couldn’t tell. “Mom, I promise that if there is anything to talk about, I will. Just…just you’ve got to let me go about this my own way, okay? Please?” “Only on one condition. That you let me know where you are.” “Of course. I have a new phone. I’ll text you the number, okay?” We said good-bye soon after. She still had that distant, hurt tone to her voice and I felt like the biggest jerk for causing it. But the news that I was “dating” was probably a big enough shock in and of itself. She’d been bugging me for years, even though she never seemed to follow her own advice. After dressing, I set aside the key and went back to the computer. With this unexpected free time— normally I’d just be returning from my shift about now and collapsing into bed, exhausted—I decided to while away a few hours in the game. Katya, our fourth group member who was our regular healer, sent me an in-game message. *Persephone tells you, “Hey Mia.” *You tell Persephone, “Kat! Let’s go kill stuff.” *Persephone tells you, “Can’t. I’m just logging off. Had to babysit my mainframes on the graveyard shift.” *You tell Persephone, “Where have you been? I was getting worried that you’d vanished like FallenOne.” *Persephone tells you, “What’s up with Fallen, anyway? Haven’t you chatted with him lately?” *You tell Persephone, “No. He’s gone kinda weird. I think it had to do with my auction.” *Persephone tells you, “Well, yeah…duh. He’s probably jealous as hell.” *You tell Persephone, “Really?” *Persephone tells you, “Duh, Mia. He totally likes you. He’s always giving you equipment and magic items. You guys chat and have in-jokes that I just don’t even get. Since you’re so hell-bent on punching your v-card, he’s probably crushed that you didn’t invite him to fly out and get the job done.” I sat back with a sigh, a heavy weight collecting in my chest. I liked Fallen. A lot. And yeah, once in a while, I’d felt a twinge of a crush on him, but there was no possible future with him. He was just a friend. And really, I knew so little about him. He could be fifty years old, married, a grandfather, for all I could tell. I realized that I liked the idea of what Fallen could be to me rather than the actual person, since I knew so little about him. Men as friends were much safer. A force of nature in the guise of a man who threatened to tear my ideologies apart by the foundations, was not an option. I shoved that thought of Adam aside and replied to Katya. *You tell Persephone, “Did he tell you that?” *Persephone tells you, “He refuses to talk about the auction whenever I bring it up. Which, for the record, is not often. But you go, girl. More power to you. I hope you get lots of $$$.” *You tell Persephone, “Hey, on another topic, you know how I asked you to guest post on my blog about Dragon Epoch? I’m going to need that first column by Friday. Can you do that?” *Persephone tells you, “Yeah. Sure thing. Hey, I’m going to send you my quest notes on stuff I got done this morning. I think I might be close to finding another clue about the Golden Mountains quest

chain.” I snorted, suppressing a laugh, speaking aloud instead of typing, so she couldn’t see my snarky response. “Yeah, good luck with that one, Kat.” According to Adam, the task was nearly impossible. After she logged off, I played, but I couldn’t concentrate and my character kept getting killed. I logged off and checked my blog, responding to comments. There were complaints about the fact that I hadn’t done my weekly DE update for two weeks now. A little while later, my phone chimed with a new text message. It was Adam. Good morning. How are you feeling? Not bad. You? Did you find the key and address? I keyed back, Yes. What is it for? Meet me at that address at noon? We can grab a quick lunch afterward. I still have to go get my car. Look out your window. So I did. And there, parked at the curb in its usual spot was my little beat-up light green 1993 Honda Civic. He’d walked back to Jon’s house the night before and driven my car back here? OMG, I can’t believe you did that. Would rather you didn’t have to deal with that d-bag again. Thank you. Meet me at noon, k? Ok. The address, when I checked it out, was actually within walking distance of my little studio—and right smack dab in the middle of the historic Old Towne district, which served as an attraction for just about the entire county. Movies had been filmed there and the entire place was like a time capsule—a glimpse into the early twentieth century, complete with Watson’s, a 1950s-style drugstore and café, which hadn’t changed in over sixty years. The town centered around the Plaza, one of the last traffic circles in California, with a circular park at the center replete with fountains and centuries-old trees. Above all the curio shops and trendy eateries, the old red brick buildings housed vintage apartments. And I was standing in a narrow alley at the base of the stairs that would lead me up to one of them. I was confused. Obviously the key was to the apartment, but what on earth did he mean by giving it to me and telling me to meet him there? Maybe it was his other residence? But I could hardly imagine him

having another one, especially one only twelve miles from his home in Newport, where he hardly spent any time. I climbed the steps and unlocked the door. Since I was a tiny bit late, of course he was already inside, standing by the window with his cell phone to his ear. By the sound of the conversation, it was his administrative assistant. He turned and smiled. As always, that smile snatched my breath away. He had on suit trousers, a crisp white dress shirt and a thin dark blue tie. Clearly he’d pulled himself away from meetings or something important at work to be here. I exhaled sharply and returned his smile. I wanted nothing more than to launch myself into his arms and press that exquisite mouth to mine. It was like I was addicted to the taste and smell of him. But I restrained myself—barely. Adam rattled off a few more orders and clicked the phone off. “How do you feel this morning?” he asked. “Good. Okay. No hangover, thank God.” “I’m glad.” “Thank you. I really didn’t mean to call you last night.” His expression grew serious. “I’m glad you did anyway.” “Thanks, too, for getting the car.” He only smiled in reply. I stepped into the room, glancing around. The outer shell of the building might have been vintage, from the 1920s, but the inside was all modern—stainless steel kitchen appliances with dark granite counters and recessed lighting. Gorgeous crown molding. Beyond the main kitchen and sitting room, a doorway opened into what looked like a sizeable bedroom. It was, however, completely vacant. His phone chimed. He checked it but tucked it back into his pocket. I quirked a brow at him. “Shouldn’t you be ensconced in your office behind your desk, muttering the twelve steps for workaholics anonymous, right now?” He grinned. “Even workaholics take a lunch break once every blue moon.” I moved up beside him and shared his view out the window. “Nice place,” I said. “Yours?” “Yeah.” Because of course it was. “Recent acquisition. Investment property.” “And the apartment is vacant because…?” “It’s between renters.” He tossed a glance at me and then out the window with a casual shrug. “I have a management company handle my properties for me. But I have someone in mind for this location.” He turned back to me, shooting me a meaningful look, implying that I was the “someone in mind.” His implication hit me like a balled fist. I took a shaky breath and turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the look on my face. But I couldn’t hide my reaction for long because Adam was as sharp as a razor. “What’s wrong, Emilia?” My jaw set but I didn’t turn back to him. “I hope you don’t mean me.” He paused. “And if I did?” I turned around and faced him. “I can’t afford the rent you must be asking.” “You can now.” I breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. A tiny voice in the back of my head—the voice of calm rationality—told me that he was doing a kind deed. He was helping me out. He was— No. Just no. My spine stiffened and sudden tension arced between us. “Is this the part where you hand me a roll of hundreds and tell me to go out and buy something pretty?” His features tightened, almost imperceptibly. “I was going to offer it to you at the rent you’re currently paying for your studio. This place is safer than your neighborhood. It would put my mind at ease.” “That’s impossible. You’d take a huge loss on it.”

He looked away. “I don’t care about the profit right now.” His phone chimed again. He reached for his pocket and froze when he saw the look on my face. His expression was grim when he snatched the damned thing and looked at it. This time, he took the time to reply by text. I folded my arms over my chest and started to pace. “Emilia—just consider—” I turned on him, my shoulders and back so stiff I almost wrenched them with the motion. “I can’t live here. You know it as well as I do.” “I do?” “I can’t live in your apartment because of what happens after we…” And my voice died out as our gazes clashed. His features chilled. He jammed a fist into his pocket and his eyes flew to the window again. I couldn’t help but hear Heath’s words spoken to me a few days before. What is he buying with all of these expensive gifts? He wants more than one night… “Adam, what are you doing?” “What do you think I’m doing?” “I’d say I suspect you’re trying to set me up in a fuck pad but we aren’t fucking. So that’s out.” “And if I said I wanted to help you out, would you believe me or would you twist it into something it isn’t?” I shook my head, my fists clenched. “I don’t need to be saved. I can save myself.” “Oh, that’s right,” he said quietly, walking toward me, watching me with stony eyes. “That’s what this whole auction was about. You ‘saving’ yourself.” I stared into his face as he came to a stop inches from me. I could smell him. That warm, male body of his that smelled of ocean breezes. I swallowed, wishing I could clamp my own nostrils shut. Even when I was annoyed with him, he still affected me like no one else ever had. “If indeed you ever intend to take the auction seriously—” He shook his head. “And that three hundred and seventy-five thousand in your bank account means, what? I’ve been paying for the pleasure of your company these past three weeks?” I shrugged. “I have no idea. Only you know the answer to that. And you don’t seem to be sharing.” Now he looked supremely annoyed. “So should we just drop on the floor and fuck right now?” I brought my chin up and looked him straight in the eyes. “Sure, let’s have at it. Get this over with.” “Is that what you want? For it to be over with?” My mouth opened to shoot the sharp retort on my tongue but nothing came out. I clamped my lips shut. My shoulders shook so I grabbed my arms, crossing them over my chest. My hesitation confused me. Why not just say yes? I blinked. Because I didn’t want it to be over. Not yet. “Why are you drawing this out?” I finally asked, my voice hardly more than a whisper. I was aware that I wanted a certain answer from him. I didn’t know precisely what that answer was. But would he tell me what was going on inside that ultra-intelligent brain of his? Or would he pull back into his cold façade again? “I don’t have to share my reasons with you. I’m the wallet in this deal, remember?” Yeah. That wasn’t the response I was looking for. Definitely not. Heat crawled up my neck to infuse my cheeks. “I’m not a call girl. I’m not your mistress. So stop trying to treat me like one.” “See, you’re doing it again. You’re twisting it into something it isn’t.” I clenched my teeth. “I’m not moving into your fucking apartment.” His expression did not change and he didn’t even move. “Tell me why not.” “I don’t have to share my reasons with you,” I mimicked his words back to him. “Because you think it means I’m treating you like a mistress?”

I tensed, thinking of my mother’s story. One with a sad ending for someone I loved most in the world. She was young, fresh and naïve. She thought she’d found the man of her dreams. Turned out he’d only used her and then discarded her, leaving her to fend for herself and a baby besides. My hands squeezed my upper arms and I blinked. “The Biological Sperm Donor did the exact same thing. And that’s exactly what it meant when he did it. To make sure my mother was always under his thumb until he was done with her.” His expression changed, just slightly, as if understanding had dawned. Then he shook his head. “I’m not him.” “I know.” “No, I really don’t think you do.” Then he lifted his hand to my face, touching my cheek, then back to my ear, until he trailed a finger down my neck to my collarbone. His touch was ice and flame. Thrilling. I trembled under his hand. He felt it, his eyes darkening. He bent his head until our faces were inches from each other. “I’m never going to give up, you know.” I tilted my head toward his, our lips less than an inch apart. I peered into his eyes. “Neither am I.” Then I grabbed his tie and pulled his mouth to mine. When our lips met, it was explosive, a clash of wills, of unrealized anticipation. His hands moved to my shoulders and he pushed me toward the nearest wall, pinning me between it and his hard body, never removing his mouth from mine. His lips, his tongue devoured me. His body, every delicious, solid contour of it, imprisoned me. His hands slipped from my shoulders, moved down my arms to encircle my wrists. With this hold he pinned my hands against the wall to either side of my head. I pressed against the resistance—not struggling to break free, but to test the strength of his hold. His hands pushed against mine, then he laced his fingers through mine, fusing our palms flat against each other and holding my hands, like he held my body, against the wall. His tongue explored my mouth, his head moving against mine. When our lips finally parted, our breath came in short, needy gulps. He pulled back just far enough to pin me down with his stare. “I’m in control, Emilia. Don’t forget it,” he said in a voice like steel. I was about to reply when he cut me off, sealing his mouth on mine again. I halfheartedly tried to free my hands and he held them fast, his fingers tightening around mine. Like a wildfire catching on dry grass after a hot California summer, scorching heat raced through me. He pulled away again. “I say when this is through. And I don’t have to tell you my reasons.” “You asked for one more night. I’ll give it to you. But after that—” He cut me off again, kissing me forcefully. Arousal glowed red-hot deep inside me and his erection stirred to life against my abdomen. With an abrupt jerk, he retreated, loosening his hold on my hands. I could free them easily if I wanted to, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to surrender to the feelings inside me —the ones screaming for control. But like he’d insisted—he was in control, if only for this moment, by pulling himself away. By depriving me of more of his succulent mouth. He swallowed. “Next week I’m going to the Caribbean on business. I want you to come with me.” I finally remembered to breathe again. “For some chaste sightseeing, amusing dinner conversation and coitus interruptus?” The dark eyes glittered, but whether with annoyance or suppressed amusement, I couldn’t tell. “You’ve promised me one more night.” I knew he had something up his sleeve. He was maneuvering something. My heartbeat buffeted every pulse point in my body. “That’s more than one night,” I whispered. His eyes darted a challenge into mine. “Yes.”

“And what happens afterward?” I barely managed to get out. A long pause while he looked at me. He released my hands but did not move. I slowly lowered them. “I guess we’ll see.” And then he waited, running a hand through his hair, taking a step back. As usual, he had completely flipped the dynamic between us. I’d walked into that confrontation thinking I had all the power. And I did. Until he had decided it was enough and wrested it from me as if I was a toddler with a toy she shouldn’t have been holding. We watched each other for long moments. “You can’t keep doing this,” I said. “Actually, I can. Say you’ll come, Emilia.” Oh, I knew Heath would freak when he heard this—if I agreed to go, be gone practically a week. My mom…what would I tell her? She’d call and want to know why I wasn’t getting back to her. And the blog. And my hospital job. But this would be our last time together. He couldn’t drag it out any longer. And the feelings he was stirring inside me, quite frankly, terrified me. The sooner we were through with this and I was back to my safe, normal life, the better. My answer came out in a breathy sigh. “I’ll go.” “Now tell me you are going to move in here,” he said in a deadpan voice. “No fucking way,” I breathed. The right corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile. “I figured I’d give it a shot.” I stuck out my tongue and he laughed. He checked his watch and backed away suddenly. “We gotta go grab some lunch downstairs. You like Cuban?” “Floriano’s? Sure.” Heath treated me to Floriano Café when he had the urge for Cuban. I didn’t know whether it had anything to do with his ongoing crush on one of the waiters or his constant craving for a plate of Pork al Habañera. I followed Adam down the narrow antique stairway, through the glass door and into the alley. He held the door for me and, walking beside me, placed a hand at the small of my back. Every muscle there pulled taut in response to his touch. We shuffled down the narrow alleyway and past the cigar shop, where old men sat outside blowing sickly sweet smoke into the Plaza, and settled in to one of the metal tables on the sidewalk. “So tell me, whose idea was it to dress the female characters in Dragon Epoch in armored lingerie?” I said, finally broaching a subject I’d avoided until now—my teasing commentary of his game on my blog. He glanced at me sidelong from his study of the menu. “I came up with the story concept and the game architecture. I didn’t design the women’s clothes.” “But you had final approval. Why not throw the poor things in something that will cover up their bare midriffs? How would that armor even help them, anyway?” “I bow to the overwhelming research provided by my marketing people and the game devs who push the issue constantly. Were it up to me, those poor elf maidens would be covered from head to toe.” I smirked. “And would they be as busty as they are now? Who makes bras in Yondareth, anyway?” I said, referring to the fictional world in which Dragon Epoch was situated. He suppressed a laugh. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Suddenly the flash of a memory popped up in my mind. All those figurines that William had been painting—most of them had been women! “Shut up—not your cousin!” My mouth dropped in shock. “Yep. Blame Liam. I’m totally innocent.” I peered at him. “I could call you many things but ‘innocent’ is not one of them.” As we talked, a group of people came out of the nearby Starbucks on the corner and one of them stopped when she saw us at our small table. “Adam?” she said. We looked up. It was Lindsay, of all people, and when her eyes landed on me, they

widened. “Linds,” he said mildly. “How’s the coffee break?” Without being invited to do so, she grabbed a chair from another table and plunked down in front of us. I glanced at Adam, who looked uncomfortable—probably because I knew their history now. Oh, I could turn this into a thing of beauty. Make Adam suffer a little bit and stick it to this lady with her sneers at my faded jeans and T-shirt. I scooted my chair closer to Adam’s until they were flush up against each other. Adam cleared his throat. “Lindsay, you remember my friend Emilia?” “Everyone calls me Mia, actually,” I said, leaning forward to shake her hand with the fakest damn smile I’d ever faked. “Adam was just talking to me about you!” I said sweetly. Lindsay turned to Adam with a small smile. “All good, I hope.” He shifted in his seat and I laid my hand on his upper thigh, curling around the inside—like I’d seen couples who were obvious lovers do so many times. I rubbed him there, affectionately, and leaned into his shoulder. “Oh, of course good! He thinks the world of you,” I said, shooting a worshipful smile at Adam. My hand crept northward. Adam clamped his hand on top of mine under the guise of holding it, prying it off his leg and lacing his fingers around mine. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. The shock of it raced down my arm. “You’re so patient with me, sweetie.” Lindsay’s eyes almost popped out of her head watching Adam’s display—although faked, as I knew. I surmised that Adam, who acted awkward and stiff whenever I leaned up against him in private, was not prone to open affection like this. Given Lindsay’s openmouthed reaction, this was completely out of character for him. Maybe we could really put on a show and have him jumping all over the chairs like Tom Cruise on the Oprah Winfrey show. Just then, the waiter came to take our order. “I’ll have whatever he’s having,” I cooed dreamily, hoping he didn’t order something vile. He ordered the Floriano combo plate—way too much food for me. But, hey, I never complained about leftovers. “What are you doing up this way, Adam?” Lindsay asked. He looked at me and then back at Lindsay as if to say, Isn’t it obvious? And suddenly I got the spark of an idea that this meeting wasn’t coincidental. I shot a glance at Adam, who still had my hand clamped inside his. After only a few more minutes of empty conversation, Lindsay pushed her chair away from the table. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt and I have to get back. You are coming to the party on Friday, Adam?” He smiled. “Yes. We’ll definitely be there. Emilia’s my ‘plus one.’ Thanks for the invitation.” I scowled. What was this? A party? A Newport Beach party thrown by Lindsay? Ugh. No, thank you. Lindsay’s shoulders visibly slumped and she turned away, adjusting her designer sunglasses and walking off toward one of the business buildings in the plaza. “Well, that was lucky,” he said. I noted that he still hadn’t let go of my hand, but I didn’t say anything. “No, it wasn’t,” I said. “You planned that.” Adam reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out his sunglasses. “Maybe I did.” I studied him. “Why?” He hesitated and I added, “If you say you don’t have to tell me your reasons, I’m going to kick you where it counts.” “So violent,” he grimaced. “She came down to the complex the other day for lunch. Told me she’d filed for divorce from Jerome.” I grinned at him. “Did she put the moves on you?” He shot another look at me and then away, clearly embarrassed. “She did, didn’t she? I knew it. She wants you.”

Adam’s mouth quirked. “Lindsay is a friend. Nothing more. That’s not going to change.” “Why not just tell her that instead of throwing me in her face?” His hand tightened around mine. “Is that what you think I was doing? You’re twisting again.” “Kissing my hand and calling me ‘sweetie’ is not your typical behavior.” I couldn’t read his face, veiled behind the sunglasses. “Perhaps not.” Our food arrived then and he released my hand so we could eat. We dug in, silent over our meal for a few minutes. I shot him a few speculative looks, which he pretended not to notice. So I was his decoy. That explained a lot, actually. He was keeping me around to deflect Lindsay—or maybe others—from getting any ideas. With Lindsay beginning a divorce, she’d be vulnerable, on the prowl. Perhaps this was Adam’s way of letting her down easy. Or avoiding her during this period where she might have a wrong idea, because even if he pretended not to notice it, it was clear to me that Lindsay wanted Adam. “Can’t avoid it forever, you know,” I said, picking at my maduros. He swallowed a forkful of Spanish rice. “What’s that?” “Marriage. Someday you aren’t going to have a shield to hide behind.” He seemed to intuit my meaning immediately. In response, he only shrugged. I pressed the matter because I’d forgotten how he tended to turn my position of control back on me. Even when it came to conversations. “No desire to find the right person, settle down, make little baby prodigy geniuses?” He snorted. “Maybe I’ll think about that when I’m forty.” He ate for a moment in silence before he looked at me. “And you? What’s your plan?” I chewed a mouthful of chicken and bell pepper. It was spicy, flavorful and tender. I shrugged. “I told you, I don’t date. If I don’t date, I’m never going to meet that special guy—especially since I don’t believe he exists in the first place. I’m going to live a life devotedly single and on my own terms. It was good enough for my mom.” “But your mom had you.” I thought about that for a moment. “Sure. We got along, mostly. Sometimes more like sisters than like mother and daughter. If I ever have the desire to become a mother, there are options for that, too, that don’t require a man.” He didn’t say anything in reply and we finished our lunch soon thereafter. He took a phone call that came in, handling some new crisis during the length of our walk back to my place. I walked beside him, silent but for the squeaking of the Styrofoam box that carried my leftovers. At my doorstep, he ended the call, shoving the phone in his pocket. “Emilia, will you come to the party with me on Friday?” I raised a brow. “I’ve been wondering when you were going to ask me, seeing as you already volunteered me to be your ‘plus one.’” “I’m asking you now.” I took in a deep breath, knowing that I probably shouldn’t. “I don’t think—” “I’ve been waiting to see you in the red one.” He meant the red dress—the one I hadn’t worn yet. I’d kind of been wondering what it would look like as well. Maybe I could get away with this by not telling Heath. I knew what he’d say. He’d say the exact same thing that tiny whisper of rationality at the back of my head was saying. Tell him no. You’re already giving him more than one night. I took a deep breath. “Okay.” Geez. Sometimes I just seemed determined to go against everything in my better judgment. And lately, every one of those decisions somehow involved this man. “I’ll see you Friday,” he said, stepping away as if afraid I’d change my mind if he lingered on my doorstep. I watched him go, headed back into Old Towne to get his car. A knot twisted in my chest. This was

dangerous. I was in too deep. And he was in control, just as he’d said. Instead of one more night, as I’d promised him, it was now a cocktail party and a week in the Caribbean. Soon it would be more. And I found it increasingly difficult to tell him no. My head wanted me to resist, but my heart wouldn’t allow it.

Chapter Eleven After work the next day, I met Heath at his place. I brought the fixings for a Caesar salad and he’d bought the ground beef and stuff for hamburgers. Things were awkward at first. I could tell Heath was studiously avoiding the entire subject of Adam and the auction. He was done, it seemed. But when we were about halfway through our hamburgers, I asked him the question that had been burning on my mind. “How do you do a hand job?” Heath choked on his burger, his eyes widening. “Damn. At least give me warning to clear my mouth before you pop that shit on me.” I giggled. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I was reading this Cosmo article and it confused me because—” “Stop right there. If you get your sex education from Cosmo then you are in for a world of hurt—or he is. Those articles are insane.” “Okay. So would you be embarrassed if I asked you to explain to me how it works?” He laughed. “Embarrassed? Doll, I’m gay. Penises are like my favorite subject—shit, that’d probably be the case if I was straight, too, with boobies a close second.” Over dessert—I’d picked up fresh strawberries at a local stand and served them over cheap angel food cake for strawberry shortcake—he used a banana to demonstrate the art of pleasuring a man with your hand. I might have had radiation burns on my face from all the blushing after that, but I did follow his advice and dump those back magazine issues into the recycling bin when I got home. *** Lindsay’s cocktail party was an absolute dud. When she saw us arrive together, she widened her eyes in exaggerated surprise—or mock horror, I couldn’t tell which. She then pretended to be called away on some very important errand. I think she had planned on being Adam’s “plus one.” For the rest of the night, she pretended I didn’t exist. The other guests might have done the same but for the fact that Adam stuck to my side like Velcro the entire time. I wore the red dress. It was modest at the top with a sweetheart neckline, short-sleeved but formfitting and rather short to showcase my legs, which were, in all, not bad legs. And I’d taken extra special care shaving so I wouldn’t have any cuts or scrapes to hide. I wore the glittery black shoes I’d worn in Amsterdam with the black dress. I didn’t even try with my jewelry. Anything I wore would look fake compared to all the shiny real jewels I was bound to see at the party. I chose the only real gems I owned —cultured pearl earrings. And that’s it—no ring, necklace or bracelet. We kept up our affectionate routine. Adam held my hand the entire time and was very attentive. He stood close and when he spoke to me alone, he whispered in my ear, hooking an arm around my waist. I could tell we were the talk of the party because we got a lot of speculative looks. Adam was not seen in public acting affectionate with women, it seemed. Was this act solely to discourage Lindsay and her designs or to set others on alert as well—an elaborate plan to keep people at a distance? If anyone was capable of elaborate plans, it was Adam. Afterward, he took me back to his place, which was only a few miles from where Lindsay lived in Laguna Beach. I wondered what he had in mind for the rest of the evening. Another trip out on the yacht? To my utter surprise, his plan was to sit in his movie viewing room, watch The Lord of the Rings and eat popcorn. I loved popcorn and Tolkien, so I was perfectly happy with that. However, at one point he disappeared and came back wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt. I muttered something about it not being fair that I had to stay in my dress and he vanished again, returning with a T-shirt. I went into the bathroom and put it on. As it was one of his, it went down past my

panties and left my legs bare. When I came back into the room, his eyes followed me to where I sat in my recliner just next to him. We had our own little theater to ourselves with a high-definition widescreen and top notch sound system—like I said, hardware got me giddy. And we could attend this nice little private theater in our pajamas. When the first movie was over, he was about to key in the command for the second. By then it was after ten and I mentioned that I should probably be getting home. “Why don’t you stay? I have half a dozen guest rooms you can choose from. And two more movies.” So here it was, his next request for more. I hesitated. “Wouldn’t that count as one more night?” I said. His eyes shot a challenge into mine but his smile didn’t fade. “Nope.” “What makes you think I’m inclined to give you a freebie?” He held up his remote. “Come on...you know you want to…” I sighed. “If I can get another batch of popcorn and a toothbrush—and you turn off your phone until the movies are over—then I might consider it.” “Done, done and…” he gave an exaggerated sigh, pulling his phone out of the drink caddy where he had rested it. “Oh, what the hell. Done.” He turned the phone on twice to check it during the slow parts—Arwen’s dream and that silly scene where Aragorn gets knocked over the cliff by a warg. After the second time, I hopped into his recliner, grabbed the phone and stuck it down my shirt. We watched the remainder of the movie pressed against each other, our legs intertwined, his strong arms wrapped around my waist. During the prologue to the third movie, we started kissing. And from there we pretty much ignored The Return of the King. His hands were all over me—though I suspect that might have been partly an effort to locate his phone. My hands feasted on him as well. We spent the entire two and a half hours making out like teenagers in the back of their parents’ borrowed minivan. And I don’t think I’d ever been so turned on in my life. Which, of course, wasn’t saying much, since my three weeks in this man’s company comprised about 98.5 percent of my sexual arousal experience. It was stunning, the feelings that were stirring in me—like parts of my body I hadn’t known existed previously were coming alive. After Aragorn was crowned king and the credits rolled, we were in the dark and still going. He’d had his hands on my breasts for the previous hour, driving me insane with the continuous stimulation, teasing them to points, putting his hot mouth on them. Because, yeah, my T-shirt (or, rather, his T-shirt) had hit the floor long before—along with the phone—and was quickly joined by the one he was wearing. Then I reached down and started stroking him through his pajama pants and he uttered a harsh groan. Oh, he liked that very much. We wouldn’t be having sex tonight, but it was about time he had some fun. After all, he’d been so attentive to me before. And I had to admit that Heath’s accusation of Adam having a weird little self-denial fetish was at the back of my mind, too. Maybe he gets off from denying himself. But once my hand slipped inside his pajamas, he wasn’t protesting. I wrapped my hand around him and stroked softly up and down just like Heath had instructed. His organ was hard—long and thick. I loved the feel of the soft skin gliding under my hands, the rigidity, the sound of his husky groans as he surrendered to my stroking. I moved my hand faster and his arms around me grew tighter. He sank his teeth into my neck, sucking, and I knew I was probably going to be covered in hickies for the next few days. But I didn’t stop, because it was really turning me on to have this power over his body. I lowered my head and kissed his hard, muscular chest, licking and sucking his nipples, as he had done to me. Then my mouth went to his ear, “I’m going to make you come.” His hoarse reply, “Yes, you are.” “I want you inside me, Adam. I want to know what you feel like in me.” I said those words and I meant

them. It was time. I was tired of waiting. It wouldn’t happen tonight, but it had to be soon or I thought I’d explode from the tension of it all. I stroked faster and faster until his body went rigid and I could feel the contractions of his orgasm. Hot semen dripped across his flat abs and my hand and when finally he came down from wherever I had taken him, he glanced down, carefully removing my hand from his now too-sensitive flesh. “Look at the mess you’ve made, naughty girl.” My lips found his and we kissed, long and languorously. “I might need to be punished later.” “Yes, you might.” There was a full bathroom near the theater and we moved in there for a shower. Another warm, sexy shower together. After he had cleaned himself off, he moved to me with the soap and insisted on lathering me from head to toe. From behind, he massaged my shoulders and again displayed that interesting habit of paying special attention to soaping my breasts. “I am going to be inside you, Emilia,” he breathed against my ear when he was done. Then his hand was between my legs. I leaned my back against him. “I’m going to slide it in slowly. I’m going to watch your face when you take it in. I’m going to fuck you until you scream. And then I’m going to make you beg for it again. And again.” His fingers glided over my yearning, sensitive flesh while he pinched my nipple in his other hand. In hardly any time at all, he returned the favor I had just done him. My orgasm came fast and intense. I stiffened in his arms and he held me against him. His hot breath scorched the back of my neck. He pressed against me, hard once more. Even given that conversation I’d had with Heath, I didn’t know a man could be ready again that quickly. Of course we hadn’t actually had sex, so that might have had something to do with it. As much as I tried to educate myself, it was thoughts like these that showed me how little I really knew about these things. Adam had been a patient and thorough teacher thus far. He’d been too patient for my tastes. I was ready for the next lesson and he withheld it like an obdurate schoolmaster. Maybe it was time for the student to rebel. *** It must have been two or three in the morning by then but neither of us was tired. He grabbed a change of clothes, and a new shirt for me—this one a rugby jersey that came down a little longer on my legs but also had sleeves that ran well past my hands. I ended up rolling them past my wrists. We went to the kitchen and snacked on cold cuts and cheese, both of us famished. I tried to take advantage of his orgasmic afterglow by prying out his closely held secrets, but no luck. “Okay, what about the tiniest fraction of a microscopic hint?” His mouth creased with suppressed amusement. I’d been at this for over ten minutes. “I don’t do hints.” “What about bribes? I could bribe you.” He laughed now. “With what?” I leered at him suggestively. “Okay, one hint.” “Oh, goody!” “Yellow.” I glared at him. “Wait, what?” He shrugged, “That’s my hint. Take it or leave it.” “I’m leaving it right where I’m going to leave all the naughty things I was about to do to you in return for a good hint.” “You’re a little late on your bribery. You should have been throwing out that offer while we were watching the movie.”

“Oh, I think a good bribe might get you going again.” His gaze slid down my bare legs again. “I think you might be right.” He said. “Are you tired? I need to check on a few things, but I think I could stand to get a few winks before the sun comes up.” He gave me my promised toothbrush and showed me to a guestroom not far from his. But after I brushed my teeth, I made my way to his bedroom. Wherever it was he’d wandered off to do his work, it wasn’t here. I used the time to inspect his room, struck by how impersonal it seemed. It was exquisitely decorated to look like a beach cabana, with canted ceilings lined with bamboo and dark beams. Voluminous buff-colored linen drapes hung over floor-to-ceiling windows and the smooth floor was inlaid in different colors of wood in intricately patterned parquet. But there were few personal touches that gave any clue about who he was, except for the desk. I moved to it, my eyes sliding over its shiny surface. There were pictures of his Uncle Peter with an arm around both of his cousins, Britt with her two adorable boys. There was a picture of Adam and the kids at Disneyland standing beside Mickey Mouse. I smiled at each photo, relieved to have found even small clues to the person underneath the persona that he showed the world, even me. I noticed no pictures of his parents and given what I knew of his situation growing up, I wasn’t surprised. But the last picture in the row gave me pause. It was a snapshot in a 4 x 6 frame and I picked it up, studying the two children in it. The color was faded but the younger child, a dark-haired boy, was obviously Adam. He had teeth missing but was grinning wildly nevertheless. He had his arm around the neck of an older girl, this one honey-blonde with green eyes. She looked to be in her preteen years. She glanced at the camera sidelong, as if irritated at having her picture taken, but her arm was wrapped tightly around Adam. She was lovely and I guessed that this must be Sabrina, his sister. While I studied the photo, I felt a presence behind me before I even heard a thing. I spun and faced Adam. When he saw the picture I was holding, his expression sobered. “She was a pretty girl,” I said lamely. He threw a furtive glance at me, then laid the laptop hooked under his arm on the desk, avoiding my gaze. I had guessed right. “Yes,” was all he said. “You don’t look very much alike.” “We had different fathers.” I looked down at the picture again and replaced it gently. “I’m sorry for your loss. You loved her a lot.” He took a deep breath, still staring at the picture. “Yes. I loved her more than anyone else on the planet.” I approached him and wrapped my arms around his torso. “She was very lucky, then. To have your love.” Adam didn’t move, didn’t respond to my show of affection. I glanced up and he was still staring fixedly at that faded photograph. “That’s the only picture I have of her and yet in my memory, I can’t remember what she looked like then. Or later, before she died.” “How old was she?” “Twenty.” “And you were…?” “Thirteen. Happened just around the time I came back to California.” Despite the fact that he had neglected to respond to me, I released one of my hands to caress his back. “I would have loved to have had a sister, even if for a short time.” His mouth set and he seemed to finally grow aware of me, looking down. “I would have rather not had a sister than to have had one and watch her die the way she did.” I pulled away from him and sat down on the edge of the bed. He watched me for a moment, his face all tense planes and rigid angles. I patted the space beside me.

He glanced at it but didn’t move. So I asked him the unasked question. Because I sensed that despite his reluctant demeanor, he wanted to talk about it. “How did she die?” His eyes fluttered closed and open again. “Overdose.” Addiction. There was that family theme again. He’d once mentioned to me that he feared it more than anything else, that he firmly believed in the genetics of addiction. It seemed his beliefs had ample basis in the personal lives of the people closest to him. “I’m sorry,” I said, completely at a loss to say anything else. “Don’t be. It’s been thirteen years. I tried to save her once and she refused to let me.” He shrugged but it was an affectation rather than a show of indifference. He was pretending a nonchalance that he didn’t feel. “No matter how hard we try, some things will always remain out of our control,” I said. “I can’t accept that.” Of course he couldn’t. That was a huge part of what made him him. But maybe that was the crux of his problem, too. “Maybe you should.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked at me. “Emilia, it’s getting late.” I took a deep breath, aware that he was trying to blow me off. It was late, but I wasn’t going to let him off that easily. “You’re right. It’s too late to work.” He quirked a sad smile. “It’s never too late—” I shot a significant look at the laptop sitting on the desk. “If I leave, you are taking that to bed with you. So which is it, that or me?” He watched me with hooded eyes but remained silent. He was actually considering choosing the laptop over me! Heat rose in my face. “Okay. I see how it is.” I was getting too close. I was making him uncomfortable, so now he was getting rid of me to work on his computer. I wondered if he took that damn thing to bed with him every night. Maybe he habitually kicked whatever fuck buddy he had at the time to the curb after sex and ran back to his laptop. I turned to leave. “Emilia,” he said, reaching for my arm and closing his strong hand around my wrist. “Stay.” I clenched my teeth. “Only if that thing stays on the desk.” He gave a long, resigned sigh. “It’s late—early. Let’s get some sleep.” Without another word, I went to the top of the bed, pulled back the covers and slipped in. He watched me, his handsome face impassive, but the light of something in his eyes said he was not unmoved by the gesture. I rolled over on my side, my back to his side of the bed. He went around to the other side and turned off the light, and after a moment, I felt the weight of the bed shift. We were still some distance apart, as the bed was a massive king-size. Another long pause before he reached out, hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me back flush against him. His legs curled under mine. We were spooning. I never took Adam for the type of guy who would spoon. And here, this display of affection was for me alone. There was no potential girlfriend or ex here to deflect. This was just him and me. Us. Curled together. In this safe environment in the darkest hour before dawn, I turned my head toward him. “Do you want to talk about it?” He didn’t answer for so long that I thought he wouldn’t. Or that maybe he had fallen off to sleep when I hadn’t noticed. “She was all I had. She was a sister and she was a mother when our mother was incapacitated, which was most of the time.”

His hand slipped under my shirt to rest atop my belly. Despite my fatigue, a curl of excitement tightened there in response to his touch. I put my own hand on top of his, lacing our fingers together. He curled his fingers inward, locking them in a tight embrace. “But things between her and my mother got bad, really bad. My mother couldn’t stand the sight of her and drove her out of the house when she was fifteen. We were homeless shortly thereafter—bouncing around from shelter to shelter.” “Shit, that’s horrible.” “It’s worse. She ran away, hit the streets—the same old cliché. She was soon addicted to drugs and selling herself to support the habit.” My breathing froze and I went cold inside. That hung in the air between us for a few moments before he drew in a deep breath, the cool air rushing past my neck. His sister had sold herself for money, drugs, to her ultimate destruction. Intuition told me he had drawn a parallel. I’d sold myself, too, for money. An ominous feeling covered me like a shroud. Was this the reason Adam had been putting things off between us? He spoke again, his voice quiet and a little groggy. “Last time I saw her, I hopped a bus when I was twelve and went down to Seattle to find her. She looked horrible. I begged her to come back with me but she wouldn’t. Threw me back on the bus and yelled at me to get the hell out of the city. I never saw her again.” I turned around in his arms so that I was facing him. The watery light of predawn was just starting to seep into the room. I couldn’t see his eyes, but stared into them anyway, his face inches from mine. “There’s nothing you could have done differently.” He was silent. “Adam…” I said and on impulse, laid a hand on his whisker-roughened cheek. My courage died out along with my voice. I was going to tell him that my feelings for him were now growing to an inappropriate level. But to say those words was to believe that these feelings were true and right and I just couldn’t trust them. I could never let myself be vulnerable again. Every time I had in the past, I’d been stomped down. This was business. My heart thudded at the base of my throat. “What?” he said, his voice thick with emotion, his warm breath scurried over my cheeks. “I’m so sorry about what happened to her. It’s a terrible, tragic thing. You can’t blame yourself.” “I don’t.” I took a deep breath. It hurt to inhale. “Good. And I also think you shouldn’t compare her situation to mine.” A long pause. “How could I not? The moment I sleep with you, you become a prostitute and I become your john.” I shook inside. “Is this the reason, then? Why we haven’t—why you keep stopping it?” He didn’t answer. Even now, he wouldn’t answer. But hadn’t we crossed into this forbidden territory already—whether or not we ever slept together? “So we won’t do this. Really. I’m okay with it. We can end this here.” He went still, even holding his breath. “It’s not your decision to make, Emilia. You’re in too deep for that.” “But why—” He cut me off softly pressing a finger to my lips. “Remember who’s in control,” he said, his voice edged with exhaustion. And I knew that now was not the time to argue this. Not with him having just laid himself bare to me. So I didn’t. Instead, I curled in close to him, nestling against his hard chest. He wrapped his arms around me, rested his chin on my head and he slept. But I couldn’t. Despite the fact that I was utterly exhausted, my mind raced through the ramifications of what had just occurred—of the knowledge I’d just gained. Adam and I would never have sex, because he

believed that the minute we did, he’d become like the men who had destroyed his sister. But could I go through with this after hearing Sabrina’s story? After hearing of the innocent who’d been forced to allow herself to be used? Used and thrown away, like trash. I had refused to think that what I was doing was the same thing as prostitution, but Heath, and then Adam, had rightly disabused me of that notion. And now the implications were finally sinking in.

Chapter Twelve We slept in almost until noon and had a quick brunch at the breakfast bar in his kitchen. Then he dropped me off at home so I could get some work done on my poor neglected blog. “Come to family dinner tomorrow night,” he said on my doorstep. I clenched my jaw. “Are we just going to keep ignoring this?” His eyes flicked out to the road and then back to me. “Yes or no, Emilia?” And with that evasion, he answered my question: Yes, we are going to keep ignoring this. I swallowed in a tight throat. “I’ll come.” Because this was almost over and part of me didn’t want it to be. I knew it must be, but I was willing to grab at the few moments that remained. “Pick you up at six.” As always, he kissed me on the cheek and took the steps two at a time down to his car. I shut the door and leaned back against it, trying to ignore the aching emptiness I felt whenever he left. Checking my messages, I saw that both my mom and Heath had tried to reach me. I dialed my mom first and noted right away that she sounded unusually cheery. “Mia! How are you?” Still feeling guilty about the way our last phone call had gone, when I’d lied to her, I was buoyed by her high spirits. Was she in love? It sure sounded like something major had happened. Would she tell me, or was this an act to cover for the money situation? “Hey, Mom. I’m doing fine.” “How are things with your boyfriend?” I blew out a breath. “He’s not my boyfriend.” “I can be optimistic, can’t I?” I shifted uncomfortably, twirling a lock of my hair around my forefinger. “I suppose, but that means I can do the same for you. You don’t have someone special in your life, do you?” “Who am I going to meet up here in crusty old Anza? There are no available men up here who are still in their right mind.” Good point there. “It’s about time you did find someone. I’ve been out of the house for almost four years.” “Don’t you worry about me, sweet pea. I’m just fine and feeling better than I have in a long time. Worry about yourself.” I contemplated that. Either she was putting up a marvelously good front or something had happened. How could this be, if the ranch was about to go into foreclosure? Guessing wasn’t going to get me answers, so I decided it was time to end the silence on this subject. “Mom, can I ask you something?” “Sure, as long as it isn’t about my dating,” she said. I took a deep breath and dove in. “When I was up there in January, I saw some of your mail…” A long pause. “Uh huh.” “I saw the mortgage notices.” I cleared my throat and continued. “They said foreclosure by July. I’ve been waiting for you to inform me yourself, but for some reason you must not think I can handle it.” “First of all, this is not your problem, okay? I didn’t tell you because I was handling it. And I didn’t want to worry you with your big test coming up and all that you had on your plate. You’re about to graduate from college! It should be a happy time for you. And thank God it can be.” I shifted where I stood, putting a hand on my hip. “What do you mean?” “I mean that it’s taken care of. I can’t give you details yet, but I will when you come up in June. But it’s handled. The ranch is just fine and even better, I’m starting to work on getting it ready to take in guests again. I’m hoping by July I can get a little summer business rustled up.”

I shook my head. “What—really? You aren’t lying so I won’t worry or some other bullshit like that?” “Language, Mia. I hope you don’t talk like that around your boyfriend.” I sighed. “Mom.” “Okay, okay. He’s not your boyfriend. Maybe I’ll get to meet him at your graduation?” I gritted my teeth. “Mom, we were talking about your mortgage.” “Yes. And now the subject is closed. It’s taken care of and I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. Okay? So stop worrying and stop trying to take care of me. I’m not a wilting chemo patient anymore. I feel better than I have in a long time. For a lot of reasons.” I took a deep breath and decided to believe her. “Okay. Thank God. I’m so glad.” “You’ve been fretting over this since January?” Fretting. That was an understatement I was willing to let her live with. “Yeah. Kinda.” “Well, don’t. I can’t wait to see you in a few weeks, my little graduate! You are going to look amazing in that cap and gown.” “Yeah. Until then I’m turning off my landline for the next week and hitting the studying hard. If you need me, send me an e-mail or text me, okay?” Okay, so Mom had just come clean to me and now I’d shamelessly lied to her—again! Or at least, I didn’t tell her the whole truth—that my phone was turned off because I’d be out of the country. She sighed heavily. “Okay. But if you don’t get back to me in a timely manner, I’ll be forced to harass Heath and you know how much he loves that.” “Love you, Mom. Talk to you soon.” And I clicked off, sitting back and feeling like a fifty-pound weight had just been removed from my chest. Her mortgage was taken care of. She didn’t have to give up the ranch. She was even preparing to take on new guests! Had she gotten a loan? A grant? It all seemed so improbable but there was no mistaking that she was telling the truth. My mom wasn’t as good a liar as I apparently was becoming. My eyes wandered up to the ceiling and I couldn’t stop grinning. I wasn’t even annoyed at the thought of probably being enlisted as a free ranch hand over the summer. Then, of course, my mind wandered to the auction. To the conundrum I found myself in. To the fact that Adam would never fulfill the terms of our deal. I thought about the almost four hundred thousand dollars sitting in my Cayman Islands bank account—money I’d never properly earn. And I came to a decision, quickly dialing Heath’s number. Minutes after I’d told him about the trip to St. Lucia, I dropped the second bomb on him. Heath was so blown away that I had to repeat myself. “I said I want you to refuse the bank transfer.” “What? Why are you sending money back to him? I thought terms had been fulfilled, so to speak?” “No.” “I don’t get it. Still?” “It’s a really long story.” “Maybe you need to fill me in.” “I’m calling it off. I can’t do this.” “Damn, that’s a fucking relief. Drake took it okay?” I pinched the bridge of my nose with a thumb and forefinger and prepared to tell yet more lies. “Yeah, he thinks it’s a good idea, too.” And truthfully, that is what he could have meant last night. He’d hardly said two words to me this morning. Whether it was because of fatigue or regret for having revealed so much about himself to me, I couldn’t tell. I’d tried my best to pretend everything was the same between us, even though everything had been turned on a ninety-degree axis and we were in uncharted territories now. “And what about your money issues? What about med school?” Half of the money issues no longer existed. “I’ll find another way,” I sighed. Maybe I could learn to

pole dance. I coughed. “Loans or something.” “Fuck, I can’t follow you two. You make my head spin.” “Please, Heath. I promise I’ll tell you everything when I can. But, you know…the NDA.” I threw that out there as the dumbest excuse, hoping he’d swallow it. He didn’t. “Yeah. Whatever. Listen, I’ve told you now and I’ll tell you again, I don’t like what all this has done to you. I still think he’s yanking you around and I don’t like it. Now he’s got you thinking you’re his girlfriend instead of his call girl.” My chest tightened and I cleared my throat. “Not at all. We aren’t dating and there’s been no discussion about boyfriends or girlfriends or whatever. And I’ve already decided that once I get back from the Caribbean we aren’t going to see each other again.” Some unknown force coiled itself around my chest and tightened when I finally gave voice to the thoughts that had preoccupied me for the previous few hours. Heath paused. “And he knows that?” I squeezed my eyes closed and uttered the lie in a completely normal tone of voice. “Yeah, sure. He agrees with me.” “And you aren’t going to sleep with him?” “No.” “So you aren’t going to see him again. You aren’t going to sleep with him. Why are you even going on the trip?” I cleared my throat. “Because I promised I would.” “I still don’t get it. But if you do end up letting him sleep with you, just remember the old saying about buying the milk when you can get the cow for free.” “Shut the hell up. I’m not a cow.” I laughed, but the laugh had a manic quality about it, like I was on the edge of some weird kind of panic. *** For Sunday evening family dinner, we made it to Adam’s uncle’s house early. Britt and her family had not yet arrived. Uncle Peter had the fixings for beef and chicken kabobs lined up to barbecue and I helped him spear them onto the sticks in preparation for cooking. Within minutes Adam pulled himself away to deal with a “quick issue at work” over the computer. I was concentrating on pushing slimy pieces of raw chicken onto the wooden stakes without gagging. Raw chicken always grossed me out. “So how’s the studying for your MCAT coming along?” Peter surprised me by breaking his usual silence to make conversation. “Oh. Not so good. I keep getting distracted.” “You need to tell him to leave you alone so you can study.” I smiled, popping a cherry tomato onto my stick. “Oh, I can’t blame it all on him.” “Adam’s a wonderful boy and I love him like he’s my son. He is my son in many ways. But he can be overbearing sometimes.” That was an understatement. I picked up a chunk of sweet onion and kept going. “I’m not going to argue with you about that.” “He’s strong willed. Always has been. It’s how he’s gotten where he is. But you are going to have to get tough with him when he gets like that with you. He’ll respect you for it.” I suppressed a smile. My standing up to him aggravated him more than it engendered any respect, as far as I could tell. “I hope you stick it out,” said Peter after a long pause. “He’s happier than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

My face burned, and I suddenly wished he’d change the subject. “That’s good to know,” I said quietly. “So, how many of these chicken kabobs am I making?” And with relief, the subject was ditched. A good thing, too, because the doorbell rang and Adam called that he would get it. A few minutes later, he entered the kitchen with Lindsay and some younger man I’d never met. I hadn’t known that Peter had invited his work colleague or I would have prepared myself for the casual gutting with the eyes she usually tossed my way. I took a deep breath and pasted on a fake smile. Lindsay didn’t bother, but moved up beside Peter, gave him a kiss and handed him a bottle of wine. “Thanks for having us over. It’s been ages.” As usual, she was put together impeccably. Flawless makeup, beautiful clothes. She wore spiky heels and a designer dress—for a family barbecue. She was poised, elegant. I felt awkward and tomboyish next to her. And though she’d never been openly hostile to me, I also felt defensive around her—and downright aggressive whenever she went within three feet of Adam. Which, unfortunately, was often. And that wretched habit she had of touching him. It made my blood pressure soar. After our kabobs by the pool, Adam quickly excused himself to take yet another phone call. Inside the house, I wandered down the hall to look at William’s figurines again. He wasn’t in the room but I hoped he wouldn’t mind my getting a closer look. I wasn’t alone long, however, because Lindsay tucked her head inside the room and froze when I turned to meet her gaze. To my astonishment, instead of leaving, she entered. “Hey,” I said awkwardly. Lindsay looked around the room. “This is Liam’s room, you know, not Adam’s.” I nodded. “Yeah, I knew that. I was coming to get another look at the figurines.” “Oh yeah, his little statues. He’s spent hours on those for years. Poor guy.” I looked at her in surprise. “He seems quite happy.” Lindsay shrugged. I’d noticed little interaction between her and William. In fact, it seemed like William had studiously avoided her. “I’ve known this family for a long, long time,” she said, giving her little factoid dump a nonchalant air but saying something completely different with her meaning. As if her having known Adam longer gave her some kind of weird seniority over me. I didn’t reply, replacing a tiny huntress on the shelf and picking up a musketeer. Lindsay cleared her throat. “So how long have you and Adam been together?” she asked in that same blasé tone as she moved toward a bookcase that held some trophies. I squinted. They looked like track trophies but I couldn’t see the name on them. They must have been Adam’s. And I had no idea at all how to answer her question. “Not very long.” I said. “Really,” she said and I wondered when she’d spring her previous relationship with Adam on me. I almost yawned. How very predictable. Surprisingly, she didn’t. “Has he stood you up for work yet?” I shrugged. “Once or twice,” I lied, wondering what she would do with that. Lindsay looked taken aback. “It’s still new. You don’t have to worry much yet.” “Worry? What about?” “Adam’s a married man,” Lindsay said as she took out a trophy from the bookcase, studying it. The light reflected off the metal plate and I could easily see Adam’s name and his event—the Hundred-Yard Dash. First place. 2002. My stomach dropped at her words. Adam? A married man? “What?” She turned to me with an enigmatic, almost condescending smile. “He’s married to his first love: work. I’m afraid no woman could compete and will always come a distant second.”

What a shitty thing to say to someone whom she thought her “friend” was dating. Did she mean to scare me away? “I’m always up for a good challenge.” We were interrupted when Adam appeared in the doorway. Lindsay replaced the trophy and turned toward him with a smile. Adam looked at me. “We have to get going. Something came up at work. I gotta run in for a little while.” I wished I hadn’t looked at Lindsay after he said it. The knowing smile she shot me made my blood boil. Adam had just confirmed every crappy thing she had just said. He waited for me at the doorway, then took my hand and turned and bid Lindsay good-bye. Okay, she was annoying but she wasn’t terrible. In fact, she could have been a lot worse. She had said some things that were blunt but nothing that was untrue. Anyone who knew Adam for any amount of time —and in my case, only a month—would have to be an idiot not to figure out he had a serious problem with work. But it didn’t matter to me. It couldn’t matter. It was some other woman’s problem. Some distant woman in the future, maybe when he was forty, like he’d said. As we drove home and as those thoughts raced through my head, I felt twinges collecting in my chest, making it hard to breathe deeply. My fists closed in determination. There was no future for us. There could never be. Our lives were speeding in completely different directions and our beginning had almost predestined one certain ending. But I couldn’t commit to it with everything in me. Something was holding me back. Something deep inside didn’t want to see the end. When he pulled up at the curb, I didn’t move to get out of the car. He turned and looked at me expectantly. “What’s up?” he asked. I turned to him. “Why did you bid on the auction?” He expelled a long breath, ran a hand through his hair and looked out the windshield ahead of him. The question had clearly taken him by surprise. When he didn’t respond, I continued. “I know, now, how you must feel about this situation—because of what—because of your sister. And I totally understand that. But what I don’t understand is why you chose to participate in the first place.” He shrugged and sent me a sidelong glance. “Do you have to? The point is that I did.” I shook my head. “Adam—” He pointedly looked at his watch. “You’ve got an early shift tomorrow if I remember correctly. And I have to get to the complex.” He opened his door, slammed it and came around to mine. I slowly exited, glowering up at him, but he studiously avoided my gaze. At the doorstep when he bent to kiss me, I turned my face away. I wasn’t ready to give up yet. “This is a game for you, isn’t it?” I whispered, my teeth clenching. He frowned. “You’re twisting things again.” “Why am I going with you to the Caribbean?” “Because I want you to,” he said without hesitation. “But why? We aren’t—” He bent and cut me off when his mouth landed on mine. His large hand wrapped around my jaw, holding me in place while he explored my mouth with his. When he pulled away, his eyes held mine in a mesmerizing stare. I could see the reflection of myself in there—like staring into two tiny dark mirrors. “I’m not going to discuss this with you now.” “Will you discuss it with me later?” His face took on a pensive expression. “Yes. Definitely. After the trip.” I opened my mouth to protest. We weren’t going to see each other after the trip. But I remembered at the last minute that I hadn’t explicitly told him that. It was my sole decision. And I hadn’t told him about that or returning the money. So I clamped my mouth shut and said good-bye.

He had secrets, yes. But so did I.

Chapter Thirteen “The Perks of Being a Hot Chick”—Posted on the blog of Girl Geek on May 31, 2013 According to statistics, the players of MMORPGs skew much higher toward the male population than the female. But have you ever wondered why, in spite of that fact, there are so many bikini-clad females running around the plains of Yondareth in search of adventure? There is a young man in my guild who will only play female characters. Every time he is asked why in guild chat, he gives a different answer. Sometimes it’s because he wanted to play in-game with a friend (a female) who had a jealous boyfriend and he didn’t want her to get in trouble. Sometimes he says it’s because if he has to stare at his avatar all day, he’d rather be staring at a lithe, sexy tree elf in a chainmail teddy than at some idiot, doofy dude with a tin can on his head for armor. But, dear readers, I think I’ve gotten to the bottom of the real reason why he plays girls instead of guys. I have conducted a “scientific experiment” and the results are conclusive. Chicks get more free stuff as beginning characters than their male counterparts. Case in point: Borrowing my friend’s laptop, I created two different toons on the same server, both exactly the same but for one tiny detail. One was a sexy, scantily clad underdark elf named SmokinHawt, and the other was a gangly, almost adolescent-looking tree elf male who carries a branch as a shield, named Poindexter. In the same newbie area, chopping away at bats, spiders and skeletons, I ran them both around, asking for free stuff. “Buff pls?” I’d ask the high-level healers for their blessings. Nine times out of ten, SmokinHawt received their beneficence. Seven times out of ten, poor Poindexter was ignored. “Got any free stuff?” I’d ask while gesturing with submissive actions, bowing, scraping and saluting. SmokinHawt was fully clad in level-appropriate armor within the first hour. Poindexter was given a rusty sword and a dented shield after a few hours of begging. It didn’t stop there. SmokinHawt got gold, quest items and general pats on the back—along with flirtatious gestures and in-game messages. Poindexter was neglected and died approximately thirteen times. Thus, after having conducted this thoroughly unscientific double-blind study, I have come to the conclusion that the young men who prefer playing female toons do so for purely mercenary reasons. Because their bank accounts fill up much faster that way! Gold diggers of Yondareth, beware: I am on to you! *** We flew first class to St. Lucia a few days later. And I was thankful for that because it was a long trip. From LAX to Miami alone was almost six hours with a layover and then another eight hours on to the Hewanorra International Airport in St. Lucia. As our plane approached the lush Caribbean island, the first thing I noticed was the gorgeous colors of the water—brilliant blues and bright greens—and then the jagged, pointed mountains, called pitons, all covered in green. And finally the rooftops, each one a different color—turquoise, orange, copper green, red. I sat up with excitement, gazing out the window, my mouth hanging open. I’d always dreamed of seeing the Caribbean. And here I was, stepping into the dream once again. Adam noticed my excitement, watching me with my face pressed up against the window like a puppy on his first car ride. “Excited?” “Yes! I even bought a new swimsuit.” “Good.”

I’d also brought all three of the fancy dresses he’d given me and the adorable sundress that Heath had picked out for me at Harrods. “Wait till you see where we are staying.” I turned to him, grinning. “It’s going to be hard to top that place in Amsterdam.” He smiled. “I agree it would be hard, but this place does. Of course, I may be a little biased because I am a part owner, but it’s a pretty amazing luxury resort. I’ll let you form your own opinion about it.” Luxury resort. And he wasn’t kidding about that. Emerald Sky, it was called, and it climbed one of the verdant green hills I had seen from the air, designed to look as if it had sprung from the mountain itself. Each room was more than a room—it was an entire luxury suite in itself with three walls. The side overlooking the bay was completely open. With warm weather all year round, it wasn’t necessary to enclose them though I did notice brackets for retractable walls in case of storms. Stacked on top of each other and climbing the hill, the suites were also completely private. And the most amazing feature of all: each suite had its own indoor infinity pool. As an owner, Adam was given one of the two Universe rooms, which, I learned, were the best rooms in the hotel. When we were shown in, I walked around with my mouth wide open. The infinity pool, tiled in glass jewel tones, hung on the edge of the fourth wall and it was bigger than my kitchen. Beside it, there was a table for dining and a seating area. Behind and tucked off into the corner was a king-size bed with pale white netting tied to the four dark wood posts. There was a kitchenette to the rear of the suite and every luxury. Even given the gorgeous blue waters and white sand beaches that looked like they were made out of talcum powder, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to leave the suite. “This—this is—amazing,” I finally said after Adam had watched me with open amusement as I tripped around the large space, inspecting everything. “Are you tired? Do you want a nap?” “I want a swim!” I said. And he smiled. “We have a reception with the manager of the hotel for dinner, but I’m free until then. And then I’m in meetings most of the day tomorrow, so I made some arrangements with our majordomo for you to have a tour of the area, maybe a little snorkeling if that’s something that interests you.” I looked down at the rainbow tones of the glass tiles underneath shimmering blue water. “I want to try out this pool.” He shot me an arresting smile. “Now that I can get interested in.” I found the bathroom—back behind the bed and a few steps up. It, too, was open to the outside but still quite private, even from someone who was standing below. I quickly changed into my black-and-white bikini—it was gorgeous and made me feel sexy, and it hadn’t been overly expensive. And thanks to another splurge—leg waxing, ouch—and a manicure and pedicure, I felt resplendent, glamorous, full of energy and excitement and not my usual scruffy self. I had stepped into the princess dream again. I was already in the pool and of course he’d pulled out the dreaded laptop to check on work—lest the world had fallen apart while he was on his flight. I was irritated at first but also relieved that it didn’t take much taunting to entice him into the pool. He changed and got in with me. We swam, talked, flirted. We talked about the game, of course. He was still clam-mouthed about the clues I wanted, though he wasn’t above throwing more red herrings out with a playful gleam in his eye. I asked him about his past. “So how did it all start? When did you find out you had a gift with programming?” He squinted out over the bay, arms hooked over the edge. “We weren’t well-off, after my dad died. And we moved around a lot. Somewhere along the line I acquired this secondhand Gameboy.” He smiled. “That thing was my prized possession, but I only had a few games for it. And I got bored with them after a while. So I hacked into it and started writing my own games.”

My brows shot up. “That’s amazing. How old were you?” He grimaced. “I’m not going to tell you because then you’ll call me an even bigger nerd.” I shook my head, laughing. “Not possible. Your nerdness is pretty huge as it is.” And then I blushed, realizing my words could be interpreted another way. He laughed. “Thank you.” I splashed him. He splashed back. “So how old were you?” I asked again. “I think around ten or so,” he said simply, with no attempt at bragging. Still, that answer blew me away. He responded to my obvious shock. “But I had little else to do. I missed a lot of school in those days because—well, because of the home situation. I had hours and hours to work on it. And I was pretty determined.” “Ah, so it started young, then.” “What was that?” “Your incessant need to always be working.” He made a face. “It’s not that bad.” I watched him with open skepticism. “Really? So your family never complains that they don’t see you —that the two times I’ve been with you to family dinner were the first times they’d seen you in months even though you live nearby. Your hundred-hour workweeks all come at a price. You just don’t see it.” He sobered. “I’ve been better lately. Last few weeks I’ve only clocked in around sixty or so.” I shook my head in mock wonder. “Only sixty. Such a slacker.” My words were serious but I wanted to lighten the mood so I splashed him again. He sputtered in surprise and then grinned, ducking under the water, shooting straight for my legs. I tried to dart to the side but he grabbed one of them and jerked me back toward him. When we came up for air, we were both laughing and he pressed me to his chest. When we stopped laughing, he kept me there and my heart slammed against my sternum. No matter how much time we spent together, no matter how much we fooled around, he still had the same effect on me as that first day we’d met. A surge of excitement glided through me, washing over me like a warm tropical rain. Something sparked in his dark eyes and he pulled me to him, bending his head. His mouth met mine in a steamy kiss and I laced my fingers around the back of his neck, returning the passion. We kissed for long minutes and my hands slipped down his wet chest. He held my upper arms and his body hardened under his trunks. I pulled away. “So we can’t skip dinner, right?” He shook his head, but he did look regretful. “Well, then, we should probably get ready.” He smiled. “Good call.” *** The reception was a quiet but glamorous event, with select hotel guests, staff and other owners present. It was a black-tie affair, so I got to see Adam in a tuxedo for the first time ever. And he was stunning. I wanted to grab him by his thin satin lapels and pull his mouth to mine. We had this night and the next two nights together. And I intended to enjoy them. If I could manage to pry him away from work as easily as I had this afternoon, I might just be able to. Earlier, I’d come out with my updo—a hairstylist had come in to help me with that—along with my makeup, my glamorous high heels and that gorgeous backless black dress. His appreciative eyes had taken me in and it made me tingle from head to toe. “Emilia, you take my breath away.” We spent a few hours at the reception. Adam introduced me to many people I would never see again so I didn’t bother trying to remember their names. Then he left me, to talk business with several of the other owners. Other men tried to approach me but I

was good at rebuffing them. If the years of social self-exile on a hip college campus had taught me nothing else, they’d taught me the cool art of the brush-off. When we returned to the suite, candles were lit, the mosquito netting around the bed had been let down and the covers had been turned back. We gave each other an awkward look. The unresolved sexual tension hung heavy about us and stuck to our skin like the balmy tropical air. Fortunately, we were both exhausted. But what about the days to come? I doubted either one of us had considered the consequences of sharing a bed when it couldn’t lead to anything more. For bed, I changed into a T-shirt and my underwear and he peeled off everything but his boxer briefs. There were fans in our suite, going night and day, and a slight breeze coming up from the bay, but it was a warm night and we would be sleeping without covers. Uneasily, we settled on the bed—strangely—on the same sides we had taken that one night we had spent together in his bed. We stayed apart for a long time, but despite our exhaustion, it took awhile to fall asleep. Hours later, I woke up in his arms and he was kissing my neck. I rolled over and in the dim light saw his eyes widen. “Hi.” “Hi. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just couldn’t resist a little taste.” I smiled. “A little taste sounds nice,” I said as I lowered my head and kissed his bare chest. He kissed my hair and I turned my head, looking out over the bay. The light was a steel gray—maybe an hour or two before dawn and everything was still and quiet. “I’m sorry. I was wide awake,” he whispered. “Are you bored?” He sighed. “I don’t get it. It’s only two a.m. at home. I can’t sleep.” “What are you thinking about? Work?” His dark eyes were enigmatic. “No. I was wondering what happens when we get home.” I hesitated. Did he know that I’d planned to end it after this? Or had he come to the same decision I had? My heart sped up a beat. “You mean with us?” “Yes.” I cleared my throat. I didn’t want him to know that I had returned the money until we got home. I didn’t want him to know I’d decided this wasn’t good for either of us. That it would be easier for us to go back to our former lives. That I’d find another way to go to med school. “Let’s not think about it now. There’s plenty of time later.” “I can’t not think about it.” “Think about something else—like… how good it feels when I kiss you all over your yummy chest.” And I did just that, mouth gliding over his hard muscles, tasting him everywhere. He let out a long breath, clearly enjoying it, and I paid great attention to every nuanced detail, every solid hill and creased valley. He cleared his throat. “That is something very nice to think about.” He tried to sit up, attempting to gain control of the situation, but I pushed him back down again and he grinned. “About to ravish me, are you?” I kissed my way down his abdomen, over his perfect six-pack. “Can you ravish the willing?” “Good point,” he said with a dry laugh. His briefs were tenting with his arousal and I rubbed the taut ridge before reaching into his underwear. “We seem to have a big problem here.” His lips were on my breast when he started laughing. I rubbed again. “Yes. A very, very big problem.” “What does the doctor prescribe?” “Friction. Lots of friction will reduce this swelling.” His eyes darkened. “I can get behind that treatment.”

I laughed. “I’m sure you can.” I tugged on his briefs and he took a moment to shuck them. “Yours come off, too,” he said. I sat up, pulling off my T-shirt and panties. His hands grasped my hips, then traveled up my waist, heading right for his favorite place. I pulled his hands away. “I believe I was in the middle of prescribing treatment.” He smiled and lay back. “As the doctor commands.” I leaned forward again and kissed him over his chest—quickly this time and then down, over his flat, muscular stomach. And, then, gathering my courage, I traveled even lower. My hand encircled the base of his shaft and quickly, furtively, I touched my mouth to the soft skin. He sucked in an entire chestful of air and sat up immediately. I didn’t pull away. “Don’t do this.” Defiantly, I lowered my mouth, taking the entire tip of his erection between my lips. “Emilia—” he said shakily. “You don’t have to do this.” I pulled my head away. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Just…whatever you do please don’t put your hands in my hair.” He didn’t move for a moment and I still held him in a tight grip at his base. Slowly he relaxed and lay back. I said, “Just enjoy.” “Oh, you really don’t have to tell me to do that,” he breathed. And tentatively, I lowered my mouth again, trying to ignore the quick rush of my heartbeat. This fear was a barrier, a hurdle that I needed to overcome. I needed to lose myself in the moment and dispel the past, realize that I was giving pleasure to someone I cared about and I need not be afraid. But the cold dread was there when bits from that past scene flashed into my memory—memories of gagging and sobbing. I closed my eyes, blacked them out, concentrated, breathed through the panic that threatened to rise up at the very back of my conscious. My therapist had taught me some techniques and I rarely had to use them anymore, except for in triggering situations. And this could be one. Fear was a hurdle—an obstacle whose greatest power was in keeping me locked in to one place, one moment in time. I focused on the positives of this particular situation, of the throaty gasps of my partner, who was obviously enjoying himself. Of the rush of power, knowing I was making him feel this way. That I was on top and I was controlling the situation. I could pull myself away whenever I wanted. Soon my mouth sank lower, taking more of him in, my tongue running along his length. His hands grasped at the bedsheets, his legs tensed. My hand tightened around him. I hesitated, wondering what the culmination would be—would he give me warning? Would I be able to pull away in time—or would I want to? I hadn’t even decided yet. Instead of worrying about answering those questions, I concentrated on the now, losing myself in this moment so that I had no awareness of the passage of time, of how long it had taken to bring him to this point. All I knew was that his deep breaths and hoarse murmurings of my name tore currents of desire through me, each one of them a pebble dropped into deep waters, my soul rippling from their centers. I moved my mouth up and down until suddenly he tensed, sitting up. He moved my head away and grasped himself. He came on my breasts and stomach instead of in my mouth. His protectiveness warmed my heart. And I thought back over his behavior since the beginning, from that strange moment on the terrace of the penthouse in Amsterdam. He’d been like this from the start—even when he didn’t know me very well. A few minutes later, in the shower, I told him. “You are a very special man, Adam Drake.” He looked at me for a moment, hesitating as he washed his hair. “What did I do wrong now?” I laughed. “No. I mean—just—thank you for being you. I know that sounds corny, but that’s exactly what I wanted to say.” I moved up to him and kissed him soundly and then backed away. He resumed washing his hair, watching me, a smile on his sexy lips.

We kissed each other good-bye—I in my beach cover-up and bathing suit, ready for my day tour, and he in his business suit, sans the jacket. Before he walked out the door, I blotted some perspiration off his forehead. “Thanks, dear,” he muttered in parody and kissed me as he left. And I enjoyed my day, taking in the snow-white beaches and even doing a little snorkeling. My guide took me to the beautiful Diamond Falls, a gorgeous cataract that fell down multicolored rocks and shimmered in the early afternoon sun. I savored the stunning scenery of this pristine Caribbean island, even though the heat was considerable. I made it back to the suite by about four o’clock. Knowing that Adam would be returning to dress for dinner, I wanted to be ready. I put on the cute little sundress from London and the matching shoes, brushed out my hair and pulled it back and applied a little makeup to go with my brand new tan from the afternoon. I was in the bathroom finishing up when he entered. I hurried with the finishing touch of my lip gloss and skipped down the stairs to greet him. The first thing that clued me in that something was wrong was the stiffness in his shoulders, his jerky movements as he set down his laptop case on the nearby desk, unbuttoned his vest and undid his tie. I hesitated behind him, certain he’d heard me. But he made no acknowledgment. I took a deep breath. “Hard day?” He didn’t look at me but his hand stopped for a moment before resuming. “It was a pleasant and easy set of meetings. It’s been a very good day, actually.” But the tone of his voice belied him. It did not match his words. “Things were going well, until I checked my e-mail.” I puzzled at that. “Bad news from home?” He continued to avoid my gaze, rolling his tie so it wouldn’t crease and then laying it aside with care. “It was an e-mail from Heath Bowman, actually.” I swallowed in a tight throat, heart thumping with sudden worry. “Is he okay? Was he trying to get hold of me?” Adam unbuttoned his cuffs and the first few buttons on his shirt. When he turned to me, his face was stern—and he looked very much like the asshat I’d first met at that hotel in Costa Mesa over a month ago. “He’s just fine. But he had a lot to say to me—ranting about shit that I had no idea was going on. And I’m not a person that takes kindly to being left in the dark.” I tried to think of what Heath could have written to piss Adam off so badly. Then, with a sinking feeling, I remembered my last conversation with Heath—where I’d asked him to refuse the money. Goddamn it, Heath. His timing sucked. I folded my arms defensively across my chest. “What did he say that has you so pissed off?” He shrugged stiffly. “You tell me. You seem to know a lot more about what’s going on here between us than I do.” A dark feeling of foreboding fell on me like a blanket. I shifted my stance. “Yeah, there’s…probably more than one thing you could be pissed about.” His gaze sharpened. “Thanks, Emilia,” he said tightly before walking off and disappearing into the bathroom. Shit. I ran to my bag and fished out my phone, frantic to bring up my e-mails before he came back. Maybe Heath had cc’d me on the message he’d sent to Adam or at least deigned to tell me what he’d meant to accomplish by e-mailing Adam. This was the first time since arriving that I’d even looked at the damn phone. But the reception on this side of the hotel was crappy and my little loading symbol spun and spun without ever updating. When I heard him behind me I jumped and dropped the phone onto the nearby chair. I turned, tucking a strand of errant hair behind my ear. His vest was off and the glimpse of his strong neck and chest where his shirt opened drew my eyes. I swallowed. I didn’t want this confrontation. Not

now. Goddamn it. I didn’t want it ever, actually. I’d just wanted to fade back into the woodwork—let my fairy tale dissipate and go back to my normal life without ever having to deal with this unpleasantness. I cleared my throat. “Okay, first, about the money…” He looked at me expectantly but he said nothing, waiting for me to continue. “After our conversation the night I stayed over at your house, I decided—I mean, I figured we wouldn’t go through with this, right? So—so I thought it was best to have the money sent back to your account. I asked Heath to do it. No—no services rendered, no payment. And this whole fucked-up thing can just fade away and we won’t have to—” His jaw clenched. “I don’t want that money back.” A fist closed at my side. His eyes darted to it. “Well, tough shit. You’re getting it back.” He sighed and looked away, out over the bay. “It’s not prostitution if we don’t sleep together.” I shook my head. “Um, no. Wrong. You sent me money. We’ve been fooling around. It is prostitution. I obviously don’t have the same problem with it that you do, so don’t turn this around on me. I’m doing you a favor by calling this off.” He blinked. “The auction was for your virginity.” “That’s a clear-cut argument, if you’re splitting hairs.” I raised my hand and jutted a finger toward his solid chest. “You keep saying that you’re the one in control of this situation and yet you have been losing control all along and that’s the real reason you’re pissed.” His jaw set but he stood absolutely still. A fist of foreboding closed over my chest. He wore that strangely calculating expression—the one that meant he was thinking about ten other things alongside the conversation he was currently having. When he spoke, it was with a quiet, even voice despite the anger in his eyes. “If you sent the money back, there is no deal now.” I shifted my stance, feeling like a dragonfly about to be lured into a spider’s web. “That’s right. The deal is canceled.” His eyes met mine, hard as flint. “So what about this bullshit about not seeing each other again when we return home?” I exhaled. “That was always part of the agreement—” He made a chopping gesture with his hand. “But you just said there is no agreement.” I shook my head. “There’s no future for us. I mean, given how we first met and the arrangement and how everything has turned out. Heath said it best and I ignored him for so long. It’s sick. This is sick.” The flush crept up from his jaw into his chiseled cheeks. “And what the hell does Heath know about us? I mean about what’s really going on here. He doesn’t. So why are you letting his opinions influence you? Why are you listening to him and not to me?” I lowered my face, put my hand to my forehead. I couldn’t say the words that were almost on my lips. Because I can’t trust you. Now it was my turn to remain silent. Because honestly, I had no words and I could feel his agitation mounting no matter how much he fought to appear calm. “So everything that’s gone down between us is sick? What happened in that bed this morning was sick?” He spoke in an even voice that was taut, edgy. A vein at his temple throbbed. I shook my head. “No.” “Then what is this all about? Do you want to end this?” “I don’t even know what ‘this’ is! What is there to end?” I finally said. Then I cleared my throat, my arms stiffening with indignation. “This was you…bidding on an auction for some unknown reason—an auction that you fundamentally cannot believe in. And then prolonging the outcome for as long as you can. You’ve manipulated this all along and now you are asking me to trust you? To listen to you? You should have let me go at the beginning so I could go through with this with someone else.” He swallowed. “It’s not too late,” he finally said. It sounded like the words had been torn from him.

My chin came up and I folded my arms across my chest, his words stinging me like a shower of sharp pebbles. “You’re right. It isn’t.” But my chest felt heavy. Because I wanted him, now. I wanted the experience to be with him and I couldn’t name why. The thought of going out and finding someone else—maybe Mr. New York or some Arab sheik or something—actually left me with a sick feeling. If I couldn’t use him for the money, then maybe I could use him for the experience my body had been craving since he first touched me. He moved up to me then, with hard eyes and stiff posture, a hand working at his side. He looked into my eyes, first one and then the other. “Emilia,” he breathed. My eyes fluttered closed. “Look at me.” I opened my eyes and tilted my face to him. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted this tension between us to ease. And the fierce ache rising up from the center of my being told me I wanted his hands, his body on mine. No more talking. No more arguing. No more discussion of a “deal.” As if he read my thoughts, his mouth sank to mine, his hand steadying me at the back of my neck, curving around my bare flesh there. Goose bumps prickled down my arms and legs. His kiss was so overpowering, it sucked me into him—like I was caught inside a raging hurricane, wrapped inside this force of nature called Adam and could not find my way out. When he straightened, we were both panting. “There,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Would you mind telling me what was ‘sick’ about that?” I fought for breath and he pulled me to him again, another powerful, consuming kiss. I shivered in his arms and his hands went to my shoulders. With two swift movements, he pushed my sundress off my shoulders and it slid to the floor. His mouth was on my neck, running his tongue and lips along the sensitive skin. The touch struck molten sparks through my body. I wrapped my arms around his neck. One of his arms locked around my waist. The other went around to the back of my bra, unfastening it easily. “I need you,” he said. My eyes closed and my body heeded his call. “We shouldn’t,” but my voice was weak, faltering, because I could not put the full force of my belief behind it. His mouth, hands and tongue were too convincing otherwise. His head came up, taking my ear between his lips, running his tongue over the lobe. Heat shot through my body. “Can you deny this?” he said in a harsh whisper. “Can you just walk away from whatever this is between us?” And then he backed toward the bed, tugging me along with him. I stepped out of my shoes. My nerves drew taut like harp strings. His eyes were flame and frost from one moment to the next—anger, passion, pure lust. “I’m going to show you what we can be like together.” He pulled me to him again and we kissed and my body responded to the sensual promise in those words. I trembled. “You’ll hate yourself if you do this.” “I’ll hate myself more if I don’t,” he said between clenched teeth. He turned and laid me gently on the bed. Wearing nothing but panties, I looked up at him, feeling vulnerable as his burning eyes raked over me. They scorched me like errant embers from a bonfire and he made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt and losing it, along with his pants. He freed his erection from his underwear and he was naked. My breathing slowed. He was beautiful— every developed crease, every curve of firm, packed muscle. His ready shaft, a potent reminder of his maleness. “Take off your underwear,” he said. And slowly, my eyes locked on his, I did. Somewhere in the back of my mind I doubted where this was appearing to go. We had been here before—several times—and he had always pulled away, always stopped himself with an iron grip on his self-control. It would happen

again, despite that ragged wildness I saw deep in his black eyes. He’d fight for control and he’d win. And he’d do nothing he’d regret. Under his scrutiny, my nipples came to hard points and damp heat pooled between my legs. Slowly, he lowered himself to sit at the edge of the bed, running an almost reverential hand over my breasts, my belly, my thighs, my sex. “So beautiful, Emilia. You are so damn beautiful.” I closed my eyes. I’d just been thinking the same about him. “Thank you.” He took a deep breath and spoke the words haltingly, as if some part of him still fought and struggled to keep them inside. “If you tell me right now you don’t want it, we won’t do this.” My gaze fixed on his, unwavering. It was time to tell the truth. The consequences be damned. “I want this, Adam. Not because of money, and not because anyone is making me. I want it because I want it.” He moved so fast it was almost a blur. He was on top of me in seconds holding my arms against the mattress as his body pressed me down. His mouth was on mine again, but at that moment, I realized it wasn’t going to be long. He wouldn’t spend another second on foreplay because we’d been engaging in the most frustrating game of foreplay for a month. He nudged my knees apart and I spread them for him. He stared into my eyes, just like he’d said he would. I’m going to watch your face when you take it in. And in one sure, confident move, without any more hesitation, he pushed himself inside me and there was nothing slow about it. His body was so hot, as if he was on fire. I tried not to stiffen from the sharp pain I felt as he penetrated me. He saw my face, my widening eyes. He felt me tense underneath him, but he didn’t pull back. He pushed in without letting up, as if once having decided to travel down this path, he wouldn’t turn away from it. Soon he’d eased himself all the way in and he paused, still watching me closely. “You all right?” I didn’t speak, just nodded. His hands gripped mine, and our fingers entwined. His mouth connected with mine, our tongues twisting around each other. And he began to move. I’ll admit, there was more than a little pain. He felt very big inside me as my body stretched around him. But as he maintained his gentle rhythm, there was something else there. A deep, fulfilling pleasure. A feeling of ultimate connection. Not just at the juncture of our bodies but our hands, our mouths. I’d never felt physically a part of someone else as much as I did at this moment. And the erotic slide of him deep inside me, with each thrust, spoke of possession and belonging. He possessed me and belonged to me. I did the same. Soon his movements came faster, more urgently, his eyes closed in concentration. He released my hands, rising up on his elbows, watching me again. The changed angle relieved some of the pressure, and sharp, breath-stealing pleasure shot through me, erasing the discomfort. I found myself urging Adam to continue doing what he was doing, telling him how good it felt. When I moaned his name, it seemed to put him over the edge. He plunged into me, pushing his hips flush against mine, penetrating deeper than before. I caught my breath, somewhere on the threshold of pleasure and pain. He stopped, his breath coming so fast it was difficult for him to speak. “I’m not coming until you do.” He reared up so that he was on his knees and continued. I gasped. His strokes came fast and steady, as he recognized that I was close. I squeezed my eyes closed, concentrating on that wave of ecstasy rising up inside me. The only thing in my awareness at that moment was the feel of Adam’s shaft sliding inside me. My back arched off the bed and I was coming in body-convulsing waves of sheer gratification. Only a few more strokes and Adam was coming, too, pushing himself as deep as he could go. His orgasm tore through me as if it was my own. He lay on me for a minute or two after it was done. I wrapped my legs around him, now cherishing the feel of him inside me. When his eyes finally opened, he looked into mine and lowered his mouth to mine, kissing me again.

We lay in each other’s embrace for long, quiet moments before I finally cleared my throat. “I think I should get up and shower.” He nodded, scooting aside to allow me to rise. When we left the bed, I noticed he’d stopped to stare at the bedspread. Looking back, I saw a small bloodstain there. A strange look crossed his face and he ran a hand through his hair, then reached out and yanked the counterpane off the bed, tossing it into the corner. Minutes later, he joined me in the shower. He was still strangely quiet and we both had receded into our own worlds. No fun scrubbing each other this time. We’d crossed a threshold we could never uncross. We’d taken a step that could never be untaken—that small evidence of a permanent change in my body was also evidence of a change in us. In who we were, both to ourselves and to each other. Adam washed quickly and got out, wrapping a towel around his waist and leaving the bathroom. But I lingered, soaping myself slowly, focusing on the soreness between my legs, examining my own feelings. I was different now. It was just a bit of skin, like I’d always imagined. But when I’d imagined how it would be, I’d always thought nothing would change. Feelings wouldn’t change. But this was different. These growing feelings for Adam were the biggest reason. No, Mia. Stupid girl. I swallowed a sob in the shower as that realization rose up in me. I could love Adam. But I wouldn’t allow it because it went against everything I’d stood for—for so long. I was Mia, the girl who stayed single by choice. The woman who would always take care of herself, because I didn’t need anyone to save me. I saved myself. The thought of never seeing him after this weekend cut a deep and painful trench into me. But I knew it had to happen—and it had to happen before these feelings made me dependent on him. A wave of sudden pain lanced through me like a lightning bolt. The feelings would pass. They were fleeting, I reminded myself. I would stand firm to my decision. And after all, what the hell were we doing here? He didn’t want this any more than I did! There was no reason for me to feel guilty. He was an empty, loveless workaholic who got his needs seen to by fuck buddies. My heart was racing again. I left the shower on shaky legs—and only because my fingers and toes were starting to shrivel. You aren’t going to sleep with him in St. Lucia, are you? Heath’s words came back to me like a sharp slap. I froze, placing my own addendum to Heath’s admonition—because that would be a big mistake. I shook my head—it was too late for self-recriminations. But I still had a choice. We could enjoy our last day and a half here and call it quits after. I was no longer getting paid for the job but I had enjoyed it nonetheless. There was nothing wrong with enjoying another day of it. When I dressed and went out to the main room, almost dreading to see him again, I could tell by his quiet demeanor that similar thoughts had run through his head. He was dressed in khakis and a red T-shirt bearing a Star Trek logo and the word “expendable” printed across his chest. His feet were bare and he sat in front of the open laptop, typing away at that maddening pace, the glow of the screen falling across his handsome features. Without looking up, he asked, “You hungry? I was going to order room service.” I didn’t answer, but walked over to the menu to look it over. Nothing looked appetizing but I knew—I knew—that if I didn’t order, he’d think I was pining or regretful or whatever. The key was to act natural. Act like nothing had happened. Fuck. As if. “It all looks froufrou.” I said by way of excuse. He looked up. Maybe he felt insulted. He was an owner here, after all. “You can order whatever you want. It doesn’t have to be on the menu. You want a steak or something? That’s probably what I’m going to order. I’m famished.”

I shrugged. “Sure.” But the thought of a heavy steak in my stomach right now made it twist with disgust. He went back to typing. “I’ll send the order in right now through the web page.” I hesitated, hit with a wave of irritation. “Are you working?” He didn’t look up. “Yup. Just thought I’d peek in at what’s going on with the progress of our European launch.” I frowned. Work hadn’t been on the schedule for this evening. Yet he’d logged in the first chance he could get after we’d—after… What was this heavy feeling in my chest? I shot a glare at him. He was pulling away from me, and he was using work to do it. Just like he had with everyone else in his life—his friends, his beloved family members. Why did I think I would be immune from this treatment? His behavior stung. He went back to typing, clicking away on his keys, never pulling his head away from his work, giving his complete attention to it. I wasn’t the type of person who needed someone’s undivided attention all the time. In fact, since I’d never desired a relationship, I was pretty lowmaintenance when it came to that. But given what had just happened between us for the first time, and my first time ever, I would have thought he’d be more attentive. Or at least, that’s what I would have liked. Instead, I got a wall of silence. He was a tortoise retreating into the hard, impenetrable protection that was work. The worst came minutes later, however, when dinner arrived. The majordomo laid it out at our table just at the edge of the patio overlooking the bay. Adam ignored both of us as he continued to work. I busied myself by trying to get my e-mail to finally download on my phone. Nothing from Heath at all. When the majordomo left, I sat down at the table and looked at Adam. “Your food’s getting cold.” He typed for just a minute more and then approached the table. “I’m starving,” he muttered. Then he picked up the plate and his utensils and took them back to his desk, leaving me there to eat alone. My jaw dropped but he didn’t notice because he cut a piece of steak, popped it into his mouth and returned to his work. From my angle, all I could see on his screen was a bunch of incomprehensible symbols and commands. He was working on some kind of program. My gut burned. I tried to examine the reasons behind my anger. I felt brushed aside, used. He’d gotten what he’d wanted and moved on. I was a nonperson now. Couldn’t I at least be a friend? Why shower all this attention on me and then the minute we were intimate, ignore me? It made me wonder if that’s what it had been like with my mom and the Biological Sperm Donor. He’d used her, too. And then he’d set her aside like she’d never existed when he had no further use for her. With a jolt of fury, I stood up from my nearly untouched plate, unwilling to mull any of this over in silence and watch his weird way of brooding. I went to the bathroom and grabbed my swimsuit. When I came back, he glanced up from the screen questioningly but said nothing. I pretended not to notice. I waded into the pool, which really was too short for laps, but I couldn’t think of any other way to work out this restless energy short of leaving the room. If I did that I’d be sending him a signal. That I resented or regretted what had happened between us. And I didn’t. But I did resent his current behavior. If he wanted to ignore me, fine. I could do the exact same thing. I pondered all of this, as I continued my short lapping—four strokes, turn, catch breath, four strokes turn. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was starting to make me dizzy and I had no idea how long I’d been at it when I felt a strong hand wrap around my upper arm, pulling me to a halt. I came up sputtering. He was standing beside me in the pool. “What the hell?” I said. “I kept calling you and you wouldn’t stop. How long do you plan to keep at this?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. How long do you plan to blow me off?” He shot me a sharp look. “I’m blowing you off? Why do you think that?”

I wiped the water out of my face. “Maybe because you wired in the first chance you could get and you’re eating dinner over your keyboard. You might do that all the time when you’re alone, but in company, it’s pretty bad manners. And because you’re not talking and I have no idea what is going through your head.” He looked away but not before I noticed irritation on his face. I continued. “Please don’t tell me you treated your other fuck buddies that way.” “You’re not a fuck buddy.” I pulled my arm free, turned and pushed over to the edge of the infinity pool, looking out over the dark bay. The distant crash of the ocean and smell of salt rose up on the breeze. From behind me he sighed. “I’m sorry you thought I was blowing you off.” My face flushed hot with anger. “Not an apology. Don’t bother wasting your breath with that bullshit. Do you have any idea how it makes me feel that you would just ignore me like that after we—after what happened between us? Like yesterday’s forgotten trash.” He came up beside me, hooking his muscular arms over the edge, careful not to touch me. He looked into my face, I kept staring out over the bay. “I’m sorry,” he said after some long, tense moments. “I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. It’s something I do when—when I’m thinking.” I took a deep breath, the tight anger only easing a tiny increment. I looked at him then. He’d shucked his shirt and pants and it looked like he’d jumped into the water in his underwear. “Then talk to me. Tell me what you are thinking about.” He paused. “I was thinking about how I never intended for it to go this far.” A band tightened around my chest. “So you are feeling regretful. Guilty that it happened.” “No,” he said, turning to me. “I’m feeling regretful and guilty that I enjoyed it so much I want to do it again.” A new tension thickened between us. I struggled for breath, because I felt the exact same way. “But you won’t?” He looked out over the bay. “It was never supposed to go this far,” he repeated. Though I hated how he dealt with his inner conflict by shutting me out, I found that inner conflict utterly a reflection of his goodness. He wasn’t using me. He was afraid of using me. He wasn’t disregarding me. He was holding my feelings in such regard that he was denying his own. How could I be angry with that? “But it did. And there’s nothing to regret in that. There was no ‘deal.’ There were no principles violated. The money—” “To hell with the money, Emilia. I don’t give a shit about the money.” I turned to him, clearing my throat. “Here’s the deal, Adam. You are acting like you did something wrong, like you ‘took’ something from me or somehow despoiled me. You know what? It’s our culture that leads men to think like that…that purity in a woman is the ultimate prize.” He grimaced. “You sound like your Manifesto, now.” I shook my head. “I didn’t just write those words for the hell of it. I believed them. My purity was worth no more than yours or anyone else’s. I just happened to be a lot older than most when I finally—” “Gave it up?” “Gave it away. And it means nothing more than that. You did me a favor.” He gritted his teeth so that the muscles in his jaw bulged. I continued. “I enjoyed myself. You said you enjoyed yourself. What is there to regret or feel guilty over?” “What comes next,” he stated flatly. “It’s the way I think. I’m a programmer before I’m anything else. Everything in programming is cause and effect. What are the possibilities that spring from each and every line of code? What will spring from this?” “Stop thinking fifty steps ahead of this one. Just think about the one thing that comes next. What do you

think that is?” His eyes roamed my face. “If I had my way? It would be me fucking you again.” His eyes lowered to my lips. I stopped breathing, heart rushing with excitement. We stared at each other in silence for a long moment before I spoke. “I think that sounds like a pretty good step.” He hooked his arm around my waist, jerked me flush against him. My body came alive with the feel of his hardness. We held each other for long moments. Then he slowly, sensuously began to kiss my neck. “Damn it, Emilia,” he breathed. “How did you strip me bare so quickly?” I reached up, holding his rough face in my hands and we kissed. He kissed me long, tenderly. Our tongues slowly played against each other. Desire arced through me like lightning across a mountain sky. The touch was jagged, searing. His hands were on my back, untying my bikini top, sliding to my breasts. “How is it possible that I want you more now than I did this afternoon?” he growled against my neck. I pulled myself up, hooking my legs around his waist and we continued to kiss. The tightly packed muscles in his back roiled under my hands. “We were both very eager.” He pulled back to look at me. “I’m not sure how eager you were,” he breathed, a smile quivering on his lips. “I got the sense that you were lying back and thinking of medical school.” I laughed. “Hardly.” “I had to fight with myself not to start again the minute it finished. I wanted you so much that I knew once wouldn’t be enough.” His words stole the air right out of my lungs. My body was responding with scorching fire, tightening tension. “I’m going to do it again, Emilia. And again.” His hands were on my hips and I freed my legs so he could yank down my swimsuit bottom. Would we even bother to leave the pool? His fingers rubbed my sex as he sucked my nipples. I fell slack in his arms, focused on the searing pleasure commanding all my senses. The taste of his wet skin, the feel of his taut muscles, the smell of him. He continued to rub and I began the inevitable climb toward orgasm. My hands clamped on his shoulders and I threw my head back, calling his name. He stopped. I suppressed a yelp of frustration. He said, “Turn around and put your hands on the edge.” I stepped back and looked into his face. An animal hunger—something I hadn’t seen in his eyes before —glowed there. “Do it.” The thrill of anticipation jacked up several notches with his command. I turned and placed my hands on the edge of the pool, feeling very exposed. I was naked, looking out over emptiness. No one could see us. We were in total privacy. Adam bent and kissed the nape of my neck, my ears, my back, his hands coming up to cup my breasts and knead them gently, rolling the nipples over in his hands. I gasped and arched against him, reaching behind me to hook my arms around his neck. “Back on the edge, Emilia. Keep them there.” Slowly. Very slowly. I obeyed. He grabbed my hips and pulled them against him. He was naked now, and his erection pressed against me. I gasped. But when I thought he would enter me, he didn’t. He slid his shaft along the seam of my sex, reaching around my front with one hand to press down on my swollen flesh, now fully aroused. And he began to rub against me both from the front and from behind. The feeling was exquisite and soon the quick build of tension between my legs increased, bunching in my belly, heating my insides. I was about to come—the orgasm just beyond my reach. He stopped again. “Adam!” I cried.

“What?” he whispered hoarsely in my ear. “Stop playing around, for fuck’s sake,” I growled. “Tell me what you want. Exactly what you want.” He punctuated the command by pressing down on my clitoris again, as if I needed reminding that it was there. I stiffened against him. “I want your cock. I want it inside of me.” “And then what?” “I want you to slide it in and out until I come,” I panted. I stopped breathing when I felt the tip of him at my entrance. “Ask me nicely.” “Fuck me.” “Nicely, Emilia.” “Fuck me, please.” Without another word he slid into me—pushing in so quickly that my entire body froze. The water lapped up and over the edge of the pool with the force of his movement and I gasped. His chest pushed against me until I was bent forward and he began to move, his chin resting against the top of my head. He grabbed one of my hands and pressed it, under his, against my sex. “Touch yourself here.” And I did, and the combination of these two sensations—of him sliding inside of me from behind, and the pressure on that bundle of nerves in the front—soon had me panting. I was still sore from the last time but that did not detract from the incredible pleasure building inside me. It built more quickly, more intensely than before. I let out a shout. He slammed into me from behind, faster and faster, the water splashing all around us. And I was coming. And this time in hot, urgent pulses that temporarily kept me from breathing. He pushed himself in deep and let out a harsh groan and he was coming, too. When he withdrew, I was bent against the edge of the pool, gasping for breath. He pulled me up against him, holding me to him from behind. “You swallow some water?” I shot him a glare of mock annoyance. “I guess I didn’t need to walk for a few days, anyway.” His chest rumbled against my back. “I can just carry you everywhere.” And with that he picked me up and carried me out of the pool. We dripped everywhere, as he swerved around the bed and right toward the bathroom. This was a dream. And I never wanted to wake up. His arms were a haven around me, soothing me, giving me a sense that I was safe within them. But my heart couldn’t help but rebel—reject the new home it was being offered. It had lived imprisoned inside its own fortress for too long. I had thrown away the key to that lock years ago. Even if I wanted to, I doubted I could muster the ability to find it. Later, I gnawed on my cold steak. I couldn’t get it down fast enough, I was so hungry. “You know, they can heat that up for you or fire you a new one,” he said, approaching in a white terry robe, his magnificent chest peeking from its opening. “I just made a cold steak sandwich with my roll.” I held it up for his inspection and he took a bite, nodding his head after a minute. “That’s not bad.” “Get your own.” “I’m not hungry anymore. For food, anyway.” He shot me a meaningful look. “If you are hungry for anything else, it’s going to be a while before I can recharge.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s not too late to go out. Do you want to go up on the patio for dessert or a glass of wine?” I eyed the bed longingly. “I’m worn out. I’m going to go to bed, I think. You go ahead, if you want.” He looked at me then. “I’m going to clear my schedule tomorrow.” I smiled. Had I gotten through to him? “Thank you.” “I’m not familiar with many of the local sights as I don’t usually play tourist when I come. But I know

there are many good places to visit.” “From the little I saw today, there are. It will be great to finally spend some time with you.” Though whether it was in bed or out and about, I wasn’t sure I cared, at this point. He grimaced as if in regret. “Yeah, I’m sorry. But this was a business trip and I only get down here once a year at most.” Maybe I hadn’t gotten through to him after all. I struggled to hide my disappointment. “Sure,” I said, nodding overenthusiastically. “I get it.” Work always came first. That was his indirect message and I thought of Lindsay’s question, Has he stood you up for work, yet? As if any woman in Adam’s life would have to accept that in order to have him. Well, not me. “I think I’ll take a short walk.” He changed into his clothes and I pulled on my T-shirt and brushed my teeth, collapsing into bed. I knew damn well that he wasn’t strolling the deck. He’d grabbed a flash drive and stuck it in his pocket when he thought I wasn’t looking. He was headed to the resort’s business center to log in from there. If I were a gambling person, I would have bet on it. Hours later, I was vaguely aware of him coming to bed. After a moment, I felt his warm breath near my neck. He planted a kiss on my cheek before rolling over to sleep.

Chapter Fourteen St. Lucia was even more beautiful the next day, as I toured it alongside Adam. We were able to spend time at a secret beach known only to the locals. And I suggested we go back to Diamond Falls so he could see it, too. He’d told me we should go somewhere different because I’d already seen the falls the day before. But I had insisted. And in the end, as we watched the gorgeous white waters of the cataract tumble over the colored yellow, blue and taupe rocks of the cliff, he wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me on the cheek, thanking me for bringing him. The coastal water was a shade of brilliant turquoise against baby-powder white sand. And it was so warm, unlike the water off the coast of California, which was really only tolerable—and even then still chilly—during the height of summer. We returned to the hotel in the late afternoon and I immediately went to the bathroom to wash off the beach. I took my time, leisurely letting the warm water sluice over my body, reinvigorating me after a full day of sun and sightseeing. I had my eyes closed, rinsing my hair, when I felt a rush of air near me. The shower was open to the rest of the bathroom, tucked in a corner of colorful bright blue tile. I felt his presence behind me long before he actually touched me—to nudge me out of the way of the water spray! “That’s enough water hogging,” he said with laughter in his voice. I stepped aside but didn’t leave the shower, watching while he scrubbed himself down, washed his hair and rinsed himself of sand, salt and soap. The masculine hardness of his body was beautiful to behold. I wanted to reach out and touch it, map the valleys and hills of the firm muscles under his skin. I didn’t think I could ever get enough. When I looked up into his face, I saw him watching me watching him. He smiled and held my gaze, lowering his hands from where he rinsed his hair, reaching for me and pulling me against him. “You better watch out.” I murmured against his lips as I pressed my hands to his hard chest. “You might accidentally get a tan while you are here.” He laughed. “Are you mocking me, Ms. Strong?” “If you got a tan, you’d definitely lose your geek card.” He pressed his mouth to mine and we kissed as the warm water coursed over us from the rain showerhead—like a tepid tropical downpour. I kissed the raindrops from his jaw and the small curl of a rumble rose in his chest. “This is the fourth time I’ve showered with you and every single time I’ve wanted to pin you to the wall and fuck you,” he growled. “And this time?” I said breathlessly. He kissed me again, this time forcing my mouth open to accept his invading tongue. His hands went to my hips and he moved us to the corner of the shower. When he pulled his mouth away, my breath faltered. “This time I’m going to finally do it,” he said in a hoarse voice. He lifted me several inches off the ground and sandwiched my body between his and the cold, smooth tile of the shower. He kissed me again and nudged his knee between my legs, cueing me to open them for him. I locked them around his hips and he gasped against my mouth. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he murmured. My arms tightened around his neck as he maneuvered the lower halves of our bodies to line up properly. “Likewise,” I said. He entered me in one swift push and I gasped. The fit was tight and things were still tender from the newness of this intimate contact. I braced my hands against his shoulders and with a groan, he began to move against me.

Our wet bodies slid together in sensual abandon as he drove himself in, again and again. His mouth pressed against my temple and he rocked his pelvis against mine, the pleasure scorching me. “I don’t know how I kept my hands off you all this time,” he groaned against my hair without once missing a beat in his rhythm. “Adam,” I whispered. “You feel so good inside me. Make me come.” He pulled my right leg away from his waist so I could leverage myself, tiptoed on the floor. My left leg remained hooked around his hips. He drove into me with longer, fiercer strokes. “You’re so tight. So goddamn tight. You feel so good. Like you were made to fit only me.” He kissed me along my brow and the rise to climax threatened as he continued. And with a few more fierce pushes, I was coming, gasping his name. But he didn’t stop, didn’t wait for me to catch my breath. His movements grew more urgent, more rushed until with a long growl, he climaxed, stiffening, his pelvis grinding against mine. After several long, silent moments, his body went lax, his face buried into my neck. “Fuck,” he breathed, his fingers pressing into my hips. “That was incredible.” His mouth found mine and we kissed, his arms latching around my waist, cinching me against him. I pulled my mouth away laughing. “I think we just wasted about fifty gallons of water.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “It’s your fault for being so fucking irresistible.” He kissed me again—a dizzying caress of his lips on mine that made me want him again as ferociously as before. I pulled away, knowing that if this didn’t end now, we’d never get to dinner. I took the brief time away from him to contemplate us in silence. Every time I was in his presence, that rushing force of nature tore at me, made me want to release my convictions and be blown away by him, whisked away into the unknown by gale force winds from the grounding bedrock to which I clung. There were things I needed to do. A person I needed to become—that vision of myself in surgical scrubs, which had been so important to me for most of my youth. I was the one who was going to save others, save myself. I couldn’t get carried away by someone else’s will. My past failures notwithstanding —I closed my eyes and my fists in conviction—I had to hold on to that vision and not allow it to slip away. On our last night together in St. Lucia, we ate at the Place, the resort restaurant that featured flavorful Caribbean-inspired cuisine. Adam dressed in a black suit and I wore the crème-colored gown from the night of Adam’s house party, feeling again like Cinderella about to dine with her handsome prince. His eyes slipped over me appreciatively as we sat down. I shook my head, laughing. “You are unbelievable.” He smiled. “What? I was about to tell you how gorgeous you are.” “And how you can’t wait to get me out of this dress.” “I was going to save that for a little later, but since you took the words out of my mouth…Let’s just say that dessert isn’t on the menu. The last time you wore that dress, I tore off your panties. I can’t be completely responsible for my actions later tonight.” He grinned wickedly. “Unbelievable,” I repeated. “Making up for lost time.” And my eyes darted away. I tried not to think about the horrible letdown that would follow when we got off that plane in LA. Something tightened in my chest and—contrary to everything my head had been telling me, my heart began to wonder if I could bargain my way out of the decision to end things after tonight. What if we agreed to get together occasionally for sex—and maybe dinner once in a while? Would he even want it? I glanced at him as he cut into his pecan-encrusted snapper. He was so damn handsome in that suit—or who was I kidding—in just about anything he wore, and even better naked. And he was kind most of the time—the times that he chose to act like a human instead of a robot. I was ready to make a tradeoff for more time with him, on my terms.

We lingered over our crème brulée dessert, which apparently was on the menu. He darted a pointed look at me from where his head was bent, scraping out the last of the custard with his spoon. I set aside my barely touched dish and folded and refolded my hands on the table. It was time to stop being a coward. I took a deep breath. “I don’t think I could’ve picked a more perfect night for our last night together.” He didn’t look up but his features chilled. Setting down his empty dish, he stared at it for a long moment. “It doesn’t have to be,” he said in an even, quiet voice. Maybe he’d been thinking the same thing I had. Maybe he was ready to bargain for a little more time, too. He looked up and fixed me with that intent, dark stare. The air pressure thickened between us, making the barometer soar as I struggled to find my breath, to find my will. That I wanted to be with him again so much scared me. If it happened, it needed to be on my terms, not his. “It needs to be,” I said, my voice faltering. His brows lowered just a fraction over those piercing eyes. He took no other action but to enfold one of my hands inside his, running a thumb across my wrist in a sensual, possessive move. I swallowed, struggling to ignore the desperate thumping of my pulse. He seemed to be wrestling with himself, coming to some unknown decision. I braced for the myriad of possibilities of what it could be. Of them all, I could never have predicted in a million years what would next come out of his mouth. “We are more to each other than you realize, you know,” he said. My wrist trembled inside his hand, feeling so vulnerable, so delicate, so trapped. Cold fear clamped at the base of my throat. Was he about to admit to feelings for me? It was time to push him away. Far away. “Adam, we’ve had a lot of fun together and I’ve had an amazing time. But we hardly know each other. It’s only been a month—” “No.” He swallowed. “It hasn’t.” I clamped my mouth shut and waited expectantly for him to explain himself. He gave a short nod as if reassuring himself and then glanced away for a split second, his hand still wrapped around my wrist. “You once asked me why I bid on the auction. I never answered you, but I assume you still want to know.” I nodded. “I can tell you the exact moment I knew I would win that auction. Win it, not just bid on it. You’d sent me the rough draft of your Manifesto to read and we’d been up discussing it in game chat past two a.m. I’d spent most of that time trying to talk you out of the whole thing, but you wouldn’t budge and when you started to get upset, I dropped the subject. That was the moment I knew I’d prevent it in another way because I could.” I grew cold inside and dizzy with disorientation. What the hell was he talking about? I never had that conversation with him. That was months before we’d even met! I’d stayed up talking that night with…My jaw dropped. I shook my head. “What—?” I gasped. He watched me intently, like a child might watch a firecracker after lighting the fuse and waiting for it to explode. I shook my head again. “That wasn’t you. It was—” Fuck. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. I remembered that conversation. He’d been so adamantly against the auction. He’d tried to pick apart every single argument I’d made in the Manifesto and it had hurt my feelings. We’d sent in-game messages back and forth for hours, my wrists growing sore from all the furious typing. And my mind flew to the times before. When I’d poured my heart out to him about my mom and how sick she was. About how helpless I felt being too far away to care for her, to drive her to all her appointments. He’d consoled me then. Had told me I was making her proud by staying in school. That I was so close and that he believed in me.

I was shaking and pale, and static crackled behind my ears, the only other sensation where his fingers tightened over my wrist. I struggled for a breath as if I’d been underwater a hundred years. “You’re FallenOne.” And, almost imperceptibly, he nodded, his obsidian eyes never leaving mine. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes fluttered closed. I pulled my arm back and felt only the tiniest resistance from his hold before he relinquished it. I stared at the tabletop between us, my mind racing over all the things he knew. Every experience we’d shared. Our regular gaming group of four had always had a great time playing together, but Fallen and I had spent hours and hours just alone in each other’s company. Online text chat, doing personal quests in the game, sharing quest notes and items. In some ways, I felt as close a friendship to him as I did to Heath. To Fallen—to Adam—I corrected myself. “This doesn’t make sense. Fallen lives on the East Coast— he’s a student—” I said, my voice shaking, still unable to look at him. He shifted in his chair. “Some of that was to mislead you. Some of it was stuff I never actually said but you led yourself to believe. Sometimes I was on the East Coast for work when I logged on.” He knew so much about me and I knew practically nothing in comparison. On the day my mom had told me about her diagnosis, I’d turned to him because Heath was on a camping trip with his then-boyfriend. Fallen and I had chatted all night long and logged off at six in the morning. I’d cried to him. Sobbed over the very real possibility of losing her. I struggled to breathe. “How—how did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?” He glanced away and folded his hands on the table in front of him. “I’ve told you that I go into the game and play from time to time. I playtest my own product—I wasn’t lying about that. I get into groups and help people finish quests and get the rewards that they needed. It’s fun to see them enjoying the game so much.” He hesitated and cleared his throat but didn’t look at me. “One night I grouped with this Barbarian Mercenary and Spiritual Enchantress and their friend, Persephone. I could listen to your voice chat even though I was in text. I think we were working on one of the newbie quests that night. That last piece of quest armor for Fragged—I mean Heath. I’ve had fun in other groups but never like that night. I laughed so hard at all the witty jokes that were flying around as we went through that annoying dungeon. And then Heath told me about your blog, said I should go read it. So I did.” He shot a tentative look my way, but I was staring into my own little happy place somewhere on the tabletop. “I loved the blog and—well, I broke my own rule about not grouping with the same people more than once. That night after work when I logged in, I went looking for your group again. I seldom left the office that week. I actually looked forward to logging on with you guys every night. That probably sounds pathetic—” I still couldn’t look at him. “No more pathetic than my looking forward to logging on to group with you all weekend.” He paused, fidgeted with his laced hands for a moment. “Between reading your blog and gaming with you and then spending all that time in game just getting to know each other over in game messages as much as we did. I got to know you. I got…attached.” Some invisible vise clamped around my chest and my eyes and throat stung. That same cold fear was back and this time I was numb with it. I blinked, worked my hands on the table in front of me, tried to tune out the irritating sounds of dinnerware and chatter from nearby tables. My eyes drifted to the candle flame gleaming inside a hurricane lamp on the table. What did this all mean? We were more to each other than I’d realized—but it had never been more than he’d realized. We’d been on unequal footing all along. He’d known everything and had willingly kept me in the dark. And now, he said he was attached. I drew in a sobbing breath. I was attached, too. But now, I was determined that there would be no tomorrow for us. It was too life-altering. That cut would slice me twice as deeply. Tomorrow I’d be

losing both Adam and FallenOne with the same severing blow. I pushed back from the table and out of my chair. “We should go,” I said quietly. His eyes widened and he stood. We faced each other across that table for a long moment. The swirl of chaos inside me told me I had hours—probably more like days or weeks—of thinking to sort all this out and figure out what it was. But I didn’t need him to speak to me of being attached. I didn’t need his confusing, tempest-like sway ripping my control from me. I didn’t say another thing as I turned to leave and he followed closely behind. We twisted down long walkways and up two flights of stairs to make it to our suite. After several long minutes of silence, Adam rested a light hand on the small of my back, walking beside me in the darkness as the balmy Caribbean air swirled around us. As my dress was backless, I was all too aware of that hand and the heated imprint it left on my skin, the way his thumb moved across it with the tiniest caress. I was so focused on that touch that I nearly tripped and fell in my heels, making a huge fool out of myself. Back in the suite, things felt tense, awkward. I looked around the room, with the candles lit and the bed turned back, the white mosquito netting loosed and dancing in the breeze like an errant bridal veil. My heart started to race. How could I avoid the conversation, the declarations that were certain to come, that were hanging in the air like dark clouds threatening to drop a torrent of rain at any moment? He’d moved to the dresser and, after having doffed his coat, was now undoing his tie. He looked at me, his face unreadable, but he didn’t say anything. I went to fetch my T-shirt, which was in the dresser beside where he stood. I thought to change for bed because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I wasn’t terribly tired and I knew I’d have no ability to concentrate on a study guide. I pulled the shirt from the middle drawer on the dresser while he watched me with unreadable eyes. He had unbuttoned his shirt and I was feeling weird and tense and shy. I kept my eyes averted. I moved to the bed, stepping out of my heels and letting the gauzy material of my skirts float around my legs. Of the three, this was the dress that most made me feel like a fairy princess. Only thing was, midnight was about to strike and I could feel it in every tense look we shared, the silence hanging over our room. And my handsome prince—well, he wasn’t who I thought he was, either. I reflected on that. He knew so much about me and yet he’d always kept himself a mystery from me. He was hiding still, behind the persona, behind this entire arrangement. Heated anger stirred in my chest. I was most angry with myself, for not knowing, for not realizing. While I’d mostly found Adam remarkably easy and fun to be with, I’d never once associated him with FallenOne. How could I have been so blind? I almost went to change in the bathroom, but that seemed silly after we had seen so much of each other. I laid the shirt on the bed and tried not to focus on where he was in the room—or the fact that he’d removed his shirt and undershirt and now wore only his suit pants and socks. I wouldn’t look. Nope, I wouldn’t. Confusion or no, my body still wanted his. Hungrily so. Probably more now than before we’d started sleeping together. I reached around and unhooked my skirt before loosening the halter at my neck and lowering it, feeling the cool bay breeze hit my breasts, bringing my nipples immediately to hardened points. I unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it. Suddenly his hands cupped my hips. He’d come up behind me while I was concentrating on trying not to notice him. I froze and he slowly pulled me back against him. “Hello, beautiful,” he whispered against my hair. I closed my eyes, shivers cascading down my spine in a waterfall of quick succession. Just a couple whispered words and the lightest touch from this man and I was in pieces, ready to surrender to him. I didn’t say anything, just let him hold me for a long moment, the feel of his warm, muscular chest pressed against my back stirring my desire to life.

“Emilia, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” I held my breath. His hands cupped my shoulders, traveled down my arms. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted our bodies pressed together, sticky with sweat and passion. I wanted one last memory before I said good-bye. I turned around in his arms and pressed myself to him. “I want you. Right now.” He hesitated, looking into my eyes for a long time before bending to kiss me. I wanted the storm. I welcomed it. I wanted him to fly over me and overwhelm me, to suck me in so I wouldn’t think or feel anything else but his hands, his mouth, his body. I threw myself into that kiss, opening for him, hooking my arms around his neck to pull him to me. This would be our last time together. A tiny sliver of me lightened with relief. At the back of my mind, the greater part of me protested. His eyes darkened and his hands were on my breasts, softly caressing the peaked nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through me. He nudged me toward the bed and I acquiesced, swept up in him. “Emilia—” he said. “Shh.” I put my hand on his mouth. “No talking.” He pulled my hand away, grabbing both my wrists, leaning against me to push me down on the bed with him. He held my arms above my head, cinching my wrists together in the grip of one hand to secure them there. He then proceeded to kiss me senseless. His other hand floated across my breasts, my stomach, to rest at the apex of my thighs. His head came up and he looked me in the eyes, a multitude of questions unasked. I wouldn’t let him give them voice. I couldn’t. I squirmed against his hold, pushing my chest toward him. “Stop it,” he said. I stilled, looked at him with the question that he didn’t wait for me to ask. “You’re using sex to avoid talking about this.” I closed my eyes and pushed against his hold. His grip tightened in response and my pulse leapt. I ached for him everywhere. “Please, Adam. I want you inside me.” His hand returned to rest atop my underwear and he began a firm but languorous stroke. My gaze flew to his and he had that calculating stare that had taught me to be wary. “You want this?” he asked, sinking his mouth to my nipple, taking it between his lips, his teeth. I gasped, throwing my head back, arching myself into him. “Yes. Now. I want you now.” He tore his mouth away almost violently, eliciting another cry from me. The pressure of his hand on my sex increased. “What about tomorrow? Do you want me tomorrow, too?” I froze and looked away. Now I understood him. If I was using sex as avoidance, he was using sex to force the conversation. His hand stilled, then slipped inside my underwear. His touch was light but I shivered everywhere, needing more. “Don’t talk about tomorrow,” I whispered, my eyes closing tight. His fingers slid inside me and stopped again. “I want to talk about tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that—” I struggled against his grip on my hands. My eyes shot open and I fixed him with a ferocious stare. “No.” He moved his fingers again, stroking in and out, and my eyes rolled back, an intoxicating dizziness overtaking me. Trying to concentrate on anything else was like downing three shots of whiskey in quick succession and then walking a tightrope. “Fuck me,” I whispered. His hand didn’t stop its tortuous slide inside me. The tension tightened in my belly. I moaned. “I don’t want to,” he said, his posture stiffening. “Not if I can’t have you tomorrow, too. And the day after. Not if this would be the last time.” Despite my aggravation with him, his hands were working a spell on me. I was so close, and he knew

it. He withdrew his hand, then rolled his hips on top of mine, pinning me down. “Will this be the last time, Emilia?” he asked, his voice husky. His erection pressed against my sex. Here was my moment of leverage. I’d dictate my terms. He’d have no choice but to abide by them. I couldn’t have planned it better. “I’ll have sex with you again.” I gasped when he moved over me, fitting himself between my legs. “I can be your fuck buddy.” He thrust against me again, his hand still clamped around my wrists. “But I don’t want a fuck buddy.” I hesitated, frowning. Wouldn’t most guys be overjoyed about that type of arrangement? He seemed more annoyed than anything else. Confusion swirled inside me. It threatened to rise up and drown out these other, more pleasant feelings. “We could hook up—” His expression went blank, his voice flat and even. “I want more than a cheap, quick fuck.” My jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, irritation contending with arousal, threatening to supplant it. “Then you can fucking buy me dinner once in a while,” I ground out between clenched teeth. Our gazes collided in silent struggle. He released my wrists and I immediately put my hands on his solid shoulders and shoved. He didn’t budge. “I know what I want,” he said in that firm, charged voice that held an angry undercurrent. “And when I put my mind to something I tend to get it.” Heat flushed my face and I looked away from his dark, penetrating stare. “I hate to disappoint you, but in this case, you aren’t going to,” I replied. He studied me for a long moment and I couldn’t take his scrutiny a minute longer. I pushed on his shoulders again and he slid off, unburdening me of his weight. I sat up and ran a hand through my hair while he rolled on his side and watched me. “What are you afraid of?” I clenched my teeth. “Who said I was afraid?” “I’m saying it.” Stiffening, I bent to snatch up my T-shirt and pull it over my head, turning my back to him in the process. “There are two of us talking here and only one of us is a proven liar. I’d stop talking if I were you.” I jerked to my feet and began pacing in front of the bed. Adam watched me with enigmatic eyes the color of midnight. “Actually there’s only one of us really talking. Me.” I smirked, gesturing at him sharply. “The proven liar. That’s just great.” He shrugged. The movement was stiff, like he was faking it. “You’re the one who’s lying now.” I halted, turning to him with arms crossed over my chest. “Oh? And what am I lying about?” “Your feelings. About the fact that this doesn’t bother you. You don’t want to talk because you’re afraid of what this is going to start.” Hot anger pooled, settled into my joints, stiffening them. “I’m pissed at you for not telling me the truth. How’s that? I may have been preparing myself to lose you tomorrow, but not Fallen.” “You don’t have to lose either one of us,” he said quietly. I put my hands to my forehead. The whole concept made my brain ache. “You are still two separate people in my head. I haven’t even had a chance to absorb any of this and you demand to know my feelings? I don’t even know what the fuck they are.” He stood and walked toward me slowly, as if I were a scared rabbit that might hop away from any sudden movement. The ambient light gleamed on his muscular torso, his pants slung low on his hips. He was so damn sexy he took my breath away, even when he was irritating the hell out of me. He stood very close but didn’t touch me. “Then allow yourself the time to figure it out. Give us the time.” I sighed and looked away, off to the side, anywhere but at him. “No.” His hands came up to take my shoulders in a gentle hold. When he spoke, his voice had a desperate

edge to it. “Emilia—” “No!” I gritted out, finally meeting his gaze. “Explain to me about this fairy tale you are proposing. About how something like this is supposed to even work—even beyond the trust issues, which are monumental at this point. With my two jobs and preparing for medical school and your hundred-hour workweek, how would something like that work? Neither of us even date.” “It’s not a fairy tale. It’s a real life, honest, grown-up relationship where two adults work out their differences once they decide they want to be together—” I pulled back against his hold on my shoulders and he dropped his arms. I continued to back away. “Is all this because you feel guilty about us sleeping together even though you never planned for it to go this far?” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No.” His fist knotted. “I think it is.” His head darted up to pin me down with an angry glare. “Well, you’re wrong. You have no fucking idea what is going through my mind, so stop twisting things to support your cynical and warped view on the world.” I stood still, stunned. I’d never seen an angry outburst from him. I put up a hand in surrender. “Fine. I’m sorry for doing that. I hate it when people do it to me.” He fixed his unwavering gaze on me. “Why aren’t you willing to give it a chance?” I took a deep breath. “Because I don’t want a relationship. Not with you. Not with anyone.” “Why?” Frustration crawled up my spine, tightening that knot between my shoulders. I put my hands to my temples, closing my eyes. “You are making me crazy, Adam.” “Because I’m forcing this conversation when you want to avoid it? It’s been the elephant in the room for days—weeks, now—and I’m not going to shove it aside any longer, no matter how uncomfortable it makes you. When we get back to California, I want to know where we stand. Exactly where we stand.” My mouth set, irritation burning like hot lava. “You’ll be standing in your office somewhere in Irvine and I’ll be standing in my apartment in Orange.” He folded his arms across his chest and angled his head, studying me. “I’m not amused.” “Quit trying to save me. I don’t need you to save me.” He blinked. “Emilia, I’m telling you I want you in my life. I want a relationship with you—as equals— and you somehow twist me into your knight protector coming to a meek maiden’s rescue?” I sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Isn’t that what it is?” He shook his head. “That bastard really fucked you up good. He’s screwed you because in every decision you make for the rest of your life, you’ll never even consider trusting someone enough to allow them in.” I tensed. “I did my therapy. I’m fine. That little shithead has no part in what decisions I make—” He exhaled in exasperation. “I was talking about your father.” Those words hit me like a blow, knocking my breath away. I held up a hand to ward off any more words he might consider hurling my way. Because they stung, like darts sinking into my skin. I fought for breath. Memories of taunts on the playground from my erstwhile friends—Mia doesn’t have a daddy. She’s never had a daddy. At least their daddies came to see them on the weekends, or took them on fancy vacations once in a while. Mine just wished I’d never existed, if he ever thought of me at all. I wasn’t the only child from a broken home. Well, that would imply that our home had ever been in one piece to begin with—but at least they knew their fathers, their paternal grandparents, their siblings, their heritage. Their names. Late at night sometimes I’d hear my mom crying. She’d rifle through a box of letters that I knew were from him. A box of letters that I wished I could burn when she wasn’t around.

She’d tried to tell me, once, who he was. She’d wanted desperately to talk to me about him—upset that I’d only heard the negatives from her and from my grandmother as I grew up. But I’d screamed at her. I’d thrown a vase against the wall and shouted that I never wanted to hear her speak a word about that scumbag. And I’d stormed out of the house. He hadn’t cared about me. Why would I care about him? I tried to breathe, instantly aware of the truth behind Adam’s accusation. It burned me like the raging wildfires that screamed through the dry hills in autumn. “Don’t even—” I said, baring my teeth. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even move. “Hit a nerve, did I?” “Fuck you,” I whispered, struggling to dam the tears. They clogged in my throat. I hadn’t cried in the longest time. I was a tough woman. But Adam had shredded my defenses in less than five minutes. He knew too much. I stepped back and gestured stiffly at him. “You don’t know shit about my father.” His expression was grim, gaze focused on me like two laser beams. “I know he turned you into a coward. I know that every single man you look at for the rest of your life is tainted by him. And I know that you are running scared—not just about this but about your entire future. How many times did I tell you to go out and retake that goddamn test? You could’ve taken it a dozen times by now but you still haven’t. You keep studying and studying, hoping for that perfect moment when you’ll know everything, because you’re afraid to fail. In your education, in your life. So you protect yourself in this little isolated cocoon you’ve built. You’re a coward,” he sneered. “What—are you a fucking shrink now?” And I hated how my voice sounded, that strangled sob that escaped my lips on that last word. He heard it because his face changed immediately, softening for the slightest fraction of a second before I got in his face. I strode up to him and shoved against his chest. What I really wanted to do was throw my best right hook at his perfect jaw but, like my attempt at pushing him, it would have done nothing. He caught my wrists and wouldn’t let go when I flailed them. His grip tightened, holding them still easily. I spoke between clenched teeth. “Get out of my head! You have no right to throw your amateur theories in my face because I make a decision you don’t agree with. Especially when you are so fucked up yourself!” A warning gleamed in those coal-black eyes. “I’m fucked up?” I nodded. Fury built inside of me like a pressure valve ready to blow. I wanted to hurt him like he had hurt me. Lash out. Cut him deep. And I knew enough about him to do the damage. “I know you are.” I took a deep breath. “You bought into the auction because you were trying to save me from myself. You say you aren’t my knight protector but you want to be. I’m not her, Adam. I’m not Sabrina and you can’t save her by saving me. It’s too late.” His eyes fluttered closed, then opened and his grip around my wrists tightened just slightly. “You think I don’t know that?” I shook my head. “You’re just as big of an addict as she was—and your mother. You won’t touch hard liquor or drugs but you’ll numb yourself to exhaustion every day with work.” He opened his mouth to protest but I rode over him, raising my voice. “Because you’re clever. You chose an addiction that was socially acceptable. In our culture, it’s a good thing to be a hard worker. People won’t suspect the real reason you do it, if you’re successful.” He paled but I couldn’t stop myself. I’d plunged that knife in, now I had to twist it. “Admit it. Work fills the exact same need as drugs or booze or food. It numbs you, it keeps you at a distance from life. It shuts out everyone who loves you. Your uncle, your cousins. Your friends.” He released my hands and stepped back as if I had burned him. I pressed forward, unwilling to cede my advantage. I gestured at him with a pointed finger. “I know exactly what would happen if we were in a relationship. Maybe I’d become a diversion for you for a little while, until you got bored or until the next

time you had to get your junky fix. Which wouldn’t be long, I’m sure. Just like I know you went up to the business center last night after we had sex in the pool.” He blinked as if I’d slapped him. I gritted my teeth and delivered the last few words with all the venom I felt, still wounded from his accusations. “You have no heart of your own and yet you are trying to convince me to open up mine to you? No, Adam. No way.” The cords on his neck pulled taut and his hands clenched into fists. He shook his head at me. “Unbelievable,” he whispered. We watched each other for long, tense moments, my fingernails clawing at my palms. I was flushed. He was pale. I was full of rumbling rage. He was simmering with quiet fury. We made an odd contrast in opposites. His mouth tightened, and he shook his head. He turned from me and went to find his shirt where he’d hung it across the back of the chair by the desk. With short, jerky movements, he pulled it on and buttoned it. I was anchored in my spot, unable to move, unable to speak. All I could do was feel—feel this pounding wave of agony washing over me as he withdrew, those hurtful words still saturating the air between us. He grabbed his shoes, sat down and slipped them on. I watched, mute and helpless. Those words were like the threshold we’d crossed together earlier—something to hang between us forever, to link us together and push us apart. They could never be unspoken. “Adam,” I whispered, suddenly fearing what he wouldn’t say more than what he would. He looked at me, his eyes blank, cold. “You were right. What was I thinking? I’d finally decided I wanted a woman in my life. You’re just a sad, scared little girl.” He stood and spun, heading for the bathroom. And I was rooted, unable to move, breathe, think. Unable to focus on anything beside the pain blossoming inside me. Minutes later, he reentered. I had gone to the couch, holding my knees to my chest, my mind racing with what to do, what to say. He walked to the door and turned back to me just before leaving. “I’m moving to another room for the night. I suddenly lost my desire to sleep here.” I tipped my forehead onto my knees and he waited just a minute before jerking the door open and slamming it closed. I was cold inside. I could cry if I allowed myself, but the tears didn’t come. I squeezed my knees tighter to me, wondering what this meant. What would the plane ride home be like, sitting next to him, silent, seething? And after that, after he dropped me off, then what? Never see each other again? That had been my clever safety mechanism, clearly delineated and structured from the start. But there was no deal to conclude. So what would be our conclusion? Complete and total estrangement—as if the fairy tale had never existed at all? A tiny shard of glass pierced the center of my chest and my soul was bleeding. I didn’t want to think about it. Somewhere along the line, I moved to the bed and curled into a tight ball and fell into a restive, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Fifteen I shouldn’t have worried about the plane ride home because he didn’t go home with me. In the morning, the majordomo brought me a note with my breakfast. It was a hurriedly scrawled and impersonal card, signed by Adam, saying he had business that would keep him in the region for another week and that he’d seen to all the arrangements to get me home safely. Furiously, I shredded it, frustrated at his lack of willingness to compromise. It was all or nothing with him. So we would become strangers again because he had decided we should be strangers. My chest seized again in memory of our confrontation the night before. We’d hurled hurtful words like daggers and the wounds were still fresh, stinging. They might never heal. Every time I looked at the empty seat next to me on the way home, something twisted in my heart. Already the space where he’d occupied my thoughts and musings felt like an empty, echoing room. And then there was the annoying fact that every time I shifted in my seat, the twinge I felt was a reminder of all that had gone on between us and I relived every touch, every heated whisper, every kiss. I ached from the inside out. *** Under normal circumstances, I would have gone to Heath’s house, probably by way of a supermarket, fetching myself a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and commiserated with him. But I was still angry with him about the e-mail he’d sent to Adam—the one that had sent us spiraling down this crazy path in the first place. Instead, when I got home, I showered, closed all the curtains and slept the remainder of the day and into the next day. I didn’t bother to turn the phone on until I woke up at noon. And of course, there was a message from my mom instructing me to call her as soon as the weekend was over. As it was Monday morning, I complied, riddled with guilt that I’d been ignoring her so much since the whole thing with this auction had begun. I tried to ignore that hollow, aching feeling in my chest whenever I thought about Adam. I tried not to think about him as much as possible. I didn’t succeed very often. My mind seemed drawn to him, like white blood cells swarming on an infection. I laughed at that simile. How very appropriate. My obsession with Adam, this persistent soreness, was not unlike an infection. “How was your study retreat?” my mom asked when I finally got around to calling her back. “Oh, it was good. Got a lot done.” Too bad none of it was actual studying, but it had been a lot more fun. “Am I bringing you back home with me after graduation?” I sighed. Shit. Graduation was at the end of the week. I’d had the semester off but I was walking with my class and I had done next to nothing to prepare for commencement. “I’d rather follow you up. I want my own car while I’m there.” I tried to figure out how I could get out of staying the full week. I’d already taken off way too much time from my job and was in danger of losing it. “I’ve got some surprises for you when you get home. I can’t wait.” I gritted my teeth, but the thought of fleeing all this for a few days and retreating to the comfort of my quiet high desert hometown was oddly comforting. After the phone call was over, I boxed up everything that Adam had “loaned” or gifted to me. The four dresses and accessories, the smart phone and the laptop. I trashed the underwear, not wanting the reminder that it served. And with every jerky movement, I could hear the voice at the back of my mind. Sick. Sick. Sick. Despite my reluctance to admit it, Heath was right. The whole thing between Adam and me had been sick.

Nothing good could have come from our beginnings. The entire interaction between us had been forever tainted by the now-notorious auction. I was numb when I went to work early the next morning. My supervisor called me into her office, berating me for missing so much work and putting me on formal warning. In different circumstances, I would have cared a great deal. To lose that job would mean I could no longer afford to live on my own, to say nothing of its value on my résumé. But I was frozen inside. Dead. And nothing seemed to get through but that distant, constant pain. That feeling that something vital was missing. When I got home from work, Heath was parked at the curb of my apartment complex, playing a game on his iPad. I walked right by his car, pretending not to see him, my grip tightening on my backpack strap. I continued on when I heard the car door open and slam, when I heard his hurried footsteps behind me. I climbed the stairs and didn’t turn until I’d fished out my key to unlock the door. “Hey, Mia,” Heath said. His tone sounded like he was forcing himself to be casual. I turned and glanced up at him before snapping the door open and walking inside, not bothering to close it behind me. “Mia…” he began and I dropped my backpack on the kitchen chair and turned to him, arms folded. “I guess this means he told you about the e-mail, huh?” I tilted my head at him. “What do you want, Heath?” He blinked at my abrupt manner. “I—I wanted to see if you were okay.” “You mean you wanted to see if I survived the blast of that bombshell you decided to drop right in the middle of our trip?” His face crumpled with concern. “Mia…I’m sorry, okay? I thought I was acting for the best.” “For whose best? Mine? Or your conscience?” He paused and changed stance from one leg to the other. “I take it he was pissed. He never replied to me.” I clenched my teeth and walked over to the box I’d packed up earlier. Grabbing a roll of packing tape out of my backpack, I began to seal it up. “Yep. He was pissed. But it doesn’t matter now. It’s over.” Heath watched me for a long moment and I grabbed a marker and wrote Adam’s name on the side of the box. “I’m sorry, Mia,” he repeated, folding his hands over his chest. I shook my head. “Don’t be. It’s how I’d planned it all along.” “What happened over there?” I clenched my teeth. “Don’t want to talk about it.” “Okay.” He shot a wary look at me before nodding to the package. “You want me to drop that off for you?” “He’s still out of town. You won’t get your tour of the place.” His face clouded. “He sent you home alone?” I shrugged. “He still had business in the Caribbean. I had to get back to work.” “I don’t give a shit about a tour. You aren’t all right, Mia.” I jerked a hand at him and his eyes widened. “I’m. Fine.” He held up a hand in surrender. “Okay. Okay. You’re fine. But I’d still like to drop that off for you, or at least drive you over?” I sighed. I could use the moral support to go into the building, even if I knew Adam wasn’t there. I hadn’t even had the courage to log on to the game since I’d been home. Heath told me I should unseal the box or it would never make it past security, so I grabbed a kitchen knife and slit it open again. It was early afternoon when we hit the road, our truce unspoken. I hadn’t accepted his apology but ultimately I knew—even if he didn’t—that the differences between Adam and me had not been Heath’s doing. Heath asked me about the details of the commencement ceremony, and told me he’d make plans to be

there and sit with my mom. As we drove, my frosted heart that wanted to cling to the resentment began to thaw. Fifteen minutes later, we exited the 405 freeway and drove down one of the broad, perfectly planned streets that the city of Irvine was known for. Heath turned in to an industrial park that housed the campus of Draco Multimedia Entertainment. We approached the central building in the complex. It was designed like a modern day castle with intricate turrets of mirrored glass lined in steel. The mirrors caught the early afternoon sunlight and the entire building gleamed as if it were the fabled seat of Camelot. So, the knight protector spent his brooding days inside a castle. Why did that not surprise me? We entered a huge lobby with a circular information desk. Everything inside was chrome and granite and bright as the daylight outside, thanks to all the windows. Heath and I gaped in awe. There were displays and artwork from the various games produced by the company everywhere and I couldn’t decide where to look first. In fact, I was so gap-jawed looking at an exact one-quarter replica of “The Mistress’s Lair”—a threedimensional model of an ice palace—that I forgot to address the guy at security. “Oh! I’m dropping off a package for Mr. Drake.” The security dude looked unimpressed. I opened the flap and he made a quick search of the contents, then wrote my name on a temporary badge and instructed me to drop the package off at his assistant’s desk. Then he called back to the desk to let the assistant know that I was coming. I nodded and shrugged. “Okay.” Heath was still gazing out over the mezzanine at even more elaborate game displays downstairs. “Oh for God’s sake, go down and look, then. I’m sorry you didn’t get your tour.” “You okay to walk back there?” I shrugged. “It’s not that far away and it’s just one of his assistants. He’s still out of the country. I’ll just dump it and be right back.” Heath wasn’t looking at me. A certain display had caught his eye. I cleared my throat. “Wow, is that an alien coming up behind you to assault you with an anal probe?” No reaction. I laughed and he walked off with a wave of his hand. With my box in hand, I followed the security officer’s directions through a big set of double doors, past glassed-in offices that consisted of open desk configurations—no cubicles, it seemed, at Draco Multimedia. People were working on sleek desktop computers, collaborating over tablets and generally focused on work. It was a hive of organized chaos. Down the central hallway, I continued past a glassed-in atrium and patio with grass and planters and artfully arranged tables, now empty because it was just after lunchtime. I finally made it into Adam’s neck of the woods. The security officer had made it seem much closer in his directions than it actually was. Adam’s office—and that of the other company officers, for their names were all on the doors—was preceded by a large atrium complete with receptionist and several busylooking assistants. I moved to the nearest one. “I’m leaving a package for Mr. Drake. Security said to bring it here?” The receptionist pointed to an assistant at a desk a little further back. The assistant, a bespectacled college-age-looking kid in dress shirt and tie, glanced our way, standing up as I approached. “Ms. Strong?” “Yes. They told you about this package I was bringing up?” He shot a curious glance at me and then to the box. “Yes. I’ll need to inspect the contents before I can take it off your hands.” “Yes, of course. There are just some…personal effects.” He nodded. “He asked me to tell you he’ll be out in just a moment.”

I frowned, looking up from his work. “Who?” The assistant looked puzzled. “Mr. Drake.” “What? But—but he’s still out of town.” The assistant shot me a concerned look. “No, he came back yesterday. He’s here.” My eyes rose from his inspection to a set of heavy double doors that led toward the inner sanctum— likely the offices—all lined in glitzy chrome. At that moment, they swung open. I jumped back from the assistant. “I have to go,” I choked. But I was nailed to my spot when I saw a man and a woman emerge. The man was dressed in an impeccable suit, deadly handsome. My chest tightened as if caught in a constricting band. Adam. If there had been any chance of my seeing him here, I would never, ever have come. He bent to speak to a woman at the desk nearest to the doors—giving her some instructions, it looked like. The woman said something to Adam and then, horrifyingly, glanced in my direction. Before I could step back, before I could turn and bolt like a coward, my eyes flew to his companion. I knew her, too. Her platinum blond hair was artfully arranged around a gorgeous, glamorous face. Lindsay. They stood so close together, they looked like a couple. I was so dumbstruck that I couldn’t move, even when Adam straightened and his eyes immediately flew straight to mine. Every muscle in my body turned to jelly and I could hardly breathe. The assistant continued digging around in the box, oblivious to my distress. He extracted the laptop and laid it on the table in front of him. Adam saw it and his features hardened. He looked away then, and, to my increased astonishment (was that even possible?), he slipped an arm around Lindsay’s waist, bent and whispered something in her ear. Something that made her laugh and sway against him. I didn’t stay to watch any more. I ran. The assistant called after me but I didn’t stop. I ran as fast and as far as I could. Because now the tears were coming at last. They blinded me. And I could hear his voice in my head. It was all I could hear. I’ve decided I wanted a woman in my life. You’re just a sad, scared little girl. A sad. Scared. Little. Girl. And compared to me Lindsay was all woman…successful, mature, sexually experienced, and very much into Adam. I dashed through hallways and out into the parking lot, gasping for breath. And then I ran some more. I ran until I couldn’t breathe any more. Then I leaned up against the nearest car, doubled over. Five minutes later, someone stood beside me. I almost jumped out of my skin until he spoke. “Mia, what the—?” Heath said. “You shot out of that door like a bat out of hell. What the fuck? Are you crying?” By this time, I’d been gulping for air, tears and snot all over my face and, what’s worse, I had the hiccups. “Heath, just get me the fuck out of here, please.” Without another word, he slipped an arm around my shoulders and guided me toward the car. I kept my eyes away from the building. I didn’t want to chance seeing them again. Every time I thought about that hard look on his face, new tears seeped out and by the time we made it off the complex property I was a bubbling, oozing mess. Heath’s face was grim. “I take it you saw him in there? What about staying on for business for another week?” My face was in my hands, and thus my voice was muffled. “He must have been lying.” He just hadn’t wanted to fly home beside me. Heath was very worried about me. I could tell. He insisted on ordering takeout after we got home and he sat across from me at my broken down little table while I picked at my mandarin chicken. “Maybe it might do you some good to get away for a bit.”

“I just got back.” “No, I mean spend a little longer with your mom. Maybe stay with her for the summer. She could use the help, now that she’s getting the place ready for guests again. I could pack up your place here and throw the stuff in storage. Other than your miserable little orderly job, you really don’t have a reason to be out here for the next year or so. Why not save the money you’d be spending on rent and expenses?” I sighed. “Because going back to Anza is going backward.” “Just think about it. Maybe just get away for a week or two? It would make your mom happy and get her off my back for once.” “If I take any more time off my job, they are going to fire me.” “Good riddance, then. There are other jobs you can get. Or you could put more time into the blog and make more money out of it. I’ve got a new template design that allows for more ad space. You could sell more ads that way. Or we could go after a company endorsement. I know you’ve been reluctant, but—” My chin was on my chest now and I was sniveling miserably. “I’ll think about it.” And I did. I thought about it all night. Not necessarily the part about going back to Anza, but the whole bizarre sequence with Adam. The calculated action with which he, knowing that I was watching, had slipped his arm around Lindsay’s waist, obviously letting me know that the woman whom he’d selected to replace the scared little girl was Lindsay. After crying out all the tears I thought I had, there was only numbness left. I had to be at work at noon the next day, but I didn’t put on my greens. Instead went down to my supervisor’s office in my jeans and resigned on the spot. She wasn’t nice about it. But she could tell by my swollen eyes and dark circles that I wasn’t happy to begin with. She made sure to tell me that I’d been a good worker up until the previous month and I agreed with her. Things had been great until they fell apart. Until Adam. Now I had no job. No money in the bank and about a thimbleful of self-respect left to my name. *** The day before commencement, Alex and Jenna dropped in to give me a graduation gift and beg me to spend the summer in OC with them. They had such plans! And they had tickets to San Diego Comic-Con! And…they had costumes for cosplay and needed another “hot chick” to complete their look for “Steampunk Sherlock’s Angels.” Alex’s mom was sewing the costumes for them. They also wanted to know if I could get Heath to dress as Sherlock Holmes because he was tall, but he’d have to dye his hair dark. “Come on, Mia, it would be so fun! Picture it—brass-plated corsets, fishnet stockings and kick-ass boots,” Alex said breathlessly. “If Heath won’t do it, maybe you could get your yummy man to—he already has dark hair and he’s plenty tall enough.” Jenna perked up, upon hearing this. “Yeah, when do I get to meet this tasty man, anyway? I’m sick of hearing Alejandra gibber about him and I’ve only seen that long-distance shot she got with her phone—” “What?” I slapped Alex on her arm. “You took a picture of him?” Alex shrugged. “What else is a hopeless chismosa to do when you won’t give me anything to work with?” I sighed heavily. “I’m not seeing him anymore and I’d rather not talk about it.” Alex’s forehead buckled. “This isn’t because of that test, is it? You didn’t break up with him because you want to study or something dumb like that?” I shot her a heated glare, but Jenna was the one who spoke up, watching me closely. “Alejandra! Don’t be rude.” “No, it wasn’t because of the test.” My chest tightened. Something about her assumption bothered me. It reminded me of how I’d chosen to give stupid excuses about not going out, not socializing at parties.

Throughout my four years of college, I’d huddled inside my comfort zone, spending any spare time that wasn’t consumed by study or work or blog to log on to games and lose myself in them. Because it was safe, known. Because there would be few surprises and anything that could happen, I would be ready for. I dropped my head against the back of the ripped couch, gazing at the ceiling. Adam was right. I really was a coward.

Chapter Sixteen When the going gets tough, the tough go running home to Mommy. And after commencement, I did just that. I packed up what I could and I hit the road for Anza—a two-hour drive down some of the most remote stretches of highway through the Inland Empire and beyond. My car twisted along the road upward into the Cahuilla Mountains that overlooked the much more famous Californian resort town of Palm Springs. And as I wound up that narrow two-lane highway into the hills, a measure of calm settled over me. I grew assured that things would be all right in the end. That this pain was temporary and, like the dying sunlight of that day, would fade away to nothing. Someday. Sometime. But it didn’t feel temporary. I felt changed, somehow, as if my life, my heart would never be the same. They say life’s experiences change you—that your brain grows new neural pathways in response to trauma and new lessons learned. I wondered how many pathways I was going to get from this. If I was ever going to learn my way around it. And in this moment, I felt more resolved than ever to protect myself —keep myself dependent on only myself. Because I was the only person in this world I could be sure of. I could be sure of Heath, until he met someone new and could hardly be prevailed upon to fix my eternal string of scrapes. I could depend on my mom, but as the experiences of the previous few years had shown me, she might not always be around. Her near-death had shaken me to my core and showed me that nothing was permanent. But one thing was permanent. Me. My ambition. My drive. The fortress wall I’d built around my heart and kept vigilant watch over. And I’d spend this time reinforcing, repairing the weak spots that had allowed Adam inside to do his damage. I had no idea how much Heath had told Mom while they’d sat together at commencement. I know she had no knowledge of the auction, but Heath could have couched his description of my time with Adam as a relationship without mentioning all the ways it was sick and twisted between us. Mom had known I was seeing someone, but she had no details, like the fact that her daughter had willfully sought a way to prostitute herself. Our little ranch sat on fifteen acres of high desert scrubland. The main house, which my mother called the homestead, had many guest rooms on the top floor. There were also three matching little cabins that shouldered up to the homestead for guests who wanted more privacy. The main dining room in the home was huge, to accommodate the bed-and-breakfast crowd. Until her illness, Mom had run a fairly successful business, with many regular repeat guests coming up to spend time away from civilization, go hiking or ride our horses. My mood relaxed as I looked down over our spread in the pale light of early evening under a golden high desert moon. Mom didn’t question me too closely when I got home. She snatched me up in a big hug and made my favorite dinner—kabobs and hummus and baklava for dessert. Mom instructed me to get an early night’s sleep and warned me that we had a lot to discuss in the morning. Relieved, I fell into my bed, exhausted. The next morning, I was out in the stables saying hello to my favorite four-legged friends. My horse, Snowball, greeted me with an excited whicker. He’d been my best friend since the fourth grade and his muzzle was aging and gray now, but he still snapped up the carrots I offered him with all due enthusiasm. At lunch, I munched my garden-fresh cucumber-and-tomato sandwich on rustic bread as my mom tossed furtive glances my way. I knew she was dying to ask me about my relationship status with the mystery guy and trying to find ways to bring it up, so I decided to head her off. “So you said you had some surprises for me. Do they have anything to do with the restoration of the cabins?” Mom gave me an expectant look. “So you noticed?” “I’d have to be blind not to. Did you win the lottery and not tell me?”

She laughed. “Kind of. If getting cancer could be considered a lottery.” I sobered. Suddenly my heart raced with fear and I could feel the blood drain from my face. “What? Is it back?” Mom’s mouth dropped and she reached across the table to put her hand over mine. “Oh no. No, sweet pea. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” She got up and went over to the desk where she kept her mail and business papers and pulled out a manila file folder from its stand. She placed it on the table next to my lunch plate. “Early this year, I got this in the mail. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure what to make of it. It sounded too good to be true.” I opened the folder and quickly read the letter, which was printed on generic letterhead. It was from a charity institution that helped out adult cancer patients who had fallen on hard times because of the disease. It did sound too good to be true—like a Make-A-Wish Foundation for adults. Generously, the institution—called The Golden Shield Group—had offered to foot half the balance of my mom’s mortgage and fund the other half as an interest-free loan to be paid back over the next twenty years. I couldn’t believe my eyes, scouring the letter and flipping it over to read the papers beneath it. “This is—” “Incredible, I know. I didn’t believe it either. But I checked them out online and went to Pohlman’s Law Office here in town and had him work with their attorneys. He assured me it was all legitimate.” “Damn, Mom. This is better than the freakin’ lottery.” She smiled. “Yep, see? Here’s the paperwork from my attorney. It gets better, though. One of the entrepreneurs behind the group, finding out about my setup, offered to front me some money as a silent partner. We’ve come up with a joint business plan and profit sharing—” I took the papers from her. “Holy crap! So this is what you are using to pay for the renovation?” “It’s almost done. And I’ve already been working with Heath to get the website redesigned and updated. He’s coming up next weekend to take new pictures. Isn’t it exciting?” I sat back, marveling at how luminous and animated my mother was. She hadn’t been like this for years, since before the cancer. There was color in her cheeks and she had put on some weight and she actually, for the first time since she’d begun chemo, looked healthy. My mom noticed me staring. Her smile faded. “What?” I shook my head. “You’re doing awesome, Mom. I’m so glad.” I smiled, happy for her, still trying to ignore that ache at the back of all conscious thought. Trying to erase the image of Adam with his arm around Lindsay’s waist. A sharp pang pierced me whenever I thought of it—which was, it seemed, all the time. Mom, keen as ever, picked up on it immediately. She collected the papers from the table and filed them again. “Now let’s talk about what’s going on with you.” I shook my head. “There’s nothing to talk about.” She shot me a curious glance and she rubbed her index finger along her bottom lip like she always did when she was hesitating. “You were dating someone.” I glanced away, fidgeting in my seat. I’d allow five more minutes of prodding and then I’d excuse myself. “I was. It was nothing. It’s over.” All the truth. Just not the whole truth. But I couldn’t find it in my heart to tell her that so much had changed along the way. That I’d lost something—a vital piece of me that felt like a gaping hole right at the center of my being. And that it might take a while to learn how to fill that up. “What happened?” she asked in a quiet voice as if she might startle me out of my uncharacteristic forthrightness by speaking any louder. I shrugged. “I had to study and my jobs. He had to work. There was no time.” “Do you want to talk about him?”

I leaned forward, rubbing my forehead with my hand. “No. Not really.” She sat silent for several minutes and I closed my eyes, preparing to make an excuse to go. She surprised me by dropping the subject and reaching for my half-empty plate, standing to take it to the sink. “Mom—” I stopped her when she would have walked away. She halted, looking at me expectantly. “The Biological Sperm Donor…” I began shakily. “I think I’m ready to find out more about him.” My mother sank back to the chair across from me, setting the plates down. I studied her for a moment. She was a lovely woman. She had the olive skin and dark coloring of her Greek ancestors and had been quite the stunning woman in her youth—had taken a turn at modeling as a teen. In her early forties, she was still striking, and before the cancer, she’d looked at least a decade younger than her actual age, with hardly a line marring her skin. But that harrowing ordeal had etched lines at her mouth and a few into her forehead. We held each other’s gaze for a long, silent moment. She straightened, squaring her shoulders. “Okay.” She nodded. “What do you want to know?” “What’s his name? Who is he?” And so she told me. Patiently, evenly, she answered all of my questions. I kept my inquiries away from the private details of her life with him. I already knew he’d completely won her over at first before casting her aside like garbage. I didn’t need to know anything more about that. But he had a name now. He was a person. Not just some anonymous figure upon which I could focus all my hatred. His name was Gerard Dempsey. He was of Irish and English descent. He was a successful real estate entrepreneur and had gained his millions that way. He had one sister, no brothers and three other children, all much older than me. I also learned that he had never contacted my mom after I was born. Never written her a letter or made a phone call, though he knew exactly where we lived. She told me I had her eyes and hair color, but that my skin, jaw and nose were his. She offered to show me a picture—the one picture she had of him—of them together, but I declined. I didn’t want to see them together, happy. Her young face full of bright ideals, unaware that he was stacking lie upon lie on top of their relationship like a house of cards. “Did you love him?” I finally asked. Her eyes drifted away to focus off into the distance. They took on a dreamy quality. “I did. Or rather…I loved who I thought he was, when I thought I knew everything about him.” I breathed in slowly. “Love is dangerous. Deceptive.” I shook my head. “No offense, but I think it’s for fools.” When she returned her gaze to me, her eyes were hard. “Mia, you are far too young to be talking like that. You sound like a bitter and lonely old lady.” I clenched my teeth. Maybe I was, on the inside. Older than my years, wasn’t that what they called it? Mom spoke again. “There are nice men out there. Lots of them. Most of them. Don’t waste your life being bitter and angry about the one dud your mom screwed up on.” I froze for a moment, strangely reminded of Adam’s words in the echo of my mother’s. Every single man you look at for the rest of your life is tainted by him. I shook my head to clear it. “Why didn’t you ever date again?” She shrugged. “You were the most important thing in my life and I didn’t trust my judgment enough to bring a potential loser into your life again. So I just didn’t.” “And now? I’ve been out of the house for four years.” She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been working on it,” she said cryptically and then stood, gathering the plates and scooting off to the kitchen while I gazed after her thoughtfully. I took over for Mom with the horse care and she was able to move on to fixing up the house and preparing to reopen the B and B. After a week, I’d called Heath to let him know I was staying in Anza for

a while. He packed up my apartment for me. He was the best friend ever—but I also suspected that part of it had been done out of guilt for his part in what had happened between Adam and me. My days fell into a mundane but comforting routine of waking up early, feeding the horses and cleaning out stalls, doing all the outside work, and turning the horses out and exercising them during the cool hours of the morning. Then, after a shower, I worked on the blog for several hours. Even with the crappy Internet connection on the ranch and my old box barely squeaking by, I still managed to put up some content every day. But I was guarded in my posts. Much more guarded than before. I’d always been careful not to reveal geographical or personal information about myself but even so, whenever I sat down to write, I had the specter of Adam peering over my shoulder. I knew he was reading. Or maybe he no longer cared. Maybe he was too busy embarking on his new, fulfilling relationship with “real woman” Lindsay. Daily, my mom and I would congregate for lunch and swap stories, share news, both local and national, and grow closer than we’d been in a long time. The hottest hours of the afternoon were for sitting next to the swamp cooler in the kitchen with my medical books around me, studying. Yep. That was my exciting life in Anza, but I found myself, as the weeks passed and the date of my big test approached, feeling stronger, more self-sufficient and discovering new things about myself that I’d never explored before. I also found myself Googling alternatives for people with premed majors who didn’t go to medical school. They weren’t all bad—research, nursing, consulting—but they weren’t my dream. And I knew I was going to have to dig in deep to find the courage to take that damn test again and face another possible failure, or else say good-bye to my dream forever. The most surprising thing was, out of the blue one night, I wrote a letter to the Biological Sperm Donor —Gerard, I corrected myself. From now on, I was going to refer to him by his name. I knew I’d never mail it. But I’d researched and found out more about him from the information that my mom had given me. I also tried to find anything I could about my three half siblings that were almost two decades older than me. I had one half-brother, Glen, who was thirteen years older than me and two half-sisters in their late thirties. I wrote this letter to Gerard, my father, and in it I poured out all my grief at the loss of a parent I never knew. I resented him but I also wanted to know him. And at last I let myself admit that. I wanted it, but not enough. I wanted my hatred for him to melt away so I would be free. Because my entire life I’d seen those feelings as a fortress protecting me from potential hurts and damages. Instead of a fortress, they had been a cage, holding me back. And maybe someday, somewhere along the line, I’d finally be able to open my heart to someone, once it had healed. Heath came up the following weekend and stayed in his old room. He’d lived with us during the last three years of high school when his own parents had thrown him out after he came out to them. We went out at certain times of the day to catch the light just right for his photos. It was during his sunset shoot that he broached the forbidden subject. “You heard from Drake?” he asked casually as he pivoted his camera on its tripod to get a better angle of the homestead house and the three cabins all lined up nicely alongside it. I shook my head, following his vantage point down the long slope of our drive. “You haven’t logged in to the game in weeks. I keep looking for you. You going to quit?” I shrugged. “There’re lots of games out there. I can play something he didn’t design.” “It sucks that you are going to let him drive you away from a game that you love and all your online friends. I’ve gotten messages from both Persephone and FallenOne saying they were worried about you.” My insides tightened and I swallowed. “Oh, really? Fallen asked about me?” “Yeah, couple nights ago. Said he was worried. Told him you were at your mom’s.”

“Shit,” I said, squeezing my eyes closed and turning away from him to rest my arms on the ranch fence that surrounded our property. “That’s all he told you? He didn’t tell you his name or anything like that?” Heath hesitated. “Why would he? He’s never told us his real name.” I clenched my teeth, staring toward the dying sun. “Yeah, he had a reason for that.” “What—that he’s a chick or something? Or someone famous? Remember when we all used to try to think up what movie star or famous athlete he was?” I drew in a breath and held it. I wanted to make my voice sound as calm as I could when I told him. It wouldn’t tremble or break—it would be strong, clear. “FallenOne is Adam.” Shit. It had quavered. The moment I’d said his name, I’d heard a slight tremor right at the end of the second syllable. There was a long stretch of silence. “No shit?” he said, his voice dark. I nodded. I wished it was all just a joke. “Well—fuck—that explains a lot, I guess.” “Like what?” “Drake always seemed kind of familiar to me. He didn’t to you?” He’d overwhelmed me. Completely. Like the storm I often likened him to, he’d obliterated everything else around him. I shrugged. Heath shot me a concerned look. “It really didn’t end well between you two, did it?” “I’m not going to talk about it.” He sighed. “Mia, I’m just worried. You don’t look well. Your mom says you aren’t eating much and you work yourself exhausted every day.” “It’s good for me.” “Holding on to anger and resentment isn’t.” I sighed. “You’ve been hanging around my mom too long.” “What did he do to you?” I blinked and looked away. “Nothing I didn’t want him to do.” His brow trembled. “Ah.” Then he cleared his throat. “That’s not what I meant. I mean why are you like this? I’ve known you for ten years and I’ve never ever seen you cry like you did that day in Irvine. You aren’t eating, aren’t acting normal. Are you at least going to retake your MCAT, still?” I looked away. “The jury’s still out on that decision.” He scowled. “I hope you don’t give up on your dreams because some dickwad played you.” “If I don’t, it’s not because of him,” I ground out. “Okay. Please don’t kick my ass when I ask you this…” I darted a warning glare at him. “If you have to start it out like that then maybe you shouldn’t ask.” “Mia… did you fall in love with him?” “No,” I snapped, folding my arms tightly in front of me. “And even if I had, it wouldn’t matter, okay? He’s the one who walked out on me.” He looked pissed off. “I see.” I held up a finger and pushed it at his face. “No more talking about this shit, okay? It’s over. It’s the past. I have a life to get on with. No more bringing it up.” He stared at me for a long moment before he simply nodded and pulled his attention back to his camera, adjusting the tripod. After Heath went home, falling into my normal routine again comforted me. And a week later, my mom announced gleefully over lunch, “My first Internet reservations are coming in!” I was pleasantly surprised. Heath had just rebuilt her website the week before but there hadn’t been much traffic on it. “Yep, some people coming in for the regular rooms starting next week, and the week after next, someone booked the best room in the house—Roy Rogers.” The biggest separate cabin, the “luxury suite”

of our ranch. Every room we had was named after a famous cowboy or cowgirl. I’d secretly named my bedroom Annie Oakley because there just weren’t enough awesome cowgirls on our list. As much as I’d shucked my cowgirl identity when I’d gone off to college, I started to feel the comfort my younger self had taken in being with our animals. It was a healing experience. I didn’t have to worry about lies or bullshit from animals. I didn’t have to worry about being double-crossed. As long as they got their food and their exercise and the occasional bit of human affection, they were happy. A week later, Mom and I hurriedly made the finishing touches for our new guests and welcomed them in. We’d gone down to nearby Temecula and shopped at the home stores for new bedding and sheets to match our theme for the cabins. In the Roy Rogers room, the paint smell had faded, mostly because we kept it open and aired morning and night and dusted daily—because on a ranch, there is no shortage of dust. It wasn’t the penthouse suite of the Amstel Amsterdam, or the VIP suite in the Emerald Sky Luxury resort, but it was something. Because I’d been helping my mom get our first guests checked out, I didn’t get to work with the horses until mid-afternoon. I’d decided to give them the day off because making them work during the sweat of the day—and July in Anza was no joke at all—would have been too cruel. But there was still work to be done. Like poop. Because hot or cold, rain or shine, horses made poop. And I had to clean it. I was out in the stalls and then in the barn, battling flies and a bored horse—Snowball, who was not interested in having poop taken out but was very interested in love from his favorite person. And who was I to resist? But after twenty minutes of this, I was getting impatient, shoving him aside to get at the poop in the sawdust. I was hot, sweaty, bedraggled, smelling of horse crap and covered with sawdust shavings. So of course this was the moment when Mom decided to pass through the barns with our new suite guest—who had apparently just checked in—on a tour of the facility. “Snowball, move your fat ass,” I growled at the horse, giving him a good-natured slap on the bum. “Mia, are you in here?” “No,” I answered between gritted teeth. What the hell? She had just heard me yelling at the horse. “Our new guest is here. Come on, I just want to introduce you.” I sighed. Snowball was going to have to live with the remaining bits of poop for another day. I huffed out of the stall, placing the rake against the door but not removing my giant gardening gloves. I’d make this quick, give him a smile, a few words of welcome and a nod and be about my work. I approached my mom standing beside a tall man. As they were backlit by the afternoon sunlight, I didn’t get a good look until I was too close to turn away. But when I did finally see his face, my feet grew instant roots into the ground and I almost flopped on my face from the momentum. Because towering over my mom, a subdued smile on his face, stood Adam. He had on jeans, tennis shoes, and a casual button-down shirt, and he was as gorgeous as ever. I hadn’t spoken to him in over a month. Since that last heated night in St. Lucia. I’d thought I’d never see him again. Yet here he was, looking down at me with benign eyes that missed nothing. Not even the snowfall of sawdust in my hair. My heart began to thump at the base of my throat and I swallowed, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. What the hell was he doing here? Was he posing as my mom’s newest guest? Cold panic rose up from my tight stomach. How on earth could I hide this reaction from my mom? The blood was draining from my face—I knew that much. Was he here to torment me with regret for the things I had said to him? Was he here to try and make amends? I didn’t know what to feel. So many emotions swirled inside me. I was loathe to admit that one of them was a complete heart-charging thrill at seeing him again. Another was a dread, a fear. Would he expose me to my mom? Tell her about the auction—about what a terrible, bitter, child-person I was? Mom’s voice cut through my buzzing thoughts. “Here she is—this is my daughter, Mia.”

Adam’s gaze shot to mine like a bolt of lightning and I suddenly felt myself starting to sweat. A heat built inside me so quickly, it felt like I would combust from the inside out. “Hi, Mia,” Adam said. And I was at least thankful he didn’t carry out a ruse that we didn’t know each other. No false “nice to meet you.” I jerked my eyes from his, which speared me, and dropped them to the ground in front of my feet. Mom continued, completely oblivious to the tension thickening the air. “This is Mr. Drake. He’ll be with us for the next week. He’s preparing to hike a segment of the Pacific Crest Trail from here to Yosemite. Sometime soon.” The Pacific Crest Trail stretched from the Mexican border to Canada, tracing the crests of all the mountain ranges of the three states in between: California, Oregon and Washington. The hearty people who hiked it were either “thru-hikers,” doing the entire run in seven or so months straight, or “segmenthikers” who pieced up the trail into bits and did it a little at a time, sometimes over the span of many years. So this was the story that Adam had given my mother. He was going to do a segment hike of the PCT? What a load of bullshit. My eyes flicked back to Adam, whose smile had faded but whose face bore a certain grim self-satisfaction. The breath I’d just drawn flew right out of me again. I shifted, putting my hands on my hips because I had no idea what else to do with them. “Hey, Mr. Drake,” I croaked out. “Welcome.” My mom frowned. She’d finally noticed my weird reaction and there would be questions later, no doubt. But I feared being alone with her much less than being alone with him so I resolved to stick near my mom’s side all night—and probably find lots of excuses to drive into Anza proper or even down the mountain for the next few days. “Dinner is in two hours and I’ve asked Mr. Drake to join us,” Mom said, throwing a pointed look at my grubby clothes. I only nodded. I had no other words. I didn’t look at Adam again—didn’t have the courage for it. And as he followed my mom out of the barn, he darted one last glance my way before turning out of my view. As soon as he was out of sight, I fell against the nearest stall door, my back sliding against it until I sat on the ground. My heart hammered like I’d run a marathon and I shook—a deep freeze hardening my soul. The nearest horse, Whiskey, poked his head out and nudged against me. I was utterly floored by this new development. I had just begun to move past this whole thing—or so I’d thought. But now I felt just as shivery and vulnerable as the girl who’d rushed out of the Draco Multimedia complex while sobbing the month before. A splinter of pain passed through me as I remembered the circumstances behind that last time I’d seen him, with his arm wrapped around his former lover. Maybe Lindsay was going to come up to meet him here? Maybe he’d arranged this on purpose so he could flaunt her in my face, because that day at his office wasn’t enough? Would I be able to suffer though seeing them here, together? If it weren’t for the fact that mom needed my help so much for this next week, I might have been tempted to call Heath and ask him if I could go crash on his couch until Adam left. It was inevitable that we’d have to interact with one another, but I resolved that I would try my hardest to avoid the confrontation he sought. With this tangle of unwanted emotion inside of me, I went on the rest of my poop hunt with a vengeance.

Chapter Seventeen It took me an hour to recover from the shock of seeing him again so suddenly—and here of all places. It was obvious he was here to see me, and, after checking the reservation book my mom kept at her desk, I was reassured that he would be here alone. The only reason he’d leave his girlfriend behind to come up here would be to confront me. But why? What more was there to say between us that hadn’t already been said? Adam didn’t seem the type to want to rub salt into the wounds. Or at least I would have thought so before that display at his office. He’d been rubbing plenty of salt then. I burned with anger at the pretense under which he was here. Whatever it took, I’d keep my mom from getting involved. With any luck, he’d leave and she’d never know that there was a history between us. I didn’t want to talk to him and resolved that I wouldn’t, except to exchange shallow pleasantries for my mom’s sake. I had no desire to find out what his current dating status was or if he was sleeping with Lindsay again. The very thought of it hurt like a bitch. After showering and doing my hair, I helped Mom put the finishing touches on dinner by tossing the organic, handpicked salad. She was an excellent cook—part of the entire picture of her livelihood. She made breakfasts for her guests every day, creatively concocting new and special repasts. Breakfast was her specialty, but her dinners were damn good, too. When I was little, she’d gone to culinary school during my summer vacations to get better at it. Dinner was beyond awkward. The only one not affected by the silent uneasiness was my mom. Adam and I did not talk to each other. The entire conversation was conducted through my mother. “Mia’s a medical student.” “Not yet,” I corrected her. “Well, she will be once she aces this big test that’s coming up.” At least Adam didn’t ask me sham questions that he already knew the answers to—like he had the first few times we’d met. He did mention that UCI had a good medical school and that I should consider applying to it. It was already on my list. Though the thought of attending school in the same city where his company was located had greatly lowered it in ranking on my list of top schools. UC Davis, in northern California, was starting to look better and better. “I understand you have some wonderful back country around here, even off the PCT,” Adam said to Mom. “Yes, great for hiking or riding. Do you ride, Mr. Drake?” Mom asked. He laughed. “No, not at all. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been on horseback.” If he was angling to get a guided ride from me, I’d have to be quick on my feet to deflect the request. My mind raced with excuses I could come up with. Sore throat? I had to study? A horse had stepped on my foot? Mom said, “If you’re interested, we have some great horses for beginners and Mia used to take guests on sunset rides. Maybe I can coax her to do one for you if that sounds like something you’d like to do.” Shit, shit, shit. Shut up, Mom. Adam fixed his dark gaze on me for a moment and my eyes stayed glued to my plate, shoveling in my food as fast as I possibly could. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, but how about a hike this evening, Mia? Do you hike?” I took a long time to answer, my mind running through at least a half a dozen more excuses—all lame— before I spit out probably the lamest one of them all. “I’m a runner.” “Perfect, so am I.”

Fuck. I should have known he would say that. As always, he’d thought a few steps ahead of me and had been ready. “I would only slow you down on a run,” I said, anxious to evade this. Adam smiled, gazing into my eyes knowingly. “It would be fun. Do you know of any great views?” Mom, of course, had to put her two cents in. “Why don’t you take him up to that vista spot you love so much?” Sometimes I wish I could tell her to shut the hell up. I gritted my teeth and darted Adam a murderous look. He looked supremely satisfied, like a bear that had just dug into a picnic basket. An hour later, I was in my room changing into my running gear when my mom knocked on the door and came in. “Did I put you on the spot back there? Are you okay with taking him out for a run?” I hesitated. Here was my chance to back out. Maybe I could tell her I thought Adam looked suspicious, like I didn’t feel comfortable being alone with him. That second half, at least, was true. But it might make Mom suspect something and I’d really prefer she not find out the truth. Beyond that, Adam would know why I’d bowed out and he’d already called me a coward once. My pride was on the line. And lastly, that curiosity beast was nipping at my thoughts, asking endless questions. Likely I’d be able to get some answers when we were alone. I shrugged noncommittally. “Sure.” “Mia, I don’t know what’s been up with you lately, but can I ask you to put in a little extra effort with this guest? He’s a CEO for a company down in Orange County and he’s mentioned possibly doing some retreats up here for his employees. I know you don’t schmooze, but just…you know, turn on your sunny personality. I know it’s in there somewhere.” “Yeah, sure,” I grunted, already preoccupied with what this run was going to entail. There was no way I was going to outrun him. I’d seen him move, after all, and he was like a human cheetah. Maybe I could lose him on one of the upper trails, but Mom might get pissed at having her first cabin guest after the renovation dying of dehydration while wandering the barren hills of the Cahuilla Mountains in search of an oasis. Maybe I could get away with just pushing him into a cactus patch. I resigned myself to the fact that I was stuck with him for the run, but that didn’t mean I had to be nice to him. We set off along the edge of our property into the long shadows of early evening in midsummer. I had a snakebite kit strapped in a fanny pack around my waist and a six-foot, two-hundred-pound shadow clipping closely at my heels. I scooted over to the far right on the trail, hoping he’d go around and ahead. His legs were longer and his stride much bigger than mine so he’d be free to open up if he were in front. However, having to stare at his muscular back and rear, his gorgeously cut legs in his running shorts was not my first choice either. I just needed him off my heels. After a few beats, he moved to go around me but then matched his pace with mine. I was going at a good clip, which ended up being an easy jog for him. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat. As soon as we were out of view of the house, I stopped, bent, and put my hands on my knees. He stopped, too, and of course he wasn’t even winded. Asshole. “What’s wrong?” he said. And I straightened, shooting him a death glare. “What’s wrong? How about you being here in the first place?” He handed me his water bottle, which I waved away, and his eyes took on that mischievous, calculated look of his. “I don’t suppose you’d believe it was a coincidence?” I shook my head. “Why are you here?” He took a long swig from his water bottle. “Can’t we at least walk while we talk?” I dramatically swept my arms toward the path in front of us as if to sarcastically say, “After you.” He started to walk and he again matched his pace to mine so that we walked shoulder to shoulder. “I talked to Heath last week,” he said in answer to my question.

My fists tightened at my sides. “He needs to mind his own fucking business.” Adam shot me a look and then focused again on the trail. We were gaining some elevation now, moving to a higher vantage point where we would be able to look down on the little valley that contained my mom’s ranch and the neighboring properties. At sunset, the sky was incomparably beautiful, all magentas and purples against the ruddy desert sand. I came up here often at this time of day to calm myself, to try and ease my troubled thoughts of the day. I’d been doing it for years. And now I was taking Adam to my special spot. The flame of irritation singed me. “Maybe he was being a good friend. A concerned friend.” “What has him so concerned? If he told you that I was shriveling into nothingness up here while pining away for you, then he’s a damn liar,” I said with a bit more heat and vehemence than I would have liked. He walked for a few beats but didn’t look at me. “Not at all.” “So what did he say to you?” “He said that you had moved away. That you were thinking of backing out of your exam.” I bit the inside of my cheek. Fucking Heath. He had forced this confrontation, preying on Adam’s conscience. Adam wouldn’t even have shown up if he didn’t feel responsible. “And why do you care whether or not I take the test? I thought you were through with me.” He hesitated. “Maybe I feel responsible for your plans not going through.” I shot him a sharp look. “Well, don’t. It’s my life, my decision.” “So you are going to take the test?” I hesitated, bought time by coughing into my fist. “Of course. I already paid for the damn thing and it wasn’t cheap.” It was true, after all. I’d kept pushing it off but finally decided to commit myself by sending in the registration. The date was getting closer and I still didn’t know if I’d make the trip to show up. “Good,” he said quietly. My chin came up. “Yeah, so now that your guilt is alleviated, you can get back to your life down there.” He was quiet, but I just couldn’t shut up. Man, I wish I had shut up. “I mean, your show of contrition is touching and all, but I’ve got other things to take care of around here rather than babysit a fake guest and get my mom’s hopes up that people are actually interested in staying here again.” He stopped walking and turned to me, clearly insulted. “I was honestly interested in staying here and I am planning a segment hike.” I shook my head. “You are taking a month away from work and your computer to do that?” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m taking longer.” I laughed in disbelief. “And maybe I’m the Queen of England.” He shot me a heated glare and we walked in silence until he hit the summit of the trail—a ledge that overlooked the valley below us. We weren’t really high up, but high enough to get a nice view of the sunset, the high desert landscape all bathed in angry reds and oranges. Adam stood, squinting over the canyon. I glanced up at him, memorizing his handsome face. A dry desert wind blew up here, stirring our clothing and hair. He spoke in a quiet, almost reverent voice. “So since we are going to be on the same premises together for the next few days, and for your mom’s sake, can we call a truce?” I folded my arms. “I’ll be perfectly nice to you. Just stop trying to get me alone, because we really don’t have anything to say to each other.” “Really. Nothing at all?” he said mildly. I shifted, hating how petty I sounded. I cleared my throat and looked down. “Except that I honestly hope that you and your family are well.” He glanced at me and returned to admiring the view. “Thank you. They are.” I took a deep breath and let it go. “And…I hope you do find happiness. I—I never said that before but

I’ve wanted to. I hope…” And my voice died out. I wasn’t going to wish him happiness with Lindsay because, let’s face it, I wasn’t Mother Teresa. I couldn’t go that far. He turned to me, waiting for me to say more and when I didn’t, he spoke. “Maybe I’m already happy.” Pain seized me. I couldn’t look at him. “Then great,” I said in a tiny voice. He turned and watched me closely. “And you?” I shrugged. “I’m getting there.” Another long pause, then I cleared my throat. “We’d better get going. It will be dark soon.” I turned to leave but was brought up short when he reached out for my arm to stay me. His touch burned my skin and I flinched. I turned back to him and he said, “I was serious. I took a leave of absence from the company.” To say I was shocked was an understatement. I opened my mouth and then closed it. “For how long?” He shrugged. “As long as it takes to prove to myself that I can do it.” “And how is that working out for you? Any withdrawal symptoms yet?” He did not look amused and I realized the inappropriateness of my joke. I looked away. “There you go again, Mia,” I said. “Putting your foot in it as usual.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked at me. The boyish vulnerability I saw there almost ripped my heart, still beating, right out of my chest. “I’m glad you did it,” I finally said. “And I’m glad you’re happy. And…” Deep breath, curled fists. “I’m glad you’ve found someone.” And with that, I turned and started my run. Maybe if I caught him off guard—and while running downhill, I could get far enough ahead of him that I could avoid him for the rest of the night. I soon heard his feet behind me, hitting with regular steps that matched mine. When we finally hit the bottom of the hill and flat land, he stopped me again. We were both breathing heavily. “Are you?” “What?” “Are you really glad I’ve found someone?” Hell no. I shrugged. There was no way I could answer that question in any way that would preserve my dignity. “Emilia, I’m not with anyone.” My breath stuttered. “Excuse me?” “There hasn’t been anyone since you. I’m not with Lindsay.” My head spun. “But—” “I know it’s hard to believe because of what you saw. But I was pissed off, okay? Lindsay had come down to the complex to have lunch, but when my assistant said you were there, I was getting rid of her. I thought you’d come to talk. When I saw that package on the table, well, I wasn’t thinking straight. I did that to Lindsay to purposefully hurt you.” My breathing hitched. “Mission accomplished, then,” I said in a falsely bright voice. But I was dizzy with the wave of relief that washed over me at that news. I almost toppled. Relief came first, then crackling anger. How many times had I replayed that scene in my mind? How many times had I pictured them together as lovers—each time sinking a knife deeper into my heart? I fought for breath, feeling close to tears again, to my utter humiliation. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, his brow creasing at my reaction. I didn’t reply. I doubt I could have even if I’d wanted to. “Emilia—” And he would have reached for my arm, but I stepped away and ran all the way back to the house with him close behind. I laid it out flat—ran as fast as I could and he stayed on my heels easily. When we stopped, I didn’t run for the door. Mia the coward would have done something like that.

Instead I lingered at the front porch, glancing at the glow coming from behind the blinds in the window. It wasn’t yet dark enough for Mom to turn on the porch light so we were masked in the violet darkness of dusk. I didn’t say anything but I didn’t move from my spot, either, still breathing heavily. In spite of the churning emotions, I liked having him here with me. It beat the hell out of that distant, empty ache. This pain was sharper, more acute, but he was here. Standing close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off of him in his sweat-soaked shirt. He took a hesitant step toward me. God, I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to touch him. I turned my face to the side, unwilling to look into his intent eyes. “Hurting you wasn’t the only reason I did it,” he finally said in a hoarse voice. Pain radiated in my chest whenever I breathed. “Oh?” “I wanted to prove to myself—and you—that you cared.” He moved a step closer, reached up to run his thumb along my jaw and tilt my head toward him. I backed away and he followed until I came up against the pole that held up the overhang of the front porch. His face was inches from mine and my heart beat on every micrometer of my skin. “You do care, don’t you, Emilia?” I closed my eyes and swallowed, trying to summon up every ounce of anger and annoyance I felt for this man. But his thumb—that tiny touch along my jaw, shifted to glide over my lips, making me crazy, awakening that deep hunger inside. I cared. Of course I fucking cared. I hadn’t been able to rip my mind away from him in the month we’d been apart from each other. He was the first thing I thought of every morning, the last every night and he slipped effortlessly into most waking thoughts during the moments between. “I never said I didn’t care,” I finally said, lamely. “You never said you did, either.” My eyes found his, I shivered and he pulled his hand away. “I care,” I whispered. His head closed the distance on mine and he pushed my head back with the force of the contact. Our mouths met, eagerly tasting each other. My body rose up to meet his, my hands clamping around his neck to hold him to me. With a low groan, he plunged his tongue into my mouth and together our tongues danced. Desire pervaded me, right to the deepest center. I wanted the touch of his mouth, his hands, his body. I wanted the words to go along with them. I wanted to know he cared. When he reached for my waist, I pulled my head away though everything in me screamed in protest. I put my hands on his damp, hard chest. I wasn’t ready for more. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I needed time to think. Time to breathe. He was breathing heavily again and his arousal pressed against me. I trembled. My body wanted to answer that siren’s call. Before, I’d only imagined what it could be like between us. But now, I knew exactly what kind of pleasure I could expect in his arms, his bed. It took every ounce of willpower to resist. “You only came because you felt guilty about my not taking the test,” I said. He hesitated. “No. But it did give me the excuse.” “Since when have you needed an excuse?” He shook his head. “I’ve never done this before.” My eyes held his. “I can tell.” “Emilia—I owe you an apology for what happened at my office. It was an asshole thing to do and I knew it the minute I did it. And I am so damn sorry.” I drew in a shivery breath. I was so confused. As usual, Hurricane Adam was stirring up this swirling force of nature around me, catching me up in high-speed winds and dangerous tidal currents. I needed to think about what he was telling me. I needed a quiet place, to be alone. I shook and his arms tightened around me when he felt it. “Good night, Adam,” I said in the quickening darkness. He paused, then released me, stepped back with clear reluctance. “Good night,” he said in the faintest

hint of a whisper. I fumbled in through the front door on shaky legs, avoiding my mom’s inquiries about the run with a few grunts and “It went greats.” Then I was off to curl up with a study book on my bed under a bright white reading lamp. I didn’t even pretend to study. There was no way. I immediately tossed the book to the floor and pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, unable to get Adam’s words out of my mind. I did care. It was true. And he knew damn well the truth of that. But how much did I care? And how much did he care? What was this? Could it be…? No. No, it couldn’t be because I had refused to allow it. He’d hurt me. That stunt with Lindsay had gutted me and that was what scared me most of all. I’d given him the power to do it to me. Loving someone meant giving them the power to crush you—putting the tenderest, most delicate part of yourself in the palm of someone else’s hand. I dammed the unshed tears under my lids, berating myself for the wimpy crybaby I’d become since this had all started. He had no right to come barreling in to wreak havoc on my emotions like this. Just when I thought I might be able to sort things out. Just when I’d been trying to pull things together, become a stronger person. He appeared to be doing the same thing with his life—forcing himself to walk away from work must have been painful. It was hard for me to imagine him without his cell phone or laptop. Why had he taken that step? Had he been as affected by our time together as I had? Were these changes in response to what I’d said to him? I shut my eyes tight, hating this chaos swirling inside me, groping to find some semblance of order. He had no right at all to do this to me. And how was I supposed to withstand the next six days with him around? The solution, I decided, would come in being cordial but distant. Keeping him at a distance would protect me. I’d let him get too close tonight but I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I could never allow anyone to have that kind of power over me ever again. My resolve strengthened and with a sigh, I turned off my light, rolled to my side and lay there for the next three hours, far from sleep.

Chapter Eighteen After breakfast—during which, mercifully, we did not speak much—Adam got into his new hybrid electric car and sped off toward Anza proper, saying he wanted to explore the town. In all honesty, I didn’t know what could possibly keep him longer than an hour or so. Anza was a small community perched on the edge of the Cahuilla Indian Reservation. Other than rugged outdoors and the Pacific Crest Trail, which bisected town, Anza had little more to offer the casual tourist. Perhaps I’d get Mom to suggest a visit to the Anza-Borrego State Park tomorrow. That would keep him out of my hair for the entire day if he set out after breakfast. I helped Mom clean up the breakfast dishes and she had a strange smile on her face. I asked her what was up. “Mr. Drake is a really good-looking man,” she said in answer. I shot a wary look at her. Had she seen what had happened on the porch the night before? “Yeah, I guess so.” “You guess so? What, are you blind? He’s, what, almost thirty or so? If he were a few years older…” Eww. Mom had the hots for Adam? That was gross. “Mom…” “I’m just saying. If a guy like that doesn’t get your motor running, then maybe you should go back and talk to Dr. Marbrow for a few sessions, find out what’s going on with your natural urges.” I blew out a breath of disgust. “I refuse to talk about ‘natural urges’ with you. And don’t you dare decide to go all cougar on me, please!” She shrugged and laughed at me. Shaking my head, I left the kitchen for the stables, ready to throw myself into my work for the day. He was gone most of the morning and did not return until after lunch. Not like I was keeping track or anything. Though, I might have glanced down the road a few thousand times while I was working with the horses in the arena. On his way back in, at around two o’clock, he took the long way to his cabin, walking near the arena where I was lunging Tate. I had on my jeans, boots and my old hat. He smiled and waved. “Howdy, cowgirl.” I waved in return. A few hours later, my mom told me that she had seen him take off on a trail and asked me to run some clean towels over to the cabin. Mom usually did this job and I really, really wished she would do it today. The thought of going into his cabin—of possibly being seen entering his bedroom… So I ran over as quickly as I could with the stack, knocked on the door, waited and knocked again. When no answer was forthcoming, I used the master key with some relief, and entered. I left the fresh towels on the counter in the bathroom while I gathered up a few of the used ones and draped them over my arm. I collected some empty water bottles on the desk to put in the recycling, figuring I’d better take the opportunity to tidy up a little. As I grabbed one of the bottles, I inadvertently knocked over a stack of papers that fell to the floor. Cursing, I threw the towels and bottles just outside the front door and then went back inside to pick up the papers. I gathered them and then reordered them, forcing myself not to violate his privacy by looking. Many of them were trail guides and local information, some flyers and menus from the few diners in town. But I started when I saw the unfolded sheaf of papers with letterhead from Pohlman’s Law Office —a lawyer whose name I recognized. Not long ago, I’d looked over similar paperwork handed to me by my mother. The letterhead of my mom’s lawyer. This was the same lawyer—one of only two in town—who had officiated the paperwork for my mom’s anonymous benefactor. The one who had invested in the ranch as a silent partner, taking a mere twenty

percent of any profits accrued, if and when we ever stood to make a profit. My hands shook. Because now I had to find out why Adam had my mom’s paperwork. But as I read on, I discovered that it wasn’t Mom’s paperwork. It was Adam’s. Because Adam was Mom’s benefactor. And at the bottom of the page, his signature said so, and the date, showing he’d signed those papers today. My heart thumped so hard it was painful. The deal had been initiated before the auction. Weeks before we’d ever met in person. I felt like the coyote in that old cartoon who’d had the floor sawed out from under him. He stood there waiting—waiting for the fall. And the room spun from my disorientation and my hands shook. I dropped the paperwork onto the desk and scurried out of that room as fast as I possibly could, stooping to pick up the towels and bottles. But I wasn’t fast enough because Adam stepped onto the porch at that moment and I jumped so hard I dropped everything. Towels went flying and bottles went bouncing. “Here, let me get those,” he said. “No!” I shrieked, still shaking. “No. I’ve got it.” And I bustled around like a freak trying to pick up every last thing while he watched me with the most obvious puzzlement I’d ever seen on his face. “Emilia, what’s wrong?” “Mia—” My mom showed up right behind me. “I’ll get the towels.” And with a huff of frustration, and still shaking as if it was forty below outside instead of a toasty ninety-five, I shoved them into my mom’s arms and walked away. “I gotta…I need to be alone for a while,” I gasped and then headed out toward the front of the house. What I really wanted to do was get in my car and screech the hell out of the driveway, but I wasn’t about to stop everything, go inside and start searching for my car keys. So I set foot to the highway instead. I walked for about ten minutes before I noticed a long shadow moving up behind me. The way it moved, the way it gained on me even when I stepped up my pace, I knew exactly who it was. I stopped so abruptly that he almost ran into me. We were standing on the roadside along an empty lot. I ducked through the ranch-style fence into the field. Of course, he followed me. “What has you so freaked, Emilia?” I kept walking, this time not trying to outpace him, but the words were rolling around in my head so that I could hardly round them up to form a coherent sentence. Then I turned on him. “You tell me,” I ground out. He shook his head, utterly confused. “Why do you have paperwork in there declaring yourself as my mother’s secret investor?” His mouth set. “You went through my papers?” “I knocked them on the floor because I’m a fucking clumsy housekeeper. If you didn’t want me to find them, you shouldn’t have left them sitting out there like that. It’s not like they were locked in a document safe.” He shifted his stance, looking away. I could tell he was pissed. So the fuck what if his secret was out? It was just another one in his long string of secrets. “I set them down there because I just got them today, in town, from the lawyer. I had no idea you’d be going into the room.” He looked back at me with narrowed eyes. “You were never supposed to see those.” I tried to breathe while gesturing wildly with my hands. “I don’t get—why did you—how could you have known—when—?” And I would have continued on like that if he hadn’t put his hands on my shoulders, pulling me to face him. “Take a deep breath and calm down. You are shaking like you saw your own ghost.” And I was. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t control it. “Emilia,” he said again, this time quietly, and I looked in his eyes. And then I scowled and smacked his chest with the back of my hand. “You tell me everything now, Adam Drake, or… or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

He caught my hands and held them inside his easily. And then, he pulled one of my curled fists to his mouth and kissed it. I yanked away from him, tears immediately springing from my eyes. “I’ll tell you everything,” he said in an even voice. “If you promise me you won’t flip your shit when I do.” My voice was as shaky as the rest of me. I grabbed the insides of my elbows. “I can’t promise you that.” He swallowed and looked away, actually looking afraid. Definitely an emotion I had never seen cross his face. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “Even though we only physically met two months ago, I’ve known you for over a year. I told you in St. Lucia that—that you meant something to me. I read your blog all the time. I liked your articles, your insights. You’re very witty, and I looked forward to my blog feed updating with your articles, even when you were mocking my game or lauding the competition.” He shook his head, remembering some past frustration. “Sometimes you really pissed me the fuck off and other times I laughed so hard my sides felt like they’d split open. But—beyond that, I really felt I knew you. Especially when we started spending so much time together in game. I looked forward to those times. It was like a bright spot during a dark day smothered in work and responsibilities. I couldn’t wait to log in and share laughs with the group. I enjoyed them all, but with you—” He took in a deep breath and exhaled. “It was different.” He shot me a look. “But then you wrote the Manifesto. You already know how much I hated it because I argued every single point of it with you for hours. The whole idea of the auction offended the hell out of me. You know the reasons why I feel the way I do about women resorting to selling their bodies.” I looked away and he hesitated. He released my hands and cleared his throat. “And I just had to know, you know? What would drive you to do this? I had this image of you in my mind as this self-possessed, funny, mature, very intelligent, modern woman and then you put up the Manifesto and I just.…” He blew out a breath, shaking his head. “In my gut I knew it had to be something else—that you were desperate for a reason, even though you never told me that there were financial issues behind it beyond the cost of medical school.” His gaze sharpened. “So I had you investigated.” Those words hit me like a blow. “What do you mean, ‘investigated’? You mean like a PI walking around with my picture asking questions about my past?” He looked long and hard at me. “No. I just had a buddy run some financial history on you. And your mom. And I figured it out. So I set the wheels in motion for a charity organization I’m associated with, Golden Shield Group, to help her out in a way that would have absolutely nothing to do with the auction.” Thoughts were writhing inside my head. My interior had transformed into a howling gale that threatened to tear at my soul. I swallowed a sob, turned from him and began walking. For two steps, he let me go, then he followed. “Emilia—” I stopped, putting my head in my hands, and began to pace in front of him. “How many more secrets are there, Adam? It’s like you’re a fucking onion with layer upon layer of lie. First you win the auction, but you don’t bother to tell me you never want to have sex with me and so you drag it out between us, leading me to believe it would happen even though you had no intention of it ever happening. Then I find out that we’ve actually known each other way longer than I thought and now this!” I could hardly get it out. The betrayal threatened to suffocate me. Adam followed my movements, his eyes dark with worry. “This is it. You know everything now.” I shook my head. “Why did you bother with this entire charade?” He rubbed his jaw. “Because I couldn’t help it. I never wanted you to go through with this. I told you— I never intended for it to go so far. But—” He hesitated and took a step toward me, but I could tell he

really didn’t want to say any more. “But what?” He steeled himself and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “But I lost control. I couldn’t help it.” He closed his eyes. “I’m not proud of that fact. But whatever this is between us got a lot bigger than me very quickly. I couldn’t stop thinking about you from one time to the next and I kept telling myself that I’d cut things off the next time and the next time never came because every time I was with you I discovered I wanted you more. And not just in my bed, Emilia, though that part was driving me crazy.” I stopped pacing, my arms folded in front of my chest. I listened to him but could not look at him. He spoke again. “I wanted more and I’ve never wanted that from any other woman ever. I wanted to spend all night watching movies with you or taunting you with irrelevant hints about the game or arguing over which version of the first Star Wars trilogy is better or having you taunt me about how my taste in music is exactly like your mother’s.” He paused and I finally looked at him. I wish I hadn’t. Emotion was written on every feature. His eyes pinned mine down, dared me to look away. “Every minute I spent with you made me want a hundred minutes more.” I extricated my gaze from his. My eyes stung and emotions threatened to bubble up from my chest. I couldn’t catch my breath. He moved to stand in front of me and, slowly, carefully, he placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’m going to say something right now that I know is going to scare the shit out of you because it scares the shit out of me. But I have to say it.” He paused, waiting for me to look at him. But I knew what he was going to say. And I didn’t want to hear it. Finally my eyes met his. “Please, don’t,” I whispered. He closed his eyes, clearly disappointed. When he spoke, his voice was shaky. “I love you, Emilia. I love you so goddamned much that I can’t breathe when I don’t know where you are or how you are doing. This last month has been torture. I wonder if it’s possible to have room in my heart for anything else but these feelings.” I couldn’t respond, just shook my head. I wanted him to stop talking and I wanted him to never stop. He cleared his throat and continued. “If this past month without you has taught me nothing else, it’s shown me what I want. I want—I need—you in my life. If I have to, I’ll wait as long as it takes to get that.” I put a hand to my forehead, tears coating my cheeks now. I’d never cried in front of him before, but now my barriers were so brittle, so fragile that I seemed near tears at every moment. Anger burned at my cheeks, the base of my throat. I was so pissed at what he was doing to me. With those words he’d seized control again—like he always did—declaring what my future would be. He’d wait as long as it took but that meant that, ultimately, he’d get what he wanted. And he was a man who didn’t settle for anything less. I stepped back from his hold, my fists balled. “Fuck you, Adam Drake,” I hissed. “I never asked for you to come into my life and arrange things. I never needed you to save me!” His head tilted in that way he had of studying me, his eyes calculating. This outburst had not been a surprise to him. He swallowed, squared his shoulders. “No. Probably you didn’t,” he said so quietly I could barely hear him over the raging, wild twister of emotions swirling inside of me. “But I sure needed you to save me.” And with that, he turned and walked away. And every part of me wanted to throw myself after him, wanted to wrap my arms around him with all of my strength and pull his body against mine. Instead I doubled over and sobbed, pain wracking me from forehead to ankle. I sobbed so hard that my head felt like it would split open. I sobbed so hard that I could barely catch my breath, gasping like a diver on an empty tank. The hurt was too much, too intense. Those words. Those words every woman dreamed of hearing from a wonderful man like Adam had

made me sob instead. Because I doubted I had what it took to ever live up to them. To ever be able to return those sentiments. Because Adam wasn’t the one who was empty inside. I was. *** By the time I made it back to the house, it was well after dark. Adam’s car was still in the driveway. Mom had made and served dinner—to which she had apparently invited him, because they sat at the table over their empty plates, talking and sipping wine. I tried to file past the dining room unnoticed but Mom stopped me. “Mia, I made you a plate. Come eat!” I stood in the doorway, aware that I looked like complete shit. I had dust and tear tracks all down my cheeks, swollen eyes and nose and dried snot all down the front of my shirt. I refused to look at Adam, who was apparently fascinated by his own empty plate. “I’m just gonna go take a shower and hit the hay.” Mom frowned. “Are you—?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” I cut her off with a significant glance at Adam’s bowed head. She didn’t look convinced. “Oh, okay. Well, Mr. Drake let me know that he had some business come up. He’s going to have to check out early in the morning.” My eyes shot to Adam’s and we held each other’s gaze for a long moment. My heartbeat came with increasingly sharp, stabbing twinges. My voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I cleared my throat. “Excuse me.” And I withdrew, heading straight for the shower. I turned the water temperature up as high as I could tolerate it. I needed it to wash away the numbness, the painful emptiness inside me. Tomorrow he’d be gone and this time I’d likely never see him again. By rejecting him, by allowing him to go, he’d know that I wanted him to get on with his life. Without me. I thought about his accusations, about the reasons why I couldn’t let him in. I knew it was because I was certain he’d hurt me. He’d leave me. All men leave. And he would, too. Just like the Bio—just like Gerard. Every single man you look at for the rest of your life is tainted by him. I was agonizingly aware of the truth in his words. Adam was not Gerard. Adam was not married, was not using me. Adam wanted more. Had just told me he was in love with me and, for all that meant, I honestly felt he believed it. Adam was not Gerard. And there were many men in the world who weren’t. And I had to stop believing, in my childish way, that because one didn’t want me—because Gerard had rejected me before I was even born—that everyone else would, too. I had to find the courage to believe it and follow a path to happiness according to that new belief. I stayed under that pulsing hot spray until it ran tepid and Mom banged on the door in protest because there was no hot water for the dishes. “Mia,” she said when I got out, wrapping my robe around my dripping body. “I’ll be fine, Mom.” “Our guest…Mr. Drake—” I panicked, heart racing. “Did he leave already?” I grabbed her arm with my urgent need to know. Mom wrested it free from my grip and frowned. “No. I told you—tomorrow morning. You two already knew each other, didn’t you?” I pulled back, turned and walked into my room. Of course, she followed me. “Mia, is he the guy you’ve been seeing?” I stopped, that same old muscle knotting between my shoulder blades. I sighed. “Yes.” “You know I’m a shitty judge of character, so you shouldn’t trust me as far as you can throw me, but—” I turned. “Stop blaming yourself, Mom. Stop doubting yourself. You made one mistake and you shouldn’t beat yourself up for it for the rest of your life.”

Her face set into grim lines. “Wise words that you should live by. You shouldn’t be basing your entire life on my mistake, either.” I slumped onto my bed and looked at her. I took in a shaky breath. “I’m scared.” She sank onto the bed next to me and put her arms around my shoulders. “Growing up is a scary thing. I think I know why he came up here and I think I know what decision you are scared of making. And the only thing I can tell you is that the decision is yours and yours alone to make. But consider me. I’ve been alone for a long time by choice and I’d rather you found someone who makes you happy. Mia, if you love him, don’t choose to be alone.” If you love him…I rested my head against her shoulder and closed my eyes, that pain throbbing deep inside me again. I sighed, knowing the truth of her words. *** In nothing more than my nightshirt and underwear, I stood on his doorstep in the cool desert night, shaking but not from the chill. In the distance, I could hear a pack of coyotes calling to each other, and the ubiquitous chirps of crickets. There was no light coming from under his door and as it wasn’t very late, I was concerned. As far as I knew from the nights we’d spent together, he was not one to retire early. But maybe he was tired tonight. Well, tough shit, I’d wake him up, then. This couldn’t wait. I reached up and knocked loudly on the door, listening carefully for footsteps to approach on the other side. But there was complete silence. I glanced at the window. The curtains had not been completely pulled to cover it so I pressed my face against it, cupping my hands to look inside. And I couldn’t see a damned thing because it was so dark. “Adam?” I called through the window, giving it a bang with my fist and then waiting. Nothing. For long moments I refused to let myself believe that he wasn’t on the other side of that door. I knocked again. Called again. My stomach twisted until it threatened nausea. Oh God—Oh God! He’d left. I gasped for breath. He’d packed up his stuff and gone even though he told Mom he wouldn’t be leaving until the morning. He’d driven away while I was in the shower. Fuck. I had to go after him. There was no other way. I could chase him down to OC tomorrow but who knew where he’d be or how I could find him? I didn’t have his number because it was in the contacts of that damned phone I’d given back to him. I had his e-mail, but he’d just told me he was going without e-mail contact during his break from work. I knew where he lived and could go to his house, but if he was planning a leave of absence from work, who knew where he’d be tomorrow—maybe on a plane to somewhere far away? Tears threatened at the realization that he was gone. The tiniest of voices in the back of my head asked what if I never saw him again? What if I never heard his voice? Or felt his arms tighten around me? What if I never knew love like this ever again? Nearly paralyzed with grief I spun and pressed my spine flat against his door, my mind racing to come up with a plan. I’d run and grab a pair of jeans and my keys. I’d get myself down the mountain tonight. He was two hours away. I’d bang on his door at one in the morning if I had to. Shit. I struggled to breathe, tears coating my cheeks now. How could this be happening? My back slid along the door until I sat at his doorstep. I pressed my face to my knees, helpless with the loss. I’d only just managed to acknowledge that I could have these feelings—that the world would not implode if I allowed myself to love a man. This man. This wonderful man. He was gone and I’d paid dearly for my stubbornness. This love had cost me more than three-quarters of a million dollars. It had cost me my heart. And there was no buying it back—at any price. It belonged to him. Forever. If he still wanted it after I’d shoved him away. Fool, Mia. Coward. I sobbed into my hands, unable to find the strength to follow through with my plan. The will was

draining out of me and threatened to leave me in a pool of misery right here on the porch of this little cabin. My shoulders shook and I was thankful that there was no one out here to hear me wailing like a baby. And God only knows how long I would have allowed myself to sit there, a pathetic, weeping mess, if I hadn’t heard the scuff of shoes stepping across the porch, coming to a stop right beside me. I looked down at a pair of big feet in sneakers—the same ones Adam had worn when we’d gone running a couple nights before. I froze but I kept my face covered. He didn’t move for a moment and then sank onto a knee to look into my face. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough of that for one day?” My breath was painful in my chest and my head bounced back against the door behind me. I looked at him through swollen eyes as, humiliatingly, I hiccupped. “I thought you left.” He frowned. “Tomorrow. I was feeling restless tonight. Went for a little walk.” I stared at him dumbly, unable to find the words to match this jumble of feelings inside me. They were tangled, like spiderwebs all sticky and matted inside my chest. We stared at each other for a long, tense moment and I found that I was barely breathing. My chest would rise just enough to catch a mouthful of air before it blew back out again. His gaze intensified. “Do you want to come in or would you rather sit out here?” Without a word, I snuffled and struggled to my feet. Adam rose and opened the door, which, I only then realized, was unlocked. He flipped on a light and held the door for me, as if unwilling to turn his back on me for fear that I might bolt out into the night again. And yeah, I might have been inclined in that direction, but he blocked my easy escape, so I inched into the cabin. I threw a glance around the room, saw the stack of books on his nightstand, one opened and face down on the bed, Segment Hiker’s Guide to the Pacific Crest Trail. My eyes darted back to where he waited, just inside the closed door. My entire body started to shake—like an unattractive shivery kind of shake. He watched me from the doorway, attentive to my every move but standing stiffly, unmoving. Those dark eyes gave nothing of his feelings away. He was waiting for me to do the talking. I was the one who’d been blubbering like an idiot on his porch, after all. I still had no idea what I was going to say. I took a deep breath and asked him a question instead. “Why? Why did you come into my life and completely wreck everything I knew? I thought I was happy. I thought I didn’t need anyone…” My voice faded. His lips turned up in a humorless smile. “I could ask you the exact same thing.” I mopped at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I’ve done more crying today than I have in the past ten years combined. I’m not this much of a sniveling idiot—I swear I’m not.” I put my hands over my face. “I just—I don’t know what to do.” He paused, shifted his weight so that he leaned a sturdy shoulder against the door. “Yes, you do.” I dropped my hands and shook my head mutely. “Come here, Emilia.” And I did. I walked straight into his arms. And he pulled me to him and the tears came again. He kissed my hair, his arms tightening. My head fell against his shoulder and my arms slid around his waist. And I breathed him in, feelings of desire and belonging coursing through me. His arms felt so good around me, so solid, so real. My voice trembled as I took a deep breath and finally spoke. “I need you,” I said. His mouth moved to my neck and he kissed me there, bolts of electricity shooting down every nerve connected with that spot. It had taken everything in me to admit it…because I’d led my entire life until that very second firmly

believing that I didn’t need anyone—not a goddamn soul. That Mia Strong was an island, a fortress. But I needed Adam Drake. I needed him as much as I needed to breathe, eat or drink. And finally my brain allowed my heart to admit it. “I need you so much,” I repeated. “I love you.” He took my face between his hands, holding it still. He raised his head so he could look me in the eyes. “I can’t promise that things will be perfect, Emilia. But I can promise you that I will never give this up. Because I don’t think I knew how to live before you came into my life.” He pushed the hair back from my face but never took his eyes from mine. I sniffled, the tears still coming, and I shook in his hold. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t so scared I could pee myself. But I’ll never deny it again. I’ve loved you for longer than I even know. I fought the good fight but I can’t fight anymore. I won’t fight it. I love you, Adam.” And we kissed. And it was like that first time… that connection swelling between us, strengthening. In his embrace, I found comfort, closeness. And when the kiss grew more intense, presaged something more to come, I knew, too, that I was ready for that as well. Adam nudged us toward the bed and I went with him…and whether it was to make love or to just lie beside him while we talked all night, I knew that whatever happened, it would be all right. Because this was so right. Two alternate scenes written from Adam’s point of view follow. To skip ahead to the next book (click here)

Bonus Content What follows are two bonus scenes written from Adam’s point of view. The first is the scene from chapter 2 when Adam and Mia first meet. The second is from chapter 8 on Adam’s yacht.



Chapter 2 - Alt Adam When I first met my gaming friend, Eloisa, in person, it was a beautiful day in late April. A very normal sort of day. The circumstances of our meeting, however, were far from it. I waited at the curb of the Westin South Coast Plaza hotel for my lawyer, Joseph Macy to arrive at the valet. I’d already been standing there for about ten minutes. It’s a good thing the coastal breeze coming in was cool or I might be sweating. And I’d learned you never walk into an important business meeting when you’re sweating. Not a good way to start. Never show the adversary your weakness or your emotions. “Hey Joe,” I said, greeting him with an outstretched hand. “Adam, good to see you.” He shot me a quizzical glance. “Mind sharing what this is all about?” I shrugged. “I told you what it was about. You saw the paperwork.” He frowned. “About this virginity auction…right. And…?” He raised his eyebrows. “Nothing else you want to share?” He obviously wanted the backstory on this weird situation. I’d already decided against telling him. Let him think I was some kind of perv who craved virgin sacrifices. Or maybe I’d sit down and explain it all out to him later if I really had to. For now, I just had to make it through this and check it off as one more mission accomplished. At this point, it was a bit too embarrassing to go into. Too many people knew about this shit already. I’d already had my good friend Jordan on the case for me. He’d made plans to come to this sordid little meeting before having to deal with something that had cropped up at work. “Let’s go,” I said glancing at my watch. “We’re late, I think.” Which was probably better. The longer she sat in there waiting for this meeting to start, the more nervous she probably got. That would all work perfectly for my plan. We walked through the gold chrome and glass doors into the huge lobby of the hotel, making our way to the back toward the conference rooms. I recalled that Heath had told me room 10 A. “After you,” I said as I bent to pull open the frosted glass door. Joe glanced at me with a cocked eyebrow before stepping into the doorway and entering the room. Time to get this show on the road and set this plan in motion. I quietly wondered how long it would take to offend the hell out of her as I entered quickly after him. Across from us, two people shot out of their seats on the other side of a long glass conference table. I recognized Heath from when we’d met in person a few days before. I gave him a nod before turning to the woman standing beside him. I recognized her too. Our eyes met and I hesitated, feeling like I’d just stepped off a cliff and was free falling. I’d seen her photos from the auction. The public photos had been shots of her in a bikini and I knew she had a nice body. I’d tried not to look at them too closely because the circumstances behind which they had been posted had turned my stomach. But after the bids had come in, Heath had sent head shots as well. I could see she had a beautiful face to match the rest of her—nice body and fun personality. A dangerous combo. It was hard to believe that men had managed to keep their hands off of her for so long and if I hadn’t known her better, I would have suspected a sham. But there had to be a story behind why she’d never had sex. Too bad I wouldn’t be sticking around long enough to find it. I took in a long breath, wondering how long it had been since I’d drawn the last one. She was stunning. She had long, medium brown hair and light brown eyes, widely set. She was slender and tall—though almost dwarfed by Heath, who towered over her. He towered over me, too and I was six-one. He loomed over her like a body guard and the way I’d heard him talk about her when we’d met, I was certain he was

very protective of her. However, like me, he hadn’t managed to talk her out of this crackpot auction. She was stubborn to a fault. I’d run up against that several times in the past. She wore a thin white blouse and the most pathetic-looking rumpled skirt, which she self-consciously smoothed flat across her legs. She hadn’t taken her eyes off mine and I found it difficult to move. I had to mentally shake myself to remember why I was here—to be the most obnoxious jerk she had ever met and convince her to change her mind about this bullshit auction of hers. Talking sense into her hadn’t worked so it was time to resort to plan B. Operation Asshole. I jerked my eyes away from her gaze—that gaze that was sucking me into her orbit—and gave her a callous onceover. As my eyes traveled down her legs and then back up to her face, I saw a touch of crimson rise to her cheeks. Perfect. I walked to the table. I’d dressed the part today, too. When was the last time I’d even worn this suit, anyway? It was probably someone’s wedding—or maybe a funeral. I rarely ever wore a three-piece suit to work unless involved in some sort of power meeting where looking like a CEO was important. This was one of those meetings. Heath leaned forward, offering me his hand and I smiled. “Good to see you again, Bowman,” I said, keeping with calling him by his last name to maintain the pretence that we didn’t actually know each other —that I hadn’t been his weekly gaming friend for almost fourteen months, now. He had no idea, of course, but because I’d never spoken on voice chat, he had very little to go on in order to suspect me. I just had to be careful and play this smart. I sucked in a tight breath before bracing myself to turn back to her. Cold hard steel, I reminded myself. This was a business transaction, after all, and a revolting one at that. She was a stranger who was selling her virginity. She was not my friend. Not the woman who made me laugh my ass off on a regular basis while we were working through tedious quests or hacking hordes of monsters in the virtual world of Yondareth. After I managed to offend her sensibilities today, I’d fade back into the woodwork. She’d abandon her crazy scheme and we could go on with our lives. She’d never have to know that I was FallenOne. There’d be no consequences. Things could remain comfortably the same. Heath laid a hand on her shoulder. “This is our semi-famous blogger, Girl Geek.“ I studied her and she bit her lip. I tried not to swallow as I watched her worry it between her teeth. It was fucking sexy as hell. She had the most beautiful lips, puffy, dark pink. Kissable. Definitely very kissable. I wondered what they tasted like. This was not a good sign. Shit. To cover for my unexpected reaction to her, I waved a hand toward her seat while I took mine. She cast a curious glance at Joe almost as if suddenly realizing he was there. I watched her closely, tried to frame my mind around her like a puzzle or a problem to solve. In many ways she was. If she had just listened to me or Heath in the first place, we wouldn’t have to be here going through this creepy farce. She looked back at me and when her eyes met mine, she looked almost startled. I narrowed my gaze at her and tried my best to look intimidating. Thank God Jordan hadn’t made it here like we’d planned or he’d be mocking me right now. Heath began thumbing through a stack of papers on the table. I turned to watch as he pulled out what he was looking for. I turned back to her. “So do I call you Girl Geek or do I get to know your name?” Yet another farce. I already knew her name—Emilia Kimberly Strong. I also knew a lot of other things about her, from gaming together and from other sources. What I hadn’t known until this moment was how mouth-watering she was in person. And how fun it was to watch her get flustered as I scrutinized her. She blushed and cleared her throat. “My name is Mia.”

I scoffed. “Mia?” Her hands fidgeted in her lap. My eyes were drawn to the movement. “Emilia. But everyone calls me Mia.” I sent her a patronizing smile—one that I hoped would fire her up even more. She almost scowled at me in return. Oh, this was going to be better than I’d imagined… “I’m not everyone,” I said, watching her chest as her breathing appeared to quicken. It suddenly felt very hot in this conference room. “Emilia.” Her fists clenched. Bingo, score one for Adam. Now to push it further…I flicked a glance at Heath’s papers. “So let’s go over the particulars of the contract. Is this just about the penetration of one organ by another or are there specifics laid out? What about touching, kissing? How many times? What about kink?” Her mouth dropped open—I could see it in the periphery of my vision. I had to fight the smile. God this was hard. If there was one thing I was really good at—besides whipping up a badass line of code—it was being an asshole. Why was it so hard today? I rubbed my bottom lip with my thumb to cover the smile tugging at my mouth. What was worse was that Heath looked like he was about to bust out laughing himself. Don’t give me away, man, I thought. Even though he had no idea he had anything to give away. Heath cleared his throat. “That’s a lot to cover. And this is a strange venue to do it.” I shrugged and looked back at Mia. “How about we just start with deal breakers, then?” She turned to Heath and nodded as if she’d been expecting that question. Heath said, “I know of one that we can discuss right now. There will be no fellatio.” Honest to God, I thought I’d misheard him. I leaned forward. “Excuse me?” Mia leaned forward and said in almost too loud of a voice, “You heard him correctly. No cocksucking.” Oh so now who was trying to be shocking? I tried that intimidating stare again and we held each other’s gaze for a long moment. I’d come in here with an agenda and it seemed to be getting off to a good start. What I hadn’t counted on, however, was how much fun it would be. I could probably sit here for another hour and think up new and even more mortifying ways to make her squirm. Time to up the ante, then. “Are you on birth control?” She rewarded me with a stunned blink. Nice. Called and raised, Ms. Strong. Joe’s head jerked in my direction. Likely wondering why I was being so blunt. I probably should have tipped him off ahead of time. But he was probably still trying to wrap his head around the fact that I was paying a ridiculous amount of money to sleep with a virgin. Another wave of revulsion washed over me at the thought and I was reminded of my mission… heh… Operation Save the Virgin? Mia’s lips thinned. “All of that is delineated in the paperwork for the terms of the auction, Mr. Drake. Yes, I’ll be using birth control but there will also be condoms—” Time to really gross her out. “If I’m going to lay down a fortune for the privilege of experiencing your quivering virgin flesh, I think it goes without saying that I expect to do it without a barrier.” She sat back, shocked. I tilted my head, watching her closely. “Why is that a problem? If we are both cleared by a physician —” “Recent medical clearance is not sufficient for me. I’d require celibacy for at least the previous six months, so—” “Then there isn’t a problem.” Yeah best not go into details there…I hadn’t gotten laid in almost eight months. I wasn’t really happy about that fact but when the hell had I had the time to rectify it lately? There just weren’t enough hours in the week and I’d been spending too much of my precious few spare hours gaming with these two and Persephone online.

Mia’s mouth opened as she leaned forward, about to do battle when Heath stopped her. Joe cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “We can work all these details out later in mediation. Mr. Drake does have a plane to catch later today.” I watched Heath and Mia interact. She was clearly pissed off at me. Good. She had no clue who I actually was. Just like I’d planned it. In a few more minutes, with a few more snide and suggestive remarks, this virgin would be running for the hills—and safety. I cleared my throat. “Gentlemen, could you excuse us for a moment? You’re free to wait just outside the door. If, of course, that is okay with the lady?” I darted a look of challenge at her, waiting to see if she’d contradict me. Would she allow me to seize control like this or would she show fear by refusing to allow us to meet alone? And what would that foreshadow for our supposed night together? It was a difficult choice for her. I knew it would be and I could see the struggle within her as she attempted to figure out what I was doing. “Fine,” she said. She didn’t say, “If that’s what you want,” or anything like that. That would be ceding power to me. But really, in this power game, she had lost long before this moment. It was hard to read her as the others got up and left. She relaxed her arms and folded them tightly in her lap and her beautiful brown eyes never left me. And she appeared very nervous. A wide-eyed innocent. And God, she was lovely. I couldn’t stop noticing it. But with that daunting intelligence in her dark eyes, she was far more than a pretty face. I knew it well. Her wit was sharp and her mind quick. She’d had me in stitches for way too many late-night gaming sessions. I hadn’t been in her physical presence long enough to read her signals but I had a feeling I was about to get some of that tart wit aimed my way very soon. I cleared my throat and began my prepared speech—designed, of course, to disturb her. Even so, I was a little reluctant to go this route. I wasn’t worried about what she’d think of me. But I was concerned about what such a discussion might do to her. As if with words I could violate that innocence I had so easily detected. A knot of emotion formed at the base of my throat. What was it? Sympathy? I knew she was desperate. I knew this was, in part, for altruistic reasons. But I couldn’t allow her to sacrifice herself like this. There was no way I’d stand for it. I would go out of my way to help my friends or prevent them from doing something stupid. And something about Mia in particular brought out the protectiveness in me. Or maybe she was just so bullheaded that I wanted to out-bullhead her. I always did like a good challenge. And yet, that same pull I felt earlier returned again with force. She fascinated me, powerfully attracted me. I cleared my throat and tried my best to ignore it. I laid my hands on the table, lacing fingers together. “I’m sorry if my bluntness has offended you. I assumed that a woman who has placed herself on the block like you have would be comfortable with straight talk.” She laughed. “Oh, is that what that was? I just thought you were being an asshat.” Here we go. This sounded more like the Mia I knew. A little back and forth was always fun. I just refused to allow myself to enjoy it too much. She sighed. “Mr. Drake. You are not leaving me with the best impression of yourself—” I cut her off with a chuckle. “Do I need to? I thought my bank account did that for me.” She tensed from head to toe. Good. “I am not a prostitute and I’ll thank you not to treat me like one.” “You’ve sold yourself. You may not see yourself as one, but clearly…” I overtly leered at her to emphasize my point. It wouldn’t take much to mentally undress her. As my eyes skimmed down from her perfect cleavage, across her breasts, waist and down to her gorgeous legs. Heat rose under my collar. Yeah, I imagined her clothes coming off. It had been too long and I was now feeling incredibly horny, much to my shame. She shook her head. “One night in my life and a bit of broken skin does not constitute prostitution.”

I couldn’t rip my gaze from her. There was some kind of strange energy in the room, like static electricity. “Sex for money is prostitution.” She shrugged. “I prefer not to put a label on it. One night of my life does not define me.” “A lot can happen in one night.” She looked at me for a long moment, not saying a word. But she also looked as if she was about to run screaming from the room, a changed woman, ready to give up this incredibly crazy scheme of hers. So, I pressed my advantage. “It takes a curious type of morality to save one’s self for so long only to sell off that asset to the highest bidder.” Her jaw tightened. Yeah, she was clearly pissed. “You didn’t pay to get inside my head, Mr. Drake.” Then she leaned forward and pushed Heath’s stack of papers across the table. “Here’s the fine print— everything that I could think of.” I barely gave it a second’s attention. “I’m not going to read through that now, obviously. And, of course, I’ll have addendums of my own. Along with a nondisclosure agreement.” One shapely brow rose. “You do know that I’m a blogger, right?” “Of course. But, aside from your Manifesto, you blog exclusively about gaming, not your sex life. The document is pretty standard, with a little extra wording about our special situation” She glanced over the paper, then her eyes flew to the top again, rereading it, brows tightening as she read. I took a moment to admire her skin, the way she pushed dark tendrils of stray hair behind a delicate ear. Frustrated with myself I looked away. It was high time I got laid—but not this way. Never this way. She asked for a pen, signed it quickly with jerky movements of her right wrist. Then, she pushed the paper back to me. “I’m going to need a copy of that.” I signed the paper as well. “Of course,” I murmured, pulling my smart phone from my jacket pocket to snap an image of the document. I promptly sent it to Heath’s e-mail account. “Heath Bowman now has a copy in his e-mail. He can forward it to you. I’ll have a physical copy mailed to you as soon as possible if you put your address on the back of the form.” She complied. Then she straightened with a smirk hovering on her sexy lips. “It’s too bad, really, that I won’t be able to write about it. I could have made it sound so mind-blowing—I might even have thrown in a few ‘earth-shatterings’ for good measure.” I couldn’t help but smile. She was making this really easy for me. “Oh, our encounters will be all that and more.” Her eyes widened and she shook her head in obvious disbelief. “It’s one night, Mr. Drake. That ‘encounters’ should have a parentheses around the s.” She had a lot to learn about sex, didn’t she? Damn shame…it would have been fun to be the one to teach her. “Encounters…no parentheses necessary.” Then I grew more overt with my ogling. It wasn’t difficult. I honestly liked just about everything I saw —the way her firm, high breasts strained against the white shirt. An exquisite blush stained her cleavage. I swallowed. Any more staring and I was going to embarrass myself with my own arousal. I couldn’t do this for long and remain unaffected. I suddenly wondered if I’d kept Janine’s phone number. She might be pissed if I called after eight months but… maybe that would be worth it. Because—goddamn—I needed it more than I’d thought I did. Working myself exhausted every day all day wasn’t enough, apparently. And if it wasn’t enough, she responded to my obvious leering. Her nipples grew taut and strained against the pale blouse. And—fuck—yep, suddenly her body parts weren’t the only ones that were responding. I covered my embarrassment by shifting in my seat and sending her a cheeky grin. “This is going to be fun.” And yes, I was regretting the fact that it wouldn’t ever amount to anything past this moment. Because it really would have been fun. In more ways than just the one.

She folded her arms to cover her breasts—thank God—and I finally tore my hungered eyes away. Clenching my jaw, I forced myself to think about something else besides her hot, lithe body and beautiful face. It was distracting as hell. I was going to have to dig deep to find Adam the Asshole again to finish off this whole charade. “I’m sorry to make this brief, but I’m on the way to a business meeting. We can work out all the details so that we’re both satisfied. I’ll be reachable by e-mail, however. Or you can text me.” Her relief was visible. I had to admit, mine probably was too. The sexual tension in here was crazy. So thick it could be cut with a chainsaw. “My cell phone isn’t working.” What? Who lived without their cell phone these days? Was it even safe for a woman to be roaming around without one? That situation would have to be rectified immediately. I’d find a way to get one to her anonymously. Maybe Heath could facilitate that for me once she backed out of the auction. I cleared my throat. “I have nothing but your best interests, health and safety in mind, Emilia. Both physically and legally.” Her wry look indicated that she did not believe me. “Well, I do have my own expectations of how this should go, of course.” “Of course you do.” We watched each other for a long moment and I don’t think either of us was breathing. I swallowed, thrown again. I needed the hell out of here before I either grabbed her and committed some lewd act by pushing her up against the wall and rumpling that pathetic skirt even more or just dropping to my knees and begging. I stood up and waited for her to do the same. She came around from her side of the table toward me and I held out my hand, indicating that she should go in front of me. But it was too deliciously easy to imagine myself slipping an arm around her waist, pulling her against me, smelling her neck. I shook my head to rid myself of the image. I reached for the door handle and paused, turning toward her. She looked at me, puzzled, but when she spoke, her voice was breathy with either anticipation or fear. “Was there something else?” Yes. Kiss me with those luscious lips of yours, I wanted to say. I wanted to know what they tasted like. I wanted to explore that mouth with my tongue, feel that silky brown hair twined in my fingers. I smiled. I knew what I wanted—I always knew what I wanted. But this was off limits. For good. “No. I’d better not ask.” “Mr. Drake—” “Adam,” I interrupted, my gaze focused on her with intensity. It was disconcerting how little I had to summon up. The intensity was already there, especially with her this close. I could smell the faint vanilla scent of her hair. I had vowed not to touch her but I could hardly resist. I likely wouldn’t have the chance again. I reached up and took her chin in my hand, tracing that exquisitely-turned jaw line with my thumb. She shivered under my touch and every last bit of me hardened painfully. Surprisingly, she didn’t shrink from me—didn’t play the part of the quivering virgin. She just watched me with those mysterious brown eyes. I tilted her chin toward me as if I might kiss her lips. Lord knows, I wanted to. “Call me Adam,” I said, brushing my thumb over her jaw again. I had to forcibly prevent myself from touching her lips. “It’s only fitting, given that we’ll be seeing each other naked soon.” I swallowed as she sucked in air. It was actually far too close to the truth. I wanted my name on her lips while I touched her, made her come. I wanted it too damn much. “This isn’t a done deal. I could always change my mind,” she said, with a trembling voice. I nodded. “You could. And if you can’t bring yourself to hear it talked about, you probably shouldn’t go through with it.”

I leaned in close to get a whiff—vanilla and…peaches…and something else I couldn’t quite place. This would be the very last time I had the chance to savor that scent. Our faces were only inches from each other. My heart started pounding in my throat, hot arousal knotting in my gut. This wasn’t good for my asshole routine at all. “In the end, after all the legal talk, after all of the technical Latin terms we’ve been throwing around, this is going to be about two people. In bed—and probably other places. Fucking.” She flushed scarlet and with that parting shot, I pulled the door open without removing my gaze from her. She narrowed her eyes for a moment, then took her turn to leer at me. Oh no, she did not just do that. I was already sweating through the undershirt of this monkey suit and she was running her gaze slowly over me. My hand tightened on the heavy door handle to prevent me from tearing it away to grab her. I grinned. “Yes, this is definitely going to be fun,” I said. Too bad I wouldn’t be around to actually enjoy it. She cocked her head and clenched her jaw, clearly irritated. Her elegant eyebrows arched. “You’ll be paying enough for it.” And there it was. The essence of why this must fail no matter how torn I was at the moment. She may have been the most intriguing woman I’d encountered in a long time. She may have the most kissable lips I’d ever laid eyes on, but I would never, ever pay her for sex. Screw my raging hormones and this crazy attraction to her. This whole charade was about preventing her from doing a very stupid and self-destructive thing. I sobered, my previous amusement evaporating like cigar smoke. This would not happen. Not if I had anything to do with it. I’d do whatever it took to prevent it. “We’ll be in touch, Emilia.” My resolve firmed as we exited the room, her walking stiffly beside me as we made it back to where Heath stood talking with Joe. I didn’t spare another look at her. I couldn’t afford it. I hoped the first class lounge at LAX had showers. Cold, cold showers.



Chapter 8 - Alt Adam “I need to take a look at my e-mail. Mind waiting for me up on the top?” I said to Emilia as she hesitated by the nearest ladder. She smiled at me. “Okay. But don’t take too long.” I nodded, turning away from her and tucking into the room I used as an office while on the yacht. Our improvised shower together had been too much. She’d completely surprised me with that maneuver and it was getting increasingly difficult to resist her. Increasingly difficult—I mocked myself. Damn near fucking impossible, actually. Any more time alone in her presence tonight was fraught with danger. A man had his limits, after all. I sat down, opened up my computer and tried not to think about the feel of her body under my soapy hands. It was all kinds of distracting and took me long minutes of running through some mental coding to try to erase. I was frankly afraid that if I went up there now, that crazy chemistry between us would start bubbling up again the minute we were back in each other’s presence. Maybe if I stalled for time, she’d fall asleep waiting for me? It seemed mean to desert her, but it happened unintentionally in any case. Once I fell down the rabbit hole that was work, I couldn’t stop. When I looked up, almost an hour had passed. She’d probably be pissed at me but it was better than the alternative. As it was, it was going to be hard as hell to keep my hands off of her. It was dark out. The moon was a tiny sliver and the stars were brilliant in a clear sky. A beautiful night. With steely determination to keep my distance this time, I climbed the last ladder to the top of the yacht where she sat. I adjusted the bulky blankets under my arm, took a deep breath and came up behind her. I sat down beside her but she kept her gaze fixed on the sky. “Hey, sorry about that. Got tied up.” It wasn’t a lie. “I brought some blankets in case you are chilly.” She clasped her arms against her, sitting stiffly. She was either cold or very annoyed. Both would help this situation and I almost sighed in relief. “Oh I’ve had a wonderful time up here by myself trying to figure out what constellations I’m looking at.” “Which one were you looking for?” “Uh, I don’t know… the Big Dipper maybe?” “Ursa Major. It’s over there. And there’s Ursa Minor with Polaris, the North Star. And in between the two is my favorite, Draco the Dragon.” I could hear the smirk in her voice in the dim light. “Because of course it’s your favorite. They named it after you…” I smiled. “That’s not the reason it’s my favorite. Draco is a circumpolar constellation. Means it revolves around the North Star and you can always see it in the sky. No matter what time of night. No matter what season. You will always see it. It’s always there.” She turned and looked at me for a long moment. In the low light, she was as lovely as ever, the silvery light reflecting off her perfect features. I took a deep breath and looked away, tried to ignore that lopsided feeling of my heart thumping in my chest. I lay back, pointing straight up as I located some of the constellations of the Zodiac. Slowly she shifted her position, lying beside me. I immediately realized this was a mistake when her arm brushed mine and a spark of lightning arced between us, or so it felt. I tried not to flinch but I noticed she drew away almost immediately. She’d felt it too. When she spoke, finally, her voice was full of breathy wonder. “I still can’t believe you were up there.”

A brief memory of floating in weightlessness flashed in my mind. “Yep. For ten days. And if I get my way, I’ll go up again.” “How did you turn off work for that long?” I shrugged. “I didn’t. I worked by satellite for a few hours every day. But I also had to participate in science experiments, too. I enjoyed that a lot.” She sighed. “It must be so satisfying, to see your wildest dreams come true.” I didn’t say anything for a long time. There was a longing in her voice, as if she had no idea what it felt like to have a dream. But I knew damn well that she had dreams. Had she not been willing to sell herself to see one of them come true? “What are your dreams, Emilia?” She shrugged. “You know, I don’t have an answer for that besides ‘become the best badass doctor ever.’” Another long, weighted silence hung in the air. I cleared my throat. “That’s a worthy enough dream. But there’s got to be something deep inside—something you’ve always wished to do or see.” “Thanks to you I think I can cross a couple things off the list I never even knew I had.” I looked at her. “That trip to Europe should hardly count. You deserve to go back, to enjoy it like it should be enjoyed.” “Maybe I’ll do that,” she said lightly. “So what other things have I helped you with?” “Hmm. Flying first-class. Swimming with dolphins. Spending a day on a gazillion-foot yacht…” A long pause. “Experiencing the most amazing kiss ever.” Suddenly it was hard to breathe again because with those six words she’d pulled me into that exact same memory. Like a vortex in the middle of a storm. Her words, her effect on me was like gravity. Pulling me in so that I couldn’t escape. Even that moment when I’d first kissed her lips—after long days of wanting to do it. When I’d finally allowed it in order to prove a point to her. I’d succeeded in proving my intended point, but in other ways it had felt like a failure. I’d lost control. And I never lose control. I cleared my throat, suddenly finding it a little difficult to speak. “What a coincidence…I had that one on my list, too.” She turned to look at me. “Had?” “Yes. But I can cross it off now, too.” I rolled onto my side to look at her. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to do what I always do.” She appeared to be holding her breath. And I knew what she would ask before the words ever left her succulent lips. “Oh? And what’s that?” I lifted my hand and traced the outline of them. They trembled under my touch. This was playing with fire. And her reaction burned me. Scorched permanent marks on my soul. Breathing was now almost impossible. “I always try to top my own personal best.” And against my own better judgment—which had gone missing for the majority of the evening—I didn’t resist. I had to kiss her. I had to see if this was a fluke. But it was dangerous. I knew what she expected. She expected us to sleep together tonight. And as my mouth sealed over hers, pressed it open to receive my tongue, I knew my body expected it, too. She was just that goddamn irresistible. Before I even realized what was happening—drugged as I was by the sensual promise of her mouth—I had rolled on top of her and was pulling a blanket over us. I couldn’t stop. My hand was flying down her chest, unbuttoning her shirt. I only knew one thing. I had to have her. Vows of protection and safety be damned. I’d bid on her

auction to keep her from the wolves and now I was about to sprout fur and howl at the moon, the hungriest wolf of them all. She moaned against my mouth as I touched the soft skin of her stomach, her waist. I couldn’t move fast enough. My hand went to the waistband of her jeans, yanking it open. I was hard and aching. Between today and last night, my balls were about as blue as a pair could get. My body and this incredible hunger were overruling all thought as her hands moved under my shirt, across my chest. I growled. “Please,” she gasped when I finally let her up for air, devouring the soft skin at her neck instead. “I want you, Adam. I’m ready.” In seconds her bra, jeans and panties were off and she was naked under me. And I was burning up. “Emilia, you are driving me insane.” I pressed my body over hers again. She made quick work of unbuttoning my shirt, pulling it open. I pressed my bare chest against hers. Heaven. There was no way in hell I was going to be able to stop it. And yet, I knew I had to. I can’t wholly describe the feeling—like an egomaniac trying to dare fate by seeing how far he could go before turning back. She smelled so goddamn amazing—that vanilla and peaches scent. I wanted to devour her, every inch. “Adam, I want you,” she whispered hoarsely. Every word singed me. I lowered my head, took her pebbled nipples into my mouth one at a time. Closed my eyes, savored them like a gourmet meal. In the back of my head, two little voices were carrying on an argument. One might have looked just like me only dressed as an angel, the other, his malevolent twin, with horns, a pitchfork and a pointed tail. They were locked in a heated argument about when I should stop or how far I should go but I ignored them both and drowned myself in the sensual drug that was her sigh, her white-hot touch, her delicious mouth. She writhed against me and it was almost painful how tightly I was wound into knots. She’s a virgin. It shouldn’t happen here. It shouldn’t happen at all. That breathy moan when I sucked her nipples drowned out the voice of good oh so easily. A virgin has to lose it sometime, right? Why not to a nice guy like you? You can make sure she enjoys it. Now, this guy was speaking my language. I kissed my way across her smooth stomach, her delicate, soft skin felt like milky velvet. I circled her navel with my tongue and moved my mouth lower, nudging her legs apart. She sucked in a startled breath when she realized my intentions. With a resolve I didn’t fully feel, I vowed to stop this the moment after she had some fun. My balls were already blue—this wouldn’t change that. Maybe make them a darker shade, I guess. But what the hell. I loved the sounds she made when she came. I’d done it to her twice last night and I was already addicted. I wanted to hear her again. I wanted her to scream my name. I traced my tongue up the insides of her thighs. She let out puffs of breath—not quite a pant, more like a startled squeak. Her fingers threaded through my hair and I closed my eyes, loving the chills that traveled down my spine at her touch. Then, she tensed, her legs clamping around my shoulders. I paused. “Are you okay?” She sighed and then after a moment, her knees fell open. “I’m okay.” With my finger, I parted and entered her slowly, carefully. I was definitely torturing myself with what I could not have because she felt magnificent. Hot, wet. Tight. God, it would have been so amazing to be inside her. And I burned with wanting it. I swallowed, tried to concentrate and remind myself that this was about pleasuring her, not me. She let

out a sharp gasp, her back arching. Hello, Emilia’s g-spot. “Bingo. Found it.” She laughed. “They should give out merit badges for that,” I said, moving my finger inside her. She let out a sharp breath. “I’ll give you a fucking gold medal if you want, just don’t stop.” “Emilia, I haven’t even begun,” and I lowered my mouth to taste her. I traced my tongue around her swollen clit. It was every bit as good as I’d imagined. Better. I couldn’t decide which I liked more, the taste of her or the effect my tongue was having on her. She didn’t say anything coherent or comprehensible but I understood her just the same. She’d never had a man do this to her before and had no idea what she’d been missing. Looked like I got to teach her some things about sex after all. I closed my eyes, listened to her excitement build, tried to ignore my own that was full to almost bursting. And in a few short minutes, she was coming, her back arching, her fingers tightening in my hair, her legs clamping around my shoulders. After a long, silent moment, I sat back and watched her in her post-orgasmic afterglow and all I could think of was that, if it was possible, she was even more beautiful now than before. I’m going to fuck her. The thought shook me with violent intensity. I wasn’t going to pull back now. I had to have her. She was expecting it. She wanted it. And God knew I did too. This was so happening. “You liked that, did you?” She rolled her head back and looked at me. “No. Hated every minute of it.” A lazy smile crossed her lips. I loved her sarcastic wit. I moved to lay beside her and my mouth sank to hers. Again, it was like being pulled under. Her hands were on me and somewhere in the back of my head, a small voice squeaked protest. The rest of me was drowning it out, telling it to shut the fuck up. Her hands slipped up over my shoulders to my back, pulling my body to press down on hers. My every muscle tensed, craving the release I knew she could give me. I didn’t even bother to stop kissing her as I shed my pants and underwear. And then—then, as I settled back against her, she opened her legs. My hands slid up to thread through her hair—until I remembered at the last minute that she didn’t like that at all. I pulled my hands away, opened my eyes and looked at her. The faint sliver of moonlight had cast a silver glow over her warm skin. She looked like a goddess, all blazing with some sort of magical power. In magic, there was a type of spell called a “glamour.” It was used to give the illusion of ethereal beauty. But there was nothing counterfeit about her. And her beauty was no illusion. And I was beginning to realize that there was more to her than her face, her body. The beauty I saw in her went down to her bones and even deeper. She opened her eyes when I hesitated in my kiss and our gazes locked. My breath froze in mid-exhale. It certainly felt like some sort of magic spell had sucked me in. “Emilia,” I groaned, my body pressing against hers. We were millimeters from penetration. I could feel her heat ready to consume me. And this, this was impossible to fight. Principles be damned. My hands on her tightened and I shifted, positioning myself to enter her. “Fuck me, Adam,” she hissed. I sucked in a deep breath, for some reason shocked at her crude language. It wasn’t the first time I’d had a woman say those words or something similar at a time like this. But to hear them from her, drenched with desire, it reminded me of who we were, of what we were to each other. We were about to seal a business transaction and with that realization, a rush of nausea washed over me. Those words had the same effect on me as if I’d been doused in ice-cold water. I violently ripped myself away from her, shock breaking the spell that I had been pulled under. With a

grimace I bent and scooped up my clothes as quickly as I could gather them. She watched me with openmouthed shock. I suppressed a shudder of revulsion. What had I almost done? When had I lost control and—more importantly—why had I allowed it? “What the hell?” she said, pulling the blanket tightly around her. “This isn’t happening,” I said between clenched teeth, burning with anger. I was such a fucking idiot. “Get dressed. You can stay in a guest room.” I pulled on my pants and without even looking at her, I spun and made for the stairs to the lower deck. She was completely silent and motionless behind me. I felt like this biggest dick for doing this to her, for not explaining. But how could I explain? If she didn’t know by now that I never had any intention of ever carrying through with this fucked up arrangement between us then I was certain she would tonight. I had to flee. If I stayed, if I turned back and looked at her wrapped in only a blanket, if I bent to take her in my arms again, I could not be responsible for my actions for anything afterwards. So like a coward, I ran.

At Any Turn A Gaming the System Novel By Brenna Aubrey For Mom

So You Want to Be a Hero? Millionaire CEO Adam Drake overcame a tortured past to take control of his life and build his own gaming empire. The final piece falls into place with his newfound love for brilliant geek girl blogger, Mia Strong. Now Adam is at the top of his game. Your Princess Is in Another Castle. Until Mia suddenly breaks things off, leaving Adam in the dark. He senses she needs his help but that she's too stubborn or scared to ask. The more he tries to take control, the further she shies away. This is one problem he can’t solve by writing a check or a few clever lines of code. He will have to dig deep and put himself at risk…or else risk losing her forever. Click here to sign up for my newsletter.

The First Quest *Findelglora has logged in to Dragon Epoch *Findelglora has entered the world of Yondareth She emerges from the city of her birth, a young elf maiden having been trained and educated by the best. With the eastern city gate at her back, Findelglora looks around her with wide-eyed wonder, anxious to take on the world and explore its many mysteries. But every hero needs a quest to get her started. While pondering what this first quest might be, her eyes land on an older man bearing an expression of pure misery, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He wears the uniform of the Old Guard of the Elves: a military-style jacket spangled with glittering medallions of service, and a kilt. Meeting her gaze, he straightens and gives Findelglora a halfhearted salute. “Hello there, young one. Don’t you look bright-eyed and full of hope, ready to take on this miserable, harsh world! I wish you luck. You will be a small flicker of light in the prevailing darkness.” Findelglora bows to this revered man, knowing him once to have been the Captain of the Guard of the city. General SylvanWood spent his life in service to king and country. But sadly, he now passes his golden years haunting the remotest city gate, a vacant, tormented shadow of the man who once was the city’s greatest hero. “Sir, I’m anxious to go out into the world and follow your great example. Do you have a quest for me?” she asks. SylvanWood runs a trembling hand over his face. “If only I could have saved her. If only we could have shared our lives together.” Findelglora grows confused. “Whom do you mean, sir? How may I help?” SylvanWood shakes his head. “I had a love once and she was lost to me, forever. And every day, in remembrance of her, I place a bouquet of daffodils at this gate, which is the last place I saw her on the day I kissed her goodbye. But today I’m feeling unwell and don’t know if I can make it to the meadow to pick the flowers.” Findelglora’s heart aches to hear SylvanWood’s sad story. Shaking her head, she wonders what type of hero’s quest would help him. Slay a dragon? Subdue an evil wizard? She brightens and turns back to him. “Then let me go and pick them for you so that you can honor your love today.” SylvanWood looks skeptical. “You are young and there is opposition, even in the meadows outside these walls.” Findelglora stands tall, poking out her chest and brandishing the rusty sword she acquired before venturing out of the city’s gate. “I’m ready, sir. Today, as on other days, you will honor your love with a bouquet of daffodils!” *Findelglora has received the quest to pick ten daffodils and return them to General SylvanWood. *Promised reward for completion of this quest: The first piece of armor to wear on her further adventures out in the world.

Chapter One Five weeks of torture. Two miles until it ended. I almost fell to my knees with that realization—or maybe it had more to do with not having eaten in two days. That and the fact that I’d spent the last five hundred miles crossing over the highest mountains in California and my feet were fucking killing me. It was late afternoon—approaching dinnertime. Dinner. That sounded amazing. The last thing I’d eaten was a candy bar that I’d bummed off a fellow hiker the day before. I’d nursed that thing, bite by bite until the last nub, which I’d finished off this morning for breakfast. I could use dinner. And sleep on a nice, soft bed. For the previous five weeks, I’d slept on the ground or in my tent hammock—whenever I could manage to find a place to hang it. But this ordeal was now almost over, thank God. For the thousandth time, I cursed myself for being so stubborn about following through with this crazy plan. I hadn’t allowed myself to give up the idea of a long-distance hike once I’d set my mind on it. With a long sigh I again questioned my sanity. Why had I left civilization? Why had I left her behind? Emilia and I had only spent a month and a half together as a couple. A week together at her mom’s ranch when we’d finally decided to start something real and then back at my house for five more weeks planning this crazy trip as my version of Superman’s visit to the Fortress of Solitude. And she’d fully supported me in this—thought it was a good idea for me to get away, make the final break from work, or my mistress, as she called it. But I sure as hell hadn’t been ready to take a break from Emilia. I was almost there. Almost there. Those two words had become my mantra for the last sixty miles of this grueling trail. The Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley—northern trailhead of the famous (and torturous, in my case) John Muir trail—were now only two miles ahead. The landscape had been beautiful for the first couple of hundred miles, but now I was just done with the High Sierra scenery. If I never saw another pine tree again, I wouldn’t be sad. The Merced River roared up ahead. I felt like throwing my pack down right there, as sick as I was of the weight of the damn thing. But I tried not to think about any of that. I kept my eyes pasted on the signs for the trailhead, trudging along step by aching step. I knew she’d be there to meet me at the trailhead. The knowledge caused me to step up my pace. I couldn’t wait to see her again, pull her into my arms…God, I missed her. Ahead, I sensed the presence of a southbound hiker so I tucked in toward the right side of the trail. I didn’t even look up. I was feeling far from the spry, sociable dude who’d set out on this hike last month. That idiot had been left behind somewhere on the grueling stretch between Mount Whitney and the Silver Pass. The hiker who approached me was a woman. I could tell by the sound of her gait. She shifted her position on the trail so that she was headed straight for me. I stepped back toward the center and she moved straight at me so that we nearly collided before I stopped. I looked up, about to unleash an angry string of epithets before I saw her beautiful, smiling face. She was gorgeous. Long, dark brown hair with hints of red and large amber-brown eyes that were the exact same color as her hair. She was on the tall side for a woman and she had long, curvy legs extending from the shorts she wore. And I hadn’t laid eyes on her in five weeks. Emilia. I heaved a sigh of relief and dropped my pack, which smacked on the ground. “Adam?” she said with laughter in her voice. “Is that you?” I pulled her into my arms. “Damn—you are a sight for sore eyes.” I muttered, burying my face into her sweet-smelling neck. I was pretty sure that I wasn’t so sweet-smelling, but she returned the hug. I ignored the persistent ache in my muscles and tightened my hold around her.

Her body was soft, yielding against me and pulling her into my arms felt like home. Her hair was silky on my whisker-rough face. And that peaches and vanilla smell…I could get drunk with it. I pressed my face to her neck again. She flinched, laughing. “You look like a mountain man!” I supposed that meant she didn’t want a kiss—with my thirty-five days’ growth of beard and hair? Well, tough shit, I was kissing her anyway. I turned and pressed my lips to hers and she returned my kiss before pulling away with a laugh. “Your kisses tickle now.” I grinned. “C’mere and let me tickle you some more.” I planted a few more kisses on her before she pulled away again. “How was your hike?” I heaved a sigh. “Long.” She smiled. “That’s it? No deep revelations about life?” “I’ve decided that backpacks are evil.” She bent and picked up my backpack, hefting it over one of her shoulders. “This thing’s pretty heavy.” I reached for it, but she stopped me. “You’ve carried it five hundred miles. I think I can carry it for two.” I looked at her grimly, about to argue, when she raised her brows at me. “Stop being stubborn. It’s a modern world. I can carry your pack for you. You can make up for it later by carrying my books to class. Come on. You look exhausted.” I maintained my dour façade while admiring that stubbornness that made me love her so much. That strength. That independence that was so Emilia. It had gotten her through a lot of hard shit in her life and it had made her the amazing woman she was. Sometimes it aggravated me, but it was what made her her. “More starving than exhausted.” She turned and I fell into step next to her as we continued toward the trailhead together, shoulder to shoulder. True concern crossed her beautiful features. “How did that happen? Did we miscalculate your food drops?” There were stations all along the trail where new supplies could be mailed. We’d calculated what amount I would need and where to mail it before I’d ever set foot on this exercise in insanity. I hesitated, wondering if I should tell the truth about why I ran out of food and risk looking like a jackass. Maybe there was another excuse I could come up with. My whisker-covered cheeks heated with embarrassment. Oh, what the hell. “Two nights ago, I left the bear canister too close to a hillside slope. When I woke up in the morning, it was gone—at the bottom of a steep ravine.” Because of the strict rules to keep bears from getting into hikers’ food supplies, all backcountry hikers were required to carry their food in bear-proof canisters. There were strict rules against hanging our food in trees as well. We also weren’t supposed to leave them too close to our sleeping areas, either, lest we attract bears into our tent. But some adventurous bear had come along sometime during the night and rolled my food down into a steep ravine. I’d known better than to pull something so stupid, but in my defense, I’d been so exhausted I couldn’t even think straight. Score 1 for nature and 0 for Adam. “Mom and Peter are waiting at the trailhead so we have a ride.” She smiled. “Let’s go get you something to eat. A big juicy hotdog, maybe? You are no more than a few miles away from the little restaurant in Yosemite Village.” I almost drooled at the mention of a hotdog. I threw her a dirty look and she laughed. “Or maybe you’d prefer a big juicy hamburger, or—” I snaked a hand around her waist and rubbed my whiskers against her neck. She wriggled against me, dropping the backpack. I pulled her into another long kiss. Her lips were soft, open to me, and even through this thick beard,

every contact of our skin was electric. My tongue darted out to taste her and she sighed, her hands sliding up to clamp around my neck. This close to the trailhead, the path was busy with hikers—those simply going down for an hour or two, not just dedicated idiots like me. Heads turned, but I didn’t care who saw. I cinched her to me, refusing to let her go—as if she might vanish like a mirage. After I fed my face I was going to have to feed a hunger of a different kind…She stepped back, breathless, flushed. “You’re going to have to lose that beard if you want to get lucky, mister.” Under my beard, I smirked. She didn’t sound very committed to that. I bent and snatched up the pack before she could grab it again and she rolled her eyes at me, muttering about my muleheadedness. “C’mon. There’s a hamburger or three with my name on them,” I said. *** Goddamn that burger tasted like heaven—like the most delicious thing I’d ever shoved in my piehole. I couldn’t stop groaning about it, either, which led to Emilia and her mom, Kim, watching me with concerned frowns. Emilia had driven the four hundred miles from Southern California with her mom and my Uncle Peter to meet me at the end of my hike from hell. Much as it was nice to see them, I would have preferred to have the time alone with Emilia—once I took care of more essential needs first, like eating and bathing. And sleeping in a real bed. “He’s eating like a Neanderthal,” Emilia whispered to her mother. “Do men usually regress while in the wild?” Amusement danced in her golden-brown eyes. Just to mess with her, I groaned even louder and shoved the last third of the burger in my mouth all at once. Kim grinned. “Don’t worry. I don’t think it’s permanent. Once he’s back in his man-lair, he’ll be guzzling beer and watching Darth Vader on Star Trek in no time.” Emilia and I both turned to her, aghast at her blatant error—every nerd’s nightmare. Kim held up her hands in surrender. “Kidding!” Peter chuckled and shook his head as I began to cram the french fries in my mouth as fast as I could. He eyed me cautiously. “Want me to get you another burger? You’ve got to be starving after Yogi stole your picnic basket.” He glanced at my plate. “Next one’s on me. You’re looking kind of scrawny. Starting to remind me of your high school days.” I glared at him. Well, that was below the belt. I didn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds in high school. Peter got up and went to the counter to make his order. Emilia pulled out her cell phone to look at the time. “I’m going ask the concierge at the hotel to see if I can get you an appointment with the barber.” I looked at her with mock hurt. “What—you don’t like my new look?” She grinned. “Is that what you are calling it? You have food in your beard, Grizzly Adam.” I shoved another handful of fries into my mouth and groaned. “Damn, that’s good!” She wrinkled her nose at me. “You’re gross.” “Bo Shuda!” I cackled through my half-eaten food in my best imitation of Jabba the Hutt. She rolled her eyes. “Gee, now I want to kiss you…” My eyes went to her lush lips. I was kissing her the second I brushed my teeth. After the next burger— or maybe two. She’d just have to deal with the beard. After I ate, I checked into my room and collapsed onto the bed. We were staying at the Ahwahnee Hotel in Yosemite Valley—once the playground of famous celebrities during the first part of the twentieth century. Now it was a luxury lodge for those who cared to visit the park, but who didn’t care for the inconveniences of camping. And—as I’d spent the previous five weeks either sleeping on the ground with the bugs or hanging in a tent hammock—I was ready for a little luxury. I showered, then soaked in the Jacuzzi tub and managed to soothe many of the aches, but I couldn’t do anything about my practically obliterated, blister-covered feet. I’d probably have to keep my socks on at

all times for the next few weeks so I wouldn’t gross Emilia out. I crashed in the early evening and didn’t stir until midmorning the next day when Peter called and asked when we were going to breakfast. Food. That I didn’t have to pull out of a pack, reconstitute and cook over a propane-fueled hiking stove and choke down. Breakfast that wasn’t mushy, watery oatmeal. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, toast, and more bacon. I still had the shaggy look going on, but I no longer reeked of Eau de Roadkill. I was clean and I really wanted to see Emilia. I’d missed her every day of the five weeks I’d been gone. She’d stayed overnight with her mom to give me a chance to catch up with my sleep, but she’d be moving into my room today. I couldn’t wait. During the longest, loneliest and remotest stretches on the Pacific Crest Trail, I found a voice inside me so loud and persistent that I couldn’t drown it out—especially on days of complete solitude. I went days at a time without talking. I had hours stacked on hours to think about life, Emilia, everything. I’d made that journey to try and discover things about myself, to think, to pull myself away from the dangers of an addictive lifestyle that threatened my health and happiness. But I found I didn’t love being locked inside my own head as much as I’d thought I would. I’d proved I could live without my addiction. Twenty-eight days of reprogramming in a rehab worked well for drug and alcohol addicts. What better way for a work addict like me to reprogram than by unplugging himself out beyond the reach of cell phone reception, Wi-Fi and the other modern trappings of technology? Well, it was done. I felt satisfied and I relished the sense of accomplishment. I’d pulled myself away from creature comforts and gained a new appreciation for the things that were truly important. Or so I hoped. I’d also come up with a fantastic idea for a new game I wanted to work on—a private little project that I’d keep secret for now because…well, it was my style to reveal things in my own time frame. Once I’d gotten over missing my Wi-Fi and cell phone, I’d spent a lot of time thinking about Emilia and this new entity, us. My feelings had only grown stronger during my time away. And that next day, as we toured the Yosemite Valley, visited the tallest waterfall in the United States, and marveled at wonders in sheer granite cliffs like El Capitan and Half Dome, I couldn’t keep my hands off of her. Off the curve of her hips, the small of her back, her waist, her hands. I couldn’t stand next to her and not touch her. The five-years-ago me would be vomiting at the sight of current-me. And I found myself cherishing these little things that I never even thought about before—the way she’d turn her head toward me and lean into me whenever I touched her. The way she ran her thumb over mine when we held hands. The way she’d smile and give me a fake long-suffering sigh whenever I’d lean in to kiss her neck. While we stood admiring the rainbows that the late afternoon light threw across the frothy water of Bridal Veil Falls, I took a moment to study her lovely face. She looked thoughtful, a million miles away. I tightened my hold on her hand. “You all right?” She jerked her head toward me, features lighting up immediately. “Yes. I’m happy you made it safely. I worried about you every night. Kept logging in to the maps program to check where your GPS marker had you located.” It was the only bit of technology I’d taken with me—that she had insisted I take. The locator showed her on a map where I was at all times. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?” “Hmm,” she said turning back to the falls, frowning. “I got rejected.” I frowned. “For med school? What idiots rejected you?” She threw a half shrug, trying to blow it off, but I could tell she was bothered. I brought her hand up to my lips to kiss it. “Davis,” she said. “Bah. You didn’t want them anyway. That commute would be murder.” She laughed. “They weren’t my favorite choice, that’s true.” She gave another stiff shrug and a brief

frown creased her brow again. She looked away, but I squeezed her hand again to get her attention. “No, really…you okay?” She looked down. “Nervous, I guess. First response being a no. It’s just…kind of like blowing the MCAT all over again. Wondering if Davis is just the first in a long line of nos.” “I reject that line of reasoning. Someone’s got to say no. You just happened to hear from the no first. I bet the rejection doesn’t even have anything to do with you either, but some deadline bullshit or something.” She sighed. “But…if they were so quick to reject, it makes me wonder if any of the others will want me.” “But you aced your MCAT this time. You had a kickass score. And fantastic grades on top of that. You’re brilliant and any school that doesn’t see that is too idiotic to deserve you.” She leaned her head on my shoulder, released my hand to wrap her arms around my waist. I turned my head to steal a kiss in her hair, a rush of feelings tightening in my chest. I hated to see her so disappointed. I knew how hard she’d worked to retake that test and in some ways, her previous failure had really shaken her confidence. She sighed. “You’re pretty good for my ego. I think I’ll keep you around for a while.” I cleared my throat and decided it best to get her mind off the negative thoughts. “So, how about some good news? Did I miss out on anything interesting?” She straightened and grinned at me. “I’ve been dying to tell you, actually. The hidden quest in Dragon Epoch was discovered! It’s all over the blogs.” I froze. My heart started hammering and I’m pretty sure the blood drained from my face. That quest was my baby and I was just hearing this now? Weird. I swallowed a lump in my throat and watched her as she smiled up at me. Then she frowned as she watched me. I was frozen. Speechless. The emotional reaction was shocking even to me. She pulled away. “Shit, are you okay? I’m sorry. I was just kidding.” The rush of relief hit me with the force of a ton of water from that waterfall. I was almost dizzy with it. As she watched me, her forehead puckered into a frown. “I’m so sorry. That was fucking mean of me. I had no idea you’d—What was that, anyway? You almost looked…panicked.” I looked away and shrugged, trying to brush it off. I barely understood the reaction myself. How the hell could I explain it to her? “I dunno. Just upset I’d missed it. You’re right…it was fucking mean.” She pulled me into a hug again. “I’m so sorry. I feel awful.” I drew her against me, wrapped my arms around her. Then I bent my head to nibble on her ear. “You know this means you’ll have to make it up to me later, right?” She laughed. “I feel so bad.” I continued kissing her ear. “Don’t. Just make sure you make it up to me later,” I said, my voice thick with meaning. I pulled her tighter against me so she would have no doubt what I was saying. As I kissed her, I tried not to examine that strange relief I felt at the news that she’d been kidding. The quest was still safely hidden away. It wasn’t time yet. All was good. When we got back to the hotel that afternoon, she left me with the order to shower and visit the barber. I milked the joke about keeping the new look for as long as I could before I drove myself insane with the itchiness. I did manage a few more whisker-rubs, though, while I still had the chance. But I was anxious to shed the fur. Especially because I was horny as hell and she probably wasn’t going to let me near her when I was looking like B.C. the caveman. When I got back from the barber, she was in my room getting ready. She called from the bathroom while I changed clothes to get ready for dinner. The four of us were supposed to meet in the downstairs dining room at seven. But when she came out, ready to go, I knew we were going to be late. Because—guh—she was gorgeous. She wore some kind of wraparound strappy dress that clung to her

lithe frame. It was dark red and next to it, her pale skin gleamed. No. We weren’t leaving until I did something about my instant hard-on. I swallowed, looking her over. She laughed. “You have a beard tan!” I rubbed my smooth cheek. “Do I? Well, at least it’s some tan. Better than I usually get.” “I bet you feel five pounds lighter without all that hair.” I grinned. “Come here and give me a real kiss now.” She hesitated, likely having figured out what was going through my mind at that moment as my eyes landed on that sacred valley between her breasts. “Okay, but we don’t have time for anything else, unfortunately. We have to be downstairs in five minutes,” she said. “Sure. We’ve got a whole night after dinner. You still owe me for that mean little joke of yours,” I said, motioning for her to come to me. It wasn’t a lie. After dinner I’d be more than ready for go number two— and probably three. Maybe four if I had a thick steak and dessert to fuel me at dinner. The only thing that could possibly slow me down would be exhaustion. It sure as hell wouldn’t be lack of desire. She came toward me. “Only a kiss for now.” “Sure,” I said, pulling her into my arms and landing a dizzying kiss on her soft, full lips. She opened to me immediately and I curled my hand around the back of her neck, holding her mouth to mine. Her lips were firm and petal-soft. They moved under mine, returning pressure as I firmly held her to me. My tongue darted inside her mouth, eager to claim her. Mine. The word echoed in my head as a fierce wave of possessiveness rushed over me. That hike had been a great famine of more than one kind. I pulled her body flush against me. Our tongues tangled with one another. I wanted her right there and then. No surprise, after all. I hadn’t gotten laid in five weeks. My hands went to her breasts. Pliant, firm, just the right fit under my palms. Her nipples obediently responded to my strokes. She was every bit as irresistible as I remembered. I deepened the kiss and— She pushed my hands away and stepped back, flushed and breathing fast, so beautiful. She avoided my gaze. “Okay, umm, time to go,” she said in a breathy voice, but I knew her heart wasn’t in it. Color crept down her neck and over the tops of her breasts. I licked my lips like a starving tiger that’d just had a bloody steak dangled in front of him and then snatched away. No way that tiger was going to be left starving without a fight. “Good things come to those who wait.” She smiled and swatted my hand aside when it reached for her again. She backed away. We looked at each other for a long moment, the air thick with expectation. She took a deep breath and a step back, but I didn’t move. Sighing, she turned and went to the door. I watched her but didn’t follow. She pulled the door open before realizing that I hadn’t budged. Looking back over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you coming?” My eyes traveled down her long legs where they peeked out from her above-the-knee hemline. All the blood in my body was being pumped to my cock and I was relieved to know that all the essential equipment still worked like it was supposed to after such a long dry spell. I went to her, reached up and gently loosed the doorknob from her grip, closing the door. “Adam—” she began. I hooked my other arm around her waist, burying my mouth in her neck. “They’ll wait. They can order an appetizer.” She turned toward me and now I had her sandwiched between me and the door. Perfect. She laughed and wriggled to get free, sending a jolt of pleasure right through me. “You aren’t going to take no for an answer, are you? Typical.” I groaned and kissed her neck again. “Give me five minutes,” I said. “Five minutes? That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“Give me five minutes to convince you why fucking right now is a good idea.” And before she could agree or disagree I reached up and tugged on the tie that held her wraparound dress together. It fell open, revealing a black lace bra and matching panties. Oh, hell no—we weren’t going anywhere until there was coming involved. I ground my pelvis against hers and she let loose a gasp. My mouth was on her neck again—sucking in the soft, delicious skin. “It’s like unwrapping my gifts on Christmas morning.” “No,” she said with mock sternness in her voice. “It’s like opening presents early, the night before.” But she couldn’t disguise the breathy quality in her voice that I knew so well. She was turned on. Very turned on. “I always was an impatient bastard,” I said, flicking open the front fastening on her bra. It parted like the red curtain at an old-time movie theater. “Adam,” she breathed. “Shh. My five minutes of convincing aren’t over yet.” “They’re going to know why we’re late.” I almost laughed to myself. She certainly gave in quickly—as horny as I was, no doubt. “We haven’t seen each other for over a month. It’s no big mystery.” When she would have said more, I smothered the protest with a kiss, pressing her against the door, overwhelming her with my own need for her. My hands on her breasts, her hips, the silky insides of her thighs. My mouth on hers, tongue penetrating like I wanted to penetrate her in other ways. I was a man on fire and the only way to smother the flames was to dive in and drown in her. Her taste, the feel of her curves pressed against me was pushing me past the point of no return. If she had any thoughts of stopping now, I wasn’t quite sure how I’d make it through dinner until we could get back at it. I cupped her breasts, growing more urgent, licking her nipples. My erection was getting tight, painful. It had been a long-ass time and trying to keep the libido in check now was like trying to hold back that hungry tiger with a spool of thread. She gasped and flinched when I groped her too tightly. Not the reaction you are looking for when trying to convince your partner in a short amount of time. She stiffened against me. “Sorry,” I breathed against her mouth. “I’m too eager and a little desperate.” She gave a light laugh and pulled her mouth away, raising her hand to where I must have hurt her. “Can I kiss it better?” I asked. She frowned for a moment as if she wasn’t listening, so I reached over and gently pulled her hand away from her breast and replaced it with my mouth, kissing, gently slipping my tongue out to taste her. She tasted like spiced wine and blackberries. And a hint of something I couldn’t describe—some flavor uniquely her own. The smooth, soft texture of her skin only added another layer to her essence. I licked her and she moaned my name. I kept my mouth where it was and slipped my hand over her smooth stomach to rest on the warm mound beneath her panties. She rewarded my efforts with a tiny squeak at the back of her throat. I rubbed her there and her breath caught, her hands tightening around my biceps. This was all a dance with steps we were still learning and discovering. And it was always different. Her hands wandered underneath my shirt, which she had hurriedly untucked from my pants. Her touch was red-hot, palms traveling across my chest. I hissed out my breath. “You don’t have an ounce of fat on you. You’re rock hard.” I shot her a wicked grin. “That’s not the only place I’m rock hard,” I said, unbuttoning my pants. I had to get inside her. That goal was paramount now. And I wasn’t going to waste another minute. My hand returned to her panties, stretching the crotch aside and she braced her hands against my shoulders. I looked into her eyes. “I need to fuck you. I can’t wait another second.”

And I pushed into her wet heat. She closed in around me, tight, encompassing. I growled in response. The satisfaction of sinking into her was short-lived because that knot of tension tightened in my groin. I was going to spill like a teen if I didn’t calm down. She wrapped one long leg around my hips, locking me to her. She was so goddamn sexy—irresistible, really. Not that I wanted to resist her in any way. Instinct screamed in me to charge. And so I did, sinking myself all the way in, pinning her to the door. My mouth found hers again, forcing me to slow down. It had been too long and I was so turned on, I was pretty sure this first time wasn’t going to last long no matter how hard I tried. After dinner we’d take our time, savor it. Maybe take hours if we felt like it. Shit, I wasn’t even done and yet here I was, planning for more. It was ridiculous, really, because I was inside her and she was amazing and swallowing me whole with her body, her lips, her eyes. I reached between us and stroked her clit and she tipped her head back against the door and moaned. Her hold around me tightened as she clenched me tighter where we were locked together. She was about to come already and I could barely keep it together. I rocked my pelvis against hers, my own muscles taut and tense. Whenever I felt it near, I stopped and stroked her instead. “Oh God!” she moaned, climaxing. I could feel the spasms tightening her around me. I blew out a long breath, ready to follow her over the edge. She arched her back, pressing her luscious chest into mine. The contractions from her orgasm squeezed the breath from me. I rocked into her one last time, letting go as I came, pushing deep inside her. Pure pleasure seized me, violently overtook me. I gasped her name. When I relaxed and came back down from the high, I kissed her, tightening my arms around her. I knew I should just pull out and let her go, but I didn’t want to. I kissed her neck. With just the slightest coaxing, we could start this all over again. With every shred of control I had, I pulled my face away and looked into her eyes. I put my hands on either cheek and pressed my face close to hers. “I love you,” she said. “I know,” I replied, grinning as I echoed the famous retort Han Solo gave Princess Leia in The Empire Strikes Back. She laughed and I kissed her again. “I don’t ever want to be away from you for that long again.” “No,” she sighed, content. “You need to stop leaving me behind when you go off on your grand adventures.” I stared at her, cheeks flushed from our lovemaking. She was my next grand adventure. She was mine. “Mine,” I said. “What?” “You’re mine. For good. And since you don’t like being left behind, you can come along with me on next year’s thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail.” I was mostly kidding, of course. Just thinking about another epic hike made me ache all over. She snorted that adorable laugh of hers. “Fuck that.” I pulled away, grinning. “Let’s get put back together since I’m starving now.” I glanced down at my rumpled shirt. “They’re going to totally know what we were doing since you practically ripped my shirt off while you were shamelessly seducing me.” She hit my arm with the back of her hand, laughing, then refastened her bra. “Let me get this tied up again and we can go.” “Yeah,” I said, tucking in my shirt. “Get that pretty gift wrapped up so I can enjoy unwrapping it again later.” The thought of “later” sent a jolt of lust straight down to my crotch again. If I weren’t so goddamn hungry, I’d be ready for round two in minutes. Next time I’d at least wait for us to get horizontal. She tied off her dress, we took a minute to clean up, and Emilia did her best to hide any indication of what we’d just done. She’d succeeded, except for a large

dark bruise at the base of her neck, which she had apparently not noticed in the mirror and I refrained from pointing out to her. My eyes fixed on it and I smiled to myself. In my own swirl of lust I’d branded her with my mark. Mine. I put my hand on that delicious curve at the small of her back and guided her out the door. The process of arousing a woman was not unlike designing a computer program. Old-school designers used to lay out flowcharts before they’d ever crank out a line of code. Programming itself was all about cause and effect. Turning a woman on was like that—inputting certain information in order to receive the desired output; pun intended. With machines, the initial state was always the same, but with a woman it was variable. The process followed a pattern, but there were different factors that affected her initial state: how her day was going, whether or not she was tired, how long it had been since the previous time. Look deep into her eyes with clear intent on a bad day and she’d sigh and turn away, brushing you off. But on a good day, you could push through your subsets and subprograms—stroke these places and you’d get her wet, kiss those places and you’d make her moan, lick her here and she’d open to you. It didn’t always work. Sometimes the subroutines you chose didn’t achieve the required results. As with code, experimentation was necessary. If one spot did not produce a pleasure response, then it was necessary to try another, or another. Input parameters were very important: if a guy wanted to input anything into his partner, he was going to have to make sure the parameters were correct or the whole routine would fail. So I’d used my five minutes of free seduction wisely—made sure my subroutines would achieve the highest yield. And in no time at all, I’d had her moving under my hands. Easy as coding! When we made it to dinner, we interrupted Peter and Kim sipping wine over a plate of appetizers, laughing, their heads tipped toward each other. They looked up when we sat down. I grinned. “Sorry we’re late.” Peter and Kim exchanged a glance and Emilia blushed. “Don’t worry about it,” said Kim. “It was my fault. So what’s the special? I’m starving.” When they weren’t looking, I turned and winked at Emilia. “I hope you’ve recovered your manners and we aren’t going to see any more Jabba the Hutt imitations,” Emilia sighed dramatically, her lips twisting into a grin. She had that well-pleasured, just-fucked look. Her skin was still flushed, her hair slightly askew, her nipples still erect and rubbing against her dress. I licked my lips. Right now, I was hungry as hell for dinner. Later, I’d be hungry for more of her.

Chapter Two After we returned home from the national park, we had a wonderful lazy ten days to enjoy each other before I was due to return to work. And we made every second of our time count. Until that very last day. But our time off ended on a dark Monday morning in late September. Sometime around 6 a.m., I heard her rustling around in the bed, turning over as if to get up. She reached for the alarm clock and fumbled with it, presumably to turn it off before it woke me up. When she grabbed the sheets to get up, I rolled over and hooked my arm around her waist, staying her. She froze. “Sorry. Did I wake you?” “Nope,” I said, pulling her back fast against me and pressing my morning wood to her pert ass. “I’m up.” She laughed. “In more ways than one, I see.” My lips grazed the soft, fragrant skin at her neck just at the juncture where it met her shoulder. “I didn’t hear any complaints last night. Or yesterday afternoon in the pool…” She shivered under my touch, but heaved a weary sigh. “You’re definitely going to wear me out with all this extra endurance you built up from the trail.” “Oh, I don’t think there’s a danger of that. But it doesn’t mean I won’t have fun trying—to wear you out, that is.” I chuckled against her neck and reached up to cup her breast. We were both still naked from the sex last night. It sure was good to be home. “Hmm,” she said and I could tell she was going to try to play hard to get. I always loved the challenge of figuring out how to convince her. “I was going to go running.” My tongue caressed her between her shoulder blades. “Go after.” “But we have work today…” she said, her voice going breathy from the effect of my hands stroking her nipples. I slid one hand from her breast, across her belly and down between her thighs. She let out a long gasp that ignited my blood. Sometimes it took an entire subroutine, and sometimes it was just as easy as going for the on button. I put my mouth to her ear. “I can pretty much guarantee your boss is okay with you being late.” She rolled onto her back to face me. “You’re insatiable.” She hooked her hands behind my neck as I kissed her. “Mmm hmm,” I agreed. “Because you’re irresistible.” “Oh, so it’s my fault?” she said, eyes rounding, a long, slow smile crossing her lush lips. She pushed against my shoulder, rolling me onto my back. Just as quickly she slipped on top, straddling me. Oh, hell yeah. “Well, let’s make it quick, then.” She laughed. It wasn’t quick. But she didn’t mind. *** This was my first morning back to work after three months. And, for the first time ever, we were driving to work together. Oddly, it felt comforting and domestic. The me from five years ago was rolling in his grave. But current-me couldn’t have been happier. Before I’d met Emilia, life was like an old-school video game played on a battered handheld. Small, requiring lots of imagination to spice it up and leaving lots of room for improvement. With her, it was like being engrossed in a full-immersion virtual reality, an experience unique to itself. There was no life before Emilia. I glanced at her. She had her head down, focusing on her hands, which worked in her lap. At her

request, I’d kept the top up on the car so it wouldn’t mess up her hair. After I reached out and downshifted, I took one of her hands in mine. “What’s wrong?” She sent me a worried look. “Nothing. Except that we’re late. And everyone’s going to see us walk in together.” I raised a brow. “Is that a problem?” She sighed. I pulled my hand from hers to shift again, then replaced it. “No one knows about our relationship. They’re going to know why I got the job.” “You were hired to fill in for Cathleen’s maternity leave. Everyone thinks you’re doing an awesome job. Mac’s thrilled to have your help for DracoCon. Does it matter how you got the job?” She shook her head. “No, but—I never wanted to be that girl, you know?” I frowned. “What girl?” “The girl who’s screwing the boss.” “Sounds hot to me.” “Of course it does.” I paused, noticed her hands working in her lap again. “It will be fine. Why don’t you just go in first and I’ll sit in the car for a few minutes. No one will see us walk in together.” She smiled. “Thanks.” “What about tonight, though? Everyone’s going to see us leave together.” She smoothed her skirt across her lap with her free hand. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve been looking for a place. I can’t afford to rent in Irvine, but—” “What? Why?” I frowned. “Because Irvine’s one of the most expensive places to live around here. Maybe Tustin, I looked at one place last week—” I refrained from looking at her. Best to play dumb and make her “explain” it to me. Sometimes if you got someone to voice their concerns, they came to understand how unfounded they really were. “No, I mean why are you looking for a place? You’ve been at my house while I was gone. Can’t you just stay?” “Well, we weren’t living together. I was just kind of…staying over.” I kept a straight face, though I was damned tempted to crack a smile. “But now we’re living there together.” She coughed and shifted in her seat uncomfortably, fidgeting in that way she did when she wanted to avoid talking about something. “Yeah…by default.” I feigned puzzlement, shifted gears again. “So you’re upset that I didn’t formally ask you to move in with me?” She made a face. “No.” I knew what that meant. Yes. “Emilia, will you move in with me?” “I’m already there.” “No, I mean move your stuff in and stay and live with me.” She was quiet for a long moment. “That’s kind of a huge step, isn’t it?” This time it was much harder to fight the smile. She was getting skittish already. “Well, we’re already doing it, by default. We don’t have to call it anything.” “So we’d be like…roommates?” I opened my mouth and then closed it, tossed a glance her way. She was grinning like she was enjoying a great joke. “Roommates with benefits,” I corrected. “Hmm. Does ‘benefits’ translate to ‘morning sex that makes us both late every day’? Because that might

get me in trouble with my boss.” “Not a chance. As long as the morning sex is with me, you won’t get in trouble.” She elbowed me. “I meant get in trouble with Mac.” “But I’m Mac’s boss.” “I’m serious. I mean, maybe it’s a bad idea to live together while I’m working for you.” “Odds are we will hardly even see each other, for one thing. And for another, we started before you ever started working there. Plus—haven’t you ever had that fantasy of doing the boss in his office on your lunch break?” “No,” she said in a deadpan voice. “Never.” I let the smile show, finally. We’d see about that one. Suddenly I had to fight the image of pushing her skirt up, bending her over my desk…oh yes, we’d definitely have to see about that one. I shifted again. “Once the convention is over and Cathleen’s back, you’ll have the time in the new year to prep for med school. I suspect by that time the multitude of offers will be rolling in, even though we both know you’re going to UCI.” She darted a glance out of the corner of her eye. “If I get accepted there.” I nodded. “You will.” We pulled into the company parking lot and it felt…strange. I’d been away for almost three months. During the five years before that, I’d practically lived here—and our former location. After months away, it felt bizarre to come back. It was also unsettling. And I couldn’t have named the reasons why. I’d left to prove something to myself—and to prove it to her, too. I’d been addicted to the work, but I’d had to break myself of it. I could defeat it. I’d used it as a crutch to keep life at a distance. I was wary of falling into that old trap again. Like an alcoholic staring at an untouched martini or a food addict with a hamburger right in front of him. The gleaming mirrored turrets of the modern castle-like structure loomed over the parking lot, almost like arms, reaching out to take me in like an old friend. I took a deep breath and remembered that I’d proven I could live without the company and the company could live without me—for at least one quarter of a year. Still, I was uncertain of whether I could maintain my current Zen rather than fall into those old patterns. I looked over at Emilia, watched her as she leaned over, kissed me. “I love you,” I said. “I know,” she replied with a grin and got out of the car, and moved across the parking lot. She’d keep me on the straight and narrow and out of danger of falling back into that addiction. Even if she didn’t know that’s what she was doing. When I entered the building a few minutes later, I was greeted by smiles and general cheer from everyone from security to secretarial staff. My intern assistant was downright ecstatic and my personal secretary, Maggie, gave me a weary look and a foot-tall stack of “only the very urgent mail” I needed to look at. Apparently my CFO, Jordan, hadn’t been thrilled about filling in for me. He’d been pretty hell-bent on talking me out of my leave of absence. On top of that, he and Maggie never got along. I’d hoped that after three months of being forced to work together, they’d find some way to do it. But that apparently was not the case. The morning started out quietly. I was holed up going through the stack of urgent paperwork, making notes on the letters for Maggie. E-mails would come later—though I’d asked the intern, Michael, to sift through those for me and prioritize them. After about an hour, Jordan walked in, giving his usually brief knuckle-rap on my door. I put down the paper I was glancing at and sat back, focusing my full attention on him. He looked—shell-shocked and a little terrified. I frowned. Jordan had been my closest friend during my brief stint in college and when I’d needed a business guy for my fledgling gaming company, I’d known he’d be perfect. He’d actually

finished his degree at Caltech, whereas I’d dropped out to move to San Diego in order to work for Sony. “Hey,” I said. “There you are. I was wondering if you were going to come in and announce your resignation or something.” He frowned, looking halfway between being pissed off and scared shitless. What the hell? Was he that upset that I was back? “Good to have you back. I’m really shitty at your job,” he said. He creased the paper he held—folding it in half, then into quarters, then eighths. He actually looked—nervous. I’d been joking before, but maybe he really was going to announce his resignation. Shit. He exhaled loudly and sank into the chair opposite me, his face set in grim lines. “I would have come over earlier, but I’ve been screwing up the courage to have to be the one to drop this on you.” Uh-oh. I straightened my shoulders and braced myself, putting my hands together on the desk in front of me. “What do you need to tell me?” Jordan blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose. I waited, studying him. He was the Don Juan of the office—half the employees were in love with him while he failed to acknowledge them. He dated models and aspiring actresses, mostly. Whenever I had a thing at my house or we had a social function to attend, he always had a different woman on his arm. He changed women like a Hollywood starlet changed designer gowns. But today he was drawn, pale, his hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it a few times. Basically he looked like shit. “Fuck, Adam. It’s your first day back. I don’t know how to tell you this.” I took a deep breath and waited. “There’s a report on the news. Last night a twenty-year-old kid in New Jersey committed a murdersuicide. Drove over to his girlfriend’s house and blew her away, then shot himself. Early this morning, East Coast time, the family released a statement to the press. The parents are blaming his actions on his ‘debilitating addiction to Dragon Epoch.’ There’re rumors buzzing of a lawsuit.” I shifted in my chair and rubbed my jaw, looking out the window for a long moment, my mind racing. “We’ll need to call the lawyer—” “I just asked Maggie to contact Joseph’s office. We can make it a conference call if you want. We also have to get our liability insurance guys involved pretty quickly too. I’ve also pulled this kid’s log-in records and just about everything we know about access to his account. Someone—I’m guessing it was the girlfriend—used his account information to log in last weekend and destroy or sell off all of his items. Some of it was rare shit that he’d been working on for months. He petitioned customer service for a restoration, but we gave him our standard answer.” Fuck. The room spun for only a moment before I shot out of my chair and started pacing. There was a standard procedure in these cases, because we’d had so much trouble with people exploiting the system by cloning items and equipment and selling them off for real money on online auction sites. We didn’t allow restoration of equipment that had been deleted using legitimate credentials to log in. Hacking was another issue entirely. “So when CS investigated his petition, they found no evidence of hacking? Contact the rep who spoke with him. He’ll need to make a statement.” Jordan leaned forward, grabbed an empty notepad off of my desk and pulled a pen from his pocket, scribbling fiercely. He was left-handed, so he always wrote with his hand cranked around at an odd angle. I rubbed my forehead, thinking. Now I was prowling the edge of the office that looked out onto an interior atrium garden. My windows were completely tinted on the outside, allowing total privacy while I could stare out over the greenery and attempt to get some sense of inner calm. That wasn’t going to happen this morning.

“We need to meet with PR. Close down the external lines. Put up an automated answering system. No one talks to anyone until they are trained on how to deal with this.” “Should I try to contact an outside provider who specializes in events like this?” I blinked. “Do some research. Come up with a list. We can discuss it. And do it quickly.” “Are you going to release a statement?” “Not until I talk to the lawyer, so let’s get with him immediately.” “We’d better be prepared to be assaulted by press. The first vans are probably on the way here.” I closed my eyes, rubbed them with my thumb and forefinger. “Get all the off-shift security in here for overtime and warn the whole department that there will probably be a fleet of vans out there soon. I’ll need to meet with department heads. No one is allowed out of the building until we instruct them on how to handle press questions.” “Yeah, I’ll set that up. Be prepared for a long-ass day today.” I felt a sickness in the pit of my stomach. “Tell me everything you can about this kid—and about the incident.” And he did. And after he left, I sat back and stared out that window for what seemed an endless quarter of an hour before all hell broke loose.

Chapter Three For the next seventy-two hours I slept very little, spent most of the time at the office and was on the phone, it seemed, for about three hours out of every four. Emilia was wonderful, brought me stuff from home, meals which we ate together in the lunchroom, and she never admonished me once about staying overnight at the office. I was on a conference call with our insurance guys days later when Emilia brought me dinner, specially prepared and packed by my chef. I paid little attention as I paced the floor of the office. The insurance reps in New York dictated to me what I needed to do in order to comply with the terms of their coverage for the liability insurance. They had me by the short hairs and they knew it and I was going to have to jump through hoops. I fought the urge to lose my temper. “Assholes,” I breathed when I set the phone down. I turned to her. She had completely cleared the round table in the sitting area of my office, set it with chairs and covered it with a tablecloth and now was laying out two covered plates that had been kept in insulated containers. The smell of food immediately made me salivate and I realized how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast despite her repeated texts—most of which I hadn’t even been able to answer —nagging me to grab lunch. “Hmm. Your best buddies are staying up late in New York City just to torment you. It’s like what, 9 p.m. there?” I rubbed the back of my neck and watched her pour ice water into drinking glasses. “Thanks for bringing this. Not sure how much time I’m going to have to actually eat it. I have to write up a statement tonight and send it off to legal and the publicity people for approval. And after that—” She walked up to me, grasped my upper arm with both of her hands and tugged me toward the table. “Then eat, instead of wasting time telling me everything you have to do instead of eating. I even brought a little wine if you want. And I baked chocolate chip cookies myself. Chef tried not to laugh at me when I burned the first batch. But the rest turned out pretty awesome.” I sat down and immediately dug in, cutting off a piece of steak gorgonzola and gnawing on it. I forced myself to chew so I wouldn’t swallow too large a chunk. It had been very thoughtful of Chef to prepare one of my favorite comfort meals. I suspected that Emilia had suggested it. I shook my head. “No wine. Still got hours of work left.” She fixed me with a long, concerned look. “You okay?” I swallowed my next bite and nodded. “Before you say anything about the hours—” “I wasn’t going to say a thing about the hours. I know this situation is going to suck up your time whether you want it to or not.” I blew out a breath. “Thanks for understanding.” “Of course, you know what this means, don’t you? You’ll need to unplug this weekend.” “Oh, will I?” She nodded. “No cell phone. No laptop. Okay?” I grimaced. “I can’t make any promises.” Who knew what these asshole insurance people would want next from me? “There’s that new movie about the astronauts at the space station. We could go see—” My desk phone beeped and Maggie’s voice came over the intercom. “Adam, you have a call from Mr. Macy.” I shot up out of my seat, wiping my mouth and throwing down my napkin. Emilia sat back, clearly disappointed. I turned back to her as I picked up the phone. “It’s my lawyer. I can’t blow him off.” “Hey, Joe,” I said into the phone. And spent the next half hour talking to him while Emilia sat on the

desk in front of me, having cut my steak into the tiniest bites imaginable. She fed it to me in pieces every time I stopped talking. And while I did talk, she held the fork, poised, inches from my mouth as if getting ready to launch an assault. At first I was so focused on the phone call that I barely paid attention to what she was doing, just chewed whenever she slid a tiny bite in my mouth. But after a little while—and as Joe continued with his legalese—it became a game. It had been a long day and my brain was shutting off. I’d stop talking and I’d jerk my head to the side to avoid her attack. Or I’d duck my chin down. I actually had to keep from laughing toward the end when she almost speared the tip of my nose with the fork. Thank God for the amusement because the lawyer was droning on about depositions on-site. I finished my last bite of cold steak about a minute before I ended the call. I leaned back in my chair, noting how smug she looked. This was the first time all day I’d even felt like smiling, let alone laughing. “Brat,” I said. She wore business attire—a button-down white blouse, a short gray skirt that ended a few inches above her knee and dark nylons. Sexy as hell. I devoured her with my eyes, wishing I had the time to fool around with her. She must have read my mind when she laid her foot on top of my thigh, having long since kicked off her shoes. Her eyes gleamed. “Hmm. I get called a brat for force-feeding you steak? What do you call me if I do this?” Her foot slid from my thigh to rub against my crotch. Her touch shot a bolt of pleasure straight through me. I clenched my jaw, responding immediately. I hissed out a long breath as I grew hard under her attention. Seizing her ankle, I pulled it away. “Oh, I’ve got lots of names for that. They’re all good.” She raised her brows at me. “You don’t want more?” I gave her a weary sigh. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about all the shit I’ve gotta get done tonight. Besides I thought you didn’t want to be that girl—” She smiled, sliding her other foot along my thigh on a similar path as the first one. “A girl can change her mind, can’t she? Especially when the boss is extremely hot in his tie-just-removed-collar-unbuttoned kind of way.” I gave her one last half-hearted protest. “Maggie’s still here…” She smiled. “Give me five minutes to convince you why fucking right now is a good idea.” I laughed at her echoing of my words that first night together in Yosemite. Her foot slid over my crotch again and I blew out a tight breath. God, it felt so good. I grabbed her other leg and tugged her toward me. She slid off the desk and straddled my lap, her skirt scooting up her thighs. “You only needed about one and a half,” I murmured before I landed a kiss on her succulent mouth. “Ninety seconds?” she said when I let her catch her breath. My mouth was already moving down her neck and toward the top button of her blouse. “I must be getting rusty.” I had her shirt unbuttoned, bra unfastened and her delicious, hard nipple in my mouth when the phone beeped again. Maggie. Goddamn it. I pulled my mouth away. “What?” I snapped. A pause. “Just letting you know I’m leaving for the evening. Need anything?” I might have laughed. Emilia had my earlobe in her warm mouth, scraping lightly with her teeth as she sucked. Hot lust shot straight through me. I was having all my needs seen to at that very moment. My hands crept under her skirt, edging the lacy tops of her thigh-high stockings. My fingers locked around her underwear. “I’m good. Thanks,” I grunted. The minute the intercom clicked off, I shredded her panties. “From zero to panty-ripping in four minutes,” she laughed as I unzipped my pants. “Maybe I’m not so rusty after all.”

My hand slid over her wet flesh and my cock surged. “So about those boss-employee fantasies…” I began to stroke her and her eyes rolled back under her lids as she threw her head back, exposing her throat in that way that made me absolutely crazy for her. “Told you I don’t have those.” “Mmm. Well, I think you’re about to fulfill mine.” I slid into her, groaning. She felt like heaven. “God, you feel so fucking good.” “Fucking good. That’s what we do. We do fucking good,” she laughed, moving on top of me. “We do everything good,” I muttered hoarsely against her mouth. I wanted to lose myself in her. Forget all the troubles of the day and immerse myself in all that was Emilia. I remembered that first night I’d brought her to orgasm. We’d been sitting like this. She’d been straddling me on that lounge chair down on the stretch of beach behind my house. I’d shredded her panties then, too, and God, I’d wanted her so badly then that I’d almost thrown away all my convictions and taken her right there. I thought back to the moment I’d touched her. The way she’d responded to me, the soft moans and cries as she’d fought to keep herself from being too loud. How she’d buried her face in my shoulder. The way she’d moved, the way she’d breathed. The intensity of her climax. It had intoxicated me. That was the moment I knew it would be impossible to get her out of my blood. That night I’d sent her home in a car, still burning for her. I’d worked through the night, trying to get that temporary obsession out of my brain. Fighting to convince myself that it was temporary. But here we were, five months later, and I was every bit as hooked on her now as I was then. I grabbed her, leaning forward, and lifted us off the chair, settling her back on my desk as I pushed into her in earnest. She curled her legs around me, pressing against me. And I pushed into her one last time, my orgasm ripping through me in sharp, intense waves. I waited a long moment after we were done to reach down between us and finish her. She looked up at me with a languid smile and those gorgeous brown eyes, tightening her legs around me as I stroked her. When she came, her back arched and she pushed her beautiful breasts upward. I could watch her come over and over again. It was a thing of raw beauty. But I forced myself to stop, to pull my hand away. When she sat up, we kissed. She hooked her hands around my neck and laughed. “We do do everything good.” Afterward, she set a plate of her cookies on my desk and went to pull down the Murphy bed from the wood cabinet and fluffed my pillows. And when I thought she’d collect the dishes and go home as I sat at my desk and revised my official statement before sending it off for approval, she surprised me by curling up on the bed and falling asleep instead. I joined her after midnight. *** For the rest of that week, I was in survival mode. I didn’t allow myself time to think. Time to reflect. I couldn’t allow myself to think about that young man’s family and the debris his destructive actions had left behind. To be accused of creating a means for addiction—well, it was personal to me. It cut me to the bone. Because of my history, my own dance with addiction in those closest to me and in myself. I kept it inside like a gremlin, imprisoned under lock and key. But it held the potential to transform into a monster. And there was just a tiny mental gate between who I was and who I could become, immersing myself completely in that world, smothering myself with work to numb the pain. And I was all too aware of it. Always. We held a brief press conference (took no questions) and released a statement of condolence to the families. I took no responsibility for what was not my responsibility to take. It was a horrific week, but

once the press got hold of another story—an uprising in a small Middle Eastern country that threatened to start yet another war—our lives started to calm down. That weekend the two of us resolved to stay in, take it easy. Live quietly before the next week would come crashing down on us again. It was hard to let go and back away from work, but as I’d known she would, Emilia kept me on the straight and narrow. After a quiet lunch, I went out for a run in the late afternoon. I preferred to run outdoors while the weather was still good. Emilia would have come with me, but her friends, Alex and Jenna, showed up with a big bag of her mail from her old apartment and she’d begged off. I loved running with Emilia, but without her, I could go farther and faster and it was exactly what I needed to help clear my head. An hour later, I returned to a shrieking girlfest that I could have done without. Alex squeaked at a very high pitch, her arms wrapped around Emilia’s shoulders. Jenna just had her hands on her cheeks, her pale eyes as huge as silver dollars. Something had happened. Emilia was flushed and shaking. I tensed, immediately going into protective mode. What had happened? My eyes flew to the pile of opened mail on the table in front of them. Bad news? I was sweaty from my run, but I didn’t care. “Emilia? You okay?” Alex peeled away from Emilia to turn and come toward me at a run. I backed off and held out a hand. “Sweaty,” I said, but it was more to avoid the awkward moment. Alex was always throwing herself at me and it was weird how Emilia either took no notice or wasn’t bothered by it. Frankly, I didn’t have the patience to deal with Alex. I wanted to know if Emilia was okay. Alex bobbed up and down on her tiptoes in my line of vision. “She’s more than okay, Adam! She’s—” “Alejandra!” Jenna interrupted. “Let Mia tell him, please.” My eyes locked on Emilia’s. She sent me a tremulous smile. Okay, so it wasn’t bad. I let out a breath, relaxed my shoulders and waited. Her smile grew as she held up a folded letter. “I got accepted!” I stepped around Alex and went to her immediately. Her joy washed over me. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight and she didn’t even seem to mind that I was sweaty and smelled like a horse. I kissed her hair. “That was quick! They must have really wanted you. No surprise. Congratulations!” She pulled me tightly to her, grabbing on to me like a lifeline. “Thank you,” she whispered into my ear. I kissed her cheek. “I knew you’d get in. UCI’s a great school.” Emilia tensed in my arms and the two girls—thankfully—quieted. I was getting tired of Alex’s highpitched squeaks. I turned my head to look at them and Alex and Jenna exchanged a long look. Emilia had her head tucked down, under my chin. She hadn’t relaxed. Jenna reached out and grabbed Alex by the upper arm. “Let’s go down to the beach and watch the sunset.” Alex nodded and turned immediately. They were out the door in less than a minute and I gazed after them, puzzled. Taking a deep breath, I stepped back and watched Emilia closely. She avoided my gaze. “So it isn’t UCI—yet. I was sure other schools would want you, too,” I said quietly. Emilia’s jaw tensed and she placed the letter down on the table beside me so that I could read the letterhead. The Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine. When she spoke, it was in a voice so quiet I could barely hear her. “It’s not just any other school. It’s my dream school.” I didn’t take my eyes off the letter. Under the letterhead stating the name of the university was its location: Baltimore, Maryland. Fucking Maryland. She watched me carefully. I could feel her eyes on me, like a physical touch. So I kept my face completely neutral. My heart thundered at the base of my throat with a strength I hadn’t felt in a while.

That familiar feeling of adrenaline releasing into my blood. “Your dream school? You didn’t tell me you had a dream school…” She frowned. “I applied so long ago. Before I failed the first time at the MCAT. I’d interviewed with them months before I ever—before we ever—” “That’s awesome. I’m sure it’s a great feeling.” I put my hand on the counter and leaned against my arm. She looked away, appeared to be watching my hand, which, unfortunately, was white-knuckling the edge of the table. I forced myself to relax. She rubbed the inside of her wrist with her thumb and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “The doctor I did my research under as an undergrad is a respected alum of Hopkins. He works out of St. Joseph Hospital. He encouraged me to apply with his recommendation.” She squared her shoulders. “It’s in the top five of all medical schools in the US and the number one school for oncology.” I nodded. My mouth was dry. Yeah this was fear. Icy fear. I had to think quickly. “So are you gonna go?” She was avoiding my gaze again. I tried to figure out how to attack this. If I was too vehement, she would get her back up and dig her heels in the way she always did when she felt like I was railroading her. She sighed. “I don’t know.” There it was. I don’t know. She might as well have said, “Hell, yes.” “That’s four years. Longer if you do your residency there, which it sounds like you want to do.” Her brow puckered. She was probably thrown off by the blandness in my voice. What she didn’t know was that on the inside I was reining in a massive need to reach out and crush this threat, control this situation. The desire was like a wild beast pulling against its tethers, willing to thrash itself to death in the process. I’d take care of this threat later, after I had time to think, strategize, with a cool head. For now, she needed to not feel threatened by me. I nodded. “I understand.” She finally glanced up into my face, her big brown eyes scouring my every feature. “You do?” “It’s your dream, Emilia. I just hope it’s not your only dream.” Her mouth slacked open and she worked her jaw for a moment as if trying to figure out what to say. Perhaps she didn’t understand my meaning. I wanted to be part of her dream, too. She surprised me by reaching out to take my hand, closing her smaller one around it. “Of course not.” “Then let’s not talk about this now,” I said in the most neutral voice I could manage. “Let’s see if we can figure this out later.” A bicoastal relationship for four years, likely longer. It wasn’t any dream of mine. It sounded like a goddamn nightmare. Sure, I could fly out there every weekend, but who wanted five hours in the air each way just to spend forty-eight hours trying to cram in every conversation, every look, every caress, every event, every fuck—and go another drawn-out week with an empty bed and meals alone? I’d fall right back into my old patterns again. I knew that for a fact. It would be the only way I could cope without her. We’d be without each other for long stretches of time. And long-distance relationships—I knew damn well they didn’t last. My cousin Britt had been engaged to her high school boyfriend—once supposedly the love of her life and one of my closest friends in high school. Once she went off to college in Chicago, the relationship hadn’t held out more than a year. By then she’d met Rik, who would become her husband, and my friend Todd had been devastated. Long-distance relationships did not work. And ours couldn’t survive three thousand miles and four years—probably more. Fuck. She wasn’t even gone yet. Hadn’t even made the decision to go and it felt like someone had shot me in the chest with a twelve-gauge. She moved back into my reach again and pulled me into her arms. I closed my eyes, allowed myself a grimace when she couldn’t see me and bent my head to kiss her hair. There was no fucking way I was

going to be able to do without her. I’d just have to convince her that UCI was a wonderful alternative to her longtime dream. Somehow. *** The day after Emilia got her acceptance letter, we sat at the card table in the game room at my house. Emilia was across from me, impatiently tapping the cards on her hand as if to remind us that we had a game to play here. But Heath had just laid down the gauntlet by bringing up the age-old question: In a fight, which would win, the ships from Star Trek or from Star Wars? “Well, which version of the Enterprise are we talking about? Because that makes a big difference.” I turned to Heath as I grabbed another pita chip from the nearly empty bowl and popped it into my mouth, sending a wink at Emilia across the table in response to her long-suffering sigh. “Does it matter? Any version of the Enterprise against a star destroyer would be vapor,” Heath replied, snatching up the last of the chips from the bowl before I could get the rest. I cleared my throat of crumbs and sipped some ice water, thinking. “Okay, the Enterprise from the reboot movies then. But any version beats a star destroyer in maneuverability alone.” Emilia huffed and slapped a hand on her forehead. “This is such a man discussion. You guys will be at this for hours. Come on! I have some ass to kick, people,” she said, holding up her handful of cards. Heath reflected for a moment while chewing his chips, then nodded. “Sure, a star destroyer can’t maneuver its way out of a paper bag, but it doesn’t need to. As demonstrated in Empire during the asteroid field scene, the sheer amount of firepower far exceeds that of the Enterprise.” Emilia’s head clunked the table. “You guys are killing me. Play a card already!” I fought a chuckle. “But if you’re comparing sheer firepower—” “The Battlestar Galactica jumps in and blows them both away. The end.” Emilia waved her arms in a cutting motion to emphasize her point. “Are we being too geeky for you, Mia? You poor baby.” She rolled her eyes. “Gawd, you might as well be discussing who could take who in a fight, Captain Kirk or Darth Vader!” “Darth Vader,” Heath and I both said in unison and shared a grin. “He’s got elite force power, yo,” Heath added. “He can choke a dude on the other side of the galaxy through a hologram.” I held up a finger. “Yeah, that’s not an argument,” I said, then threw a playful glance at Emilia. “Now, Darth Vader versus Gandalf, on the other hand…” Heath’s eyes lit up. “Oooh, epic!” Emilia sighed. “Gandalf wins. He’s the wizard who killed a Balrog by himself. End of discussion. Now…is this game over? I don’t even remember whose turn it is.” “Yours,” I said. “Heath laid down a land and summoned a goblin lord.” I pointed to the cards lying face up in front of him. “This game sucks with three players, anyway,” she sighed, plunking down an island card. “That’s ’cause you’re losing,” Heath said. “Either that or she’s calling you a third wheel. And not too subtly, either,” I said giving her a wink. “That’s okay. I’m about ready to send over my horde of goblins to kick her ass anyway.” Heath waggled his eyebrows at Emilia. “All your base are belong to me,” he said, quoting the famously illtranslated script from a foreign video game. Emilia replied by making a face at him. She only lasted one more round, then Heath and I ended up battling it out for half an hour after that. Emilia had long since wandered off. I was vaguely aware that she had been acting off all day. Even inviting Heath over to “celebrate” her acceptance to med school and to try easing the tension between us

hadn’t worked. After our game, Heath decided to call it a night. I watched Emilia, trying to determine if she was still irritated with me. It was deserved, I guess. The one time she’d tried to bring up the med school discussion since getting the news yesterday, I’d put her off. I hadn’t been ready then. I hadn’t devised my line of attack. I’d needed to prepare. I opened a bottle of beer for each of us and took a long drink while she picked up her cards and tidied up at the table from our game, studiously avoiding my scrutiny. I watched every move she made, every expression that crossed her face. So she wanted to talk about this? I was ready now. I had strategized, because games were all about strategy and I had learned, seemingly, at the knees of a master. Sun Tzu’s words from The Art of War now whispered to me across a thousand years. Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting. We wouldn’t fight. I’d start this out casually, nonthreateningly. And then I’d show her reason. Emilia was a rational woman, almost too rational, sometimes. She lived in fear of letting her emotions rule her. That fear had almost prevented us from beginning our relationship in the first place. So I’d treat this like two war leaders sitting at the table for a calm negotiation, a division of spoils. Damn if I hadn’t even mentally sketched a flowchart for this as well. “That’s not a bad deck,” I started, nodding to her cards. “You could have beaten Heath if you’d gotten the right cards out in time.” She raised a brow at me. “But not you, of course. You know, if you win every single game, no one’s going to want to play with you anymore.” I took another sip of beer and watched as she slipped her deck of cards into a box and scooped up some dice, tucking them inside a leather pouch. It was Sunday night, the end of the weekend and I wasn’t looking forward to getting up and going in to work tomorrow. There was something sobering in that realization. I couldn’t remember ever dreading Monday morning before. I used to thrive on Monday mornings, excited to start a new workweek even as the old one had barely ended. Emilia went to stand up from the table when I waved to her untouched bottle of beer and she shrugged, saying she wasn’t thirsty. I reached out and pressed my hand on top of hers, preventing her from getting up to leave. “You want to talk now?” She froze for a split second, then let out a long breath and leaned back, grabbing the beer and taking a long pull from the bottle. Suddenly she was thirsty—and very visibly nervous. I felt a slight rise in my blood pressure at this realization. What would she have to be nervous about unless she’d made a decision she knew I wouldn’t like? I swallowed, tried to remember scraps of ancient Chinese military wisdom to help me through this. There would be no emotions. It would be a calm, rational negotiation. One that I would win, of course. One way or the other. I smiled, hiding my own sudden nervousness. “Thanks for being patient with me,” I began. “I just had to think things through for a little bit.” She nodded, watching me warily with her eyes the color of autumn leaves. What was that color, anyway? If I were a chick, I’d be able to name it. They were lovely, golden with darker flecks around the pupils. I waited for her to speak first. “I can’t stop thinking about going to Hopkins,” she said quietly, a slight tremor in her voice. Good. She’d started out sounding unsure. Something I might be able to exploit. She was unsure about going despite what she said. I rubbed my jaw, hesitating. “So as I understand it, you’ve chosen this school because of its oncology program.” Emilia looked at me and then quickly away. “They’re doing some fascinating work with stem cells.” “They’re not the only ones. And no state has more supportive laws concerning stem cell research than

California.” I was about to add some facts about Proposition 71 that I had found in my research, but cut myself off, judging that it might be over the top. I didn’t want her getting defensive. “Umm. Okay. That’s true, but Hopkins has its own stem cell research fund from the state. And their research in epigenetics is foremost in the world.” I’d run across that word during my own research—remembered it eidetically, as I remembered everything I’d ever read. Epigenetics was the study of change in inheritance not caused by DNA. It was directly related to how some cells become cancerous over time. And she was right, Hopkins had the top physician studying in the field. But I wasn’t completely unarmed to battle that fact. “Dr. Philippa Nguyen studied under that physician at Hopkins—the one leading that team. And she’s got her own project going on at UCLA. Her program is fully funded for another seven years at least.” Emilia’s face grew serious as she digested this. Perhaps she wouldn’t have anything to rebut against that. “You’ve been doing some research, I see.” I shrugged with one shoulder. “I assumed you already knew that. And I like to have all the facts. Dr. Nguyen’s team seems comparable to the team at Hopkins. And the two are coordinating their research and studies with each other.” Emilia’s eyes dropped to the table in front of my casually folded hands. I tried to break the tension of her sudden silence by grabbing my bottle and taking a sip of beer. “You want me to go to UCLA.” I opened my mouth ready to answer that without another thought, but closed it just as quickly. Careful, Drake. This might be an ambush. I had a tiny image in the back of my brain of Admiral Ackbar, the fishlike commander from Return of the Jedi, yelling, “It’s a trap! It’s a trap!” So I took a deep breath and considered how to best—and carefully—answer that question. “It would be easier for us if you could stay.” She blinked. “If I went there, I’d have to live in Los Angeles. UCLA is in Westwood and that’s a ridiculous commute from here.” I looked down, fiddling with the table pretending to think that through—as if I hadn’t considered every possible objection from her and prepared for each and every one already. I had to make this sound casual, off the cuff. All warfare is based on deception. I had no wish to deceive her. But I had no wish to give her cause to be angry. The less premeditated this appeared, the less she would think I was manipulating her. “Well, I could have a driver take you. You could use the commute time to study. On top of that, if you lived here, you wouldn’t have to worry about other things like housekeeping tasks, laundry, cooking. All of that is taken care of, whereas if you lived in Maryland—” “You could live with me there,” she said. Yeah, I was prepared for that answer, too. I tilted my head, trying to appear as if considering how to answer that. “I could. Under normal circumstances, I could attempt to run the company from there and fly out monthly to spend a week or two here.” Was she adding this up yet? More time away from each other if she left. Even if I went with her. “But…I’m not sure how this case is going to progress. If it goes to suit, I will be dealing with that and I can’t leave.” That wasn’t entirely true, though, and I knew it. Maybe I could make that work, but it just didn’t make sense to me when she could attend a school just as good out here. Her eyes dropped and she considered her thumbs, which traveled in quick, jerky circles around each other. She was silent for a long moment, so I took another long pull of beer to let her think. Without looking up, she took a deep breath and spoke in a quiet, but unwavering voice. “When I first started my premed program, I had no idea what my specialty would be. I’ve known since the seventh grade that I would be a doctor. I didn’t care what kind of doctor. I just wanted to help people. To be a healer.” I licked my bottom lip, not liking the firm tone of her voice as it grew in certainty. Then she looked up and captured my eyes with hers, and they were luminescent. I couldn’t look away.

They glistened with some inner fire, a passion. “But when my mom got sick—and God, she got so sick— she almost died and she was my everything. I—” Her voice trembled. She shook her head and looked away, swallowing. “I vowed that I was going to do whatever it took—that I’d fight it in the only way I knew I could. I promised Mom that if she kicked cancer’s ass, then I would, too. I’d go to the best school. I’d learn from the best and I’d never give up. And when I failed that goddamn test I thought that dream was out the window.” I was barely breathing at this point, simultaneously rapt by the passion in her recitation and terrified by it. This decision wouldn’t be based on just facts and cold hard rationality—things well within my comfort zone. She was emotionally attached to this decision. I was fucked. I went cold inside. Because how could I fight this? I swallowed. “Have you even looked into the possibility of UCLA?” She clenched her jaw and hesitated, looking down. “I applied. But I could be rejected, just like with Davis.” “You weren’t rejected. You’re in.” Her head shot up. “What? How do you know that?” I smiled, happy to deliver the good news to her. “I made a few phone calls. I know a guy who’s on the fundraising committee who knows the dean—” She squinted at me. “You called the Dean of Admissions on a Sunday morning—” “No, I called my friend who knows the Dean of Admissions.” “Because your friend is on the fundraising committee.” I paused, studying her body language. Her hands were curled into fists, her back ramrod straight. At the back of my head, I thought I could see a flashing red alert sign and hear the words Danger, Adam Drake! Abort! Abort! Abort! But like an idiot I had to push it. “I just called because I figured you’d want to know—” “No. You figured you’d want to know.” I shrugged. “Well, yeah. I did want to know. It’s a logical choice for you. Comparable program. You’re definitely in. And it’s here—” Her forehead wrinkled. “How much did you promise your fundraiser ‘friend’?” I opened my mouth and then closed it. “I didn’t promise him anything.” She laced her hands together and fidgeted, clearly trying to force herself to remain calm. “Okay, how much would you have promised him if I hadn’t gotten in?” “I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t need to. You were already short-listed. I just wanted to know. I figured you would, too. So you could make the most informed decision.” She massaged her forehead, her eyes closing. “I don’t believe this.” “What? That I’d try to get all the information I possibly could? This is important. This is our future.” She blew out an exasperated sigh. “This is my decision and you can’t make it for me.” My fist closed on the table top between us. “You and I are an ‘us.’ And that means work and compromise.” She scoffed—almost laughed, laughed. A flame of irritation burned in my chest. “Adam, I swear to God that word does not mean what you think it means.” I arched my brow, unamused by her paraphrase of the famous quote from The Princess Bride. “Oh? What do I think it means?” She looked right through me, her eyes darting into mine like arrows. “It means you get your way and I deal with it.” I rubbed my forehead, blowing out a tight breath. “I don’t have time to deal with bullshit, Emilia. I’ve got a serious threat to my company, my dream. I can’t be away from work, I told you that. I’ve done the best I can to control that need to be there all the time. But right now I can’t compromise in the way that

you want me to.” She shrugged, threw up her hands. “How can this even be possible, then?” “How can what be possible?” I said between clenched teeth, not liking the direction she seemed to be headed in. “Us. This. Our relationship. What we want and need out of this isn’t even compatible if we can’t learn to give and take.” “This isn’t a ‘should we have red wine with dinner or white?’ type of decision. We’re both new to this and this is a major decision that will affect our lives for a very long time.” “So I need to change what I want if I want to be with you?” I didn’t have an answer for that. Not one that she would like. So I didn’t say anything. After a few more minutes of massaging her forehead and waiting for me to answer, she finally shook her head. “I’m so tired I can’t even think straight right now. I need to go to bed.” “So what happens tomorrow when we wake up?” She shrugged, standing up. “I guess we figure that out then. We’re smart people. We should be able to figure it out.” That cold fear was back. My mind raced through all the possibilities, attempting and failing to find a quick answer. I knew what I wanted. I wanted her. And I wanted to stay here—with my family, my friends, my company, my entire life, including her. I swallowed and decided I’d have to dedicate more thinking to the task. Sun Tzu’s wisdom had to be worth something in cases like these. I wished to God that someone had written a book called The Art of Love that I could file in the back of my brain and draw inspiration from instead. *** Throughout the next week, we were like ships passing in the night. We drove to work separately because she didn’t know when I’d be coming home and she had various appointments in the morning, doctor or dentist or something. At work, I was preoccupied by the potential legal mess and all the red tape we needed to navigate in order to try and head off the inevitable. And, of course, the impending doom of this decision weighing over us. I did manage to make it home every night—though I was late. We didn’t talk any further about medical school, even when her acceptance letter from UCLA arrived in the mail. But there was no giddy excitement on her face like she’d had for the Hopkins letter. Just a quiet, “I got it.” I decided then that it was necessary to formulate a new plan of attack—all while trying to not make it appear like a plan of attack. The one thing I did know was that I wouldn’t stand back and do nothing. I hated not having control of one of the—scratch that—the most important aspect of my life. My thought processes were working constantly on the back burner even when the front burner was preoccupied with this legal issue and the normal work things. But I could tell it was bothering her because even in the short hours before bed that we spent together, usually over a late dinner or maybe watching TV or a movie together, she was distant, quiet. And she wasn’t very interested in sex, either, which sucked. Even more so than normally, because sex would have been a great stress release. The times I initiated, she either made up a ridiculous excuse to avoid it or lay there, distracted. I started to do something I never do—panic. Was she trying to distance herself in preparation for leaving for Maryland? Did she resent me because our relationship was holding her back from her dream? Was it time to show her a new dream to replace the old one? The art of war…is a matter of life or

death, a road to either safety or ruin. I wasn’t waging a war with Emilia. But I was waging a war on her goal to go live on the other side of the country without me, so I could gain control of what was mine. As the days progressed during that week, a new plan began to form. So she was emotionally attached to this decision she’d made to go to Hopkins long before she’d met me. But we were in a relationship now and this changed things. Things that I’d make her see. She had a new emotional attachment and that one, I hoped, was far stronger than this distant idea of going to a school in Maryland. She was attached to me. And I wouldn’t give her up. I’d offer her a new dream. I’d find a way to make it impossible for her to go. I hoped that it already was a difficult choice, but I was not above hedging my bets. When I called Kim Strong, a few nights later, it was not just to ask for her help with my new plan, but to also ask for her daughter’s hand in marriage.



Chapter Four The following Friday night I took Emilia out to dinner under the pretext of celebrating her acceptance to now three different medical schools—Hopkins, UCLA and San Diego. UCI had yet to weigh in and I knew that even though it was the closest of her choices, it didn’t interest her the way the others did. This was no ordinary Friday night. It was the night we celebrated her wonderful accomplishments—for which I was very proud of her. But it would also be the night she’d agree to be my wife. And I’d planned out the details, with some help from my friends—even the reluctant Heath, who had not hesitated to tell me he thought this was a bad idea. But I’d ignored him because I was sure of how I felt about her and how she felt about me and I knew she’d see that this was the logical next step for us. A ring box weighed down my jacket pocket. I was nervous as hell, but also in no doubt that this was a necessary move in my plan of attack. The restaurant was on the waterfront in Newport with a great view of the bay, just a few miles from the house. I wasn’t the romantic type of guy and I wasn’t inclined toward the grandiose. Emilia wouldn’t expect a huge gesture from me anyhow. But I still wanted to make this night special—one that we could look back on when we were old farts together. It was difficult to contain my excitement, really. My heart thumped, my hand might have even been a little clammy as it closed and reclosed around that tiny velvet box. It was amazing that I could even entertain thoughts like these without scaring the shit out of myself. We were seated along the railing right over the crashing surf. As was typical for early October in Southern California, it was hot and dry. The Santa Ana winds were blowing, as they did every autumn. Things started awkwardly, with long drawn-out silences interrupted by brief spurts of conversation. I was certain a lot of it was due to my nervousness. “Any news from the suit?” she asked. I frowned, surprised she’d bring it up on a night like this, then brushed it off. “Not really something I want to discuss tonight.” She shrugged and looked away. “Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “No worries.” She was wearing a new dress, this one a vibrant blue, her long, dark hair draped over her shoulder. When we’d walked in, she had turned heads. She really was a beautiful woman and I never got sick of noticing it. But she seemed distant, distracted, tonight as she had every other night this week. I leaned forward and cleared my throat. “Have you had a chance to look into that program at UCLA?” She drew back, fiddling with her menu. “We probably shouldn’t talk about that either. Let’s find something neutral to discuss. Like, say, what movie we are going to go see after this.” I studied her for a long moment, searching for some small clue as to what was going on inside her head, feeling that cold fear prickle up my spine again. We said nothing more to one another until after the waiter took our orders and our menus. She fiddled with the moisture on the outside of her glass of ice water. “What’s up?” I said. She darted a cautious look at me before returning to focus on the glass. She shook her head. “Sorry. Don’t know where my head is.” I studied her, knowing exactly where her head was. Still thinking about Hopkins. The evening continued like that, in awkward fits and starts. She picked at her meal. Sometimes we got a conversation going. She told me a funny story about Mac chewing out an intern for getting too flirty with subscribers on Reddit.com. But between these stretches, we lapsed into silence. A few times I caught her giving me troubled looks and while these should have deflected me off that night’s chosen path, instead

they made me all the more determined. Because sometimes I’m a fool. A stubborn fucking fool. So along with dessert, I ordered champagne. The minute it was poured into her flute, she quickly downed its contents, signaling for a refill. Two glasses of wine at dinner and now she was sucking the champagne down like she was dying of thirst. “What’s going on?” I blurted. “That was your third glass.” Her eyes widened. “You’re counting?” “I’m just wondering…you seem on edge.” She grimaced. “So do you.” I couldn’t deny that. I was on edge. For obvious reasons—obvious to me anyway. She sighed and pushed her dessert dish forward, lacing her fingers and resting her folded hands on the table. “We should talk,” she started in a tight voice. That cold, prickly fear in my chest intensified. “Yes, I agree. There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” She opened her mouth as if to continue her thought, then changed directions. “Oh. What did you need to ask me?” I froze, for just a split second. The beads of sweat gathering on my forehead were swept away just as quickly by the hot dry breeze. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the box. One hand closed around it while I took her left hand in mine. “I love you,” I said. She took a shaky breath, and squeezed my hand. “I love you, too.” “I want to give you something.” I reached out and pressed the small black velvet box into the hand I held. She stared at it like I’d just given her a dead cockroach. Time seemed to warp and slow around us. I’d just stepped into my own TARDIS, but there was no going back. My stomach dropped. This was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. Her hand trembled just a little but her voice shook noticeably. “You got me jewelry?” I took a deep breath, held it. “Open it.” In spite of the inauspicious start, I was starting to feel eager for her to open it, for her to realize what I was asking her. She fingered the box tentatively, swallowing. “Open it, Emilia,” I prompted. She blinked and then complied. Her mouth dropped first and she didn’t appear to be breathing. “It’s a—” She gasped, her eyes widening in shock. “An engagement ring, yes.” I knew hardly anything about jewelry, but Kim had helped me pick it out. It was a low-set, square-cut two-carat diamond surrounded by bezel-set stones (so the jeweler had informed me, anyway). Emilia stared at it for a few moments, not moving or saying anything. Well, hell, I’d already committed to this endeavor and she’d get used to the idea once she saw the damn thing on her finger. While trying to calm my own racing heart, I took the box from her and pulled out the ring. I coughed and braced myself, squaring my shoulders. “I love you, Emilia. I see no reason why we shouldn’t start planning our future together now. Will you marry me?” Her hand was like ice in mine and she had grown dangerously pale, her big eyes looking even bigger and darker in her face. Then she started to tremble. All over. I froze. She hadn’t said anything. Was I supposed to slip the ring on her finger anyway? Or was I supposed to wait until she gave me some indication? In the movies, the man always asked the question as he was slipping the ring on the woman’s finger. So, since I was holding the ring anyway, I decided to slip it on. She’d be more inclined to say yes once she saw it twinkling on her hand. I never got it past the first knuckle before she jerked her hand back with a violent tug. The ring dropped

on the table, wobbling like a penny between us. We both stared at it, as if we were two lovers watching our future evaporate in front of us. Because we were. Every breath I took in brought a stabbing pain to my rib cage. The waiter collected our dessert plates, carefully ignoring the ring sitting on the table between us. We both looked down vaguely toward our own place settings. For lack of anything else to do, I reached into my wallet, pulled out my credit card and gave it to the waiter. Hopefully it would keep the bastard away for a little while, anyway. I finally geared up the courage to look at her. She still stared wide-eyed at the abandoned ring, which sparked from the flames of the nearby candle. Slowly she shook her head and finally spoke. “What—what was that?” Silence hung in the air around us, thickened like an opaque curtain of mistrust. “You tell me,” I answered tightly. Would I get no explanation from her? My mind flipped through jumbled thoughts, and I wondered if I should press her to find out what she was thinking. Or if this was even an appropriate place to do so. And how could I even think straight when I felt like I’d just been slammed in the nuts with a two-byfour? “Adam,” she said and her voice trembled. With reluctance, I looked at her again. “There’s no way—” “Not now or not ever?” God, I sounded like such a loser when I asked it, too. Like that whiny weakling lying in a pool of his own blood in the locker room one night, staring up at the four guys who’d just handed him his ass. She shook her head. “I don’t even know—” Shit. It was worse than I thought. “Excuse me. I’ll call for the car.” I stood. I went to the bathroom instead, took a minute to decompress. Actually tried splashing cold water on my face. It didn’t do a shit-worth of good. That pain in my side was back again. What did this mean? Not now —not ever? When I got back to the table, the check was there for me to sign. I pocketed the credit card and added the tip. I looked down, noticing the ring was no longer sitting on the table, but had been closed back inside the little black box. As if, with the reminder gone, we could go back to acting like—well, not like normal, because that wasn’t what we’d been acting like all night. Or for days, for that matter. I left the box on the table with no desire to touch the fucking thing again. But out of the corner of my eye, as I turned to leave, I saw her scoop it up and drop it in her purse. Not the way I’d envisioned her coming home with it. Ah, shit. I remembered the gathering of people that I’d asked Kim to invite over to surprise her. It was under the pretense of celebrating her med school acceptance, of course, but I’d also planned for it to be a celebration of our new engagement. My mind raced. I could take Emilia to a movie and text Kim to let her know, but everyone thought they were there to congratulate her on her success—and they were. I was obligated to go through with it. We’d have to plaster on fake smiles and pretend this hadn’t just happened. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Her head was bowed as she waited next to me for the car to be brought up. She looked puzzled and a little angry. Nevertheless, I wasn’t ready to give up. A small battle lost, though I didn’t know why, did not mean that all was lost. And I was a person who didn’t give up easily. I never was. He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight. He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared. I’d seethe in silence, but I would plan and I’d be ready for when her defenses were weak. We drove in silence. She had her arms folded tightly across her chest, but we never once spoke to each other.

Hell yeah, I was pissed. What the fuck was this all about, anyway? Did she think I went around proposing to women all the time? Like this was just another night for me? I’d never even wanted to think about marriage. Had no desire whatsoever. Not until her. And sure, maybe it was motivated a little bit by fear, but what better motivator was there? Many a great feat had been motivated by fear. So I’d secured this as a way to keep her. I’d had it all planned out. We’d have the wedding before she started medical school. She’d walk into her first class a married woman and she’d be here with me. Though I was dreading the thought of the party, I was actually relieved at the prospect of people surrounding us, so that we wouldn’t have to be alone. So that we wouldn’t be drowning in this silence that was a thick as the fog that clung to the Newport coast almost every morning. I parked the car in the garage and we walked across the bridge and the greater part of Bay Island, where we lived, still in silence. My house loomed up ahead, with only a few lights on and just the garden lamps outside to illuminate our way. The Back Bay water lapped on the beach around us. Emilia cleared her throat and hesitated on the front porch, but I ignored her. My mind was already racing ahead. What would come next? My mental flowchart hadn’t accounted for this. This rejection. This silence. “Adam,” she said, as I pressed my thumb to the biometric lock on the front door. “We can talk later. Now isn’t the time.” “But—” “Go inside and turn on the light,” I said between clenched teeth. And she did. I hung back on the porch for a moment, taking a deep breath. The light came on to loud shouts of “SURPRISE!” Emilia backed into me, obviously terrified before putting her hands to her face. I couldn’t tell whether she was laughing or crying. To be honest, at that moment, I didn’t care. In the huge entry hall to my home, people swarmed around—dozens of them. What the hell? This was supposed to be a small gathering for drinks and congratulations. A banner was spread across the back wall, complete with pictures of champagne glasses and confetti. Loud music came up on the sound system and a crowd of people surrounded Emilia, asking her if she was surprised. She sent some furtive glances my way and faked a smile, but I could tell that she was nervous, possibly annoyed. And I had no desire whatsoever to stand next to her. Someone shoved glasses of champagne into our hands. There was confetti everywhere—on the floor, in our hair. Some of it had even been flipped down Emilia’s dress, sticking to the dampness on her cleavage. That was when I noticed that she was sweating. Her entire face glowed with it. She was flushed and nervous and perspiring like it was a hundred degrees out. Almost in unison, we downed our glasses of champagne in a single gulp. I felt a clap on my shoulder and turned toward Heath. “Everything okay?” he muttered. I shook my head and turned from him. I was not in the mood for an “I told you so.” I threw another glance around the room, cataloging the attendees. Emilia’s mom, Kim, stood beside my Uncle Peter. My cousin Liam lurked toward the back of the crowd, his hands cupped over his ears in irritation. He absolutely hated things like this, especially when it involved loud music. Liam’s sister, Britt, and her husband Rik had gotten a babysitter to watch the boys. And of course, there were Alex and Jenna along with various other friends. There were the repeated questions of “Were you surprised?” and Emilia claiming she had “No idea!” She giggled in a high-pitched panicky sort of way—the way that meant she clearly was not amused, but was trying to put on a brave face. I tried to keep the scowl off mine, but it wasn’t working. From across the room, Peter frowned at me,

mouthing, “What’s wrong?” Instead of acknowledging him, I looked away. Then, it happened. After all the excitement of the initial surprise calmed down, Alex made a beeline for Emilia in her usual frenetic way. Her hands waved through the air, shouting at the top of her lungs, “Let me see your hand, Mia!” Emilia froze. I shifted but I wasn’t fast enough. Alex already had Emilia’s left hand in hers, frowning in confusion that the ring was clearly not there. Goddamn it. Who had told her? Only two people knew: Heath and Kim. I looked at Emilia’s mother but her attention was focused solely on her daughter, her forehead puckered in confusion. The entire group around us went silent and they were all staring. Emilia shot me a look of pure terror, her eyes wide, and I stepped up to her side, gently pulling her hand out of Alex’s. I towed Emilia away from her gap-jawed friend and into the crowd around us, moving like I had a ton of bricks tied to each foot. “I believe a toast to our future doctor is in order. Let’s get her some more champagne!” And spike mine with vodka, please. Goddamn it. Goddamn it all to hell. This night needed to be over. As soon as fucking possible. Christ, just get me through this night. I hated this shit under ordinary circumstances. I never had more than a few people over at once. It was all I could tolerate. But Kim and Heath had planned this and I’d let them do whatever they wanted. I was too busy worrying about the marriage proposal to pay any attention to the guest list. At least there was no one from work—aside from Liam and Jordan—to witness my moment of humiliation. The party fizzled out quickly. Which mostly had to do with Emilia excusing herself and disappearing for almost an hour. She spent a lot of that time talking to Heath and I was stuck trying to see to guests. Fortunately Kim was perceptive, knew that something was wrong and helped diffuse the dud of a party before it could build on itself. For me, well, I was still smoldering inside. From the abrupt rejection with no explanation, the public humiliation and, now, the fact that she was somewhere in the house, tucked away, confiding in Heath instead of me. A sudden burst of hot anger rose inside me. I wanted to punch someone. Before the last cluster of guests dissipated, I was up the stairs and in the bedroom looking for a clean T-shirt and running shorts. It was too late to go for a run along the Back Bay, but there was the treadmill in the exercise room downstairs. I needed to burn off my excess energy somehow. When I emerged from the closet, she was in the bedroom sitting on the end of the bed, her head in her hands. She looked like shit. She’d obviously seen some emotional turmoil. But she’d cried on Heath’s shoulder instead of mine. I suddenly decided that he was who I wanted to punch. He might be gay and never want her in a romantic way, but he would always be the first man she’d turn to in a crisis, not me. And for that, I hated him. Even if he was a nice guy and even if he did have her back. I paused for a long moment before moving past her to the door without a word. “Adam,” she said. “What?” I stopped, but didn’t turn toward her. “We should talk.” “What’s there to talk about?” I turned stiffly. “No more surprise parties? You got it.” She slowly stood and walked toward me. I didn’t move. “Please, Adam…” She stretched her hand out as if to touch me, but I drew back. She frowned. “Why are you pulling away from me?” I shook my head. “Who pulled away from who first?” “Can we talk about tonight?”

I took a deep breath and then exhaled. “I’m too pissed off right now. Let’s talk tomorrow.” “But—” I was already turning and walking away. The last thing I wanted was for emotions to take over. To say something I would regret. Right now I was burning with anger, frustration and, most prominently, fear. What the fuck was happening to us? And how had it happened so quickly? That cold fear was back again but this time I wouldn’t be a slave to it. I’d shore up my defenses, dig in deep. And I’d draw comfort from the ancient wisdom, hoping to make it my beacon. A few hours later, when I’d worked myself through to exhaustion, I came up to the room, and she was in bed with the lights off. I took a shower and slipped into bed beside her, but we didn’t touch. There might as well have been a mile of bed between us. I knew she wasn’t sleeping because she wasn’t breathing like she was asleep. I turned my back to her and lay for hours on my side, just like her, awake, running through the events of the night in slow motion, over and over again. I had to come up with a new plan, but I couldn’t think, my mind cluttered with hopelessness. I had no idea what time it was when I finally fell asleep.

Chapter Five I only slept a few hours, starting awake after a disturbing dream about my sister, Bree. I hadn’t dreamt about her in years. She was crying—trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t see her face. It was in shadow. I heard again some of the last words she ever said to me when I was twelve, when she put me on the bus headed out of Seattle and back home to Mt. Vernon. “I promise, Adam, I’ll come back and see you soon. Just be a good boy and go home now.” I sat up in a cold sweat, burying my face in my hands, trying to dam a fresh deluge of pain—as raw as if the entire scene had taken place yesterday. Sabrina, my sweet sister. She never came back to me despite the promise. I never saw her again. I didn’t even know where she was buried. My poor Bree. I fought a rush of nausea and stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to wash my face. It was early and when I came out, I saw that Emilia was still sleeping, her burnished brown hair splayed across the snowy pillow. I fought the urge to crawl back into bed and pull her to me, press her soft skin against mine. Right now I wanted her so badly I ached with it, but after yesterday—everything that had happened yesterday—I couldn’t. Her rejection was still a raw wound. Instead I pulled on some clothes and padded out of the room and down the hall into my office. I’d only slept a few hours and the sun was just barely illuminating the sky with a watery gray light. I couldn’t shake the dark feelings the dream had left me with. That sore emptiness that reminded me how much I missed Bree. It had been fourteen years since I’d laid eyes on her. I could hardly remember what she looked like, the sound of her voice, the feel of her arms when she comforted me. When I was still a kid, after she’d died, I used to imagine her as an angel, watching out for me. I’d never felt her presence more strongly than I had that night I’d had the shit beaten out of me, trapped inside a gym locker overnight, certain it was the end. I’d called out to her in my mind, told her I was going to die, be with her soon. But she said I wouldn’t. I’d survive, because I was strong. My life was so out of my control then—I was a victim, a leaf blown on the wind. That night had changed me in more ways than I could ever name. One thing that it taught me was to seize control of my life—to be the driver instead of the driven. As I sat at my desk staring blankly out the window at the tea-colored water lapping up on the shore of the tiny beach, I ran a hand through my hair. My mind wandered to this situation with Emilia. Be the driver, not the driven… My thoughts were interrupted by a sound at the doorway. I turned to see Emilia standing there watching me with wide, questioning eyes. Our gazes held for a long, tense moment and I was suddenly reminded of that instant, last spring, when I’d first laid eyes on her in that hotel conference room. I’d had no idea what to expect—I’d formed a lot of preconceived notions about her and had even seen photos from the auction, knew that she was a lovely woman. But something so powerful hit me the moment I entered the room. It was more than just her physical beauty and presence. Yes, I found her mesmerizingly beautiful. But it was more than that. It was the presence of something else there between us, something electric, almost alive. A connection I’d never felt before that was immediate and more than a little intimidating. I’d almost wavered in my decision to go “full asshole” for that meeting in order to scare her out of the auction plan altogether. But I’d managed to pull it off despite the fact that I’d fought myself the entire time. Part of me just wanted to lose myself in those mysterious golden brown eyes. And since that moment, that thing had only grown, mutated into this pull that locked me into her orbit. I was frozen, forever facing her like the Moon, unable to turn away, even for one second, from the stunning beauty that was the Earth. In those moments when I allowed myself to just feel, I felt as helpless as that poor hunk of rock forever entrapped by her, that luscious blue planet at the center of my entire existence.

“Hey,” she said after a long moment, sending me a tremulous smile. “Good morning,” I said in a flat voice. “You hungry? I can make pancakes.” Chef had the week off and had prepared a bunch of meals ahead of time, but Emilia liked to make something now and then. “I think I’m just in the mood for some cold cereal.” That’s about how I felt— wet, cold, soggy, flat. She frowned. “Okay. Can we talk over breakfast then?” I closed my notebook computer, stood and followed her out, sending her a half shrug. “Sure.” Despite having proposed pancakes, Emilia only nibbled on the piece of toast she’d prepared for herself, watching me as I shoveled in my Cheerios as fast as I could. She did, however, manage to down more than her fair share of coffee. She was on her second big cup when I sucked down the last of the milk in my bowl and sat back with a satisfied belch. She made a face at me. “Gross.” I got up and moved to the sink to rinse out the bowl and she followed me. She seemed determined to corner me this morning and I didn’t feel much like being cornered. “We need to have that talk.” I turned to her, putting my hands on the counter behind me, leaning back. “What do you want to talk about?” She took a deep breath, exasperated. “Last night.” “Okay. What do you want to say?” “I want to know why you asked me to marry you.” My jaw tightened. “I thought I explained myself adequately last night.” She blew out a weary sigh. “I don’t want to start a fight, but that’s not what I think.” “So I’m lying to you?” She frowned and looked down. “You’re not telling the entire truth. It’s kind of your MO.” I stiffened. She referred, of course, to my delay in telling her that we already knew each other through our online personas. When we’d met in person, she’d thought that we were total strangers to each other. But we weren’t, and throughout the next month I had let her believe otherwise until I’d finally confessed that we’d been online friends for over a year. She still hadn’t quite let it go. Apparently, she hadn’t forgiven me for it, either. “I don’t know what to say to that. I told you I loved you and I wanted to start planning our future—” “One week after I got an acceptance letter to a school you don’t want me to attend.” I let out a long breath, folded my arms in front of my chest. “If you’re going to doubt everything that comes out of my mouth, then why should we even talk about this?” She looked away, appearing distracted, unsure, rubbing her palm repeatedly over the edge of the counter. “I don’t doubt you love me, but I don’t think you want to get married for the right reasons. We’ve barely had a chance to be together—” “Yeah,” I said. “And you want to up and move to the other side of the continent.” She swallowed. “I thought I explained why this meant so much to me.” “Maybe you should explain how much I mean to you.” Her gaze sharpened and her cheeks flushed. “Maybe we don’t mean enough to each other if neither one of us is willing to move.” A weight dropped in my stomach. “I asked you to marry me. Doesn’t that prove I’m ready to do whatever—” Her hand tightened into a fist. “That wasn’t a proposal of marriage. That was an ultimatum.” “I never said, ‘Marry me or else,’” I hissed. “No, you didn’t. Did you need to? You were trying to seize control of this situation, like you always do.”

I shook my head, trying to deny what we both knew was true. It had been my power play and she’d seen right through it. “Emilia—” “Stop the bullshit, Adam. You called your fundraising buddy to make sure I’d be going to UCLA. First, you’re prepared to buy my way in to medical school if necessary and then you hedge your bets with a wedding ring.” My mouth opened to shoot out a hot reply, but I didn’t have one because she was mostly right. But hell if I was going to tell her that. Instead, I said nothing. She blinked, looked away. “I think we jumped into this”—she motioned between us—“too quickly.” I was on alert now, every muscle in my body tensing. I moved up to her, put an arm on the counter on either side of her, trapping her. Our faces were inches from each other. She drew back far enough to look in my face, but that’s as far as she could go. “You don’t get to run away, Emilia,” I said in a quiet, firm voice. She closed her eyes and then opened them again, swallowing. Her hands pressed flat on my chest but didn’t push me away. Even that simple touch sent jolts of need right through me. “I’m not running away,” she whispered. My mouth sank to hers and my hands went to the back of her head, holding it to mine as my body commanded her surrender. She slumped against me, falling into that kiss, and her mouth opened to mine. She tasted like coffee and chocolate and roses. Mine—everything in my body imprinted it on hers. The declaration was in my hands as my thumbs splayed to rest against her temples, in my kiss, in my hips as they pressed to hers. I got hard immediately and could have taken her right here. This desire was a gravity well and I was falling, endlessly falling. She separated from me with an abrupt jerk, gasping as if coming up from underwater. “Stop it,” she breathed. “Stop overwhelming me.” I stared into her eyes for a long moment. Who was overwhelming who, really? She opened her mouth to speak again and I waited, tense, coiled. She pushed me back and I relented—one step, anyway. My arms fell away from her, fists knotting at my sides. “What do you want?” I asked. She took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Especially if you are going to make me choose right now. I don’t know.” I clenched my teeth, burning with anger. “Then maybe we are wasting our time, here.” Her jaw dropped for a moment and the color drained from her face. It was time for the moment of truth. It was time for her to figure out how badly she wanted this. She sucked in a deep breath. “Maybe we are.” I swallowed, a vise around my throat. “So you are going to let this break us up?” “No. You are going to let this break us up.” I’d never really liked the idea of playing chicken, but I would do it if necessary. If she yielded first, then it would be worth it. “I’m not the one who won’t commit to us, who’s actually seriously contemplating moving away. I’m not going to put up with half a relationship and that’s exactly what we’d have. If you go away, we go back to being gamer friends—FallenOne and Eloisa talking in game chats, if you even have time for that with all your studies. Do you want that?” She watched me with big eyes as she slowly shook her head. “Then you need to decide.” “Now?” Her voice trembled. “What’s the point in putting it off? You have the choices before you now. Stay here, go to UCLA and we stay together and maybe even get married. Or go to Baltimore and—” “And lose you?” She flushed, glaring. “Is this some kind of test of worthiness? I’m required to

demonstrate what I’m willing to sacrifice in order to stay with you? We’re not in your fucking game, Adam. This is life. If I don’t choose wisely, then I lose you? Well, it goes both ways. If you don’t choose wisely in how you deal with this situation, you lose me, too.” That red alert Klaxon was sounding at the back of my head again. My palms started to get sweaty, where they rested on the kitchen counter. I decided this game was more like poker than chicken. And it was time to keep a straight face and call her bluff. “Whatever the case, this hinges on you. So what is it?” Her hands balled into fists and without another word she pivoted and left the room. I waited for a minute before realizing it might be a fatal error to let her out of my sight. When I found her up in our bedroom, she’d grabbed her purse and keys and was looking for her shoes. “What are you doing?” “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m leaving.” “You can’t just run away. You need to make a decision.” She straightened from slipping on her shoes and her features were like ice. But she had tears in her eyes, furiously trying to blink them away. “I made the decision. I just told you. I’m leaving. I don’t do ultimatums.” She moved around me to exit the bedroom when I took her arm in my hand. She yanked it free, rounding on me. “I can’t believe you’d do this.” She cleared her throat, blinked a few more times and squared her shoulders. “No, that’s not the truth. I can believe you’d do this. That’s the worst part of all.” She turned and walked out the door. I ran my hand over my face, resisting the almost overpowering urge to go after her. She’d be gone one night, tops. Maybe two. The door downstairs slammed and I closed my eyes. She hadn’t even taken clothes with her. This was just her way of exerting her independence—the famous Mia Strong “balls of steel” Geek Girl independence that made her who she was. And in many ways, that made me love her so much. She’d realize what losing this—what losing us—really meant after a night or two sleeping in bed alone and she’d be back. I paced the floor for a good half hour before deciding I might drive myself insane. I was still sore from last night’s late workout, but the restless energy could not be pent up. I changed clothes and decided to take out my frustrations on a punching bag. She’d be back—I was certain of it—when she saw what she’d be losing. With each passing hour of that day and with every new activity, I determined to get my mind off of our showdown. But I grew less and less certain.

Chapter Six She came to the office the next morning. She was on time—I’d checked. I kept tabs on her throughout the day, wondering when she’d call Maggie to make an appointment to see me. Or maybe she’d send a text message asking to talk after work. Jordan, who had attended the surprise party, gave me a wide berth, avoiding eye contact. Sometimes I caught him looking at me with pity eyes. My cousin Liam just flat-out wasn’t talking to me. Seems in the short time that Emilia had been working here, they’d become fast friends, eating lunch together most days. Somehow, in my cousin’s worldview, it appeared that the problems between Emilia and me were my fault. She never called me on Monday and in my most panicky moments, wondering how long this would last, I remembered that she was incredibly stubborn. Our game of chicken was still playing out. If I turned off the road first, I’d be giving in and this time next year I’d be an East Coaster preparing for a winter that would freeze my ass off while scraping ten pounds of snow off my windshield every morning. So even though I slept like crap during those two nights away, I told myself that she’d be back before the week was out. On Tuesday, the insurance company notified us that we were required to show up for on-site depositions. There was also talk of preparing terms of settlement, but I was firmly against settling a lawsuit. To do so would be to admit guilt or responsibility, which I firmly denied. I trusted Joe, my lawyer, when he said that we basically had to do whatever the insurance company required of us. So we were off to New York City for the next week. It all happened so fast that I was booked on a flight within hours, along with Jordan and Joe. I messaged my housekeeper, who packed my suitcase and had it delivered to the office. We’d be leaving straight from the office, since it was close to John Wayne Airport, on a dinner flight that night, to arrive sometime after midnight local time. I texted Emilia to let her know and her reply was short and neutral in tone. See you when you get back. Travel safe. *** Time dragged in New York. We met with the insurance people in their Manhattan offices and it wasn’t an easy week. Long meetings, depositions, discussions, strategy. Days were stress-filled and nights were empty. I picked up the phone at least twice every night to call Emilia, but I resisted. She hadn’t even texted me. I’d traveled a lot for my job in the past but now everything felt more raw, more poignant and whether it was this bullshit with Emilia, the nature of the suit we were facing against the company or a combination of both, I couldn’t say. I stared out the window from the back of a town car, watching as we passed the crowded sidewalks of Manhattan while Jordan shifted in the seat beside me. “Damn, that was so annoying,” Jordan said as the driver took us back to the hotel. He closed his eyes, rubbing them through his lids. “If I have to do another depo, I’m going to lose it.” I checked my phone for any text messages that might have come while I was in the meeting and found it still empty of texts. Jordan darted a look at me, then at the phone. “What say we go out and have some fun tonight? Like the old days.” I snorted. The old days. I could never keep up with him then. Jordan was a drinker. I, most decidedly, was not. Jordan was a womanizer and while I’d never lacked for female companionship when I wanted it, I’d never had the same tastes he did.

Jordan liked his women flawless, gorgeous and empty-headed. “Come on, we could go take in a club, maybe meet a few lovely ladies who are really into California guys.” “It’s New York, no one’s into California guys here.” Jordan looked at my phone again. I tucked it into the pocket of my jacket. “So, uh, you still hanging out with Mia or…” I glanced out the window. We hadn’t discussed the surprise party since it had happened. No one besides Heath—with whom I assumed she was staying—knew that she’d left the previous weekend. I shifted, uncomfortable and trying to ignore that slice of dread whenever I thought about Emilia and our relationship since she had walked out. I estimated that by now she had come back to the house, probably figuring this would be a good time to let the fallout from our confrontation blow over. That thought relieved me a little. I cleared my throat. “There are bumps in the road. We’ll be okay.” Jordan raised his brows, pleasantly surprised. “So you’re still a ‘we’…good.” “Glad I’m off the market and not in competition with you anymore?” Jordan laughed. “At least let me buy you a drink at the bar.” I nursed a beer in the hotel bar while Jordan knocked back a couple rum and cokes. We talked about all kinds of things—old times, the company, ideas for the storyline for the next expansion of Dragon Epoch. As he finished up his third drink, Jordan jerked his chin at me, casting a glance behind me. “That blonde at the end of the bar has not stopped staring at you.” I smirked. “Jealous much?” He gave me a crafty smile. “I bet I could get her number for you.” “I don’t want her number. Get it for yourself.” “You’re not even going to look to see how hot she is?” I took another sip of my beer. “Nope. Not interested.” Jordan looked at me as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Of all people—of all my friends—you were the last one I would have pegged for getting infected by the love virus.” “Wow, when you put it that way, it sounds so pleasant.” “It’s shocking, really, considering that you’re you. And, of course, how you even met her.” I frowned. “What, you mean in the game?” “No, I mean how you really met her. That whole Pretty Woman thing.” Suddenly uncomfortable, I put the beer down but didn’t look at Jordan. Jordan had known from the beginning about the original arrangement between Emilia and me. But he’d never once made reference to it, until now. And the allusion to the movie did not amuse me. In essence, he was calling Emilia my prostitute and that didn’t sit well with me. I shot him a warning look and he raised a placating hand. It was odd that he’d do this now, half-soused or not. “So, at least you know she’s not a gold digger, since she turned down your proposal. Unless she turned you down because she thought you’d think that…” I blinked. “Shut up, Jordan,” I said, downing the rest of my beer. “You never could hold your liquor. You need something to eat.” I waved the waiter over and ordered three different appetizers while Jordan watched me with a completely baffled look on his face. After a stretch of silence while we each checked our phones, he finally looked up. “Hey man, I’m sorry. Actually I think she’s a nice girl. She’s just young, you know? What’s she, like, nineteen?” “Twenty-two.” “That’s pretty damn young.” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. “It’s only four years younger than me.” “You’ve got the brain and experience of a thirty-five-year-old on the inside, though, man.” I shrugged. The waiter came with our appetizers and asked if I wanted another drink. I ordered a mineral water. Jordan rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He knew better than to get me to drink anything hard.

In spite of declaring he wasn’t hungry, Jordan began to devour a plate of hot barbecue wings. I sampled the sashimi. “So what do you make of all this?” he asked after a long silence. “The insurance bullshit?” “Yeah. All the talk of possibly settling.” “I’m going to fight that. I don’t want to settle.” Jordan raised his eyebrows. “People do it all the time, bro. And the public realizes why that is. It’s not an admission of guilt.” “That’s how it appears, though. Appearances are very important. I have a feeling the fallout from this is going to get pretty unpleasant.” “The news has moved on to all that stuff going on in the Middle East.” “Hmm,” I said as I finished up a bit of Brie cheese spread on crusty bread. “Tell that to the news magazine van that stalks me in the campus parking lot, trying to squeeze a statement out of me.” Jordan’s brow furrowed. “Maybe we need to hire you a bodyguard or something—just for the next little while,” he added when he detected my protest. “Don’t take chances, Adam. We don’t know what the repercussions from this are going to be. That outside PR firm I hired—” “Has been pretty useless so far. They want me to do interviews. I don’t have time for that shit. I have the Con to get ready for. That has the potential to help PR more than just about anything they can do.” I sat back, not having eaten much. I was no longer hungry. I checked my phone again. “Everything okay? You’re checking your phone more often than my little sister who’s still in high school.” “I’m fine. I think a workout and then an early night might be a good idea.” “The night’s still young and that blonde is still undressing you with her eyes.” “Enough already with the blonde. Jesus Christ, you are the horniest geek in Manhattan.” “Better the horniest than the most boring,” he said and I flipped him the bird while I signed off on the bill. I was halfway through my workout and had the treadmill going at near full speed. With my headphones on, I was running to the backbeat of eighties alternative band Erasure when my phone chimed with a text message. I picked it up and looked at it, expecting some smartass remark from Jordan or maybe even a snapshot of the mythical blonde he’d been going on about. I almost stumbled when I saw it was from Emilia. Fucking finally. I clicked on my chat app to read it, powering down the treadmill to a slow walk. Just wanted to let you know I moved my stuff out today. We’ll talk when you get home from NYC. I did stumble then and almost fell off the fucking contraption, reading it over and over again. Soon as I caught my breath, I called her. It went straight to voicemail. Fucking bullshit. My fingers were stiff with anger as I tapped out the reply. Answer the goddamn phone. She responded two minutes later as I was wiping off my face and the equipment. I’m not going to talk about this on the phone. Text me when you get back & we can talk then. My hand closed around the damn thing. I took a deep breath, downed an entire bottle of water and

walked back to my room before I called her again. No answer. “Texting me that you moved out is a really fucking shitty thing to do, Emilia. Now put on your big girl panties and talk to me,” I snarled to her voicemail. She never called back. I was panicking now, big time. This was no longer a game of chicken. This shit was getting real. And I couldn’t find one scrap of ancient Chinese war wisdom to support me in how I’d behaved. In all fighting, the direct method may be used for joining battle, but indirect methods will be needed in order to secure victory. It was true, I’d been too direct with her—so against the norm of how I typically behaved. I’d forced the confrontation, tried to push her decision right then and there. My fear had driven me to it. I’d wanted her to commit to a decision so I wouldn’t have to worry about our future. I’d wanted to be secure in the knowledge that she would stay and be with me and her feelings and emotions had not entered into the matter. In short, I’d cornered her and left her no way out but to leave. A direct contradiction to Sun Tzu’s advice. When you surround an army, allow them an outlet to flee. I’d been a moron and my brain was now scrambling to find a way to rectify this. Two days later when I got home, it was just as she’d told me. Everything was gone. Her closet was empty. The drawers were bare except for a few random clothing items from a drawer it looked like she’d missed. No books on her shelves. Everything. Was. Gone. Everything. She left the laptop I’d given her, (yet again). This was starting to become some sort of sick, weird pattern with us. With a howl of burning rage, I grabbed the fucking thing and almost smashed it against the wall before I stopped myself. That would have been the most expensive temper tantrum I’d ever had. I never threw shit at the walls. I was one ragingly pissed-off dude who couldn’t think beyond the next minute of his own fury. And in some ways, I did feel like I was losing my mind.

Chapter Seven Text me when you get home, please, so we can talk. Thankfully I’d had a couple hours to calm down when that showed up on my cell phone. It was midafternoon and I’d resisted the urge to go to work only because my head was killing me. I rubbed at the back of my neck. The impending migraine was definitely starting there. I hadn’t had one in weeks, goddamn it. For a while they’d been an almost daily curse. In the past year they’d eased up a lot and in the past few months I could remember having only a few. But today it was almost certain that this one was going to floor me. I could already detect the telltale distortion at the edge of my vision. I snatched up my phone and replied. Been home for hours. Come here after work? Her reply came back to me almost immediately. How about we grab something to eat? I almost retorted that we could eat here. Chef could have something ready, easily. The significance of her not wanting to come back here was not lost on me and I began to sweat, wondering if her choice of a public place meant she wanted to have the breakup talk. I sighed, deciding to let her have her way. What other choice did I have? Just tell me where & when. She answered, Dale & Boomer’s 6 p.m.? You still owe me a rematch on Dark Escape. This was a good sign. She wanted to get together at an entertainment restaurant over at the outdoor mall in Orange. They had games of all kinds and a full-service restaurant and bar. Her suggestion of the game rematch made the entire thing seem positive. I tried to put up with the headache pain for about an hour without taking anything, but it was a turning into a bad one and since I couldn’t resort to the normal heavy-hitting pain meds (which wouldn’t allow me to drive), I popped some milder pills, knowing that it would only take the edge off and do nothing for the visual aura that accompanied the pain. I normally didn’t like to resort to medications for my headaches, but I didn’t want to end up biting her head off because I was in pain, either. I was already pissed enough at her as it was. But I vowed I wasn’t going to lose my temper and drive her further away. I wasn’t going to screw up on my all-important strategy again. In the end, I popped the stronger pill and called for a car to take me over. She was there when I arrived, sitting on the leather bench in the waiting area, looking into her phone. Her long dark hair was clipped back away from her face, but she had changed out of her work clothes into jeans and a longsleeved hooded T-shirt, which stretched across her breasts in the most delicious way. When she glanced up and saw me, she tucked her phone into her back pocket as she stood. “Hi,” she said, standing in front of me awkwardly. I hesitated, shifting the weight on my legs, just as awkward. “Hey.” “Can we maybe go for a walk?” “Out in the parking lot?” “Well…yeah…just to talk for a minute?” I shrugged. It was six o’clock, already dark, but not very chilly. I held the door open for her and we

exited the restaurant to walk along the sidewalk that lined the outside perimeter of the mall. “How was your trip?” “Craptastic.” “I’m sorry. Things not going well?” “It was boring and Jordan was annoying and—” I cut myself off, took a deep breath and then, without looking at her, finished my original thought, though it wasn’t easy. “You weren’t there.” She didn’t say anything for a long moment, but I felt her hand slip into mine. I tightened my hold around it. “I missed you, too.” She stopped and I turned to face her in the dim light. “This is hard. I don’t want to fight anymore,” she said. I clenched my teeth and prevented myself from releasing the heated words at the tip of my tongue. Then why did you leave me? “Me neither.” She fixed her gaze on mine, her mouth turned up in a small smile, her eyes questioning. I kept my face as blank as I could, refusing to give away any of the inner turmoil. I was thrilled to see her, but I also ached inside, too. And I’d determined that since I’d ignored the strategy of Sun Tzu by offering her no way out and cornering her, I was going to stick exclusively to the strategy guide now. Retreat, thus enticing the enemy at his turn. I’d stand back. I’d let her come to me. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. She sighed and moved toward me so quickly I didn’t realize what she was doing until she pulled me into a hug. Slowly, stiffly, my arms went around her. I caught a whiff of that vanilla scent of her hair and it hurt—it physically hurt. I backed off before she was finished. A brief frown crossed her face and then vanished. “You’re pissed off that I moved out.” Well, that was leading. How to answer that without getting my head bitten off? “Does that surprise you?” She shook her head. “It’s just that this is so hard for both of us. Things were moving quickly and—I thought this would be a good chance for us to take the pressure off a little.” “So I take it you aren’t planning to come back soon.” Now she gave me a look indicating that she, too, was afraid to say the wrong thing. “Not for now. The whole living together thing, and then…” She let her voice die out before mentioning the doomed marriage proposal. That fear was back again, gripping me at the base of my throat. “So where are we?” She reached out for my hands and took them in hers, looking down. “I don’t want to lose you.” “You haven’t lost me.” Yet. And I guessed we were going to let this whole medical school question hang in the air between us like an executioner’s axe because I sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up now. I wasn’t that stupid. I cleared my throat. “I’m going to be honest with you. I want you at the house. I want you to come back. I won’t tolerate this separation over an extended period of time.” She squeezed my hands. “It’s not a separation. Adam, let’s take it slow. Please. I’m not expert at this relationship thing, but you aren’t either. We both get to steer.” “Okay,” I said in a flat voice. She raised her brows at me. “Okay?” “I’ll let you handle this. You can steer for now. But I’m not going to hold back on what I want. And what I want is you.” My hands tightened around hers and I pulled her toward me until her body was flush against mine. My arms wrapped around her, tight. I turned my head and laid my mouth on hers, coaxed her to open to me. My tongue slid into her mouth,

declaring my wishes with my body to echo my words. I could feel the thready beat of her heart on her lips as they moved against mine, fluttering like a butterfly wings. My breath caught. Her sweet, soft lips. Her unique taste. I wanted what was best for me. What was best for me was her. And this was a setback, but I wasn’t going to give this up. Not for anything. Emilia was strong-willed and stubborn, but she’d met her match in me. And deep down she knew that damn well. I finally let her pull back, relaxing my hold on her and we stared at each other for a long, tense moment. She seemed to be holding her breath. “I—um—I still need to wipe the floor with you on Dark Escape.” I relaxed, stepped back, shrugged. “Not gonna happen.” She raised her brow. “It’s on like Donkey Kong. Come on.” She grabbed my elbow and led me back toward the restaurant entrance. On the way through the arcade toward the machine, she handed me a game card, mentioning that she had recharged with money herself. I gave her a sharp look and she shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any excuses, like you had forgotten your Dale and Boomer’s uber express triple platinum card.” We slid into the dim booth that housed the game Dark Escape. Donning 3-D glasses and grasping our mounted rifles, we began our war against the zombies—and each other. After almost forty-five minutes, she finally emerged victorious. Because of the headache and the medicine I’d taken, my accuracy was off. However, another way to get points was to maintain a low heart rate, because the game measured fear. And mine stayed much lower than hers as we wasted zombies left and right. Only when I yanked off my 3D glasses did I realize that it had been a big mistake for me to play the game. My head was pounding again. “You okay?” she asked, tucking her 3-D glasses where they belonged. She sat, pressed closely to me inside the small, dark game booth. I could smell her hair, her skin, and I was reminded of the fact that I hadn’t had her in over a week. “Headache,” I said, downplaying it. “I’m sorry.” She reached up and touched my forehead. I turned and looked at her; her face was very close to mine. I tipped my head forward and landed a kiss on her mouth. She kissed me back for about ten seconds before pulling away. In the dim booth in close quarters, a strange sort of tension grew between us. Of unspoken declarations, of unrealized actions. I wanted to pull her to me, hold her close forever. Instead, I drew back. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving,” I said. We sat in a booth in the bar section to get seats faster. It was actually quieter except for the television, which we were far enough away from to comfortably ignore. We ordered drinks and our food—she ordered her usual tuna melt and I loaded up on a bleu cheese bacon burger. She gasped when it showed up, at least three times as tall as her sandwich. “I’m so betting you can’t get that in your mouth.” “Sure I can.” She snorted. “So you can unhinge your jaw like a snake? Why didn’t you tell me? That’s a useful skill.” I looked at her like she was a Martian. “In what way? That would be a more useful skill for you to have, if you know what I mean.” I leered at her suggestively. “In your dreams.” Apparently that would be the case for now. I wanted to ask her, actually. What about sex? Would we be sleeping together again soon? Because I sure wouldn’t mind that. It seemed blunt to ask her now. I planned to save it for a heated make-out session later. I could touch her in all the right places, get her all riled up and pop the question on her. A week and a half was a pretty long drought these days, when we’d been going at it so regularly. Maybe I’d gotten spoiled. She was halfway through her sandwich when she paused to wipe her mouth, watching me devour my

burger with open amusement. She lowered her voice for a moment and laughed in the deepest baritone she could manage. “Solo bantha poodoo!” I swallowed my bite, laughing. “That’s my line. You’re just supposed to suit up in a gold bikini with a chain around your neck looking gorgeous, slave girl.” She grinned. “Have you been indulging in your Princess Leia fantasies again?” Thanks to the dry spell, I’d probably have to resort to fantasies soon. Going without sex sucked and she looked so damn mouthwatering in that tight T-shirt. I wanted to suck her nipples right through the cloth. Damn it. Everything went hard just with that one thought. It was like the goddamned tenth grade all over again. “Speaking of gold bikinis, have you got your costume for the employee party at the Con put together?” I asked “I’m going as a bright fairy.” I grinned. “In the skimpiest costume possible, I hope.” I licked my lips like a perv. “And you? What are you going to dress up as?” I gloated. “Top secret.” “Because of course it is,” she huffed. “You love keeping your secrets, don’t you?” “It’s what I’m known for…” “And what bloggers love to rant about.” I smiled at her allusion to the now-infamous hidden quest chain in Dragon Epoch. “All in good time, young padawan.” “What time will that be? 2023? I think people will have moved on to a new game by then.” I shrugged. “I have a good feeling it may happen sometime next year.” She snorted. “Come on…give me another hint. ‘Yellow’ isn’t going to cut it. I don’t even know if that’s a real clue, anyway!” I sent her a look of mock hurt. “I didn’t lie to you.” “Yellow is a totally lame clue.” I gave her the once-over. “Hmm; maybe I can think up a way for you to earn another clue.” She made a face. “Yeah, well, I’d have to be assured of the quality of said clue before I’d commit to that deal.” I shrugged, grabbed an onion ring and munched on it. “Have it your way.” We went silent again and I looked around the bar. It wasn’t too crowded, now that the dinner rush was dying down. Several television screens were blaring the seven o’clock news. I looked back at her when her hand folded over mine where it rested on the tabletop. Her face had grown completely serious. I turned my hand palm up so I could clamp it around hers. “Everything okay?” Now it was my turn to ask it. She shook her head, “Actually, there was something—” I turned from her, distracted by the volume of the TV in the bar, which had just gone up a few notches. When I saw the screen, I froze. “What is it?” she asked and I held my hand up to silence her. I recognized the woman being interviewed by the Channel Seven news. I’d seen numerous clips of her on other shows. She was the one of the plaintiffs in the lawsuit against my company. And the mother of the suicidal kid who had blown away his girlfriend and then himself. She clutched a note card from which she read a statement while sobbing about her terrible loss. She described how, toward the end, her son Tom’s debilitating addiction to a video game had been his downfall. After this brief clip, there was a cut to an outside shot of Draco headquarters and then another taken of a reporter stalking me in the company parking lot on the way to my car while I refused to stop to give him a comment.

Our waitress was watching at the bar and as soon as the shot of me faded, she turned and looked straight at our table, her mouth open. “Adam,” Emilia said, her voice tense. “Relax. Every muscle in your body is stiff and your veins are popping out on your forehead.” “You just saw that, right? You saw that shit?” I turned to her, muttering under my breath, hoping no one else in the damn restaurant recognized me from that. And knowing the news, it had probably been shown at five and six and would be replayed again at eleven, and likely for days to come, in some variation or another. I rubbed my temples. “Fuck me,” I breathed, my headache suddenly pounding down on me again. I buried my face in my hand. Emilia had scooted beside me in the booth and she was rubbing my back between my shoulder blades. “Do you want to talk about it?” “No. I’ve been talking about it.” “I never understood why the guy shot his girlfriend.” I sighed. “He was a hardcore player. I pulled his logs myself. He logged at least sixty to seventy hours a week. He belonged to a power guild, went on raids practically every other day.” Raids were quests taken on by large gatherings of players who tried to take down an epic monster like a huge dragon or a powerful wizard. I shrugged. “One day the girlfriend got pissed at him so she used his log-in information to get on his character and promptly gave all his rare loot away. When he logged in, his character was stripped.” “Oh shit. And CS said they wouldn’t restore.” “Exactly. So he locked and loaded and went over to her house.” I pushed the plate with my half-eaten hamburger away and sat back with a disgusted sigh. “I’m not hungry anymore.” I sat staring into nothing for a long moment before I turned to her. “I’m sorry,” she said. I shook my head and stared at her for a minute. She had worry all over her face. “What did you want to tell me?” She shook her head. “It wasn’t anything big—I’m staying with Heath, in case you were wondering. In his guest room.” I was about to reply when the waitress came up, laid the check tray on the table and left without asking if we wanted dessert. Emilia had caught a strand of her hair and was weaving it around her forefinger. “Tell me,” I said, taking her free hand and pressing her palm to my lips. She curled her fingers around my jaw. “It’s nothing. Nothing like what you’re going through.” “You know you can talk to me, right? If you need anything.” She smiled and nodded. “So are you going back to Heath’s right now? You don’t want to come back to our—my house?” She hesitated. “I want to, but not tonight. I’m exhausted and there’s work tomorrow.” I fought the urge to push her on it. I had to force myself to remember my new stance. She’d come to me. I’d retreat and she would pursue. Just like the strategy dictated. I really wanted to push it, though. “So when do we…figure things out?” I asked. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it will take long. We will figure it out. I believe in us.” She smiled. I walked her to her car and left her with a long, tasty kiss that lingered on my lips the entire ride home. The thought of that bed being empty all night really didn’t make me happy, but at least things were better off between us than I thought they’d be when I started out the day. I could only hope they’d continue to improve.

*** Now that I was committed to following the teachings to the letter, I began to wonder about other ways in which I could plan and win her back. I’d screwed up about the school thing and I was still determined to bring her around to my way of thinking, but the direct, confrontational approach had blown up in my face. So now it was time to gather information. What enables one to strike and conquer is foreknowledge. Hire spies, Sun Tzu had said. And Heath was now her roommate and saw her every day. And as much as I hated the fact that it was him and not me, I knew the key to finding out what was going on with her was through him. And we were due to go out and spend all day Saturday together at the paintball park. Heath had been invited to join the Draco Multimedia paintball team in preparation for next month’s big war against the guys at Blizzard, our rival company. We were due for a rematch this year, and Draco would take no prisoners. And since each side was allowed to “hire” five nonprofessional “mercenaries,” I had asked Heath. So the following Saturday, despite it being late October, was a hot day in the dry hills of the Inland Empire east of Riverside. We got quite the workout, fumbling around in our pseudo-military gear and protective facemasks, working on strategy and tactics for the big war in November. A hardcore group of about a dozen of us had agreed to get together every Saturday to work it out. For the war against Blizzard, each of us would act as squad leaders for the rest of the employees. We maneuvered around old ruins created to look like the remains of an ancient city. Appropriate, given the fantasy nature of Dragon Epoch and, of course, Blizzard’s world-famous creation, World of Warcraft. The only thing that could have made the idea more amusing, many employees said, was the thought of fighting in costume as our characters. That idea had been vetoed by both CEOs. After saying good-bye to the rest of the group, Heath and I ended up going to a nearby pub for an early dinner, reliving the main events of the day, swapping strategy ideas. Heath, having grown up in the high desert, had become an expert marksman and survivalist. He’d told me that his father was a paranoid gun nut who had been prepping for World War III since the eighties. As a consequence, Heath was a sharpshooter with a rifle, having had one in his hands since he was a toddler, apparently. I’d appointed him captain of our sniper squad. At the pub, I ordered a roast beef sandwich and a beer. And we compared welts—paintballs were not for wimps. They left marks unless you chose to wear body armor. In the heat of the day, we’d forgone that to be “manly men” instead. Like war buddies we swapped stories and teased each other and it was easy between us—like the old friends we actually were, even though Heath hadn’t known when we’d first met in person that we were already friends. We’d gamed together for over a year at that point and when we met in person, we naturally clicked. I’d counted on that, when it became clear that he would be acting as Emilia’s “screener” for the auction. And I’d known how to answer the questions he’d asked. I’d gamed the system, so to speak. Heath seemed distracted as we talked about the latest Marvel blockbuster movie. He kept glancing over my shoulder and then looking away, bouncing his knee and acting nervous. Finally I frowned at him. “What’s up, man?” “Sorry, hot guy at twelve o’clock, that’s all.” I knew he wasn’t talking about me but had to tease him anyway. “I didn’t know you cared.” He glared at me. “Besides you.” I resisted the urge to turn around and check out the object of his attention. Heath was clearly embarrassed. But I took a minute to look around at the rest of the clientele. Almost all were men and most of them were paired up or talking in larger groups. I scanned the rest of the room. “Wait…are we in a gay

bar?” Heath snorted. “You know, for a boy genius you sure can be slow sometimes.” “You brought me to a gay bar?” “Yeah, so what? The food here is good.” “True. Best sandwich I’ve had in a long time.” Heath threw me an annoyed glance. “Yeah, it’s not a mistake I’m going to make again, though, don’t worry.” I shrugged. “I don’t mind. As long as no one asks me to dance.” A weird look crossed his face. “Do you see anyone dancing? There’s no dancing. There are lots of people hooking up, though, and it was a huge-ass mistake to bring you here.” “Why?” “Because every guy in this room has checked you out like five times already.” I laughed. This conversation with Heath was reminding me of that strange chat with Jordan at the hotel in New York. “Don’t worry, I’m spoken for. I won’t be going home with any phone numbers.” I dropped my butter knife on the floor and reached to pick it up, turning to glance at a group of men sitting at the table behind us. There were three of them. One of them met my gaze and nodded, smiling. I straightened, turning back to Heath. “So which one is it?” I asked. “Guy with his back to you,” Heath muttered, looking away, his knee bobbing up and down even faster. “Why don’t you go talk to him?” He looked back at me, even more annoyed. “Because one of two things is going on. They either think we’re a couple and I’m the lucky idiot who ended up with the dark-haired hottie, or they are looking at you and I might as well be a Klingon for all they give a shit about me.” I frowned at him. Not that I normally assessed another guy’s looks, but Heath was not a bad-looking guy at all. He was tall, very well built—imposingly so—with dark blond hair and vivid green eyes. Not someone who, I thought, should be self-conscious about his looks. “Didn’t mean to cramp your style, man.” I shot him a grin. “I can’t figure out a way to broadcast my sexual orientation.” Heath’s eyes narrowed for a minute, but then his gaze brightened. He pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled something on a napkin. “Do me a favor and stick this on your forehead, will you?” He handed me the napkin and I read it. In three capital letters, underlined, HET, for heterosexual. I laughed and crumpled the napkin. “Nice try. Maybe I’ll cramp your style after all.” I glanced over my shoulder again to see where the guy was sitting behind me. Then I tossed the ball of crumpled napkin so it hit the guy square in the back of the head. Then I ducked to the side as if Heath had thrown the napkin at me and I’d bent out of the way. The mortification on Heath’s face almost made me bust a gut laughing. I immediately turned around and met the gaze of the guy sitting behind me. He had reddish blond hair and was glaring at me with bright blue eyes. He turned and grabbed the napkin, then read it, looking at me with a raised brow. I scooted my chair around and put out a placating hand. “I’m sorry about that. My buddy over here meant that for me but I was too quick for him and he got you instead. He’s just harassing me about my sexual orientation.” The guy threw a quizzical glance at Heath, who turned beet red. I held out a hand. “I’m Adam. That’s my friend Heath. I believe he owes you an apology. What’s your name?” The guy now had an unsure smile as he reached to shake my hand. Then he looked at Heath, his smile growing wider. “My name’s Connor,” he said in a very distinctive Irish accent. “And these are my friends Jess and Xander.” I nodded to them. “Good to meet you.”

“Sorry about the bad aim,” Heath said, glancing at me without accusation. Connor turned back to Heath and his smile grew. Clearly he liked what he saw. “No problem. But if it happens again I’ll have to take you out.” “How about a round of drinks?” I said. “What are you all drinking? It’s on me since, for once, I’m the one in the minority here.” They all laughed. We ended up pushing the tables together and having a nice long conversation about war games—apparently Connor had served in the army and was amused by our trophy paintball welts. It gave Heath a chance to flash his biceps, too, which I’m sure he appreciated. When we left a few hours later, Heath and Connor had entered numbers into each other’s phones and I was satisfied. On the way out to the parking lot, Heath was still in raptures about his new acquaintance. “That accent…my God, when I heard him talk I almost died.” “Kinda sounded like a leprechaun to me,” I said. “It’s a good thing you’re straight and have excellent taste in women because you have no taste in men.” I laughed. “Sorry if I embarrassed you back there.” “If he goes out with me, you are forgiven.” I paused. “So…I was going to duck my head in and say hi to her when I drop you off, if that’s okay. I texted her, but she hasn’t gotten back to me.” “Sure…she’s probably taking a bath or something.” When we got to my car, I threw him the keys. “Wanna drive it?” Heath’s jaw dropped and he looked almost as perplexed as he had when I’d tossed that napkin at Connor. “Fuck, yeah.” My 1953 midnight blue Porsche 356 Cabriolet was my pride and joy. The license plate was the finishing touch: UBR L00T, translated from gamer language to mean “uber loot.” The very best kind of loot you could get in game was referred to as “uber,” and was lusted after by gamers everywhere. I loved that car like a cherished pet. Emilia had driven it a few times but then declared the clutch “impossible” and refused after that. I think she was more afraid she was going to scratch it. It came with a price tag that made most people squeamish. And the way Heath was looking at it now, with lust in his eyes, I could see he was thinking the same thing. “Go easy on her,” I said and plopped into the passenger seat. Heath slid in behind the wheel and shot me the ecstatic grin of a ten-year-old, reminding me of when my nephews liked to jump in the car and pretend they were driving. He gingerly turned the key in the ignition and when the engine roared to life, he sank back in the seat with a sigh. “I think I just creamed my pants.” He kicked it into gear and we took the long way back to his house, through the twisting roads of the Orange hills, a few miles east of downtown. He lived in an upper-end condo up there, which he was now sharing with Emilia. I sobered and allowed my thoughts to drift from Heath’s enjoyment of the car. He tossed me a few speculative glances as he downshifted, then cleared his throat. “How are you holding up, dude?” I grimaced. He’d been reading my mind, apparently, or more likely, my face. “I’ll live,” I said, trying to forget how much I hated not seeing her every day, not holding her when we were sleeping. We hadn’t lived together long, but I’d grown accustomed to it quickly and it had felt normal. Poor five-years-ago me. He was a distant shadow of a memory now. Heath’s features grew troubled, pensive. “How is she?” I asked. He shrugged. “She’s okay.” That stab of jealousy again. Heath was a great guy. A good friend. I was glad Emilia had him in her life, especially when she needed someone who wasn’t me. But fuck if I didn’t want to pummel him every

time I thought about her crying on his shoulder instead of mine. I cleared my throat and willed the dark emotions away. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor…” I said after a long silence while we climbed the big hill up Chapman Avenue. “If I can do it, I will.” “Call me…or text me or let me know if—if she needs help and she’s too stubborn to ask me. If it’s money or—anything.” His jaw bulged where he clenched it. “Is she acting that skittish around you?” I stared straight ahead. “Things are…delicate.” Heath frowned. “I’ll take good care of her for you, man. She needs to do what she needs to do, but— this isn’t going to be permanent. Be patient and try not to pull another stunt like that proposal, okay? She’ll come to you when she’s ready. She’s strong and she can take care of herself, but she has to learn that she doesn’t have to do it all herself. I’m proud of her and I know you are, too. She’s basically my sister, you know? My sister from another mister…” I threw a dark look out the side window as he peeled one out in a high-speed right turn with a whoop and a holler, apparently uncaring of a possible reckless driving ticket. Those were pricey and too many points on the driver’s license. I knew from personal experience. When we got out of the car and I took the keys from him, he thanked me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. I winced, as he landed right on top of a particularly large bruise that he had put there with a paintball. I followed him into the apartment, but the place was dark. I checked my watch. It was only ten o’clock. Had Emilia gone out? Heath echoed my thought as he threw his keys and wallet down on a table near the entrance. “Hmm. Maybe she went out with Alex and Jenna?” I glanced over at the glow of the computer screen coming from the alcove in his den, recognizing the low-level music playing in the background—the main theme music to Dragon Epoch. She’d left her computer on at the log-in screen. “Looks like she forgot to exit the game,” I said. Heath rolled his eyes and went over to her rig and closed out the program, shutting the computer down. I noticed the spiral notebook she always kept near her computer, full of notes on the hidden quest from the Golden Mountains. I resisted the urge to flip through it, curious to see if she was getting close. Heath sighed. “She always leaves it at the log-in screen. Drives me batty, this music playing constantly.” He straightened. “No offense.” I laughed. “None taken. I didn’t write the music.” “You want to leave her a note or something?” I pondered that suggestion, pulled out my phone; still no answer to my text. I tapped out another one. Over at Heath’s. Dropped by to say hi and you weren’t here. A few seconds after I hit the send button, I heard a chime from beside her computer. Heath’s head craned around. “Her phone is here. Looks like her bag, too. She must be in her room.” I went over to her door and tapped lightly. After a long pause, I heard her voice on the other side. But when I opened the door, she was in the dark. “Heath, I’m sleeping. Who are you talking to out there?” she muttered. “Adam,” I answered. “I mean, it’s Adam. Can I come in?” She rustled in her bed, sitting up. I peered into the darkness, just catching her outline. She rubbed her eyes. “Yeah. How was paintball?” “Good,” I said, stepping into the room.

She scooted aside on her narrow bed and patted the space next to her. “Sit down.” “Sorry I woke you up. Why are you in bed so early?” I’d never known her to go to bed before eleven. Yet here it was, barely ten and she had been sound asleep for a while. “Just really tired,” she said, yawning. I sat next to her and bent to kiss her forehead. She locked her arms around my neck in a tight hug. “Careful,” I said. “Your roommate shot the hell out of me.” “Bastard,” she snorted. “I’ll rough him up for you.” She felt warm. I put my hand on her forehead. “You feeling okay?” “I’m just so tired,” she repeated. “Then I won’t keep you…” I said, my voice dying out. But the last thing I wanted to do was leave, goddamn it. She fell back against the bed, looking up at me. Her dark hair splayed across her pillow. I went to stand up and she clamped her hand around my arm. I hesitated, sitting back down. With her heavy-lidded eyes and her lazy smile, she was so goddamn beautiful. “Will you sit with me for a little bit? Until I fall back asleep?” I wrapped my hand around hers. “Sure.” She rolled on her side, facing away from me to make room for me to lie beside her. I kicked off my shoes and did just that, locking my arms around her. The smell of vanilla and fresh peaches—that was the smell of Emilia and that longing returned. How much I missed her. “Emilia…” I whispered. “Yeah?” I opened my mouth. I miss you. Like I’d miss my right arm. Like I’d miss my own beating heart. Like I’d miss my next breath. “You’d tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn’t you? So I could help?” She was silent for a long moment. “What makes you think anything is wrong?” “I don’t, but…just in case.” She settled herself deeper into my arms. “I’ll tell you exactly what I need right now. Your arms. Right where they are. Holding me tight. The prescription for all that ails me.” “What ails you?” A pause. “I told you. I’m fine. Just tired.” I pulled her against me, mentally beating myself down with a bat to resist kissing her. My body sure wanted to start something—her smell and warmth were too near, too inviting. I reminded myself that I was here to give her what she needed. I wanted her back with me for good and I was willing to bide my time. Sun Tzu might have been proud of my patience. She was asleep again in less than ten minutes. I held her for another thirty before I got up from the small bed, gently kissing her on the cheek and settling the blankets over her. When I returned to the living room, Heath was sitting on the couch playing a game on his iPad. He looked up. “Everything okay?” “She was really tired.” He flicked a glance at her closed door and nodded, his face strangely blank. “She had a long week.” “But she’s okay, right?” Heath frowned at me. “Did she seem okay?” “Yeah. It’s just…” I shook my head. How could I explain this weird feeling that wasn’t based on anything concrete? Just my gut? “I told you I’d take care of her. Trust me, okay?” I gritted my teeth. Did I have a choice? I was supposed to be the one taking care of her. “I’m gonna take off.” Heath stood and walked me to the door, opening it for me. “Thanks, man. Great day. Now go put some

ice on those welts, ya pussy.” “Fuck you,” I said and laughed. “See you next weekend? Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel?” “Yeah. See ya then.” Out in the parking lot, I hesitated before sliding behind the wheel of my car, unable to shake that dark feeling that grew from Emilia’s unusual behavior. I braced myself, told myself I was being paranoid, and started the car, trying to dispel these new dark feelings. Unfortunately that Zen I was seeking eluded me. I found myself constantly questioning, constantly mulling over the questions in my mind. One thing was for certain, she was stuck in my brain, on my skin, indelible and permanent, like a tattoo. Even while I slept.

Chapter Eight The next morning, Sunday, I woke up with a raging hard-on after having dreamt of Emilia pretty much the whole night and reaching for her while still mostly asleep. When my arms turned up empty, I rolled flat on my back, thinking of all the ways I’d done her while in dreamland. Without the regular sex, my subconscious was having a field day, fueled by the starving libido. As I’d done too often of late, I found it necessary to rub one out in the shower that morning. It took the edge off, but I topped it with a rigorous workout. By noon, I wanted to call her, but knew she’d be at family dinner that evening. Peter had invited us both and—weirdly—Kim, too. So going with my new philosophy of waiting for her to come to me, I decided I wouldn’t call or text her before I saw her that night. Instead I sat down to work on a new project—because I now refused to do job stuff on the weekend unless I was dealing with impossible lawsuits or the Con preparations. And in my mind I justified it as a hobby, not real work. It was an exciting idea to develop a science fiction game set in space, which interconnected across different social media platforms—Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Tumblr, possibly others—I hadn’t gotten that far yet. As it was in its embryonic stage, I hadn’t spoken about it to anyone, not even Emilia. I burned the whole afternoon working on it, until it was time to go to my uncle’s. I dressed in my best casual attire, including a red shirt, not a color I particularly liked (even aside from the double meaning of redshirt as a doomed Star Trek extra). I only chose it because Emilia had once said she loved the shirt. So I made sure to look my best. Bait and all that. When I got to Peter’s, he was preparing dinner in the kitchen with Kim. I brought my customary bottle of wine and a box of pastries from the bakery for dessert. When I walked through the door, Kim brightened, looking expectantly over my shoulder. “Hey Adam! How’s…” When she didn’t see what she was looking for, she frowned. “Where’s Mia? She not coming?” I set down the wine and the bakery box. “I’m pretty sure she’s coming.” Kim looked baffled. Peter glanced at her and turned to me. “But…wouldn’t she have come with you? Or did you have to work today?” I froze. I’d assumed they knew about Emilia moving out. Oh shit. Well, this sucked. “I came from home, but…she’s staying with Heath for a little while.” Kim frowned and shook her head, turned to walk out of the room muttering something about finding her phone. Peter never took his eyes off me. We shared a long, tense moment. “Want to talk about it?” he asked quietly. I took a deep breath. “Not really.” He nodded. “Okay.” He glanced at the doorway where Kim had disappeared, concern etched on his features. “She’s worried about Mia.” I tensed. “Why’s that?” “She hasn’t answered Kim’s calls or texts for a while.” It wasn’t like Emilia to shut out her mother. In fact, it was downright bizarre. I covered my shock by scratching my jaw. “Hmm. Weird.” “Did you guys…break up?” “No. We’re just…taking a break from living together.” He nodded. I pulled out my phone and checked for texts. Nothing. I tapped out a message.

Did you remember about family dinner? People are wondering where you are. Then I texted Heath. Where’s Mia at? His answer came back almost immediately. She’s not feeling very well. Stayed home. I replied, Is she asleep? Are you there with her? I’m coming over. Heath answered, She’s fine. She just needs to rest. Please don’t come. I blew out a breath and shifted my weight, trying to rein in that almost overarching need to go over there and see for myself, make sure she was okay. My hand fisted at my side as I tucked my phone back into my shirt pocket. Peter was chopping potatoes and looking up at me occasionally. “Britt and the kids should be here any minute now. I hope you decide to stay.” He knew me well. Had read in my body language that I was about to bolt. “Kim’s not the only one who’s worried about her,” I muttered. “She’s definitely not coming? And you’re going to take off?” “I’ll wait until the boys get here. I have something for them.” Peter cast a glance out the doorway again. “Well, we were going to sit the two of you down after dinner to talk about this but…since she’s not coming and you two are having your issues, maybe I should just let you know now that Kim and I are dating.” Something heavy dropped in my stomach at that news and I couldn’t explain why. Because somehow I didn’t see this turning out well if things between Emilia and me didn’t work out. This could get awkward as hell. “I’m happy for you,” I intoned because it was expected of me. Happy for him, annoyed for me. Britt and the boys showed up at that minute and I was relieved to not have to continue the conversation with Peter. I stooped and gave them each a hug—I hadn’t seen them in months—then landed a kiss on their mom’s cheek. “Hey there,” Britt said, casting a glance around. “Where’s your better half?” So no one here was happy to see just me? Great. “She’s not feeling so great. Home sleeping.” Just not at my home, sleeping in my bed where she should’ve been. “Ah man, Mia’s not here?” said DJ. “Hey buddy, I missed your birthday so I wanted to give you your present, okay? And I got Gareth something, too, for his birthday next month.” The boys, suddenly, were interested in me and had forgotten that Emilia wasn’t coming. I reached into my wallet and pulled out two cards and handed one to each of them. Britt watched closely and when she saw what I’d given them, looked at me with long-suffering in her eyes. I shrugged at her. The boys each took their presents and Gareth pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!” he shouted. “Told you he was giving us Disneyland passes, DJ!” “Is he hiring someone to take you, too?” Britt asked between clenched teeth. “Mom and Dad get their own passes, and a membership to Club 33, the club for grown-ups.” I said, handing her two more cards, at which point she grinned and thanked me.

“They’re good for the whole year.” I turned back to the boys, putting an arm on each of their heads. “I promise I’ll take you when I can. You guys are getting almost tall enough to be my armrests. I’ll just walk around the park with one arm on each head.” I demonstrated by settling my forearms on each of their heads like I was sitting in a big recliner. DJ darted out from under my hold. “Mia is coming to Disneyland with us, right? She promised to take me on Thunder Mountain.” Gareth grabbed my arm and tried to wrestle with me. I pulled my arm up, and since his hands were clamped around my forearm, he came up with me. “Maybe I’ll walk over to the pool and hold you over the water.” I laughed. Gareth promptly dropped his hold and ran off. I knew where they were headed. “Buddies, not the car. I gotta take off in a minute.” They both turned around, disappointment clear on their faces. They quickly redirected to the backyard instead. “Not inside the pool gate, guys!” Peter called. “Yeah, Papa,” DJ answered before the door slammed. “So is Mia okay?” Britt asked. I opened my mouth to answer that I had no idea when my phone chimed. Shit, that was probably her. I pulled it out and looked at the text message. My hopes fell. Jordan. Need to meet up with you ASAP about the insurance meeting tomorrow. You at home? I tucked my phone back into my pocket, ignoring the text. I replied to Britt’s question, “That’s what I’m going to go find out. I’ll see you. I’m sorry.” I picked up my keys. On the way out, Kim met up with me and we walked out to the car. She looked upset. “I just tried to text her. No answer. Heath says she’s not feeling well.” “Yeah that’s what he told me, too,” I said in a flat voice. “Adam, what’s going on?” I suddenly wished I could just jump in the car and drive off rather than have this conversation. I hesitated. What on earth could I say? “Was it about you proposing? Is that why she’s mad?” How to simplify this so I could get out of having to rehash everything? I avoided her gaze. “More or less. She’s having a difficult time deciding what she wants.” “You mean about medical school?” I clenched my teeth. “Yeah.” “She’s acting so weird. This isn’t like her. Did she—are you two broken up?” “No.” She was visibly relieved. “Oh, good.” Well, that was reassuring at least, to know I had the mom’s approval. Hopefully more of that would rub off on the daughter. “Can I ask you a favor?” “Sure,” I said. “Can you—would you please tell her that I’d like to hear from her?” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’d like to hear from her, too. “I will, Kim. I’m sure she’s fine. It’s a difficult time for her. Tough choices and all that.” I reached for the car door handle and she put her hand over mine. “I know it’s hard, but stick with her, okay? She’s fiercely independent, but she has a loyal heart. She’s just confused right now.” What to say to that? I knew all of that and I was trying my hardest to understand. I nodded. “Thanks.”

It was a quick five minutes from Peter’s house to Heath’s. As I drove, I puzzled through all of this. Emilia clearly wasn’t feeling well. Maybe she was depressed? It would explain her strange behavior and her secrecy toward her mom. Well, that was not as unusual as Kim thought it was. Emilia had never told her mother the true circumstances under which we had met in person, nor a thing about the virginity auction—quite understandably. But after we’d started our real relationship, Emilia had told me that her secrecy about the auction and subsequent events had caused a bit of a strain between her and her mother. Was she keeping secrets again? Minutes later, the unsurprised expression on Heath’s face when he opened the door and saw me standing there showed that he’d been expecting me. Emilia was in the sitting room wearing the T-shirt she usually slept in and some yoga pants, watching a Doctor Who rerun and eating a bowl of cereal. She looked up at me with wide, guilty eyes. “So…is your phone broken?” I asked tightly. She put her bowl down and looked at Heath, who threw his hands up and walked out of the room. “It’s out here and I didn’t check it. I just woke up.” I hesitated. “From a nap?” I checked my watch. Almost 6:30 p.m. “More or less.” I sat down on the couch next to her and she pointed the remote at the TV to mute it. “Have you been in bed all day? Why didn’t you let me know?” She took a deep breath and glanced away. “Am I supposed to send you hourly health reports?” “Well, you could have at least told me you weren’t going to family dinner.” She nervously grabbed a strand of her glossy brown hair and twirled it around her finger. I zeroed in on it. Uh-oh. My eyes narrowed. “I thought I was going to go. I set an alarm to get myself up, but it didn’t go off.” I stared at her for a long minute and she fidgeted. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair uncombed and she had circles under her eyes. And she was clearly hiding something. She was sending me her usual signals. Finally she raised her brows at me. “What?” “Something’s going on and you aren’t telling me.” “I’m just not feeling very well.” “Like…physically or mentally or what?” She fluttered her eyes, taking a deep breath, clearly irritated. “I’m allowed to have down days once in a while.” “What are you down about?” She shrugged and looked away. “I’m okay. It’s been a crappy few weeks—for both of us. I just need a day to hang out and do nothing.” I rubbed my forehead. We hadn’t lived together long, but I’d never seen her express the need to have a day like this. Emilia was typically very energetic. And usually when she was feeling angry or down she played on the game. I flicked a quick glance at the alcove that held her desktop computer. It was powered down, probably since Heath had shut it off the night before. Maybe she was having a bad period? I knew better than to ask if that was it, though. No need to get my head bitten off needlessly. But if that was it, why the evasion? She would have just told me. “Want me to stay with you?” She hesitated and my phone chimed. I pulled it out and looked at it. Jordan again. Dude, where the hell are you? We have some business to go over. I clicked the phone off and tucked it back into my pocket.

She watched me carefully. “Who was that?” “Just Jordan, riding my ass as usual.” “Hmm.” She frowned. “I remember when you were the one riding his ass all the time.” “Talk to me,” I said, reaching out for her hand. “What’s going on?” “I’m just not feeling a hundred percent. I probably have a bug.” My cell phone started ringing. “You should get that,” she said. I threw her a look. Not so many months ago, she would have told me the complete opposite. I yanked the phone out of my pocket and answered. “Yes, what?” “Where the hell are you? We need to go over some paperwork and you are ignoring my texts.” “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” A pause. “Um. No. The meeting is first thing in the morning. Where are you?” “I’m in Orange.” I flicked a glance at Emilia who was staring out the window, distracted. “Where do you want to meet?” “Your house. Thirty minutes.” “Fine.” Shit. I did not want to leave Emilia. Even if it was clear that she didn’t want me here. She turned to me when I finished the phone call, scooted across the couch and wrapped her arms around my torso, resting her head on my shoulder. My heart swelled in my chest and I stole a kiss in her vanilla-scented hair. Smelling her hair, I felt a rush to my senses. “I’ll be okay. Go take care of your company. Stop worrying.” “You know what would make me worry less?” I asked, stroking her hair. “If you were living at my house so I could take care of you.” “How did I know you were going to say that?” She landed a kiss on my cheek. “I’m a big girl. I took care of myself for years before we met.” “I think you should take a day off work tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll think about it,” she answered. “Now go appease Jordan. I’m going to finish this episode, then probably go lie down again.” “You should call your mom, too. She’s worried about you.” “Mom was at Peter’s?” I took a deep breath. “Yeah…apparently they wanted to tell us that they are dating.” A brief look of horror crossed her face. “That’s…umm. A little squicky.” I laughed. “Glad to know I’m not the only one weirded out by that. Why aren’t you getting back to her? She really seemed upset.” Emilia pulled away from me and sat back. “I will. I’ll call her before I go lie down.” I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I’m gonna go. I’ll call you tomorrow. And I’ll tell Mac you’re staying home.” She opened her mouth to protest, but I held up a finger. “I’m not arguing with you. Take a day off, so says the boss. I’ll come check in on you tomorrow.” I kissed her good-bye and left. *** Jordan was waiting for me when I got there. My housekeeper had let him in and fixed him a drink and a snack plate while he sat at my kitchen bar. I grabbed some canapés and loaded up an empty plate, which she noticed immediately and offered to make me some dinner. I turned her down, thanking her, but I grabbed the snack plate and Jordan and I went up to my office. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” I said, settling down at my desk across from Jordan.

“The insurance company sent us papers that we need to review and send back with our corrections as soon as possible.” I rubbed my brow with my thumb. “And this couldn’t wait?” Jordan looked at me like I’d sprouted a third eye. “What the hell, Adam? We need to stay on top of this shit. This is our company. And these insurance guys have our necks in a noose. One wrong move and we start strangling. No, it couldn’t wait.” Nice image. I grabbed the stack of papers, scanned the first page. “This is all shit about settling. We are not going to settle.” Jordan stared at me for a long, hard minute. “We may not have a choice.” “Bullshit. It’s not their call.” “Joseph’s been looking over the policy because I knew you’d say all this. He hasn’t found anything yet. Unless you as CEO are named in the suit, then you have no say over whether or not the insurance company settles the case or takes it to court.” I hissed out a breath and threw the stack of papers back on the desk. I did not want to deal with this now. I couldn’t get my worry about Emilia out of my head. I gazed out the window for a long moment, wondering why I couldn’t focus on anything else tonight. “Adam. Get your head in the game, man. Where are you right now?” “I was attempting to spend some time with my family—” “And mooning after your girlfriend who has moved out. What the hell has happened to you? I need the shark CEO who never batted an eye over pulling a twelve-hour Sunday at work and not the hippie who went off to hike the trails and contemplate his navel.” I shot out of my chair and moved over to the window, folding my arms against my chest. “Enough, Jordan, all right?” His chair squeaked as he shifted in it. “Christ, I’m sorry, but—I need you here. Where are you?” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m worried about her. Something’s not right—it’s just a gut feeling. There’s something she’s not telling me. But I know better than to ask you for advice regarding women.” “Well, at least that’s smart of you. What’s wrong with her?” “I don’t know. She’s not feeling well, I guess. She’s not talking to me and she’s not talking to her mom.” He scratched at his stylish goatee and threw me a sly look. “Well, there are ways you can find out, you know. If I take care of it for you, maybe you can concentrate on this shit.” I frowned at him. “What, like hire an army interrogator or something?” He swiveled in his chair. “I know a guy—like before, when you had me look into the mom’s finances. He could tail Mia for a week—tell you everything you need to know.” I turned back to the window. “No.” “Adam, you are going to be fucking useless to me and this company unless you snap out of this shit. What harm would it do you? She’d never know. This guy is good. You’d have peace of mind and your company gets its fully-functioning CEO back.” Hire spies, Sun Tzu said. And connecting with Heath was going to lead me nowhere because he was loyal to a fault. He’d never betray her. But a pro could find out quickly. He’d dig up whatever I paid him to. But was there anything to dig up? Was she really keeping something from me? “We’ll see.” I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders. “Let’s go over this thing page by page, then. You need some more food or anything?” Jordan watched me with open puzzlement on his face. Finally he shrugged. “I’m good.” We went over the paperwork in detail until well after midnight. By the time I got to bed, I could hardly see straight from exhaustion. And I was already dreading Monday morning, which had arrived before I even closed my eyes. A few hours of shuteye and a whole lot of coffee would be the only way I’d get

through the next day. *** A graveyard. All full of bright light. It was just before midday. A dry breeze blew, a mournful sound wailing through the trees. Crows cawed in the distance. I held a handful of roses in my hand, squeezing the stems inside my fist, the thorns stinging, prickling into my palm. I’d scanned every headstone. Every damn one. I’d been there for hours. Days. Weeks. And not a one of them was what I was looking for. I turned, making tracks over the graves I’d seen before. Reading names over and over again. I’d retraced my steps over and over again, knowing I was lost, getting nowhere. “Bree? Where are you?” I called, and the voice was not mine, but a child’s. The boy I’d been. “Bree. Come back to me!” I started awake, unable to breathe, heart racing. Mind scattered. My T-shirt soaked with sweat and the wavy lines of the beginning of a migraine aura at the edge of my vision. Bree…That desperate cry echoed over and over in my head. She’s gone. Forever, a dry, cynical voice—the voice of my adult self— answered. I fell back against my damp pillow, weak with panic. Yes, it was a dream, but the reality was all too terrifying. I couldn’t lose Emilia as I’d lost Bree. My hunger to know what was going on was even more intense this morning than it had been the previous night when I’d spoken to Jordan. I thought about his offer, about every possibility that would spring from hiring a PI. I weighed the pros and cons. Inevitably, an hour later, I called Jordan. It was five a.m. “What’s up?” he croaked into the phone. I’d obviously awakened him. “Call your guy. Tell him to touch base with me and I’ll give him the information he needs. I want this low-key, okay? No tailing her, just looking into things.” “What’s the point of that? It would take a lot longer.” I shrugged. It really didn’t make much sense. Violating her privacy was violating her privacy whichever way I looked at it. I gave a deep sigh. “Just give him my number and let me talk to him, okay?” “Sure…thanks for the wakeup call.” I clicked off and tried to muster the energy to get up and go shower and get ready for another day. We had a conference call with the insurance company at eight. Since they were on East Coast time, we had to start early. Like a zombie that had stepped right out of my game, I fumbled through my morning and was on my third cup of coffee by the time the call started. Sure enough, they wanted to settle and according to my lawyer, there was not one goddamn thing I could do about it. A settlement package was being prepared even as we spoke. By ten o’clock, the New York guys had to go to lunch and I sat in my office, face in my hands, trying to figure out where to go from here. They basically had my balls in a vise and if I deviated from their plan, they’d pull their coverage and I’d be fully liable for the amount of the lawsuit and all legal fees associated with it. And even though I stood a good chance to ultimately win a court case, I’d still lose because the costs involved would be very steep. I’d called over to marketing to make sure Emilia hadn’t come in to work and was assured that she’d stayed home. I texted her a quick note asking if she was okay. She answered that she was feeling better and was going to spend the evening with her mom. She asked if she could come over to my place tomorrow. I curbed the ever-present irritation at the thought of not being able to see her every day, and I agreed. During the early afternoon, I got a call on the cell from a number I didn’t recognize. I answered on the chance that it was Jordan’s man. When he introduced himself, I asked him about his experience and told him what I wanted him to accomplish.

He asked me basics about her—name, age, address, physical description, what type of car she drove. With each detail I divulged, I felt dirty. I felt like a stalker, like I was betraying her privacy on so many levels. But those questions just kept nagging at me. What was going on with her? Why was she acting so weird? Why had she really moved out? Was it only because of our game of chicken or was there something else? Was there someone else? God, there’d better not be someone else or I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. The thought of some other man with her made me so crazy with rage that I couldn’t even allow myself to contemplate it. “I want low-level surveillance. No shadowing her.” I couldn’t chance that she’d somehow find out and though Jordan had assured me that this guy was good, I wasn’t going to risk it. “You say she’s in a condo? How many units in the complex? And is she living alone or with someone?” “Uh, at least a hundred units. She has a roommate.” “So some of the normal low-level surveillance techniques probably won’t be effective, like looking through mail or garbage and the like. It’s going to take some time if you don’t want her followed.” I paused, stared at the wall. “Can you look into phone records, bank payments, that sort of thing?” “There’s also other online stuff—social media, for example.” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’ve got that covered myself. Dig around and see what you can find out. If it ends up taking too long, I’ll make the call on whether to start having her followed.” “Sounds good. I’ll keep you posted with updates on what I find. Text messages okay or would you prefer e-mail?” “Text is fine.” I ended the call and stared into space for a long moment. I’d been glued to her blog and every comment for days. There was nothing there. And her Twitter account and Facebook page were equally devoid of personal information—even the usual tiny tidbits she was comfortable giving, like complaining about having a cold or moaning about the weather—not that we had weather to moan about in Southern California. But it was almost meticulously devoid of anything personal. As if she was hiding something. She’d found out long ago that I was a regular reader of her blog. It hadn’t affected how she wrote— even about Draco games—until now. Now it was sterilized of anything personal. There was no longer much Girl Geek in the Girl Geek blog. With each question that came up, that old fear grew stronger. I couldn’t lose her. I wouldn’t.

Chapter Nine I left work early on Tuesday because she hadn’t come in and I texted her to see if she was okay. She said she still wanted to meet me and I told her to come over to my house midafternoon. I’d finish my workday from there. Besides, all I really had to do was test out a new app that was going to be unveiled at DracoCon, so I decided to do it from home. In fact, Emilia could help me. I was in the middle of my initial testing when she arrived. Cora, my housekeeper, fawned all over her, giving her kisses on the cheek. Emilia came in and plopped down on the sofa across from me in the front sitting room. She wore jeans, a brown T-shirt that read, in big gold letters, BROWNCOAT, accentuated by five-pointed stars that declared her an undying fan of the beloved but short-lived sci-fi TV show Firefly. And on her head, a black baseball cap with the Dragon Epoch logo on it. “Nice hat,” I said. She gave me a tired smile, looking like she hadn’t slept since the last time I’d seen her on Sunday. I frowned. “You okay?” She blinked. “Do I look that bad?” I got up and moved to sit beside her. “You look really tired. I thought you said you were feeling better yesterday. How was your day with your mom?” She looked away from me, caught the end of her ponytail and swirled it around her finger. I watched it, my eyes darting between her flitting eyes and the agitated movements of her hand. “Oh. I started feeling pretty crappy after I texted you, so I ended up canceling that.” I scrutinized her, now under the assumption that everything she’d tell me would be an evasion or even a lie. “You feeling better now?” She sure didn’t look it. Her eyes looked puffy. I wanted to corner her, pin her down, but I had to forcibly remind myself that I wasn’t taking that approach anymore. I leaned back and just watched her. She darted me a quick look and bent forward to kiss me on the cheek, throwing her arms around my neck. “Hey,” I said, pulling her close to me. I buried my nose in the side of her neck, inhaling her. She stayed clasped to me for a long moment without moving, so I held her. “Emilia, what’s going on?” She pulled back from me and planted a long kiss on my lips, then tilted her head away. “Nothing. I just missed you.” I refrained from pointing out the obvious, that if she’d just move back into the house, she wouldn’t have to miss me. I glanced at her backpack, hoping she’d packed for overnight, but even if she hadn’t, I’d had an assistant grab a few things at the local store, just in case. I couldn’t wait to spring my little surprise on her. I’d procured an early digital preview copy of the latest Hobbit movie that wouldn’t be out in the theaters until next month. Strings had been pulled and favors called in for that one. We’d watch it in the audiovisual room after dinner. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when the credits came up. She glanced at my laptop. “What are you working on?” “Hmm. I was going to say ‘top secret’ because I know how much you love that.” I chucked her under the chin when she rolled her eyes. “But I actually need your help with it. It’s a new app we’ll be unveiling at the Con and I need to do the last bit of testing on it.” Her eyes brightened “A phone app? Like a brand new game or…?” “It’s a companion app to go along with DE. You can interact with the game even when you aren’t logged in and playing.” She frowned at me. “From your phone? This is a finished product and I’m only finding out about it

now?” “Fear not, little blogger. I’ll give you first scoop on it. In fact, I’ll tell Mac to give you the job of doing the write-up on it for the Con.” “What does it do? Does it let you chat with your friends in the game?” I pulled out my phone and opened up the app. “Yeah, there’s a chat feature, but that’s the least of what you can do. You can set offline commands for your character to do things, like work on their noncombat skills or—” “Oooh, Eloisa can finally become an expert weaver! I have no patience for that crap in the game. I’d rather go hack orcs than do skills. No offense.” I laughed. “I didn’t develop the noncombat skills in the game. None taken.” I demonstrated the app and she was immediately immersed, a huge grin on her face. “Oh, this is so cool! I can sell stuff to other players at the auction house.” “Yep, you can trade or sell equipment in-game even when you aren’t logged in.” Her brows rose. “What about security issues, like what happened with that kid in New Jersey?” “You have to register your phone when you create your account before you use this app. There are classified ads so you can advertise for stuff you want to buy. Also, you can send out push notices, so if you want to get your friends to log on to do a raid, you can have the app send text messages to their cell phones.” “Badass. You’re a fucking genius.” She started pressing commands. “Quick, log on to FallenOne, I want to see if I can make him do stuff from the phone.” I turned to my laptop and logged in. We spent the next half hour running the app through the gamut of commands. Emilia was thrilled, asking me a million questions. “Shit, I can’t believe I slept with you every night for months and you were hiding this from me.” “Business is business,” I said. “You bat for the other team.” “Ha!” she said, but as she continued to press buttons, a frown crossed her face. She looked distracted, deep in thought. “What’s wrong?” She looked up at me with almost fearful eyes. “Um. Well…” I frowned at her. “Is it the app?” “No. The app is awesome.” She straightened, handing the phone back to me. I set it next to the laptop. Maybe now she’d come clean? But as I watched her, I noticed that she’d suddenly gone very pale. She cleared her throat and then coughed. “I came over because I wanted to hang out with you. But also because we need to talk.” I stiffened. The “we need to talk” phrase never ended well. My breathing froze. Had she come over to break up? Was this what all the evasive behavior was about? Shit. I needed a minute to gather my thoughts, formulate a plan. “Can I get you a glass of water?” She cleared her throat again. “Um. Yeah. Please? And—umm, maybe some wine?” Water and wine? I got up and went into the kitchen, grabbing a cup and filling it from the cold water dispenser on the fridge. My mind raced. Change the subject? That wouldn’t work. Why would she want to break up? That nagging fear that there was someone else reared its ugly head. But she hadn’t come in to work for two days and had been very clearly under the weather this weekend. I had no information and wouldn’t have any until the PI got back to me. She had the upper hand and I had to find a way to avoid a confrontation right now. My mind raced. In war, the way is to avoid what is strong and strike at what is weak. I removed a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge and uncorked it. The wine hadn’t been touched since she’d moved out. I came back into the room, a glass in each hand, and set them down on the coffee table in front of her. She didn’t look up, having taken up the phone again, messing with the app.

She reached out for the glass of wine and downed the entire thing in one gulp without taking her eyes off the phone. What the hell? “I’m glad the app is such a hit,” I said. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. She cleared her throat again and glanced up at me with a strange look on her face. “You got a text just now. From someone named Miguel.” My blood ran cold. Swallowing, I tried my hardest to hide my fear. I held out a hand for my phone, but she didn’t give it to me. I clenched my jaw and lowered my hand. There was a definite chance that his text was innocuous. She might not even realize that Miguel was the PI I’d hired to dig up information on her. It could be a very unfounded fear. But if that was the case, why was I hardly breathing? She frowned, glancing at the phone again. “Yeah, so Miguel wants to know if it’s okay to attach a GPS tracker to my car even though you don’t want me actively followed.” She set the phone down and stood up, glaring at me. Bending to grab her backpack, she turned, but she never made it more than a few steps to the door. I intercepted her, taking her arm. “I can explain.” She pulled away from me. “What the fuck, Adam?” “I was worried about you—” “Says every other creepy stalker on the planet. I need to go,” she said in stiff, clipped tones. “You said we needed to talk,” I said, moving in front of her again. “Why do we have to talk?” she ground out. “You can just have your private dick follow me around.” “Emilia—” She pushed back from me. “Back the fuck off! Are you really that mystified because I turned down your proposal and moved out? Like every other woman in the galaxy wouldn’t fall all over herself to stand in line to marry the hot young gazillionaire. You can’t wrap your mind around the fact that I’m not groveling with gratitude at your feet to become probably the first in a long line of Mrs. Adam Drakes? Is that the big mystery you need solved? Because I’ll tell you why right now. And you don’t need to waste money on stalking me.” I drew back from her and folded my arms across my chest. I called out to the housekeeper, who I knew was in the next room hearing every word. Cora was a wise woman. After I told her she was good for the day, she emerged about two minutes later with her purse over her arm and didn’t look at either one of us as she made her way out the door. Emilia fumed and—weirdly—she had tears in her eyes. She never cried. I was in full panic mode, my mind racing to figure out what the fuck to do. There was no nice quip from The Art of War about what to do when the other side found out about your spies and were pissed as hell about it. And, from the looks of her, this was about to turn into an all-out war. I shifted my stance. “I fucked up.” “At least I can agree with you there.” “Can we sit down and talk about this?” She clenched her jaw and wiped a tear with a brusque swipe of her hand. Then she shook her head. “I’m too pissed off at you right now.” I let out a long breath. I wasn’t going to make the mistake of backing her into a corner again but goddamn if I was going to allow her to leave like this, either. “You have a right to be pissed off. But I did it—” “Don’t say you did it out of love! Don’t you dare say that. You didn’t have a right.” “I don’t have a right to know what’s going on with you, why you are acting so weird?” Her eyes widened and she dropped her backpack on the floor next to where she stood. “You could have, I don’t know, done what normal people do and ask.” “I did ask. Over and over again. At the restaurant, at Heath’s place. Here. An hour ago. You wouldn’t

tell me. And you wouldn’t tell your mom. And I have a sneaking suspicion that you were avoiding both of us on Sunday and you never had plans to go out with her last night.” “This has nothing to do with you being worried about me and everything to do with your need to control me and my entire life. If you can’t even acknowledge that, then we are done.” “I’m not some kind of control freak—” She huffed in disbelief. “That is absolutely what you are! Ever since before we even met in person, you’ve tried to control me. You took control of the auction, you strung me along, you held that money over my head. But that was okay, right? Because you were saving me. And I tolerated it because I fell in love with you in spite of it all.” “I fell in love with you, too. I never planned that.” “And you used it as your excuse to keep on controlling me. This is how it’s been between us since the beginning and I never should have allowed it. It’s how you treat everyone in your life. We all move according to your carefully orchestrated plans, like part of one of your codes, and if anyone deviates from what you want, you try to reprogram us. So Mia wants to go off to med school in Maryland? I’ll program her to become Mrs. Adam Drake and she’ll stay here instead.” Fuck. I combed my hand through my hair, struggling for something to say. But what I should not have said is exactly what came out of my mouth at that moment. “You’re going over the top with this, don’t you think? Projecting anything you can because you don’t want to feel guilty over leaving me to go through with plans you had before you even met me.” Her jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Oh. My. God. Really, Adam, you are the most brilliant person I’ve ever met, but sometimes you just don’t get it. You are this massive force of nature that blows in and overwhelms me, yanking me around like a helpless ragdoll. And I let you.” “That’s the problem—you see me as the storm. The storm is life. The storm is the bullshit you find yourself in and I’m the anchor that holds you down and keeps you safe, from getting blown away.”’ She started to shake, her eyes filling again with tears, her fists balled at her sides. I took a step toward her, my hand outstretched, but she backed away. “I wish I could trust you enough to be my anchor when I need you. But I can’t. You can’t be in control of everything.” Then the most stunning thing happened—she erupted into tears. A loud, messy sort of sobbing that I’d only seen from her one other time—also brought about because of me in a very similar circumstance. I froze. I wanted to go to her, pull her into my arms, but she was unbelievably pissed at me and I knew that was a bad idea. So in my panic I did the lamest thing possible. I grabbed a nearby box of tissues and held it out to her. Without a word, she grabbed handfuls of the stuff and buried her face in it. “Come here. Sit down, please?” She let me steer her back to the couch while she continued to sob. I sat next to her, stupidly handing her more tissues as she made her way through the box at hand. “Emilia. Talk to me,” I finally said when it looked like she was getting control of herself. “I’m sorry I fucked up. But I want to be here for you.” She shook her head, wiping her face repeatedly. “You did fuck up. Big. Big time.” I said nothing for a long time and she turned to me, as if waiting for some slick explanation to come out of my mouth, but I couldn’t give it to her. Instead my heart was pounding like I’d just run sprints and there was a chunk of ice at the pit of my stomach. I wanted to tell her how afraid I was. I was losing her and the more I sensed that she was slipping away the more I reflexively tightened my grip. She was right. I needed that control. Not having it froze my entrails with terror. “What can I do to make it up to you?” I finally asked in a quiet voice. She thought about that for a long time. “You need to back off.” I did not tear my eyes from hers; they were attached, as if we were fused together, some invisible soul-

tether holding us locked in each other’s gaze. “I can’t do that.” Her jaw set. “You have to.” “Tell me why.” “Because you need to prove to me that you can deal and not be a complete nut job stalker when you don’t have the control.” She hesitated and looked away. “We need time away from each other. Time for you to give me space and show me that you don’t need to control or manipulate me. Because if you can’t prove that to me, I will never trust you and this will never work.” We said nothing for long minutes. I rubbed my forehead. I hated this and wanted to rail against it. Already there were clever replies in my head, responses I could design to try and get a certain reaction from her. Now that she was pointing this out to me, it was almost scary how automatic that way of thinking was for me. I was always thinking my way around every situation, like it was a puzzle to solve, a challenge to overcome. Even with her. But if I couldn’t stop this—if I didn’t stop it—I’d lose her forever. I tried to envision my life without her. I’d be lost, adrift. Free-falling through space. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I just want to take care of you.” Her voice was quiet but firm beside me. “Your idea of taking care means dominating every situation.” Of course it did. Why was that a bad thing? Be the driver, not the driven. But I couldn’t drive her. “How do I know you’ll be all right? That you’ll be safe?” She still wasn’t looking at me. “I’ll take care of myself.” My hands clenched into fists. “So we’re broken up then?” “For now.” My stomach dropped. “What does that mean?” “It means we have to learn to trust each other. You have to trust me enough that you can back off and let me handle my life and I have to trust that you won’t be breathing down my neck and watching everything I do.” I stayed silent. She watched me closely. I didn’t bat an eye—didn’t look at her. I had no idea what to say. “Also, um. We need to draw a clear line. I can’t work at Draco—” “What? Why?” She looked away. “I shouldn’t work for you…” I stiffened. But when the hell would I see her, then? We had some friends in common, but that was it. If she didn’t work for me, I wouldn’t know where she was all day. My fist closed. I couldn’t allow that, control issues or no. At least during the work hours of the day, Monday through Friday for the next three months, I’d know exactly where she’d be. It wasn’t enough, but it was something. “What about your commitments? The Con. I—we need you.” She hesitated, so I pushed it. “What about Liam? How do you think he’d handle it if you just stopped working?” She rubbed her brow. “That’s not fair.” “Please, at least promise me you’ll stay until after the New Year.” And hopefully by then we’d have this figured out. God, I hoped so. “I need some time to think about it. Give me a week.” I took a breath and released it slowly. I really wanted that commitment from her now, but if I pushed it, then I was that much more of an idiot for not having learned my lesson. “Okay. Take as long as you need, but—please come back.” She rocked in her seat, appearing deep in thought. Tears started to leak from her eyes again, streaking her pale cheeks. My throat tightened and God if I didn’t feel the tears prickling my own eyes. Fuck. This hurt. This hurt so goddamned badly. I sniffed and looked away, blinking. No, I wouldn’t shed tears, not

here, not in front of her. I hadn’t cried since—God, I couldn’t even remember. When I found out Bree had died—months after the fact? Not even then. I wanted to pull her into my arms. I wanted to forbid her to leave me. I wanted to stand my ground and not give an inch. All my first instincts. All terrible mistakes. I enfolded one of her cold hands with mine. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” We were quiet again for a long, tense moment. Then she cleared her throat. “Adam, I still—” “Don’t say it,” I choked out before she could finish, before the knife could sink deeper into my heart. “I don’t want to hear you say it again until you are in my arms, your lips an inch from mine ready to kiss me, ready to be mine again. Because, Emilia, if you can’t trust me to come back to me for forever, then don’t come back. I won’t be able to stand this again.” She left minutes later. I walked her across Bay Island to her car and when I would have bent to kiss her good-bye, instead I opened her door for her. She looked up at me through the window for a long moment before she started the car. I stepped back and walked away, refusing to watch her drive away, drive out of my life. My life was careening out of control. I was no longer steering. And I was losing everything.

Chapter Ten The next day, Wednesday, I was at work again, this time spending the entire day on insurance and lawsuit business. I tried not to be pissed at Jordan every time he showed up in my office to work on stuff. It wasn’t his fault, after all, that I’d followed his shitty advice. My cousin, Liam, made a rare appearance in my office just before lunch. When Maggie buzzed him in, I looked up in surprise, finishing typing out the e-mail I was working on. He went over to the window and stared out at the atrium. “Hey guy, how are you doing?” I said, closing my computer. He gave an agitated shrug and said nothing. Uh-oh. He was in one of his moods. He didn’t turn to look at me, which was unsurprising as he rarely made eye contact with anyone. We, his family, were used to it, but most other people found it oddly unsettling. “Neurotypicals,” as Liam referred to us, had the disturbing habit of needing people to look them in the eye—a need that he lacked. He reached up and fiddled with the edge of the window. “What’s wrong?” “Family dinner,” he mumbled. “Sorry I had to bail early on that—” He huffed and started pacing the room, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets. “Mia didn’t come.” Chalk him up with the rest of my family who were more concerned about her not being there than me. Jeez. Did I smell bad or something? So Liam was blaming her absence on me. Well, one thing could be said about my cousin. At least he was consistent. Very consistent. “She wasn’t feeling well that day.” Liam glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes. “Everything’s messed up now. Everything. She’s not working here anymore. Why can’t you just apologize to her? Why can’t things be the way they were?” I blinked. “I wish it were that easy.” “It could be that easy. If you just stopped being an idiot.” I took no shit from anyone, but I allowed a lot of leeway to my cousin. Nevertheless, he was now on my last goddamn nerve. “Watch yourself, Liam. I’m not in the mood and I don’t have my usual brand of patience, so if you are in here to bellyache about the fact that Emilia wasn’t at the family dinner you can —” “Mia,” he said. “What?” “She prefers to be called Mia.” Not by me. “So you think she didn’t go to dinner because I don’t call her Mia?” He kept pacing and pulled his hands out of his pockets and worked them furiously like he did when he got agitated. It was a stim—a soothing mechanism where he rubbed his palms with his fingers. “Shut up, Adam. You know that’s not the reason. Just apologize to her. Tell her you want her to come back.” I stood up. This could be a good opportunity to reinforce that pressure that I’d wanted to lay on her to stay at the job. “Why don’t you call Mia? Let her know how much you miss her at the dinners and at work.” He stopped his pacing so suddenly I thought he might fall over. He looked down at the floor, fiddling with his palm. “I did.” Oh? Well, that was interesting. “What did she say?” God, was I so desperate to hear about her that I

was interrogating my hostile cousin to give up anything he knew? I was pathetic. He cleared his throat. “She said it wasn’t because of you that she wasn’t coming. But I know she’s lying.” Liam finally shuffled over to the chair in front of me and slumped into it. “She just seemed so sad lately and tired. You’re her boyfriend. You’re supposed to make her happy.” My jaw tightened as I fought off the bitter reply that jumped to the fore. I would make her happy, if she’d let me. “I think going to medical school is what’s going to make her happy at this point,” I said, the words surprising even myself. My chest tightened and it was hard to breathe at that thought. I was almost certain that she was using our breakup as the excuse to accept the spot at Hopkins. And my hands were completely tied when it came to finding a way to manipulate her to keep her here. I studied Liam’s bowed head for a moment. But…I wasn’t the only one who cared about her staying here. Her friends were all here. Liam, Alex, Jenna, Heath. And so was her mom. If I alone wasn’t a strong enough reason, maybe all of us combined would be. I rubbed at the stubble on my jaw with the back of my fingers, mulling this over. It wasn’t like the intellectual puzzles I used to spend hours on when I was a kid. This was life. It was messy and it wasn’t logical. And since I was—most of the time—a very logical thinker, I knew this was far beyond my scope. The wheels started turning. I turned back to Liam. “Hey, remember how you keep bugging me to start my D and D campaign up again?” He blinked at me, clearly annoyed. Liam hated when anyone changed subjects without any warning. Even when it was a subject he would like. “What—what?” he asked. “Sorry. I was just thinking that maybe we could all get together for a game. Mia’s friend Jenna has been wanting to get people together for a Dungeons and Dragons game for a while. I figure she might not mind if I run the game as DM and she could play a character. So could you and the others.” He shook his head. “What does this have to do with Mia?” “Well, they could invite her, too.” And it would be a great excuse to see her now that there was no other avenue for me to do it. “But she’s never played. She likes computer games.” I shrugged. “We’ll invite Heath, too, and they can all browbeat her into going.” “Beat her?” “Idiom,” I said, giving the usual cue that he was used to. My cousin was a bright guy and incredibly talented, but he had trouble with figurative language. And sarcasm. He didn’t do sarcasm at all. “Okay. I don’t want to beat her. I was going to say if you beat her maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to be around you.” I grimaced. “Thanks, Liam.” She didn’t want to be around me. The words stung, but they were true. And right now she had a pretty good reason for that. I just hoped it wasn’t so strong a reason that she’d want to avoid all her other friends in order to avoid me. *** Jenna was thrilled when I proposed to run a dungeon for her and her friends. She invited us over to her and Alex’s apartment in Fullerton. I might have offered my house, but figured it more likely that Emilia would show up at Alex’s place. We crowded into the typical college pad—me, Liam, Alex, Jenna. Heath texted saying he was going to be late. Not long after arriving, Jenna informed me that Emilia had sent her a brief text the day before indicating that she wouldn’t be able to come. I tried to curb my visible disappointment at this news. I’d worked extra hard to design a fun adventure that, I thought, would be an enjoyable introduction for her to

tabletop gaming. Was she really so pissed off that she’d blow off all of her friends just to avoid me? As I thought about it and heard Jenna and Alex make a few subtle comments about Emilia’s absence, though, I began to suspect it wasn’t just me Emilia was avoiding. I could have questioned the two of them about what they thought was going on but the glimmer of another idea flickered into my brain instead. I’d try to be subtle and I’d get what I wanted by using my specialty—playing games. If I rolled my dice right, we’d all soon be banding together for the common cause of keeping her here. Alex threw a stack of D & D manuals at us. “Aren’t we rolling dice to make our characters?” I asked. She frowned at me. “How long has it been since you’ve played? That’s old-school. You buy your stats with points now. Are you sure you’re up to being the DM?” The Dungeon Master was the storyteller who described the situations and the world in which the characters interacted. I frowned. “I worked a long time on my storyline. It won’t take me long to learn the new mechanics.” Of course, now with my new idea, I had to scrap the whole storyline I’d developed. So I’d be winging it. I could do that too. While they made their characters with pencil and paper on clean forms, I browsed through the new rules. They had changed a lot since the days when I had been a hardcore player, back when I was fifteen and sixteen. The company that owned D&D changed the rules every four to five years—otherwise known as “as soon as we’d gotten used to the old manual” or “whenever they wanted to sell some more books,” according to some cynical players. I supposed I shouldn’t have been too irritated by the marketing practice. We in the computer game market did the same thing by releasing expansions of the old material that players had to purchase in order to keep generating capital. Fortunately I remembered everything I read. So in about forty-five minutes I had most of the basics of the new system in place. I spent about five minutes whipping up the setup for my new idea. It wouldn’t be nearly as well thought out as my original idea, but maybe it would help me get my point across, even off the cuff. A little while later, the players sat hunched over their character sheets, twenty-sided dice in hand, ready to begin a new adventure. Heath had arrived late, looking mildly irritated and darting me a couple dark looks. I judged this to mean that Emilia had recounted my colossal fuckup to him. Great. Jenna had made him a character to use, so he didn’t have to take the time to make one. I picked up the printed sheet of storyline that I’d written out by hand on some old parchment paper. I’d even burned the edges with a match to give it an ancient look, threatening to set off a smoke alarm in my office. I did like my Dungeons and Dragons old-school. However I wasn’t going to read what I’d originally written on the paper, but my improvised version instead. I cleared my throat, glanced around the table and then, in my most serious, oratorical voice, I began to “read.” Greetings, travelers. You have come from far and wide, under many different circumstances. Some of you left families because you need to find work to provide for them. Some of you are running away from dark pasts. Still others of you are seeking the adventure that calls to your heart. You find yourself inside a murky tavern, the Pig’s Blood, at the edge of the distant country of Tarenia. It is only moderately clean and you sit, sipping your watered-down ale, reflecting on your uncertain future when a middle-aged woman shuffles into the tavern, a dark shawl tucked around her head. Alex and Jenna exchanged glances and looked at Heath and Liam. I bent down over the cardboard partition that separated my part of the table from theirs, so they couldn’t read my notes or see the dice rolls behind the screen. “What do you do?” Jenna raised her hand. “I’m a connoisseur of fine spirits, the daughter of a successful wine merchant. I would never drink watered-down ale. What else is there to drink here?” “It’s the only tavern in a tiny borderland village that doesn’t even have a name. That or polluted water are your only choices for drink,” I answered.

“Well, I wouldn’t be drinking that slop,” she sniffed. “I’ll have bread and cheese, instead.” “The bar wench brings you a hunk of hard bread and some moldy cheese,” I replied. “You notice the woman who just entered has been crying. She approaches the bar and appears to be looking for someone.” Alex raised her hand. “Is there anyone who looks like they have a lot of money in the room? Someone I can pickpocket?” Alex, apparently, had made her character a thief. “Almost everyone here is in homespun. They look like what they are—people on the frontier struggling for survival in a harsh borderland.” She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes. “Bo—ring.” I shrugged. “Liam? What are you doing?” He frowned. “How long is the bar?” “About eight feet long or so.” He took his pencil and scratched out something on a pad of paper. “How many chairs—wait, chairs or stools?” I shrugged, “I dunno…five?” He squinted, continued drawing. “You didn’t answer…chairs or stools? And the room? How large is it? And how many entrances and exits?” I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I’d forgotten how obsessively visual he was due to his autism. It’s what contributed to his amazing artistic abilities, but sometimes, in cases like these, it was an annoying trait. “Why don’t you draw the room out on the battle map? I’ll give you the dimensions.” Liam stood, grabbed an erasable marker and began drawing on the washable surface of the blank grid that served as a battle map. I gave him some details that I made up off the cuff and he drew them on the map like a floor plan. The players then arranged the pewter figurines that represented their characters in different places in the room. Heath shoved his wizard in the corner. “Heath? What is your character doing?” He sat with his chin in his hand, still moping. “Drinking watered-down ale,” he droned and then tossed a die. I suppressed a sigh of frustration, suddenly remembering why I wasn’t ever excited to act as Dungeon Master for these sorts of role-playing games. The players never did what you wanted them to do. “So isn’t anyone curious about the loudly crying woman in the middle of the room?” Alex perked up. “Does she look like she has money? Maybe a pouch of gold dangling from her belt?” “She’s wearing black mourning attire. Are you going to try to rob her?” I replied, exasperated. Alex rolled her eyes again and hunched over her group of dice, attempting to build a tower by stacking one on top of the other. I hunched over, mimed like I was wiping my eyes and talked in a ridiculously high pitch. “Won’t anyone hear my tale of woe?” “Okay, I’ll bite,” Jenna said. “I’ll walk up to the old woman and offer her my seat.” “Thank you. Thank you, dear child,” I said again in my falsetto voice. “What seems to be the problem, old woman?” “She’s not old. She’s middle-aged,” I corrected. “In medieval times, if you lived to middle age, you were considered old,” Jenna replied. “Fair enough.” I resisted debating the useless point. “The woman turns to you, wiping her eyes. ‘I’m so afraid,’ she says. ‘So afraid that I’ll never see her again.’” “Who?” “My precious daughter, Emma.” “Where did she go?” “She’s been ensorcelled by the famed alchemist Baridus. He’s going to spirit her away to a far-off land to study with him. I doubt she’ll ever come back.”

Liam looked over at Jenna. “You know,” he said, jerking his eyes downward when she looked at him. “You should use your skill to detect motive and see if she is lying.” Jenna drew back. “Um. Okay. And my eyes are up here by the way,” she said curtly. Liam blinked at her. “Of course they are,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on her chest. Oh shit, Jenna was getting pissed thinking Liam was checking out her tits. “Anyway—” I interrupted before sparks started to fly. Jenna was glaring at Liam, who still hadn’t looked away from Jenna’s chest. “Liam,” I said and finally he turned his head. Thank God. “What?” “Is your character doing anything while Althea and the woman are talking?” I said referring to Jenna by her character’s name. “I’ll wait and watch,” said Liam, throwing a glance at Jenna out of the corner of his eye. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t start staring at her chest again. Jenna glared at him and then turned back to me. “Maybe, uh, yeah maybe I’ll try to sense her motive.” “Roll a d20 based on your skill level.” Jenna checked her character sheet with all of her character’s statistics, then picked up a twenty-sided die and rolled it. “I made my roll. Do I detect anything?” “You sense that she is honest in her motives. She seems to be telling the truth.” “Okay. I’ll put my hand on her shoulder, to console her. ‘There, there, good wife. Might we be able to help you? What happened to…uh…what was her name again?” “Emma?” I said, answering as the character. “My dear girl had been acting strangely for a while now. She had declared the wish to push away her friends and her beau and even me, her dear mother. She’s following the wish of this Baridus, wanting to become a famed alchemist like him. I think he means to steal her away forever. I’m looking for some brave adventurers to go out into the land, gather her closest, beloved friends and break the spell to convince her to stay here.” Oh God, this was so transparent. They were sure to figure out what I was up to. I usually had my shit together better with storytelling—that’s what DE was all about, after all. But since I was winging it and also desperate, my performance was less than stellar. Heath was glaring at me, but I ignored him. Alex cocked her head at me. “So are you wanting us to go and find a reason to keep Emma here?” she asked. Jenna looked at her. “When did you join the conversation? I thought I was the one talking to her.” Alex scrunched her brow. “I can talk to her, too. We’re going to end up forming a search party to gather all the friends, anyway, so might as well get it out of the way.” “I gotta go,” Heath said grabbing his dice bag and standing up. “You just got here,” said Jenna. “I suddenly remembered I have to do something.” “Bullshit,” said Alex. “You’ve been grumpy since you got here.” Heath shot another look at me. “Yeah, well, if I don’t take off, I’m going to get grumpier.” “What the—why?” Alex asked. “Let’s see…the woman is looking for her daughter Emma, who wants to leave her friends and her ‘beau’ and go away to a far distant land to study. What’s the old woman’s name, by the way?” Heath turned back to me. We held each other’s stare for a long, tense moment. I shrugged. “Are you asking her that?” “I’m going to guess it’s Kimma or Kendra or something like that. And her beau’s name is Adrian or Adolfo or something like that.” Alex snorted. “And her best friend is Howard or Heathen or something like that.” I looked down, put my hands on my hips. Okay, so it had been even lamer and more transparent than I

had originally thought. And Heath must have thought I was a major dick for pulling this stunt. But maybe we would get somewhere, now, draw together and approach Emilia as a group of friends. I met Heath’s blazing green gaze again and shook my head. “Yeah, Howard is going to be the key player, here. He’ll probably be the last one to join the quest with all Emma’s other friends.” Heath shook his head, his jaw tensing. Liam turned to me. “So what’s happening? What’s the old woman saying? Why aren’t we playing the game?” Alex spun on Heath. “Why are you so hip on her leaving everything behind to go so far away, anyway?” I didn’t smile, though I felt like it. Alex was acting just as I’d hoped. Heath jerked his head in her direction. “Because I care about what she wants.” Jenna’s brows shot up. “But we’re her support system. Who does she have in Maryland? No one. She’d be all alone there.” Heath clenched his teeth and shot me a look of pure venom, then raised his chin. “She doesn’t have to be all alone there.” Then he shook his head. “I’m not doing this. Not today.” “We should stage an intervention,” Alex said Heath looked at her like she was an alien. “You should stay the hell out of it.” Jenna was looking down, arranging all her dice into neat rows on the table in front of her. “You’re not the only one here who loves her, Heath. We feel this way because we care.” Liam looked up, puzzled. “Are we still talking about Emma?” Heath clenched his jaw. “We were never talking about Emma, William.” He turned back to me. “I’m out of here.” I followed him to the door and into the hallway outside the apartment. He turned before leaving, looking almost like he would take a swing at me. “Dickish thing to do, man. I don’t appreciate it.” I angled my head at him, taking in his tense body language, his closed fists. “Do you blame me?” “You’re the one who promised to back off and trust her. Now you pull this shit? Uh-uh. You’re so clueless.” I shifted my stance. “I’m just trying to make a point. It’s not just about her. Or even just about me.” “It’s not the message you convey, but the way you do it. This whole night was a pretense. It’s you playing your games again. And keeping your coy secrets. You’re all about your hidden plots and secrets, aren’t you? I seriously think you get off on that shit.” I clenched my jaw and bit back the harsh reply on my lips. I wasn’t stupid enough to want to escalate this. That wouldn’t accomplish anything. And Heath could still be useful to me as an insight to the other side. So I said nothing and let him continue ranting. His face flushed as he held up his thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart. “You’re treading a fine line, man. You are this close to losing her for good. So if that’s what you are trying to accomplish, then keep doing exactly what you are doing.” He turned redder and redder as he spoke. “I’m fucking exhausted as it is. I’ve been up since the asscrack of dawn to drive her—” He abruptly cut himself off. I opened my mouth to reply hotly, but I couldn’t say a damn word because he was right. I was being an asshole. I slumped back against the wall behind me in the hallway. A few doors down, some students slammed the door and were hotly discussing the latest episode of True Blood as they stormed down the stairwell. I blinked. “I’m sorry. I’m panicking. There, I said it. And apparently I’m digging myself into an even deeper hole.” He shook his head. “I’m not in the mood to talk you down from a ledge when I’ve been doing it for her all week.” I folded my arms across my chest. “She’s okay? You drove her somewhere?” I said, picking up on his

slip. He scowled, hesitating. He seemed to be gauging what my reaction might be. Then he inhaled and blew out a long breath. “To LAX.” I stiffened. “What? Why?” He held up a hand. “Down boy, it’s just for six days.” “Where’d she go?” He glanced out of the corner of his eye down the hallway, then shifted his stance. “I’m only telling you so you don’t try to stalk her. She flew to Baltimore.” I was glad I had the wall to hold me up. I felt myself go pale. This was clearly a sign that I already had lost her. She was going to make arrangements to attend Hopkins. I barely croaked out a thank-you before feebly reaching for the doorknob. Heath reached out and stopped me. “Adam. I know you mean well. I know you love her. But you are fucking it up, man. And now with stunts like this, you threaten to push me away, too. We’re friends, but I can’t do this. I can’t be in the middle of you two.” “I’m feeling kind of lost at the moment.” It took everything in me to admit that. “You need to be here for her. Be what she needs. I know her and I know how she feels about you and— just trust me on this, all right? If you don’t want to completely fuck this up, then you need to back off. Don’t just say you are going to back off. Actually do it.” It wasn’t easy to hear and there were few people I’d even stand to hear it from. Fortunately, Heath was one of them. I thanked him quietly, suggested he give Connor a call to go have drinks, and then apologized. Heath nodded, giving me a smile and a reassurance that we were still on for our regular Saturday paintball. I watched him descend the stairs as I took a deep breath to collect myself. I tried to assimilate this news about Emilia going to Maryland, probably in preparation for med school in the fall. Shit. When I got back inside, three sets of eyes stared at me with the unspoken question of what had gone on. Alex tilted her head to the side, studying me. “I don’t see any bruises. I was afraid Heath was going to beat you up!” I made a face at her. “What made you think he’d win?” Jenna looked up from her careful dice arrangement. “He talk to you about what’s going on with Mia?” I rubbed my jaw. “Hmm. Not really in the mood to talk about it. How ’bout some pizza and beer? On me.” Alex snorted. “Well of course it will be on you.” We scrapped the game early and I ordered the food, hoping to make up for the failed D&D game. We sat around talking about our favorite episodes of Stargate for the next few hours, much to Liam’s irritation, in between him stealing glances at Jenna. I do believe he had a crush. She pretended not to notice and I made a mental note to explain to her about the eye contact thing later, when Liam wasn’t around. Maybe some small good would come out of this disaster that my life seemed to be crumbling into. I couldn’t get my mind off this new information about Emilia going to Maryland. That was likely what she had come over to talk to me about on Tuesday before getting pissed off at me. I went home from that evening feeling darker and more hopeless than I’d felt at any moment until that point. I had no idea what to do from here and the only advice I’d gotten, from Heath and Emilia herself, was to back off and do nothing. This was so against my nature. I had to fight those impulses constantly. So I turned to my old comfort, even though I knew better. There was more than enough work to do—between the lawsuit, the Con and the new expansion we were beginning to develop. And when I wasn’t working, I was digging into my secret project—which was my way of working without calling it work. Not long before, I’d been vowing to avoid this very thing—confident that Emilia would keep me on the

straight and narrow. Now she was gone and I was getting pulled into the same old sinkhole, threatening to be sucked in more than ever before. And with no idea how I’d ever be able to get myself back out again.

Chapter Eleven The next Saturday brought more paintball practice and strategy training. This time Heath and I carpooled with Jordan, who drove his Range Rover. We spent a long day on the actual course that would be the site of our war, mapping it out and designing strategy with the other department heads who would act as captains of their own platoons. We’d planned the war to be a series of different scenarios involving the Blizzard crew. Capture the Flag, King of the Hill and a sort of treasure hunt. We worked on movement, strategy, tactics and communication. The war was just two short weeks away and soon after that, Draco’s first annual DracoCon convention in Vegas. These would have been exciting and fun times had it not been for other things on my mind—the daily worries of the fallout from the lawsuit and, of course, my preoccupation with Emilia. After we dropped Heath off, Jordan drove me to my house. I cleaned up and we went for dinner at a little café we both liked in Corona del Mar. We had vowed not to discuss work that evening, so instead he told me about his planned trip to Paris early in the New Year, once all the lawsuit and Con business had blown over. He wasn’t sure which of his latest ladyloves he wanted to bring with him. Yes, my good friend had deep and complex issues that sprang from his playboy millionaire lifestyle. “I’m going all-out—we’ll charter a private jet and I have reservations at one of the most amazing hotels with a penthouse view of the Eiffel Tower.” I scoffed—charter a jet? Even I didn’t do that. Jordan was wealthy, but not so much that chartering a jet wasn’t an extravagance. I, on the other hand, refrained from things like that not because of cost, but out of concern for my impact on the environment. One person just should not have that kind of an environmental footprint, in my opinion. Yes, some would say I’d gone to the ISS and left an even bigger footprint doing it. But that rocket would have gone up with or without me. The trip had been necessary to carry a fresh set of cosmonauts to the station and bring the ones who’d been up there for six months back home. In that case, I’d just been along for the ride. I shook my head at him. “Why take a previous liaison with you? Why not just pick up someone when you’re there—a French model or something?” He grinned at me, scratching at his goatee. “Because then I don’t get to enjoy the perks of the private jet and put another notch in my mile-high-club card.” I rolled my eyes. “I should have known it was for an important reason that you’d want to take someone with you.” “Hey, never turn down an opportunity for in-flight entertainment on a twelve-hour flight.” Then he paused. “You and I could always go together.” I made a face at him. “I love you man, but not like that.” He laughed for a moment and then sobered. “So, uh, how are you holding up? I, um, heard she quit her job at Draco. Mac was whining about it.” I picked at my fish and chips, not feeling the appetite tonight that I usually did after a day of paintball. “She’s on a short leave before she decides what she wants to do. She’ll be back.” Jordan’s mouth thinned. “And you’re, uh, okay with that?” I shrugged, but didn’t say anything. This wasn’t a topic I wanted to discuss with him. “So are you to going to…move on?” I stopped chewing my French fry. “What do you mean?” “Well…I mean that her flying out to spend a week on the East Coast means she clearly wants to get on with her life…without you.” I clenched my teeth, irritated at how his thoughts echoed my own. How could I do anything, when I had vowed to back off?

He forked in some rice pilaf and watched me with his pale blue eyes, as if I were a bomb about to explode, or something. “Maybe you should start looking around,” he said with a casual shrug and a cautious glance. I stared at him over my plate. “I don’t date. That hasn’t changed.” Jordan shook his head. “I don’t understand how you ever got any tail before.” I laughed. “When you got it, you got it.” “So this Friday night I’m going out with that swimsuit model, Marta? Remember her?” “The blonde?” He waved his hand dismissively. “Naw, she was last month. This one is dark-haired, exotic eyes. Mocha skin…definite candidate for the Paris trip—” “And the Jordan Fawkes Mile High Club.” He licked his lips. I shook my head. He was unbelievable. A devilish look crossed his face. “Her roommate was in the latest SI swimsuit issue…” “Then why aren’t you dating the roommate?” “Adam, they’re both hot. I can set it up. A foursome—ha-ha, no, I didn’t mean it that way,” he said at the strange look that crossed my face. “A ‘double date’ if you want to use high school terms. Marta can help arrange things.” I sipped at my beer, shoving the untouched portion of my dinner aside and shook my head. “I can’t believe you still need a wingman.” “Bite me. I don’t need one. I’m doing you a favor. I’ve seen this girl. Red hair and she’s…” He curled his hands in front of him to indicate a large chest. God, he was such a pig. “What are the odds they’re real?” I couldn’t resist. I had to mess with him. Him and his stupid obsession with models. Jordan’s face grew serious. “C’mon, man. You owe it to yourself. She’s moved on. Don’t you think it’s time you did, too?” That irked me, and a shot of heated irritation burned through me. I shifted in my chair and looked away. Anger at Emilia’s almost secretive departure stirred deep in my gut. But I couldn’t tell which I hated more —her decision to go or my utter inability to prevent it. She wanted to move away? Fine. Time for her to see the consequences. We were, after all, broken up “for now.” I clenched my fist. “Fine. I’ll go.” What the hell. Why not? At the very least it might end up being a pretty good lay. Sex had never meant much to me before. It was time to get back to normal. My time with Emilia had been the aberration from that norm. This fucked-up situation was more than proving that that aberration wasn’t for me. She wanted to move on? Then I would, too. “Seriously?” “This woman isn’t high-maintenance, is she? I don’t do high-maintenance.” “They’re models. They’re all high-maintenance. But hey, nobody said you had to have a prolonged relationship with her. Maybe you’ll get lucky and end up with one of your fun little ‘arrangements.’” I eyed him. I didn’t mind the thought of sex again. It had been over a month. That last week we were together, Emilia had been distracted and the few times we did anything, it was clear she wasn’t into it. And since then, there’d been no one. So yeah, sex again would be nice. I could go for that. And maybe it would help me finally get her out of my mind. Or at least it could be the beginning of actively trying. *** Two days after she returned from Baltimore, Emilia e-mailed me with the message that she would like to return to work until the end of January. I wondered if that meant she was going to move out there early

in the spring. She gave me absolutely no details at all about her trip besides acknowledging the fact that she knew that Heath had told me that she’d gone. It was an amicable, if brief, note. I read very little into the tone. I’d checked her social media while she’d been gone and she’d been on complete radio silence. Even the blog was sparse, with a few posts that I figured must have been written and scheduled before she’d left. But I was sick of wracking my brains to figure out what was going on inside hers. And I was tired of obsessing over her. So, toward the end of that week I found myself almost looking forward to Jordan’s blind date. On the Friday afternoon after she’d returned to work, we had a prolonged meeting about the convention. All the relevant personnel were there, filing into the meeting room—twenty or thirty at least. I couldn’t help but scan the crowd for Emilia. She was supposed to be there, but I didn’t see her. We heard from the department heads and when Mac got up to do his report, he turned to the person sitting next to him and I leaned over to get a closer look. He turned to a willowy young woman with white-blond hair. I almost fell out of my chair when I realized it was Emilia. She’d changed her look. Radically. Now, I expected her to stand up and start summoning dragons to her because she looked exactly like Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones. Minus the skimpy costume. I covered my shock by burying my chin in my hand, watching Mac drone on while he asked Emilia questions. Other than when she was answering him, she never spoke and rarely looked up. I checked my watch. The day was dragging on and this meeting was getting ridiculously long. Finally Jordan leaned forward when Sarkowitz was about to go into his projected expense report and said, “Guys, the boss keeps looking at his watch because he’s got a hot date in a couple hours. Can we hurry this up?” A couple people laughed and I leaned back, thoroughly embarrassed, throwing a dirty look in Jordan’s direction. He grinned and shrugged. And then, almost without thinking, my gaze flew to the white-haired fantasy heroine sitting next to Mac. She had her eyes on me while her head was turned in another direction, as if she didn’t want to be caught looking toward me. But when my gaze locked on hers she didn’t look away. There was the distinct look of sadness in her big brown eyes. Every muscle in my body tensed and I felt my skin flush with anger. She was the one who had decided to go away. I swallowed the prickly irritation rising up in my throat. But looking into her eyes, my chest squeezed tight despite my anger. Who was the one who’d ended it, here? Who was the quitter? Who had walked away? How dare she feel hurt that I chose to move on with my life instead of wallowing in the devastation she so obviously expected me to be suffering? My resolved hardened. Fuck it. Fuck her. I pulled my eyes away and never looked at her again. *** That evening, Jordan and I met our dates at a high-end restaurant near the pier in Newport Beach. And Jordan wasn’t bullshitting. They were both very beautiful women. Jordan’s date was Marta and mine was a very effervescent redhead by the name of Carissa. They wore tight dresses and glittery heels and looked every bit like they belonged in Southern California, right down to their perfect tans—acquired, by the looks of the slightly orange tinting, in a “fake bake” salon, rather than on the sandy beaches of the south coast. Carissa was pleasant and not dumb as I’d expected, given Jordan’s usual taste in women. We ended up talking about graphic novels. Of the two women, I definitely felt I got the better end of the deal when it came to conversation. Jordan’s date was stunningly beautiful with what looked like Asian or Middle Eastern genes. But she did not have much to say. I took a sip of the same glass of wine I’d been nursing all night, gazing over it into the brilliant green eyes of my date. Since when did I give a fuck about conversation?

I’d literally never dated before. The women I’d been with were friends with benefits—referred to cynically by Emilia as “fuck buddies.” I had no problem at all having friendships with women and often maintained the friendships after the sexual relationships ended, as was the case with Lindsay, among others. But sitting at a restaurant, or in a movie theater, or just chatting had never even been something I’d wanted before. What had changed me? I smiled when Jordan proposed that we go over to his place and hang out. He wasn’t subtle. I’d already told Jordan that I wasn’t bringing a woman over to my place—especially after having just met her. Jordan had shrugged, mentioning he had a guest room in his exclusive beachfront home overlooking Newport Beach’s famed surfing spot, the Wedge. At one time, Jordan had fancied himself a surfer and he’d tried to teach me how a few times, but I hadn’t enjoyed it. Yeah, I lived on the harbor in Newport Beach, but that didn’t mean I had to risk my neck, literally, to get a rush from challenging the waves that crashed up against the Corona Del Mar jetty and formed the Newport Wedge. After arriving at Jordan’s and pouring ourselves some drinks, Carissa and I settled on the couch and talked until long past when we noticed the other two had disappeared into Jordan’s bedroom. She had kicked off her heels and tucked her long legs under her as she sat on the couch and gazed into my eyes. She nodded and laughed at everything I said, which had been flattering at first, but started to grow annoying. I craved something…a little pushback. A challenge. Before long, she leaned into my arm, clearly positioning herself so that her breasts rubbed up against me. I was turned on. Who wouldn’t be? She was hot. Ridiculously hot. She ran her perfectly manicured hand through that coppery hair and I finally leaned in to kiss her. She was a very eager participant. I had her lips parted and my tongue in her mouth in seconds. My eyes closed and she gave a little sigh. I pulled her toward me. And— I couldn’t stop picturing Emilia as I kissed this woman. Emilia’s mouth on mine, the taste of her. Emilia’s breasts pressed against me. Emilia’s soft skin underneath my hands. Emilia. Those large brown eyes watching me across the conference room today, brimming with hurt and with something else. Longing. I started to cough—violently so—as I sucked in a breath and pulled away from Carissa and her luscious body. She was beautiful and I was attracted to her. We could have gone at it right here—God knows my body was more than willing. I’d even brought condoms. I hadn’t carried condoms for months and months. But as I looked into Carissa’s catlike green eyes, I knew I didn’t want this. Not really. I wanted something more. Someone else. And not just physically. I wanted the woman who was my perfect match in every way. The one who challenged me, who supported me. The one who complemented my personality traits, filled in the gaps where I wasn’t whole. I swallowed a huge lump forming in my throat, trying to suppress the coughing. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Sorry.” I finished with the violent coughing, reached over and finished my glass of ice water and plunked it down next to her wineglass. “Inhaled the wrong way, I guess.” She slapped me halfheartedly on the back. “Are you going to be okay?” “Yeah,” I said hoarsely, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. She smiled, parting her swollen lips. “It’s okay. Where were we? Oh yes. Right…here,” she said, laying her hand on the inside of my thigh and leaning in again. She slid her hand up and it landed right on top of my hard cock. I let out a quick breath and pulled her hand away. “What’s wrong?” she said, pulling back to look in my face. I heaved a great sigh and leaned back. “It’s too soon,” I muttered, looking up at the ceiling. Carissa wrinkled her nose at me. “You like taking things slow?”

I almost laughed at that. In the past I’d had no qualms about going to bed with a woman I’d recently met. I’d never had a one-night stand, but I’d never had a romantic relationship either. Not until her. She’d changed everything. And I was beginning to fear that there was no going back to the person I’d once been. Did I even want to? “It’s too soon after my last relationship. I’m sorry. You are an amazingly gorgeous, sexy woman, as I’m sure you know.” She laughed. “Doesn’t mean I mind hearing it, though, from a hot guy like you.” I grinned. “I’m sorry. I’m still feeling a bit wounded.” I expected one of two things. She would either get pissed off or offended that her magical beauty couldn’t make me forget about my issues, or she’d try harder to win me over. But Carissa surprised me yet again. She tilted her head to the side sympathetically. “You want to talk about it? How long were you with her?” “About five months. I really thought she was the one, though.” My arms stretched along the back of the couch and Carissa sat back, watching me. “She didn’t feel that way, I take it?” I looked at her for a minute. “No.” Carissa smiled. “Well,” she said, raising her brow and tilting her head at me fetchingly. “I’ve only just met you, but I think she’s pretty stupid.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek. It was a pity peck—but I guess in the place of a pity fuck, I’d take it. We talked for another hour or so until Jordan came out of the bedroom with a towel around his waist and looked at us, obviously in shock that we were still fully clothed and not in some kind of lip-lock. I offered to drive Carissa home so her roommate could stay the night with Jordan. She invited me inside, but I declined. I went home alone, to a dark, empty house, but stayed away from my dark, empty bedroom. Instead I went to my office and opened up my laptop and coded on the new secret project until the sky outside started to lighten and I dozed off, my forehead resting on my crossed arms. We programmers called that “trance coding.” In reality, I was using the time to avoid the demons that haunted this void of a home. I wondered when things would start to feel normal again. When I could slip back into my old life like the last six months had never happened. But I was beginning to wonder if that was even possible. I was miserable now. Should I give it longer? One of two things would occur—Emilia would leave and I’d have to figure out a way to move on then or I could give in and go with her, if (and this was a big if) she’d take me back. And as the days stretched on with her gone, with the memory of those soulful eyes staring at me across a crowded conference table, I began to think that becoming Maryland’s newest permanent resident was a small price to pay to have her in my arms again.

Chapter Twelve The next day, Saturday, I had an appointment with my friend Lindsay to show her an apartment I owned in Orange. Since I hadn’t seen her in a while and since I was feeling like I had too much time on my hands (even though I was still working seventy hours a week), I offered to show it to her myself and buy her lunch afterward. Emilia disliked Lindsay and she had good reason to. Lindsay and I had been sexually involved when we were both a lot younger—I’d been just finishing high school and she’d been a firstyear law student working for my uncle’s firm. But it wasn’t our past that had put Emilia out. It was the fact that I’d once used Lindsay to make Emilia jealous. She hadn’t tolerated that at all. The apartment, which I had originally purchased to offer to Emilia—and she had just as promptly refused—was still vacant. But Lindsay was thinking about buying it for her nephew, who was attending Chapman University. I drove north to the city of Orange on the 55 freeway, trying to ignore how I felt driving down the same roads I used to drive when I would visit Emilia at her old apartment. Trying to disregard that constant nagging feeling of loss. It was crazy. Only five short months ago we’d been at the beginning of this thing. Those five months now seemed like a lifetime—like I’d lived an entire existence, from birth to growth to experience. But it was a life cut short before its time. And in my soul there were mourners gathered at the funeral of what had been our relationship, our love, unwilling to forget or even believe that it was already over. It was still a gaping wound—sometimes a throb, sometimes a deep, deep ache. But it was something I couldn’t put out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried. I unlocked the door and went inside. As usual, Lindsay was late. I swear the woman would be late to her own wake. If we had ever been a couple, it would have driven me batshit insane. Fortunately, we never even attempted it because it never would have worked. We’d both been too young, but wise enough to know that we were both too similar and so polar opposite as never to see eye to eye. She’d hit on me recently, when she’d first started her divorce proceedings last spring. Since then, things had been awkward between us. In fact, I hadn’t seen her in person since that day she’d come to my office to have lunch—the day Emilia had seen us together. I’d made a poor decision that day to see how Emilia would react. I’d grabbed Lindsay around the waist and whispered in her ear while Emilia had watched us with wide eyes and an expression of horror. Lindsay wasn’t stupid and had figured it out immediately, scolding me for doing it as Emilia turned and ran out of the building. Lindsay had even told me to go after her, but like an idiot, I’d refused. I pulled out my phone to send Lindsay a text after waiting half an hour. Then I heard her heels echoing in the stairwell. The door had been left ajar but I went to open it for her. “Adam!” She grabbed my shoulders and landed a kiss on my cheek—which I returned on hers. She wore too much perfume and was fully made up, as always. She looked as if she’d just stepped out of a fashion photo shoot for Vogue, quite typical for her. At thirty-two years old, she was still a very attractive woman—always had been. When I’d met her, while running errands at my uncle’s office, it had been more than flattering to have a gorgeous blond law student show an interest in me. Yeah, she’d been my first. Not that it really meant anything to me now. I gave Lindsay the brief tour of the apartment and we ended up in the empty kitchen. “This has been vacant for a while…” she said, with a question implicit in her statement. I shrugged, not really wanting to go into the reason I’d bought the place. “Yeah, well, the original reason for getting it no longer exists.” She gave me a long look and I avoided her gaze.

“How are you holding up, tiger?” I sent her a questioning look. “The lawsuit. Peter tells me it’s the bane of your existence. You should just stop being your usual type A self and let the insurance guys handle it.” I blew out a tight breath. “Those people are idiots. They’ll save themselves a few dollars while putting my company’s reputation on the chopping block. Fuck them.” She raised her brows. “Not much you can do about it, you know.” “Yeah, but now the rumors of settlement are getting out and people are blogging about it and speculating. There’s talk of a congressional hearing on the harmful addictive qualities of video games. Guess who’s first on the list for a possible subpoena for that?” She frowned. “Wait, what are the bloggers saying about the company? Anything libelous?” I shrugged. “Speculation, rumormongering. Warnings that concerned moms everywhere might get restrictions imposed on online games. They’ve already got ratings for content maturity. Who knows what’s next? Maybe a risk-of-addiction meter?” She snorted. “Well, I think you know—and are related to—enough lawyers that if anyone went after your reputation, you could send some scary cease-and-desist letters, at the very least.” I rolled my eyes. That would solve my problems. Not. Lindsay scrutinized me, eyes focused on my neck. “What the hell is that? A hickey?” I put my hand on my neck. “What?” “You’ve got a bruise—and another one there—” She came up to me and looked closely. “Not a hickey. So you weren’t getting busy with the little coed?” I threw her a warning look and she dropped the teasing smile. “Okay, I won’t tease. But why are you all bruised up?” She reached over and yanked the collar of my polo shirt aside, stretching it back from my left collarbone. “You’ve got like—oh, when did you get this?” she said, getting a glimpse of the tattoo. I’d never minded it before, but since Emilia had mentioned Lindsay’s overly intimate behavior toward me, it now grated. I pulled back from her and readjusted my shirt. “Are you done? The bruises are from paintball.” “Yeah, I’ve moved on from the bruises. I didn’t think they were from domestic violence. What’s with the tattoo? Of all the people in the world, I would have never imagined Adam Drake tattooing a woman’s name on his chest—especially when it’s not the woman he’s currently with.” “So are you interested in the apartment or not? Because if not, I’ll get my realtor to put it up on the market.” “You aren’t going to tell me who Sabrina is?” I shifted, giving her an irritated look. “Nope.” I never spoke her name. It had taken everything in me to even get the tattoo, but it had been something I’d had to do at the time. I’d been afraid that I was forgetting her, letting her slip from my memory and my heart. It was a stupid notion, but at the time, it had made sense to me. It was a way to keep a piece of her with me always. I’d never spoken of Bree to anyone—not even my own family. My uncle and cousins knew, of course. But Lindsay had never been privy to what was inside my heart. Which made it even more remarkable that Emilia had been able to wrest that secret from me with hardly any effort at all. Usually if people asked me who Sabrina was after seeing the tattoo, I evaded the question. While we’d been sitting in the hot tub on my yacht, Emilia had asked me, too, after having bared her soul to me about a painful experience from her past. And I’d answered her. Simply, shortly. But even that had taken every bit of strength I could muster. Emilia was the first person I could talk about it with. And only in short, vague terms, recounting the pain of my childhood as if it was someone else’s faraway tale. I shook my head to rid it of the thought.

Lindsay looked away, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder. She was clearly annoyed by my secrecy. “I’m sorry. You must be pretty upset.” “Not at all, but I am hungry and it’s two o’clock, so how about we wrap this up over lunch?” Lindsay turned and walked slowly to the counter to fetch her bright red purse that matched her long nails. Then, she pivoted toward me. “I talked to Jordan. He told me about—about you and Mia breaking up.” I set my jaw. I did not want to discuss this with her right now. “It’s okay, Adam. I’m not going to proposition you again. I do have some pride. I’m just worried about you, that’s all. As a friend. You’ve never really been with anyone…well, that I know of, anyway,” she said with a significant gesture in the direction of my chest and the tattoo. “And from what I understand you and Mia were living together. It— well, I’m just sorry, that’s all. You seemed happier than I’ve seen you in a long time. Healthier, too.” I sighed and gave a pointed jingle of my keychain, which dangled from my fingers. She scrutinized me with hardening eyes. “Okay, you are going to be a typical guy and refuse to talk about it. But is it really a lost cause?” I gritted my teeth. “Probably.” She nodded. “I’m going to give you some unsolicited advice. And you’re going to have to listen until I walk out that door and follow you down to the restaurant. She’s young, Adam. She’s what—twenty-two, twenty-three? That’s the same age I was when you and I hooked up. The last thing on my mind was commitment and a future in a relationship. She wants to be a doctor. I wanted to be an attorney. It was the most important thing to me at that point and no man was going to get in the way of that.” I let her talk. I listened to what she had to say, but hell if we were going to actually have a conversation about this. This whole encounter had already crossed over into the Twilight Zone. I was expecting Rod Serling to step into the room at any moment to provide a dry narration of the fucked-up history between Lindsay and me. “So, let’s decide already. Italian or Mexican?” I asked. She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes. “Just think about it. Give her some space. She may just come back to you if you back off and don’t push your agenda.” Well, that advice sounded familiar. “Is this where you pull out your inspirational keychain with the picture of a butterfly and the saying that if you love something you should set it free?” Her lips twisted into a dry smile. “Something like that.” She turned and walked out of the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s go eat.” I followed her out and we did enjoy a pleasant lunch—mostly talking about safe subjects. She never brought up Emilia or the tattoo again, at least. Like I said, Lindsay wasn’t dumb. But, unsolicited or not, her words kept rolling around in my mind. This was the reason Emilia had backed off—because she cared more about being a doctor, her original goal since she was a child, than she did about this new relationship full of unknowns. In trying to secure her, I had pushed her away because I had arrogantly assumed that I was the number one priority. While at the same time telling her that she wasn’t the number one priority to me by refusing to move back East to be with her. I was beginning to realize how ridiculously unfair I had been in that. The real question was, was it too late for me to fix it?

Chapter Thirteen The next day was Sunday and I had very little to do in the morning. In this post-Emilia life, the weekends were turning out to be the worst. The loneliness threatened to rise up and suffocate me. Especially when I was trying my hardest to resist my old fallback—work. There was plenty to do, but today I wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t fall into those old patterns again. But it called to me like alcohol to a wino, like the baccarat table to a gambler. Just one hour, that voice would say. You can log in and get stuff done. It will be so productive. After an hour, you can log off. Or maybe just swing by the office and check on things. But I’d prove to myself that I could resist—if just for today. No checking work e-mail. Because once I fell down that rabbit hole, it was a steep-ass climb back out again. And I had no desire at all to go hiking some godforsaken mountain trail to reclaim my inner self. I allowed myself the concession that playing on DE would not be in complete violation of this Sunday work blackout. So I started up the game and logged on to my invisible Gamemaster account to see if the old group I used to play with was on. We often played together on Sunday mornings and I wondered if they were continuing the tradition. I checked my friends list. *Your friend, Eloisa, is online. Emilia. *Your friend, Fragged, is online. Heath. *Your friend, Persephone, is online. Kat. They were all here. I checked their location. Golden Mountains Region. They were working on the big secret quest. I resisted the urge to run the commands to see if I could read their in-game texts to each other. They used voice, mostly, unless I was playing with them. I sat back with a sigh. Like the rest of the players of Dragon Epoch, my regular gaming group had erroneously concluded that the Golden Mountains quest chain actually started in the Golden Mountains region instead of where the very first clue actually hid, in plain sight of all. I smiled deviously at the screen. It had been months since the launch of the expansion and no one was any closer to figuring out the damn thing than they had been when it had started. If people didn’t start getting clues to that thing soon, I was certain we’d have a riot on our hands—a massive player revolt. Maybe even a sit-in demonstration at DracoCon. Already there were sites that claimed that the quest was a myth or a hoax or hadn’t even been finished and implemented into the game yet. How wrong they were. The idea for that quest had sprung into my mind while dreaming up the original storyline for the game, years ago. It had been something of a dream and a long-term goal of mine to develop the technology and game programming in order to implement it. I wasn’t about to give up those clues easily. Not even to the woman I loved. I remembered her teasing me about it. My clues to her had all been genuine, but they’d been so vague as to be useless and she’d known it. I hit the command that would cloak my character from being seen—an ability that could only be used by employees of the company—and traveled to their location. I’m not sure what I wanted to accomplish, but as I sat there for ten minutes watching them beat the life out of an endless string of trolls, I decided I was bored. It would be more fun if I could play with them. I wasn’t sure how Emilia would react, but at that point I didn’t care. They were my friends, too, and I deserved to spend a little time with them, even if Emilia had chosen to break up with me. I risked her thinking of it as creepy stalking, but I was determined not to keep the huge distance in the virtual world

that I was currently maintaining in the real one. I logged out of my employee account and in to my “fun” account. *FallenOne has entered the world of Yondareth. FallenOne was a level seventy-five human spearman. He had gray hair and a long, white beard. He kind of looked like a cross between Santa Claus and a Chinese monk. I’d been in a weird mood on the day I created him and his look cracked me up. But he kicked ass and I liked him as a character. I found the nearest magic portal—couldn’t use any of the fancy employee tricks on this account—and sent my character to the zone where my regular group was working their magic. *Persephone tells you, Holy shit…is it really you? Where have you been? *You tell Persephone, Yup, really me. I’ve been doing other stuff. *FallenOne has been invited to join Persephone’s group. I clicked the appropriate button, accepting the invitation. Suddenly my headphones were assailed with Heath and Kat chattering excitedly on in-game voice chat. And for the very first time, I planned on joining them. Previously, FallenOne had only engaged with the group through text. I could hear them all over voice chat, but I only communicated with them by typing to help preserve my anonymity. Since I type fast, it wasn’t difficult to do. This had worked in my favor when I’d met Heath and then Emilia, because it had helped me keep my identity as their in-game friend a secret. I’d done a lot of things, in those early days, to throw her off track so she’d never suspect. Some of it had been nice, and some, like my asshole act that day we first met in person, not so nice. I adjusted my headphones and mouthpiece and pressed the talk button. “Hey guys, how are you?” “No way!” Kat said. “Fallen’s on voice chat. You really are a dude!” I laughed. “You thought I was a chick?” “I thought you were a chick,” said Heath. “Screw you. I’m a dude. I won’t mention the details about being sixty-five and covered with back hair, though.” “Eww,” said Kat. “I hope to God you’re kidding.” Emilia wasn’t saying a thing. I knew she could hear me. The icon next to her character’s name indicated that she was hooked into voice chat. “Hey, Mia, why so quiet?” I said. “She’s in a bad mood. We’re hacking through trolls to cheer her up,” said Kat. “Hey, Fallen,” Emilia finally said. “Great to hear your voice.” My screen lit up with the purple text that indicated a private message from Emilia. *Eloisa tells you, Hi. “So what’s with the bad mood? Is killing trolls helping?” I asked. *You tell Eloisa, Hey. “Yeah. Well, you know me. I’m always in for a good troll beat-down. I’m feeling useful, for once,”

Emilia said. “These two losers actually need my elite enchantress powers to survive.” To my surprise, we continued with the parallel conversation—one taking place over voice chat and the other, the private one, in typed instant messages. *Eloisa tells you, So…how was your hot date? *You tell Eloisa, How was your trip to Baltimore? *Eloisa tells you, Touché. I guess you got me there. “Whatev, Mia,” Kat said. “You’re always useful. But what the hell—my system has not been working right since that fucking patch those idiots put into the game last week. Assholes must have screwed something up.” I suppressed a snort. It wasn’t every day I got called an asshole and an idiot by my in-game friend. Didn’t matter that she didn’t know she was actually calling me an idiot and an asshole. “Yeah, those jerks at Draco. Damn them,” Heath said, not even attempting to hide the laughter in his voice. *You tell Fragged, Fuck off. *Fragged tells you, HAHAHAHAHA “Kat, the problem is that you just have your head up your butt again,” said Heath. “Shut up, Fragged, or I’m going to let you die this time.” “This time? I die so much in this game they’re going to make me buy a plot at the local cemetery.” I snickered. “Maybe it’s just PEBCAK.” “What the hell is that?” Kat asked. Heath and I answered at the same time. “Problem exists between chair and keyboard.” “It’s a common term in IT,” I added. “Oh shut up, Fallen, I liked you better when you could only type,” Kat hissed. *You tell Eloisa, So are you ok with me playing today? Was kind of bored. *Eloisa tells you, It’s okay if you play. Better playing than working. *You tell Eloisa, Right. *Eloisa tells you, You aren’t working too much, right? *You tell Eloisa, Ummmm. “So, what are we doing?” I asked the group. “Just hacking on trolls for hours on end? Let’s do something productive.” “We’re working on that shitty quest,” Kat said. “I read on Gamer Garden that they’ve found evidence of a key to the first part of the dungeon system to rescue the princess. It drops when you loot a random dead troll. But it’s super rare. So we are killing them by the hundreds to see if it drops.” I sat back, trying not to laugh. I hadn’t seen that article. What a load of bullshit. I’d have to ask the developers on Monday if they had planted that bogus clue themselves. “What do you think, Fallen? Is it a waste of our time? I’m really, really curious to get your opinion on it,” Heath asked. *You tell Fragged, Fat chance. “I dunno. I’ll go with the flow. If you guys are having fun, let’s just keep at it. Hopefully Em—Mia is

feeling less cranky?” “Wreaking murder and havoc on the monsters of Yondareth always brightens my mood,” she said in a breezy, distant voice. *Eloisa tells you, Nice almost-slip, genius boy. *You tell Eloisa, Can’t *always* be perfect. Yeah, I’d almost slipped and called her Emilia. As far as I knew, I was the only one who called her by her full name. I’d started out doing it as one of my many ploys to throw her off track as to who I really was. But it had stuck. She was my Emilia. Mia was what everyone else called her. *Eloisa tells you, Yeah, so…really…you aren’t working too much, are you? *You tell Eloisa, Define “too much.” *Eloisa tells you, Adam… I sat back, my fingers hovering above the keyboard. My chest seized again. I was touched by her concern while at the same time resenting it. God, I missed her. And we’d only been broken up for a few weeks. *You tell Eloisa, I’m mostly fine. *Eloisa tells you, Why only “mostly”? *You tell Eloisa, I figured that would be obvious. “Incoming one badass motherfucker! It’s Grubious the Great. Get him! He’s got loot!” Heath yelled into his mic as his character appeared out of nowhere, chased by one very large and angry troll. Our group jumped into action and a few minutes later the troll’s corpse was dead at our feet, his virtual loot split between the four of us. *Eloisa tells you, Sorry. I meant, like with the lawsuit and stuff. The bloggers aren’t being very kind. *You tell Eloisa, So I noticed. Glad to see Girl Geek has stayed out of it. *Eloisa tells you, Of course I’d stay out of it. I spend my efforts on important things like raging about chainmail bikinis, not lawsuits. We spent over an hour working our way through those trolls, which generated (in gamer speak we used the word “spawned”) as fast as we could kill them. The mythical key never appeared, as I knew it wouldn’t. I was almost tempted—almost—to log in on my other rig and code something that looked like a key for them to find as a joke, but decided against it as too mean. I figured I’d throw them a bone instead, even if it was a very, very subtle bone. “So guys, this is getting extremely boring and we aren’t getting anywhere,” I said. “How about we go make some new characters and run around the starting area?” “WTF, Fallen. Newbies? Um, no. I’m not in the mood to get killed by a first level bat over and over again while picking yellow daffodils for General SylvanWood’s lost love,” Kat said, referring to one of the basic first quests ever given to a new character in the world of Dragon Epoch. *Fragged tells you, What’s the matter…are we getting warm? I have a feeling we’re on the right track and you’re trying to reroute us. It *is* the key, isn’t it???

I laughed again. Like I would tell him. I hadn’t even told Emilia anything helpful and I’d slept with her every night for months. *You tell Fragged, Ooops, I guess you caught me. A little while later, Katya logged off to go to work. Heath stayed for another few minutes before signing off and Emilia and I were on, alone. Instead of sending text chat, we could actually talk. “So…” she said. I cleared my throat and stared at her avatar on the computer monitor. “I’m glad you decided to come back to work,” I began lamely. “I don’t think William would have forgiven me if I hadn’t.” “Not true. He wouldn’t have forgiven me.” She laughed a little nervously. “Maybe you’re right.” There was a long, awkward pause. The static electrons hissed between us. It hurt, hearing her voice and knowing she was close by. The distance between us might as well have been millions of miles. She began again. “So…I’ve been thinking about all the stuff being said on the blogs right now—the ones focusing on the developments of the lawsuit…” I pinched the bridge of my nose and rubbed it, feeling the onset of a new headache. It served me right. The doctor had advised me to wear special glasses while using the computer and I almost always forgot to put them on. Of course, I didn’t fully believe his theory that the eyestrain was what induced the migraines. “Yeah? What are your thoughts?” “I know these people—well, not in person, but we communicate online a lot. I read and comment on their blogs, they comment on mine. We share info. We e-mail each other. I know what would steer them away from this beat-down campaign.” I frowned, concentrating on her words and wishing I could see her face. I imagined that cute little dimple that appeared between her eyebrows when she was concerned. “What’s that?” “Change the conversation. Get them talking about something else.” “Well, I was hoping that the buzz around our very first DracoCon would do that, but it doesn’t even seem to be making a dent.” “The Con is going to be awesome and a lot of the bloggers will be there. But I know of something even better.” “Yeah? What?” “The hidden quest.” I sighed. “Is this another attempt to pry clues out of me?” She paused. “It’s an attempt to help you save your company’s reputation. This would get them off the warpath. And players would flock to their blogs if they were discussing their progress on the quest.” “Bullshit. The minute that quest is uncovered, it’s over. They put their heads together and share clues. Then, they solve the entire thing in a thirty-hour period and post spoilers online so everyone else can just repeat what they uncovered. I worked on the concept for that quest for years. I’m not about to see it just blown through in a day and a half.” “But…it’s been six months since it was implemented. People are claiming the quest doesn’t even exist or that the code for it is broken. I know in my heart that the quest will be an amazing experience or you wouldn’t be so protective of it. But you have to let it go. You have to give it up so that others can enjoy it.” I shook my head though I knew she couldn’t see me. “I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”

She sighed. “Okay. You can’t keep all your secrets forever, you know.” That seemed like a personal message to me about us. I took a deep breath, feeling like we’d crossed over into forbidden territory. We’d never expressly forbidden this territory, but it seemed dangerous all the same. “I’ll keep them for as long as necessary.” “I see,” she said quietly. I paused. “When can I see you again?” I finally asked. She cleared her throat. “I thought you were seeing other people.” “That’s not an answer.” She paused. “I don’t know.” I closed my eyes, the headache intensifying. But this ache was nothing like the one in my chest. I’d fucked up with her, badly, and if I didn’t rein myself in soon, I stood to fuck up even more. “I’m gonna go. I won’t log on again unless you want me to.” “Why would I not want you to? You had fun today, I could tell. I’d never ask you not to log on.” “I did have fun, but you enjoying your gaming time is more important.” And I probably wouldn’t have logged on if I hadn’t wanted to hear her voice so badly. “Adam, I…” “Yeah?” “Just—think about what I said, okay? And…” I waited. It took her a minute. “And take good care of yourself, okay?” I took a deep breath and expelled it. I wanted to go over there right now and I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her senseless. This feeling of emptiness was almost overpowering. “Okay,” I said in a dead voice. “Thank you. I’ll see you around.” Yeah…around. My stomach knotted. We said good-bye. In my soul, the temperature was absolute zero, the temperature of space. And I was empty, like the huge distance between the stars, out on the edge of existence. When I’d spent a week and a half on the International Space Station, one of my favorite activities was to go up into the cupola once we’d crossed the terminator—the line between day and night in orbit. From that observation dome, I could see the stars —marvel at the blackness of empty space between them. Wallow in my insignificance as a tiny spec of a being in awe of it all. My worries, my life had felt so inconsequential in the middle of the vacuum of space. It reminded me that if I really needed some perspective, I could attempt another flight, as I’d vowed to do the minute I’d touched down in the landing capsule from the previous trip. Another grand adventure for Adam. All alone. Because my last “grand adventure,” my Emilia, was turning out to be an epic failure.

Chapter Fourteen DracoCon was in less than two short weeks and after the weekend, I found myself putting in long hours at work, despite Emilia’s requests that I restrain myself. I was well into my twelfth hour on Monday, running to keep ahead of another headache that had been hovering over my brain for the previous twenty-four hours. It was haunting me. Sometimes they came on that way…a distant inevitability that I knew I couldn’t avoid. Sometimes they struck suddenly, like mind-searing lightning. This one ended up doing both. And it happened when the complex was mostly dark, at around 7 p.m. Several staffers had stayed late to get extra work done and I was on my way back to my office from development when the fucking thing slammed into me like a brick in the face. There were no visual distortions this time, just pure pain. I hadn’t had a violent one like this in a long, long time. Thank God no one was around to witness it. I might have dropped to my knees and whimpered if I hadn’t been standing near the wall. I slumped against it, closing my eyes, hoping for this wave of craniumcrushing agony to pass. With it came nausea. My stomach turned. And if I didn’t will it otherwise, I’d probably soon be puking up my guts. I crawled back to my office, threw open the door to the lighted hall, but kept the room in darkness. Going over to the couch, I slumped down and closed my eyes. I lay there for almost half an hour, willing the pain to pass. I tried to decide whether I should give in now and take some kind of medication or if I should just tough it out. I heard someone approach from the outside. I half-wondered, through the haze of pain, if Maggie hadn’t gone home yet, when the overhead lights came on, stabbing at my eyes and right through my head. “Turn it off,” I moaned, throwing an arm over my eyes. The lights flicked off immediately. I listened to the footsteps, hesitating in the doorway. Likely it wasn’t Maggie, but it might have been Jordan or one of my close associates who knew about the headaches. Otherwise I could just claim that I was sick from bad sushi at lunch or something. Then the steps inched into the room, hesitating. “Adam? Are you okay?” came a small, quiet voice. I was in a full-on sweat now, but the headache wasn’t so horrible that I didn’t recognize the voice when I heard it. Emilia. “I’m fine,” I said, my eyes still firmly shut. Even the dim light from the doorway would just aggravate the situation more. Right now that was the last thing I needed. “You’re not fine.” Her voice came from right beside me. “You’re sweating.” “I’m hot.” “Bullshit. What’s going on?” I breathed through another wave of pain. I put my hand to my forehead, pressed down in the center— the pain crackled, out of control. I let out a long breath. “It’s just a headache. Go away, please.” She set something down—presumably whatever it was she’d brought with her. “I was just leaving Mac’s display board for you to go over. When I saw the light off, I figured you weren’t here. You seem to be in a lot of pain.” You seem to be in a lot of pain. Thank you, Queen of the Obvious, I wanted to reply. And it wasn’t just the wretched agony that made me wish I could decapitate myself, either. It was a deeper, soul-ache of a pain. The one in my heart. The hole she’d torn in it when she went away. I turned my head away from her, facing the back of the couch. “Adam, let me help you. Can I get you some water, anything?” I blew out a long, tight breath. “It’ll pass soon,” I said. It had better fucking pass soon. Emilia got up and shut the door to the office, leaving us in almost complete darkness. How she made it

back across without tripping was a mystery to me. But in seconds she was beside me again, sitting on the edge of the couch, her hip nudging against my ribcage. “You’ve had something like this before?” She didn’t know about the migraines, because I’d never told her about the really bad ones I used to get. The few that I’d had while we were together had been easy to shrug off. I turned my head back toward her and opened my eyes. I studied her silhouette in the darkness—the white blond hair stood out, even in the dim light. The pressure vise that held my temples eased up just slightly. At least the nausea was starting to fade. “Why’d you change your hair?” I said, startling myself. Had I said that out loud? She shifted. I couldn’t see her facial expression. She turned her head away. “I wanted a change.” I let my heavy lids drop over my eyes again, weary. I didn’t want to fight anymore. I didn’t want to be angry. She’d murdered my heart, but I didn’t want vengeance. I didn’t want this pain weighing down every thought and action. “You’ve made a lot of changes lately.” “Adam, you’re starting to worry me. Your speech is slurring.” She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her key chain. “Can I look in your eyes?” Was that a joke? I turned my head. “What?” “You could be having a stroke.” “I’m not having a stroke. It’s actually feeling a little better.” She bent over me. “Will it hurt if I shine this key light in your eyes? Just for a second?” “Why not just jab some chopsticks in there while you’re at it?” She sighed. I didn’t say anything for a long moment. The majority of the pain was easing up, slowly. “Okay, you can look, but no more than two seconds.” “Two seconds per eye?” She bent over me and pushed on a tiny light—what I thought was her key light. Asked me to open my eyes as she leaned in close. I could smell her skin, her hair, the laundry soap she used on her clothing. The familiar scents of Emilia. My gut tightened. My hand twitched at my side. I wanted more than anything to reach up and touch her. To smooth my hand across her cheek. I let it fall before it was an inch off the surface of the couch. She straightened, turning off the light. Thank God, because it’d felt like she was sticking pins in my eyes as she used it. “Anisocoria,” she said, her voice heavy with concern. “Do what?” “Your pupils are not dilated to the same size. Has anyone mentioned that to you before? I’d never noticed because your eyes are so dark.” “My pupils aren’t the same size? Huh. I’m lopsided?” “It’s common enough if they’ve always been like that—one fifth of the population has anisocoria, but if they haven’t been…well, you should get a CAT scan or an MRI to check.” “Had both done, many times.” She paused. “Really? How long have you been having these headaches?” “Since I was twelve.” “Shit. How come I never knew?” I was silent for a moment. “There’s a lot you don’t know, isn’t there?” A lot she’d never bothered to stick around long enough to learn. She paused. “You do love your secrets.” Yes. That was true. We both did. “Are you sure I can’t get you some water?”

“Just stay here and talk to me for a minute. I’ll be okay.” She shifted beside me, sliding on the floor but resting her arm on the couch beside me. “Okay. But I’d really like to do something. I feel helpless.” “I’ve known that feeling all too often lately.” She sighed. “What therapies have you tried? For your migraines?” I blew out a breath. “I don’t want to talk about my migraines.” “What about acupuncture, or acupressure?” “No one is sticking needles in me.” “I know some pressure points for migraines. My mom had them when she was…when she was going through chemo. Medication didn’t work, so I studied up on pressure points.” “A codeine and Vicodin cocktail can barely put a dent in a good migraine. I doubt poking me is going to do anything.” “Can I try?” “You’re going to make the world’s weirdest doctor. Western MDs usually don’t go in for that stuff.” “Give me your hand,” she said. I held out my hand and she turned it over, resting it atop hers so that my palm was facing up. Then she placed a finger at the center of my wrist, measured about an inch up and applied pressure. A weird, almost electric jolt shot up my arm. “Does that help at all?” “No.” She increased the pressure for a long moment. “How about now?” “Nope.” “Hmm. Well, this is the spot. There are others on the feet.” “Why not just use your Jedi powers to heal me?” She laughed. “Damn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a Sith lord!” I laughed and then moaned when a fresh shot of pain lanced my skull. “This sucks,” I muttered. “I can’t even imagine.” “You’ve never had a migraine?” I flipped my hand atop hers so that our palms were together and I wrapped my fingers around her hand. “Wait…I’m starting to feel something now.” I could think of two possibilities that might arise from this action. She might try to slip her fingers out of my hand with a light reprimand or she might lean in and kiss me, press her face to mine, open her mouth to me. I closed my eyes, indulging the fantasy. Instead, she tightened her fingers around mine. We sat together in the dark, long moments, holding hands. I turned my hand so that our fingers laced together. She let me. “Is your head any better?” “A little.” I ran my thumb across hers, tracing every contour from the delicate bone at her wrist all the way to her thumbnail. Even there, her skin was soft. She inhaled sharply and I felt a little resistance from her, like she wanted to withdraw her hand but didn’t quite succeed in doing it. I loosened my hold on her, giving her the out, but she didn’t pull away. Our hands played against each other, as we each applied a light pressure, shifting our weight, almost as if we were dancing with just one hand each, pressed against the other. This moment, sitting together with her in the dark, felt so comforting and yet so painful. So close and yet so distant. Need was a giant cavity inside my chest. And it wasn’t just physical desire. I needed her presence, her spirit, her soul. I missed her so fucking much.

I let my head loll backward. If I hadn’t been feeling like such complete shit both physically and emotionally, I might have made an advance. Not a sexual one, but some sort of tentative approach. But the breakup had battered me bloody. Somehow, again, I was as defeated as that powerless, bullied kid I’d once been. Our hands continued that strange, comforting rubbing against each other. Like my hand was making love to her hand. Maybe it was, in a way. Maybe this was all the love for each other that we still had left. “Adam,” she said. “I’m sorry—” “Shh,” I said. “Let’s just be in each other’s presence. Let’s be at peace.” “I want to be your friend.” Friend. That word reverberated in my brain, rolling around like a tin can in an empty, echoing room. “I can’t just be your friend.” “But…you’re dating. You’ve moved on. That’s—that’s good.” “Oh really. You think so? That it’s good?” She paused. “No,” she whispered. “But that’s what a friend would say.” “You broke up with me. Why do you care?” I glanced at her bowed head, still holding her hand. I never wanted to let it go. “I never said I didn’t care. But I never said I wanted to have your love life shoved in my face either…” I sighed wearily. “I’m sorry. Jordan was being an asshole. I don’t know why he said that.” “I’m sure he’s ecstatic that we broke up. I bet he’s the one who set up the date. Probably with one of his perfect supermodel friends.” Stunning how she was correct on every single one of those points. “I don’t want to talk about the fucking date.” “What do you want to talk about?” “I want to talk about us.” She hesitated, her hand stilling. “We’re having a moment, here. We’re being present. We probably shouldn’t go there.” My hand released hers and the backs of her fingers stroked the backs of mine. I’d rarely felt a touch more erotic, enticing. Now that my headache was easing up, her presence was having another effect on me. I wanted her. I went hard at the thought of her spread out on this couch, open for me. I sucked in a deep breath and figured I’d better start thinking about baseball—or programming—or anything but the memory of her long, curvy legs wrapped around my hips as I pushed inside of her. My hand clamped around hers and I pulled it to my lips, kissing the back of her hand. She froze and I released her. Our moment was over, already fading into the past, along with the rest of those glowing moments we’d shared and now buried. Slowly she stood and turned to leave, but I stopped her, putting my hand on her arm. “Thank you.” She hesitated, then she bent. I didn’t turn toward her, but I held my breath, hoping she meant to kiss me. Her warm mouth landed on my temple. “I miss you,” she breathed. And then she was gone. I miss you. What the fuck was that? Why on earth had she left me with that to chew on? She missed me. What a load of crap. She missed me while she was flying out to Baltimore to plan her new life without me? Yeah, I’m sure she cried for hours because of that. She was lucky that that was the last thing she said to me instead of the first or that whole conversation in my office would have gone a lot differently than it had. What the hell was I supposed to do with that? She would have been more merciful just jabbing needles in my eyeballs or slapping me upside the head with a cartoon-like anvil to bring my headache back. Because, thank God, it had faded shortly after she had left, leaving me with only an empty, vague phantom

ache. *** Over the next week, as I continued to put in long hours, I rarely saw her again in person, but her presence seemed to be all over the place online. Some of the bigger blogs were making comments about the lawsuit and feeding the rumors of a congressional hearing on the addictive properties of online video games. They were getting some blowback from Girl Geek in the comments. And despite her admission that she cared more about chainmail bikinis than lawsuits, she was rebutting their arguments on her blog. When she’d first started her temp job at Draco, we’d unofficially agreed that she would not blog about the game, as it went against the nondisclosure policy that all employees were required to adhere to. But how could I call her on this? She was sticking herself out there, getting no small amount of heat for it, and doing it to defend me. And I’d bet she did it without ever realizing that I’d notice. But I did. I noticed everything. She’d even cut out her fun and snarky commentary on Dragon Epoch. Instead her blog posts emphasized how almost every standard fantasy roleplaying game was misogynistic. She was getting crap for it and I took note to keep my eye on that because I knew that women tended to be susceptible to cyberbullying in the online gaming world. It was kind of her to stick her neck out for me and it forced me to reconsider my stance on the quest. Maybe she was right. Maybe I should give up a few of my secrets. But even the thought of it was painful. Those secrets were like my armor, were what separated me from the bumps and miseries of the world. How could I surrender them so easily? In The Art of War, the Master never discussed terms for surrender. And I lived by his code now. The latter half of November approached and finally, it was the weekend before we were scheduled to ship out for DracoCon. As the ultimate team-building exercise—and as a little treat for my employees, given their hard work on convention preparation—we took the day off to fight our epic rematch war against the Blizzard employees. That horde had barely beaten us last year and they had payback coming. They’d been training, too, so it wasn’t going to be an easy fight. But Heath, Jordan and several of my other squad leaders were pros and knew their shit. We’d been working out strategy for months, and they’d be leading the regular employees in their maneuvers. And we knew the twenty-acre partially wooded course we’d be fighting on. The teams would be participating in three different scenarios. Two shorter ones and then a long one that had been intricately designed. We had approximately three hours for each setup with short breaks and meals in between. It was an extremely hot, dry day. So in the parking lot, before we got started, we passed around the bottles of water, sunscreen and geared up. Emilia showed up with Heath, pulling on one of his spare facemasks—which was far too big for her. And she hefted a gun that fit her much better—presumably one that she had purchased for herself. She wore sensible clothing—jeans and long sleeves covered by a denim jacket to protect her from the hard paintballs. Heath had likely informed her how much paintballs could hurt. Even though she was in an old T-shirt and frayed jeans, I couldn’t take my eyes off her—the way the shirt stretched across her breasts, how her jeans hugged her waist, her round ass. That weird white hair was pulled back into a ponytail and capped with a denim hat. Even with the stupid hair, she was hot. She didn’t look up as I watched her fiddling to adjust the mask so it would fit her. With a shake of my head and a reminder that I had to get my mind back in the game, I turned my eyes away, checking my equipment and trying to focus on the tasks at hand. The rest of our team used rented equipment or spare weapons loaned out from our more serious paintballers. And as a gaming company, we were in no shortage of paintball geeks.

I was talking to my majors—Heath among them—while we were lotioning up. Fortunately, we were mostly covered—some heavily so, fearing the painful paintballs. As usual, the regulars just wore camo. I was talking with Heath when a gaggle of young interns from marketing approached us. “Adam, are you done with the sunscreen?” one of them asked. I had no idea who she was. She was young—probably no older than nineteen or twenty—and had yards of wavy dark blond hair. I turned to her, handing her the tube of sunscreen. “Here you go.” Instead she turned and held her masses of blond hair aside. “Can you put some on my neck and back? Please?” She batted her eyes at me flirtatiously over her shoulder. I tried not to scowl, noting she was wearing a fairly skimpy tank top. “So you know these things hurt when they hit you, right?” I said, squeezing a blob onto my hand and giving her a cursory rub down on the back of her neck. The minute I did this, three of her friends appeared next to her. “My shoulders too, please?” she said. I almost told her I was busy and handed the tube of sunscreen to one of her friends to finish when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Emilia was watching me with these girls. Intently watching. So I finished up on Blondie and turned to her friend, a dark-haired girl with bright blue eyes who looked like Snow White. She smiled at me demurely. “Can you do me, too?” Her friend next to her—an impossibly thin, tall young woman—snorted at the innuendo that Snow White had likely purposely dropped on my lap. I shot her a devilish grin. “How ’bout you all do each other? I’ll, um…just watch.” Four mouths dropped and they all started giggling at once. I couldn’t resist glancing at Emilia, who now looked incredibly pissed off. The fourth girl in line took the tube after her friends were done. “Adam, do you need some on the back of your neck?” I grinned. “Got it already. Thanks ladies,” I said, shooting them a mock salute and stepping off past Heath, who snorted at me. I pulled my mask onto my face and watched while Heath walked up to Emilia and they talked in low voices. Emilia sent death looks at the flirty interns a few times but never looked at me. Interesting. She was clearly bugged by what she saw. And I would have actually felt badly about it had I done anything to encourage it. I’d once leveraged another woman’s interest in me against Emilia and it had not gone over well. In fact, I’d almost lost her before I pulled my head out of my ass and decided to go after her. I wasn’t inclined to pull another stunt like that again. Not with things so delicate between us. I was a little glad to see her irritation, in truth. It was a good sign. She’d said she didn’t want my love life thrown in her face and I had not planned it that way. For once I wasn’t using it to be manipulative. But she had to understand that there were consequences in breaking us up—even if it was just “for now.” I almost wanted to ask her when “for now” would be over. Maybe then I could tell her I’d go to Maryland with her. But I didn’t have time to think about any of that now. We were soon spreading out into formation to begin the games. I called us into positions with a battle shout, “Today is a good day to die,” borrowing the Klingon exhortation from Star Trek. We started out easy—one round each of Capture the Flag and King of the Hill. The teams split on these, with us taking the first and Blizzard taking the latter. With this tie, we went into the third confrontation— the “long form” design. During our lunch break, there was no end to the taunting and shit-talking. The Blizzard guys, as always, took it good-naturedly, but I think it lit a fire under them that we probably should have tried to keep cold. Because the third scenario, based on a mission of gathering information, went long and was grueling.

Hours past when it should have been terminated. The day before, each team leader—myself and an officer from Blizzard—had buried a lockbox in our own team’s territory The locations of each lockbox were drawn on a map, which was then cut into six different parts and hidden on unmarked team members. Once a map carrier was taken out, he or she was required to surrender that portion of the map to the enemy player. Spies, snipers and guerrilla tactics were needed to get the map pieces off the enemy players while avoiding capture of map pieces by the enemy. Once a map had been procured and pieced together, it was only a matter of time to locate the unguarded lockbox. Each one contained the plans for a fully catered theme party for the winning team thrown by the losing team. Tradition was tradition. But Draco was going to win this year instead of footing the bill like in the past. An hour past when this whole scenario should have wrapped up, I called all my messengers to me to try and track down our team’s remaining map pieces and to discern what had been captured. At that point, as far as we knew, only two pieces had been procured by the enemy. But I ordered them to reconnoiter while I went to check out one of our heavily-guarded strongholds—an “abandoned shack” that hopefully still housed the player who carried a precious pieces of the map. When I got there, there were no guards outside. All around were telltale remains of splattered paint everywhere. The guards had all been taken out. That’s when I knew we were probably screwed out of this piece of the map. Nevertheless, I decided to check inside just to be sure. When I rounded the corner and peered into the darkness, I saw a vague movement and heard a gasp from the corner of the shack. And then the most gut-wrenching, earth-shattering pain exploded from my balls. I doubled over, gasping for breath and almost dropped my weapon. I’d been ambushed by the enemy on my own territory and it had been a low, low blow. It was a nut shot and I was about to pay a terrible price for refusing to wear a cup for paintball. “Fuck!” I screeched at least an octave higher than my normal voice as I crumpled to my knees, struggling through waves of pain to hold the gun and take aim on my attacker. “Don’t shoot!” came a familiar voice out of the shadows. She dropped her gun and got up to pull me inside with her. “I’m sorry. I thought you were another Blizzard person.” Emilia. “I can’t believe you just shot me in the balls,” I ground out between clenched teeth to keep from crying like a little boy. I probably sounded a lot like a little boy at that point. She must have been really pissed about those flirty interns. More likely, she had just aimed and shot without knowing who I was or without even waiting. I assumed she must have been here during the ambush that had taken the guards. “The map,” I choked out, fighting the waves of pain still spasming out from my crotch. Fuck it hurt. “Adam, I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching up to take off her mask—a big paintball no-no. “Don’t ever take off your mask,” I breathed, sitting down gingerly next to her. “Or someone will do to your eye what you just did to my nards.” “I still have the map piece, but it was close. They ambushed us and I holed up in here and held them off. But I think they’ll be back.” “Well, thanks to your not-so-friendly fire, our team is now without a general.” “I’m a medic. I can heal you.” She was a medic. Of course she was. She reached into a belt pack and pulled out a red streamer, which she tied around my left arm—a sign that I had been wounded and then healed by a medic. Only medics carried the red streamers and were allowed to use them. They only had a certain number of them and a person could only be “healed” once. “Still not going to help my balls you just shot up. Jesus, I know you’re mad at me, but fuck.” It still hurt like hell and so I was going to bitch at her about it. Why not? Might as well get some mileage out of it. “I can go to the health station and get you an icepack—” she said, standing up.

I grabbed her arm to keep her there. “No, someone will shoot you and then we’ll be out a medic and a map piece. Besides, do you actually think I’m going to sit here with an icepack on my nuts? Jordan and Heath would never let me hear the end of it.” She sat down beside me with a huff. “I don’t suppose I can do anything to help?” I couldn’t resist. “Kiss them better?” She picked up her gun. “Fuck, don’t shoot them again. I was just kidding.” “No. Someone’s got to cover us. They’ll probably come back if they figure out I’m still here.” “Where is it?” “I stuffed it in my bra.” I made a grab for her chest. “Let me see.” She slapped my hand away. “Don’t give me a reason to dish out another nut shot.” I grinned at her and rested my head back on the wall behind me, letting out another groan. It was just sore, now that the majority of the initial bone-wracking agony had faded. “I’m not, you know,” she said. I looked at her, waiting for her to continue. “I’m not mad at you,” she clarified. “Really. You shot my junk for fun?” She laughed. “You know full well I didn’t know it was you.” “I thought you were pissed about the interns,” I blurted. Hell, if she wasn’t going to bring it up, I would. I wanted to know what had been going through her mind when those girls had clustered together and wanted me to put lotion on them. “What about the interns?” she sidestepped. “Oh, I dunno, something about rubbing them up with lotion.” “You missed a great opportunity there. A couple of them are really pretty.” I shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed.” “Liar.” I didn’t say anything for a minute, checked the setting on my gun. I think I was most disturbed by the fact that she didn’t seem to care. But I’d seen that look on her face and I knew what it had meant. “Yeah, they were hot. Maybe I should ask one of them out. Or maybe more than one. They seem willing to share.” Silence. I chanced a glance at her and she seemed to be staring off into space. She turned toward me, then jerked her gun up and aimed past me. “Duck!” she screamed and shot out the doorway at the player who had just appeared there. Orange paint splattered his midsection. I brought my gun around and pointed it at him. He raised his hands. “I’m dead. Back to base.” I stood up and watched him go, limping to the doorway and glancing around to make sure he’d been alone. He was. “I noticed you didn’t shoot him in the balls. Maybe because the interns didn’t flirt with him?” She waved her gun menacingly. “No more talking about the interns or I’ll undo my good deed as medic.” I rubbed at the vicinity of the soreness, blatantly adjusting myself. “Just because you don’t want to use those parts anymore doesn’t mean someone else isn’t interested.” The smile immediately dropped off her face. “We should get you out of here and back to headquarters,” she said. She reached into her shirt and pulled out the folded-up portion of the map. “Should I give this to you?” I took the map from her. It was warm and damp with her perspiration. “You know that part in Return of the Jedi where Han and Leia are trying to break into the bunker and Leia’s injured, but she ends up covering for Han? This is kind of like that.”

“Except Leia didn’t shoot Han in the nuts,” she said. “Besides, you are the one who’s injured, so wouldn’t that make you Leia and me Han?” “Well, you are like Han in that you shoot first and ask questions later.” “I don’t recall Han Solo blowing anyone’s balls off.” I laughed. “Let’s go back to headquarters. I need to check in and see if we’ve made any progress on the enemy’s map. I think I can walk now.” The game had dragged on and because of what we thought would make an awesome scenario, we ran into a stalemate instead. Blizzard’s guys called it first, fortunately. After much deliberation—we had more map pieces than they did, after all—we decided to call a draw. It wasn’t the great victory we’d been anticipating, but at least we weren’t humiliated by them, either. As we were packing up our equipment, I went over and thanked Heath for his excellent leadership on the sniper team. But he was distracted with a text on his phone. He finally jerked a head in my direction. “Oh, hey man, sorry. I’m kind of annoyed because this game went so late and Connor left me a text message wanting to get together.” I thought about that for a moment and immediately saw an opportunity. Things had been easier, more open between me and Emilia today. And if I played this right, I might be able to angle more time with her tonight. “Why not just clean up from here and go meet him somewhere?” I asked. Heath made a face. “Can’t. Gotta run Mia home and I’m sure she wants to go to the dinner with everyone first.” I tilted my head, considering—as if I hadn’t already anticipated exactly what he had just told me. “Well, I’ve got this, then. Why not just let her go to the dinner and I’ll give her a ride home?” Heath eyed me for a minute, so I pulled out my phone and looked at it to make this all look more casual instead of orchestrated. I was pretty sure he was on to me despite my act. “Would Mia be okay with that?” Heath said. I shrugged. “I dunno…ask her.” Heath nodded and went to talk to Emilia who, apparently, was okay with it. Heath took off. We finished packing up, showered and changed in the locker rooms. Afterward, we ate at a local restaurant, a massive joint dinner where the teams got to mingle and razz each other. Much fun was had by all. Or at least I hoped so. The employees had been worked pretty hard in preparation for DracoCon and would be worked even harder until the convention was over. I hoped they’d enjoyed this brief respite. Either way, all the hard work would be done before the holidays, to the relief of everyone involved. Emilia was quiet most of the way to Heath’s apartment—I refused to think of that place as her home. And I was also thinking that this little plan of mine might end up being a bust until she finally started talking. “How are you feeling?” she asked when we were almost there. “Fine.” “You aren’t—sore?” I tossed her a quick look as I downshifted. “Oh, you mean due to your attempt to maim me and ensure I’ll never father children?” Her lips twisted into a wry smile as I slowed and pulled into the parking lot at Heath’s complex and killed the engine. “You know I could make an ice pack for you. If you want to come in, that is.” I hesitated. Oh, this was going better than I’d even dreamed when I’d gotten the idea. She was actually asking me in. I thought at best maybe we’d chat for a bit in the car before she got out. Maybe even a goodnight kiss. I really had no desire to stick ice on my boys—none at all. They were still a little sore, but not enough

to warrant an ice pack. But it would be worth it to ice my crotch if it meant spending time with her alone. Any time alone. Even if we just sat on the couch and watched reruns of Doctor Who. The ice pack was a small price to pay for that, I decided. “That might help,” I lied. I’d put it on for five minutes, maybe, and then dump it. And even as I followed her into the apartment, I began to wonder what the heck was going on in that bleached-white head of hers. I settled in on the couch and she came from the kitchen with a gallon-sized plastic bag full of ice cubes. It was way too much. I swallowed my pride and settled it on my crotch and waited. She seemed at a loss for what to do, so I scooted aside on the couch and she sat down beside me, as I’d hoped she would. She bent to grab Heath’s TV remote. He had a fairly good-sized plasma screen and a decent sound system. It wouldn’t be a punishment to watch old reruns on it—especially if it meant I got to sit with Emilia. She hesitated, fiddling with the remote. She wanted to talk, I could tell, but I was going to fight every urge inside of me to take over the situation. I’d orchestrated this setup, sure, but now I was going to sit back and let her drive this where she wanted it to go. She gave her head a toss—flicking that strange hair over her shoulder. I didn’t take my eyes off of her; couldn’t, really. Even with that ridiculous white hair, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world to me. “You were wrong today, you know…about—about my not being interested in those parts.” I suppressed the urge to sigh in frustration. But I stayed silent. Without a word, I pulled the ice off my crotch and set it on the ground beside the couch, laying it on a towel she had given me. She watched me and continued to fiddle with the remote. “Are you going to leave now?” she asked in a quiet voice. I watched her carefully, scared I might startle her away. When I spoke, I kept my voice quiet. “Do you want me to?” She cleared her throat, her eyes avoiding mine. “I don’t know what I want,” she said in a trembling voice. She wasn’t talking about my going or staying. I waited, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. I wanted to reach for her, to pull her against me, smell her scent, kiss her neck. But this had to come from her. She reached out and fiddled with one of the buttons on the middle of my shirt, scooting a little closer to me. “Am I confusing you?” Not only was it hard to breathe, it was hard to speak. “Yes.” She swallowed. “I’m confusing myself, too.” I wanted to lean in and kiss her, wanted to take over, take the indecision from her, make this my decision, my action. I knew what I wanted. I wanted her. But she had to know what she wanted. If I took over, she’d just complain about me being a control freak again. She laid her head lightly on my shoulder. I resisted the urge to wrap my arm around her, to lean in and smell her hair. I’d tensed briefly from the contact of her against me, but I forced myself to relax. “I miss you,” she whispered again. Pain lanced through me. I ignored it. “I’m right here,” I said. “You don’t have to miss me.” She brought a hand up and laid it on my chest, right in the middle. I was aware of everything that hand did, every square millimeter of contact against me, the spread of her fingers as she laid them over my heart, the throb of my heartbeats under her hand. I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of her. “I know,” she said, her voice trembling. Then she tilted her head to look at me and began to kiss me along the line of my jaw. My only response was to curl my arm more tightly around her waist. I closed my eyes and let her kiss me. She was in control and I wouldn’t do a thing to change her perception of that. Her mouth was on mine and she shifted slowly to straddle my lap, careful to avoid my sore crotch. I kept my hands on her hips while hers moved across my chest. Her mouth slid across mine, opening, her

tongue entering my mouth. I almost lost it then. Despite my previous injury, I wasn’t so maimed that I wasn’t hard as a rock in seconds and ready to do all sorts of naughty things to her. Every single one of them flicked through my mind like a slideshow and each successive image made me more and more eager to take her. Pulling her on top of me, pushing her against a wall, cinching her hands behind her back while I fucked her, biting her, tasting the insides of her thighs, riding her until I was exhausted and spent. A hot surge of lust threatened to rise up and drown me. But I struggled against it. I slammed the dam valves shut tight on that raging force of sexual need. I couldn’t control her or the course of this, but I could control myself. Her arms locked around my neck and I concentrated on keeping my hands where they were instead of roaming up her shirt, like I wanted to do. She was kissing me with a wild abandon, making those delicious noises in the back of her throat, those noises that made me want to listen to her while I made her come, all night, over and over again. When her mouth left mine, it was to make a frenzied rush to kiss her way down my throat while her fingers fumbled with my buttons. “Heath’s spending the night with Connor,” she breathed and I almost lost all control at the implication. She wanted me to stay. She wanted us to sleep together. And God, I wanted it too. I’d never needed to have a woman as badly as I did at that moment. To bury myself inside her, move against her and listen to her moan in ecstasy. I let her unbutton my shirt, run her hands across my chest—they were white-hot against my skin. It felt so incredibly fucking good to have her in my arms again. “Emilia,” I whispered into her hair. “I want you —I need you to come back—” “Shh,” she said, pressing her thin fingers to my lips while she continued to drag her mouth across my neck, sending bolts of pleasure across my skin. My hands went from her hips to her back. I had a choice, here. Sit back, enjoy this, have a nice, pleasant fuck and walk away. Use her for my own needs and let her use me for hers. Make this nothing more than our own little game of Call of Booty. Or make this a meaningful moment. A turning point. A chance for us to turn this whole goddamn mess around. “Emilia,” I repeated and she brought her head up and sealed her mouth over mine in a hot, voracious kiss. Her lips enveloping mine, the blade of her tongue outlining my lips. Her warm breath against my mouth. Her breasts pressed into my chest. I put a hand on either side of her head and pulled her back from me. When we separated, our breath came fast. Lust was burning a hole right through me and I felt empty with it, incomplete. “I’ll go there with you.” She froze for a moment. “What?” “To Maryland. I’ll move there. We can be together…” She leaned forward and kissed me again, her tongue plunging into my mouth, her hands slipping through my hair. Then she was kissing my neck again. “I need you to fuck me,” she breathed against my ear. “Emilia…” But she wasn’t listening. Her mouth was on my chest, her tongue and lips searing my skin. My hands slid up her back. I wanted nothing more than to sit back and follow where she was leading us. But would this just screw up things between us even more? Make it more confused? That organized part of my brain, where the programmer’s mind lived, wanted this sorted out now. I’d make up for the lack of sex later— and I’d make sure we both enjoyed it, a lot. “I want you back,” I hissed. My crotch was sore and aching with the tension of unreleased desire. Oh God, I wanted her. “I want your cock inside me,” she replied. “What about the rest of me?”

She shushed me again, returning her mouth to mine, but I put my hands on her shoulders and pulled her away. “Emilia. Say you’re mine. Say we’ll be together. I’ll go with you.” She hesitated, staring at me with wide eyes, almost as if she was afraid. “Let’s—” she cleared her throat and looked away. “Let’s not talk about that.” She backed off and stood up, reaching out for my hand. “Come on,” she said. I wasn’t an idiot. No way was I going to pass up this opportunity. I followed her into her dark bedroom. She had a twin bed, for God’s sake. I couldn’t sleep with her here, but I could fuck her just about anywhere. But here, I couldn’t lie beside her, sleep next to her in someone else’s bed under someone else’s goddamn roof. I wanted her where she belonged, under mine. She turned and pulled me down to her again, hooking her arms around my neck. “Grab some of your things and let’s go to my house. You can stay with me.” Her hands came up to my chest and pushed me away. “Goddamn it. Can you not try to take over once in a while? Is it really that hard?” “Emilia, I want this to be over. I want us to move past this. I’ll give you what you want. You can go to med school in Maryland. I’ll move for you. We’ll be together—” She sucked in a quick breath and jerked her face away, turning her back on me. I wanted to go to her, pull her back into my arms, but I realized then that I might have already screwed up too badly. Instead I raked my hand through my hair and waited. And waited. She was saying nothing, but her shoulders were shaking. She looked like— She sniffed loudly. Like she was crying. Her hands went to her face. I swallowed. “What’s wrong?” She shook her head. I went to her, put my hands on her shoulders. She tensed, shook her head again, this time violently. “You should go,” she choked out. Shit. I’d fucked up again. “I can’t leave when you’re like this.” She turned on me, her face flushed in the dim light, tears on her cheeks. I expected her to yell, to shake her fist at me, to stomp around or even just storm out of the room. What she actually did, I did not see coming. She came forward and hugged me, pulled herself tightly to me, her wet face pressed to my bared chest, her arms cinching around my waist. It happened so quickly, it almost knocked the breath right from me. “Emilia, what the hell is going on?” “I need you to hold me,” she sniffed. So I did. She wasn’t crying anymore—she wasn’t moving at all. Hardly breathing. The pure helplessness I felt in that moment almost crippled me. I backed us toward her bed. “Come here.” I laid her down on the bed, then closed the door before joining her. She turned away from me, but pressed her back up against me immediately and I wrapped my arms around her. “Tighter,” she said. So I tightened my hold and she relaxed against me, fitting her head underneath my chin. “Emilia…I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ll call my realtor. Have her look into some places where we can live. I can run the business from there. I can’t lose you.” She shook her head. “Don’t…I’m not moving to Maryland.” I hesitated, completely confused. Had she not just flown out and spent a week there? “But…does that mean you’re staying here for med school?” She said nothing for a long moment, then took a deep breath. “Med school’s on hold for now.”

What the hell? I opened my mouth to ask her, but she spoke, cutting me off, her voice trembling again. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please, Adam. I need you to hold me tonight. Just hold me, please?” How could I refuse that simple request? I laid my face beside hers, my cheek pressing against hers and I pulled her to me as tightly as I could while still allowing her the ability to breathe. There was a whirlwind of confused emotions blowing inside me. Relief—she was staying here. Concern—she obviously wasn’t happy about it. And medical school was on hold? Why the hell? She’d already put it off for a year because of the test. Now she was pushing it back another year? Or maybe she was pushing it back indefinitely. Not fifteen minutes later, she was sleeping and I was still reeling from this new development—and yeah I had a spectacular case of blue balls to go along with that frustration. Would she tell me any more later? There were ways I could find out—but I wasn’t that much of an idiot. I wasn’t going to use them— and not only because of the risk of her discovering it again. But also because it was just wrong—a violation of her privacy that I never, ever should have considered and, quite frankly, was now heartily ashamed of. I’d wait for her to tell me. God, I just hoped it wouldn’t take her long. I got up, kissing her cheek, when I heard Heath come in the front door. I buttoned my shirt, covered her with a blanket and walked out into the main room. He stopped, startled when he saw me, throwing a long look at Emilia’s closed door. “What are you—? Well, I guess that’s none of my business.” I took a deep breath. “We were just talking. She got upset.” He frowned. “Is she okay?” I rubbed my jaw, shrugging. “She said—she said she’s not going to med school anymore…” Heath’s brows shot up. “Did she say why?” I shook my head, staring at him expectantly. He had to know more than I did. If Emilia wouldn’t tell me, maybe Heath would. Heath threw another concerned glance at the door, a distinct look of worry crossing his features. Then he turned away to lay his stuff down with a long sigh. “So…can you fill me in as to what’s going on with her?” He straightened and looked at me. “Adam,” he said reproachfully. “You know me better than that, man. I’m not going to betray her confidence.” “But there is something going on…” Heath’s mouth thinned, but he didn’t say anything. After a moment he only nodded. I tensed. “But you’re not going to tell me—” Heath looked at the door again. “She’ll tell you. I’m sure of it. Just…be there for her man. You have the chance to make up for your past fuckups. I know you mean well, but you have to play this very carefully or this will be it. I don’t mean to be a prick about this because I do like you and I think the two of you…” His voice faded, then he shifted his weight and ran a hand through his hair, making an awkward face. “This makes me sound like a sentimental pussy, but I think the two of you belong together.” I focused every bit of my attention on him, never taking my eyes off of him. My hands were on my hips. “But…you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong with her.” Heath’s features grew stern. “No. I’m not. But I’ll tell you what she needs from you, okay? And if you are half as intelligent with this sort of thing as you are with your coding stuff, then you won’t screw it up. She needs you, clearly. You were here for her tonight. Keep being there for her. Be the man she’ll turn to when she needs a shoulder. Be her friend, all right? Just her friend. Like you were for a year before the two of you ever met.” I took a deep breath and let it out. Back to being FallenOne and Eloisa. Inside I was cold and shaking with worry, but I knew he was right. I nodded.

“She’ll talk to you, man. I promise. But…you can’t push it with her. You can’t pull another stunt like you did with the PI. Wait. She will come to you. Trust me on this. And, most importantly, trust her.” I told him good night. It was 2 a.m. as I left and I spent the short drive home switching through my playlist in frustration. First it was “Owner of a Lonely Heart” by Yes. Yeah, thanks for that reminder, assholes. I punched the next song on the playlist. “The Night You Murdered Love” by ABC. What the hell? Didn’t anyone record a happy, mellow song in the eighties? I stopped when I got to Sinéad O’Connor’s mournful wailing of “Nothing Compares 2 U.” How appropriate. I listened, each word of the lyrics cutting into my skin like a tiny shard of glass. It kept me awake as I drove and it kept me thinking. Nothing compared to Emilia. But also, nothing compared to this pain inside. And they were two sides of the same coin. I wondered how much more of this I could take. And I wondered when she would come to me. Everyone had assured me that she would—even Sun Tzu. But I was full of that same old doubt and fear. The challenge was in not letting it consume me.

Chapter Fifteen The next day after breakfast, I was about to grab my phone to call her when it chimed with a text message. Thank you for staying with me last night. Thanks for everything. My grip tightened around my cell phone and I had to rein in my need to know, that ever-present need for control. Are you ok? I’m worried. Don’t worry. I’m fine. See you at work tomorrow. I hesitated, staring at that last text. Clearly a message to prevent me from going over and seeing her today. I took a deep breath and quelled that first instinct in me to find out what the hell what was going on, or demand answers from her. Obviously my first instincts had gotten me into deep shit with her recently so I was going to ignore them, as ridiculously difficult as that felt. Instead, I spent the entire day at the office. I was aware of what I was doing but told myself it was specifically for the convention. We needed the convention to go off well, especially in the face of this lawsuit coming down the pipeline. I did not want my game associated with such negative events rather than seen as a form of entertainment that millions of people enjoyed. And fortunately, that positive aspect of the game was what the Con was about. Several days before the beginning of the convention, Draco employees relocated to nearby Las Vegas in preparation for the first annual DracoCon. The event would take place the weekend before Thanksgiving, just before the last week of November. And because preparations were crazy, I put in a few eighteen-hour days and got little sleep. And I saw very little of Emilia, unfortunately. But she seemed to be hard at work and exhausted with it. We were able to greet each other in passing, stop and have a short conversation. She seemed to want to avoid talking about what had happened between us the night after paintball. And I kept remembering to control my instinct to dig for information. We still needed to sit down, talk things through. Figure out a way in which we could be together, be happy. I hoped that we’d get that chance after the Con in Vegas. I remembered the first time I’d visited Sin City—during the last year of high school as an independent study student. I’d had a lot of free time between minimal schoolwork and coding the game that would become Mission Accomplished, my first great success. Lindsay had invited me to spend the weekend up there with her and I felt like I’d stepped into another world. I’d been a totally oblivious innocent, really, too young to drink (not that I did much of that now anyway) or to gamble. I’d followed her as she took me around to the various casinos. We’d seen a couple shows. It’d been my first trip outside of my little world since leaving Washington and moving to California. Bright lights of every color burned up and down Las Vegas Boulevard, better known as “The Strip,” from sundown until dawn. Our convention would take place at the Arthurian-themed Excalibur Hotel, built to look like a massive fairy-tale castle. It seemed an appropriate venue, given our game’s fantasy theme. I made the rounds, personally inspecting and okaying each display before the Con started. Jordan was at my side for a lot of it, rolling his eyes and muttering about my control issues.

“Don’t you have something you need to do?” I finally said. “Well, there is the warm-up for the cosplay competition. Some of those girls are going to be in skimpy chainmail bikinis. I’ve appointed myself as a judge.” I sighed, checking off boxes on a checklist on my tablet as I moved to the next exhibit. “Of course you have.” “What about you? Everyone would get a kick out of you being a judge.” “I’m sure I’ll be busy.” Jordan put a hand up to his ear. “Did you say you’ll be busy or you’ll be getting busy?” I shook my head and tried to reply in as stern a voice as I could muster. “Sometimes I’m astonished that you are the CFO of my company.” “C’mon…those interns—” “Work for me. And so they are off-limits. For me and you. One lawsuit at a time is enough.” After fixing some details at a nearby display, Jordan swept up to my side again. “You’re so uptight these days. How long has it been, anyway? Aren’t you due for a little…stress release?” I glared at him sidelong. No one, not even him, was privy to the details of my sex life. “Either get your mind back in the game or go do something else,” I snapped. The Con itself was three days of pure chaos, pure adrenaline, and an unbelievably fantastic high. People loved our product. Lived our product. There were demos and trials and contests. There were cosplay competitions where people dressed as their characters in the game. And, as Jordan predicted, there were some chainmail bikinis. I was certain that, somewhere, Emilia was violently rolling her eyes. There were roleplaying events and head-to-head duels—both virtual and recreated in live-action. I’d never been as proud of our game as I was during those days, seeing the real faces of our players. They were surprisingly of all ages, even retirees. I had the chance to walk around amongst the exhibits and contests. Sometimes I was recognized by the players—sometimes stopped by a reporter and asked about the lawsuit, to which I gave my standard “no comment” answer. When I saw Emilia, she looked tired. It did not appear as if she was getting much sleep. We were playful with one another whenever we had a second to talk. Once she sidled up to me and, when no one was looking, squeezed my bicep. “I just had to get me a little bit of that,” she murmured before walking away. I resolved to sneak in a covert slap of her ass. Still, she looked so strange to me. With her large brown eyes and dark eyebrows and that bizarre white hair, she looked almost otherworldly, like the elf maidens she so liked to parody on her blog. At the employee costume party, she’d added bright pink and purple braids to that white hair. She wore a short skirt in the style of a ballerina tutu and dainty little fairy wings, her face all painted with bright, glittery colors. She looked exotic, different, almost like one of Jordan’s models. Her long legs were prominently on display and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I’d chosen to go as a famous nonplayer character who gave almost every newly created character his or her first quest. He was a sad, broken-down shadow of a man who pined for his lost love. He gave new players the simple request to go into the nearby meadow and brave hostile creatures in order to pick a bunch of yellow daffodils in remembrance of the woman he’d lost. He wore his former uniform of the High Guard—complete with an old-style military coat and kilt. Maggie had tracked down someone to put the costume together for me and when I’d shown up at the party, everybody immediately knew who I was supposed to be. “General SylvanWood!” they exclaimed. I was only missing the pointy ears. SylvanWood was an elf, but I drew the line there. I’d wear a kilt, but I wouldn’t wear pointed ears. Even my geekery had its limits. That last party got kind of crazy in the after-hours. We had some strange competitions and games before the night devolved into a platform pulsing with mildly inebriated dancers and crowds of awkward people

installed around the bar. My kilt, unfortunately, attracted a lot of the wrong kind of attention. Even the five-years-ago me would have been uncomfortable with the flirtatious interns. I’d dealt with overly enthusiastic coworkers before, but this batch of interns from the university just down the road from Draco’s central offices seemed more obnoxious than usual. And they hardly left me alone. The more alcohol they got in them, the less subtle they became. I finally ended up installing myself with the awkward drinkers at the corner of the bar beside Jordan, while observing the wild goings-on of my employees unwinding after many days of difficult work. As the night wore on, the crowd became less inhibited. And, after excusing herself for nearly half an hour—because I did keep track of her movements —Emilia returned and went straight to the bar, asking for a drink. I caught her eye across the bar and she smiled at me. I didn’t take my eyes off her and she raised her brows at me in a question. I motioned for her to come to me and she laughed, downed her shot and walked off. I seethed, my eyes following her. Blondie was trying to get my attention, wanted to know if I liked to dance. I ignored her. Emilia waded into the crowd and began to dance in a group with some of the people in marketing. After fifteen minutes of this, I could see that she was losing her judgment, because the idiots she was dancing with had their hands all over her and she was doing nothing to discourage them. If looks could kill, the glare I was sending those guys would have flattened them. It might have been all in good fun, but it was pissing me off. One danced in front of her, his hands on her hips, another behind her, moved up to grind on her every once in a while. Fury burned through every vein, stiffened every muscle. I closed a fist on the bar. Jordan followed my gaze. “Down, boy. She’s just dancing.” She was more than “just dancing” and appeared to be wasted after one shot. I’d never known her to be that much of a lightweight. I turned to the bartender and ordered my own shot of tequila. Jordan almost fell out of his chair openmouthed when the bartender poured the drink. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you touch that stuff. A hundred bucks says you can’t down it.” I raised my brow. It was so on. I tilted my head and knocked it back—the entire thing, before I could feel the burn. I admit that I did sputter and cough a little—but not so much that it was unmanly. At least in my mind. But I could hardly feel the desired effect quickly enough so, with my glaring eyes never leaving Emilia’s dancing form, I ordered another one. “Double or nothing,” I said to Jordan and he shrugged and laughed. “Making a hundred-dollar bet with a multimillionaire is pointless,” he said. I didn’t care. I wasn’t drinking to impress him, anyway. I downed drink number four before I fumbled off my bar stool and made for the dance floor, toward Emilia and her disturbing shock of multicolored hair. She looked very little like my Emilia, this pale, white-haired imitation. But watching her dance suggestively with my assistant head of marketing was now fucking pissing me off. The minute I joined them on the dance floor, my employees cheered and clapped loudly. Hopefully they weren’t expecting much in the way of moves. I would have been the first person to admit that I did not dance to contemporary music. In fact, I danced like ass because I’d never learned. I had done ballroom practice with my cousin Britt in junior high school. We’d learned things like the foxtrot, the triple swing and the waltz. But I’d never learned any of these dances. And I was a computer nerd—when did I have the desire or need to dance, anyway? I did the last two years of my high-school education via independent study. While my classmates were struggling through algebra, I was designing my own artificial intelligence algorithms. And when my classmates had been trying to get lucky in the back of their parents’ cars with their virginal prom dates, I was carrying out a

nice, comfortable affair with a gorgeous, experienced law student. So I never went to prom nor had I really wanted to. I’d lived far from the typical teenage life and as a side effect had no idea how the hell to dance this way. But it didn’t look hard and I had a shitload of alcohol in me. And it was really just about following the beat, right? Emilia was thrusting herself at that asshole Richard (who I was now thinking of as “Dick” because he’d just had his hands all over my girlfriend). The brief question of whether or not she was even my territory crossed my mind. I waded stiffly through the sea of dancers toward her. Whether or not she was truly mine wouldn’t prevent me from staking a claim. I could see Jordan watching me with concerned eyes, but I didn’t care. If I got out of hand, he’d come over and bounce me, surely. But by then I’d probably be passed out. I’d been drunk a few times in my life, but it was far from a regular occurrence for me. Along with her fluffy white tutu, Emilia wore a purple tank top that clung to her breasts and waist. No matter what she wore, she was gorgeous. The dancing would be a great excuse for me to get my hands on her again. So I came up behind her and did some awkward gyrations, hoping I blended in enough with the crowd. Beyoncé’s “Naughty Girl” started and half the room cheered and clapped. And Emilia was playing along twisting her hips and swaying to the music. Her back was to me so I moved in close and put my hands on her waist, trying my best to follow her movements. She didn’t even miss a beat, apparently unfazed that some stranger (at least I could have been) had come up behind her and was now pressing himself to her backside. It felt dirty. But it felt good, too, fuck it all. At that moment, I was only wondering how much she’d let me touch her. Few in the crowd really knew about Emilia and me. In fact, so few people knew about what we’d been to each other, that it was almost as if that was what had cursed us. What had erased “us” from all memory, even our own. We didn’t have anyone rooting for us to be together. My hands were on her round, tight ass and she was only now starting to show an interest in who I was, casting a glance over her shoulder. When she locked gazes with me, she froze for mere seconds before resuming. A few moments later she did an about-face and turned her back on Richard. Score one for Adam and zero for Dick. I shot a smug smile at him over her shoulder, but he didn’t react. I still had the buzzing desire to fuck him up later for having touched her the way he had. Emilia closed ranks with me and looped her hands around my neck. Her hips brushed up against my crotch and I was instantly erect. Every brush after that was sheer, delicious torture. I pressed my hand to her back, pulling her closer to me. She seemed to have no problem with the display, though I did feel the curious glances of other employees being cast our way. I didn’t give a shit. And if she didn’t, then this was happening, because it felt too good. We danced like that for a few more songs before she turned to nudge her way toward the bar again. I followed her. I’d only seen her take one shot, but she seemed way more affected by it than she should have been. “Haven’t you had enough?” I leaned down and spoke into her ear so she could hear me over all the noise. She was moving in place to the music. “I’m just getting started,” she said. And then she stumbled on her high heels. She stood much closer to my height than normal. I looked down. She typically never wore heels that high, but these shoes were huge and kind of trashy and made her fantastic legs look even better. I wanted to lick those legs, from her thin ankles to her muscular calves to the silky tops of her thighs. Look away, Drake, look away. I had to will myself not to think about that as my erection swelled to epic and uncomfortable proportions under the kilt. But willing myself not to think about how much I wanted every inch of her was like asking a nomad in

the Sahara not to take a drink when he had an entire oasis in front of him. I caught her when she stumbled. “You’re going to kill yourself in these fucking things. You’ve had enough.” “I’m just a little dizzy. It’ll pass.” “Emilia—” She turned and jerked her head defiantly away from me. “Bartender! A round of shots here,” she shouted, pointing to both of us. She seemed to be amused, apparently unaware that I’d already done my fair share of shots, but that pleasant, buzzed feeling was starting to fade and I wasn’t ready to give it up yet and go back to the void of reality. So we grabbed seats next to each other and did two more shots each. After the second round, she put the back of her hand to her mouth and said. “Shit, I’m going to puke.” “No more drinks for you,” I said. She darted a look at me. “You’re not the boss of me.” I laughed. In my current state, that was the funniest shit in the world. “Actually, I am.” She raised her hand to get the bartender’s attention and I pulled her arm down. “You’re done unless you’re planning on redecorating his bar with your puke.” She looked green at that moment—and pale. “Oh God, maybe you’re right.” “What?” “I said, ‘Maybe you’re right.” “Huh?” I said again, putting my hand up to my ear with a smile. She caught on to me. “You’re enjoying me saying that to you too much.” “There’s no ‘maybe’ about it. I’m always right.” I laughed. “Fuck you,” she said, giving my arm a playful push. “Yes, please,” I muttered as I waved the bartender over and settled both our tabs. “I think it’s time for you to call it a night.” She grimaced at me. “It’s a night.” I rolled my eyes. “Funny.” She slipped off her stool and wobbled on those ridiculous heels. “Where the hell did you get those?” I said, steadying her arm. She didn’t pull away this time. “Alex picked them out for me.” I laughed. “That figures.” She wobbled again and looked up at me. “Aw, fuck it.” She kicked them off, opting to go barefoot, and bent over to grab them. When she straightened suddenly, she almost tipped over. I grabbed her and pulled her to me again, when she fell back against me, we both wobbled. “I don’t think it’s just the shoes,” I said. She glanced at me sidelong. “Maybe not.” When we got to the elevator, I asked, “Where’s your room?” “Third floor…um, 309 or 903 or something.” “Probably 309.” “Yeah, no penthouse suite for me.” “Me either,” I said with a grin. Okay, it was a suite, but not the penthouse. “Let’s go to yours,” she said. “I have a roommate.” I’m sorry to say that the suggestion in her invitation sent all my blood rushing straight to my cock. I wish I could claim that lack of blood circulation to my brain had impaired my judgment. But it probably was more like I was thinking with the head below the belt instead of the normal one. She was drunk. I wasn’t much better and we shouldn’t have been doing anything. All of these things ran through my head in the split seconds between the elevator doors opening and my pressing the button for the eighth floor—my floor.

She was on me the minute the doors closed. Her mouth on mine, her breasts pressed against my chest. She tasted like tequila and lime. I buried my tongue in her mouth, let her push me against the wall as she hooked her hands around my neck and ground her pelvis against mine. “Fuck yeah, do you look amazing in a kilt,” she breathed. “What do you have under there?” I sent her a wicked smile. “The usual things.” She kissed me again, murmuring against my mouth. “You’ve been hard all night,” she said. “I felt it when we were dancing.” I closed my eyes, enjoyed the pressure of her hips against mine. “Yes,” I said. I could barely get it out. I was so turned on it was difficult to talk. I hoped to God it was me she really wanted and she wouldn’t have been in this elevator with RichardDick or anyone else who might have tried to get with her tonight. The thought pissed me off again. “Has it been a long time?” she said, looking up to trap my gaze in the tangled web of her beautiful brown eyes. I scowled at her. “You know exactly how long it’s been,” I said. “Those interns in marketing are always talking about how hot you are. How they wish they could climb on for a ride.” I laughed. “Hmm. That’s not really news. They aren’t subtle.” “You haven’t been tempted?” “What about you, dancing with that idiot’s hands all over your ass? I could ask you the same thing.” A strange fist of emotion closed around the base of my throat. I was angry, frustrated, confused and completely filled with lust. My arms tightened possessively around her. She frowned, but before she could say anything, the doors to the eighth floor opened. We fumbled our way out—Emilia dropped a shoe at one point and thought it was the funniest thing ever. I bent to scoop it up, almost tipping over myself and we finally stumbled to my suite. I stood by the door, trying to clear my head for a moment while she dropped her shoes and moved deeper into the room. It wasn’t a penthouse suite, but it wasn’t bad. I’d stayed in better places, but then I hadn’t spent much time up here during the convention—nor had I planned to bring anyone back to my room with me. It had a sitting room, a conference table, a couple widescreen TVs. The bedroom was on the other side of the suite, separated by a set of double doors, which were now open. I leaned back against the door, watching her, trying to access the reasoning portion of my brain through the pleasant buzz fog the alcohol had conjured up. But all I could do was watch her, want her more than I’d ever wanted a woman before—even during that month when I wouldn’t let myself sleep with her, when we were first seeing each other. I’d wanted her then—badly. That month had been a long, slow torture—though in the most pleasant of ways. A voluntary self-blue-balling. But now that I knew how good it could be between us—and when it was good, it was the best I’d ever had—I doubted I had the will or even the desire to stop this, regardless of the amount of alcohol involved. This one night might not change anything between us. We were still firmly ensconced in our own cleverly designed defenses. She was hiding things from me. Maybe she didn’t even have the feelings she once professed to have. Maybe this was all just physical for her. At this point, in this condition, I didn’t care. I could kiss a beautiful swimsuit model and only think of Emilia—cock-blocked by my own damn memories and imagination. Now I had the real thing in my hotel suite and I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. She wasn’t drunk enough that she was beyond the ability to consent. I left the door and followed her into the room. “Wow, nice digs,” she said, turning back to me and laughing. “I got my glitter all over you when I kissed you,” she said, moving up to me to swipe her hand across my jaw.

I snaked an arm around her waist to cinch her to me. “How about you?” I said. “What?” I took a deep breath and let it go, hoping the answer to the question I was about to ask was what I thought it was. “How long has it been for you?” “Hmm. Let me think…” she started counting on her fingers. What the fuck? She cast a coy glance at me and burst out laughing. “You should see the look on your face right now.” My grip on her tightened. “It’s not fucking funny,” I growled. She smiled wryly. “You know the answer to the question already. The last time I had sex, you were there.” Better. That was much better. Thank God. The thought of some other man—like Dick, for example— touching her had almost brought the blind rage to the surface. I expelled a long, slow breath and ordered myself to calm down. I bent to kiss her and she wiggled out of my arms. “I’m going to wash this shit off my face,” she said, squirming out of her ridiculous fairy wings. “Unless you want to be the glittery kilted man.” “You don’t want me to take the kilt off, then?” She turned back to me before walking through the bathroom door. “Fuck no.” And I laughed. The reaction to the kilt was making it well worth the effort—annoying interns or no. I followed Emilia into the bathroom and washed my face in one sink while she slowly washed and wiped her face clean in the other. “You aren’t gonna puke, are you?” I asked. She looked at me in the mirror. “No. Are you? It’s not like you drink. Ever.” I shrugged as she patted her face with a towel. She turned to me and there was an awkward silence between us. Then I lifted my chin at her. “Come here.” Instead, she threw me a cheeky look and turned, walking out the door into the vanity area. I followed her and she stopped in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the wall. She caught my gaze in the mirror and it wasn’t an innocent or passing glance, either. It was focused, intense. I slowly came up behind her, still watching her. She swallowed and raised her head to keep my gaze. My hard-on was getting painful. I hooked my arm around her waist and pressed myself into her backside. “You were asking what was under the kilt…” She laughed. “You need to wear that more often.” I bent and kissed her neck. “Maybe I will, depending on the night’s results.” She shivered in my arms. I’d hit just the right spot. And then she turned, but instead of returning my kiss, she reached out and ripped my shirt open. The buttons went flying. She pulled the thing off my shoulders. “Ohh. So much better,” she said, smoothing her palms across my pecs. Her touch was electric, sending thrills down every nerve. Goddamn I wanted her. And I didn’t want to wait another second. I pressed against her, pushing her up against the mirror, a hand placed on either side of her head. “I’m not very happy with you,” I said. “Oh?” she said, a sly smile spreading across her lips. “Certain parts of you seem very happy right now.” She ground her pelvis against mine to emphasize her point. I groaned as a streak of pleasure zinged through me. I pushed back, pressing her against the mirror. “Are you going to tease me now? Like you did with the guys down on the dance floor?” She sobered. “You aren’t going to let that go, are you? Don’t tell me you kept your hands off Jordan’s model friend, because I don’t believe it.” I pulled my head back and looked at her. “I told you. I haven’t had sex with anyone since you.” “So you didn’t do anything with her at all?” I paused and she scowled. “Ahh. I see. So Rich can’t put his hands on my ass while we’re dancing, but you can grope and kiss a model…”

I tensed. “If he touches you again, I’m going to rip his arm off and then fire him.” “Hmm. Not sure he’d want to work for you after you’d ripped his arm off. Maybe don’t even bother with that second part.” I bent and pressed my mouth to her neck. “I mean it. No one touches you.” “Except you…” she added drily. “If you want me to.” “I don’t know…you make a lot of violent threats when you’re drunk.” I continued to taste her neck, tried to block that negative rage from my mind. I’d never felt this possessive of her before and that was likely because of the wretched fear that I had lost her. “I don’t like people fucking with what’s mine.” “But I’m not yours,” she said quietly, a slight tremor in her voice. Steely determination hardened in my muscles. She felt me tense against her. I’d spend this entire night convincing her otherwise. I reached down to pull her tank top over her head, but she clamped her arms down. “Don’t—” My head came up to look her in the face again. “You don’t want to…?” I hoped I managed to keep the childlike disappointment out of my voice. “I don’t want to take my shirt off.” I paused, puzzled. Did that mean no sex? Or she just didn’t want to get naked? Or what? “Okay. And…?” She watched me, then put her hands very deliberately on my chest again. I closed my eyes, savoring the hot touch. Then she leaned forward and she was kissing my chest. I let out a long groan, savoring the feel of her hot mouth on me. “I want—I need you naked, underneath me,” I growled between clenched teeth. She continued to kiss me. “No. The shirt stays on. Everything else goes.” I pushed back from the mirror and she stared at me, wide-eyed. “You aren’t fucking around with me, are you? Like you are going to change your mind or something? Because there’s no point in continuing this if not and I have no desire to leave this town with blue balls.” She laughed. “I do that to you a lot, don’t I? One way or the other…paintballs or lack of sex.” I reached out and ran my thumb over her bottom lip. It trembled and her eyes fluttered. Another burst of hot desire burned through me. I traced her lips, then pushed my thumb into her mouth. Her lips closed around it and her tongue caressed the pad of my thumb. My breath quickened with excitement. I bent my head to caress her earlobe with my lips. “You had better be sure,” I whispered. “Because if I get you on that bed, then I’m getting inside you.” I pushed my thumb in deeper and her mouth opened around a gasp. I pulled it out again. “I’m sure,” she said. The anger, the resentment, the games were too much and I was seizing control. I grasped her chin in my hand, jerked her head to the side and sank my teeth into her neck. I wasn’t gentle. She barely moved. I moved my mouth to her ear. “Turn around and put your hands on the mirror,” I growled. She did exactly as I told her. Another surge of hot lust shot straight to my cock. I could lift up the kilt now and get under her skirt in seconds. Part of me, still panicking that she’d change her mind, wanted to do just that. With one hand hooked around her neck, I brought the other one around her waist, pulling her to me. I took her earlobe in my mouth and she shivered against me, gasping, her eyes half closed. “You like that…” “Yes,” she breathed. “I’m going to fuck you. Hard. And you’re going to like it.” “Yes,” she repeated.

“You’re going to beg for more.” She closed her eyes, squeezing them. She released her hold on the mirror and grabbed my wrist that was clamped over her belly, holding her against me, and sank her nails into my skin. The pain of the needle pricks felt so good. “On the mirror. Now.” And with only a slight hesitation, she slowly complied. My hand tightened and released its hold on her neck. “I’m gonna watch you come, Emilia. I want to hear your pretty little sighs, your desperate moans. I want to hear you scream my name. My name. Because you are mine.” My hand slipped under the waistband of her tutu and directly into her underwear. I pulled her mouth to mine and I kissed her as my hand found her sensitive, swollen clit. My fingers glided across her, and she was wet and ready. I could barely restrain myself from pushing her to the floor right there. She moaned into my mouth, her hands curling around the edge of the mirror. But she never pulled them away again. “Open your eyes,” I said, my voice hoarse with want. She looked at me. “Watch yourself. In the mirror. Watch what I’m doing to you.” For a long moment she didn’t move, resting her head on my shoulder, looking up at me. So I grabbed her chin again and angled her head. Her eyes found mine in the mirror and I deepened the pressure of my hand on her. “Oh,” she gasped. “Say my name, Emilia. Who do you want?” “You…” she breathed, her lids falling again. “Adam.” “That’s right,” I said, my voice tight. My other hand went to her waist to hold her against me as her knees buckled. “You. Are. Mine.” She let out another long moan that struck me to the deepest center. It was painful. A pleasurable, painful ache in my cock. But I knew that once we got going it was going to be so good. So worth it. Her back arched and she was showing all the signs that she was very near to climax. The hoarse breathing, those delicious little sighs and pants. She was watching us in the mirror and her amber eyes locked on mine. “Adam,” she moaned and I closed my eyes, savoring the sound of my name on her lips, drenched with her own lust. I slipped my hand over her hot flesh, coaxing music from her like a musician from his instrument. “I want you, Adam. I want you inside me.” I buried my face in her hair, nipped at her ear. “Very soon. But now, I think, it’s time for you to come, Emilia.” And just like that, as if she’d been waiting for my permission, she stiffened against me and I felt the convulsions of her orgasm against my hand. She gasped, her eyes rolling into her head as she closed them. I tightened my hold on her waist to keep her from falling, but I didn’t give her long to enjoy the afterglow. Instead I bent, scooped her up and carried her into the next room to the bed. “That night in Yosemite I fucked you four times. I think tonight I’ll go for five,” I muttered. She nestled against me, one hand hooked around my neck. She started kissing my chest and I didn’t want to put her down. There were questions rolling around in my mind. I was still wondering why she wanted to keep her clothes on. But my body just wanted to turn it off, enjoy the pleasure of this night together without thinking. I could get on board with that. Words, conversations, entire monologues and declarations had been left unspoken between us. And I knew that this one night in each other’s arms wouldn’t solve our problems. But maybe at this point what we needed was to communicate in another way—in the basest, most primal way. Or maybe we were both just badly overdue for a damn good fuck.

I could barely contain myself when her hot mouth found my nipple and she sucked on it. Then, without warning, her teeth sank in. I gasped at the sharp pain, pulling her away. She had a wicked smile on her face. “I thought we were using teeth now.” I tossed her on the bed. “We are doing whatever I want us to do. Take off your skirt.” As before, she did exactly what I told her to do, staring up at me, her eyes wide. I watched her slide her skirt and lacy blue underwear off. My hands clenched at my sides. She was breathing hard, her skin flushed. After a long moment where we only looked at each other, she put her hands above her head, her wrists together, as if tied that way, and then opened her legs, tilting her head back and baring her neck. Oh God, if I wasn’t careful, I was going to shoot my wad before I ever got inside her. Watching her like this, submissive, open to me. I didn’t get off on the bondage thing. I’d had a sexual partner once who’d wanted that from me and we found we weren’t very compatible. But seeing Emilia like this, after all that had gone on with us the previous month—it brought out all the ferocious aggression and the fierce protectiveness I now felt toward her. I unbuttoned the kilt and let it fall to the floor and stripped off my underwear. “Turn over,” I said without touching her. She opened her eyes and looked at me. I thought she might resist, so I reached down and grabbed her arm and flipped her, facedown, on the bed. I pulled her arms behind her back and held her wrists together with one of my hands. Then I lay on her to pin her beneath me. She gasped and wriggled beneath me, sending bolts of electricity through me, straight down to that ache in my balls. This past month and a half had been a long time. But my body still remembered hers. Still craved hers. I put my mouth to her ear, sank my teeth in. She said nothing besides giving a small whimper that only fired me up more. “I hate your fucking hairstyle,” I said. “I don’t care,” she answered. “I’m going to punish you for those hideous colors.” I shifted to the side, still pinning her down crosswise, then I bit into her neck again, harder this time. At the same time, my hand landed on her ass, hard. She stiffened underneath me. I thought she might protest, but before she could, I spanked her again. “That was for changing your beautiful hair.” She was breathing hard now. My hand tightened around her wrists and I slapped her again. She gasped. “That’s for denying me your sexy body.” I kissed the back of her neck. I relished the smell of her mixed with her sweat, her salty taste. Closing my eyes, I gave her one last slap. “That’s for making me see only you whenever I’m with anyone else.” She wiggled again underneath me, as if trying to roll onto her back but I prevented her. “Adam—stop fucking around, goddamn it!” “No. You don’t get to take over. I’m not touching you until you say you’re mine.” There was a long silence. I released her wrists. Well I’d put that out there and I had to be prepared to follow through if she didn’t comply. I took a deep breath and held it, hoping I wouldn’t have to stop this. “You said if you got me on the bed, you were getting inside me.” I ran my hand up her soft thighs and breathed, “Only if you’re mine.” She moved against me again and I took in a gulp of air, trying to get control of myself. I bent, sucked her neck, her ear. “Say it,” I said. She gasped, turning her head to the side, trying to look into my eyes, but she couldn’t because I didn’t let her up. “Tonight, I’m yours.” I hesitated only a moment. For now, it would have to do. Soon, she’d be mine forever and she wouldn’t hesitate a second to tell me. I vowed to myself that I’d make that reality.

“I’m going to bury my cock in you.” I shifted, working her legs open beneath me. And I slid into her. She fit me like a hot, wet glove, so tight, so unyielding. I pushed in as deep as I could go and she cried out. Her body closed in around me, almost suffocating me with pleasure. The feel of her soft body under mine was driving me insane. I ran my hands down her legs, over her ass. She was so soft. And the smell of her skin—I was as intoxicated by it as with the alcohol in my blood. I began to move, pushing into her, again and again. I reared up on my knees, pulling her up in front of me so that I could increase the pace. Emilia braced both hands against the headboard for leverage. There was a slow build toward that orgasm. Emilia came again, her gasps and moans ripping right through me. And the feel of her spasms tightening her around me brought me, finally, to my own climax. When I finally came, it was incredible, so intense I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think of anything else but the sensation of pumping myself into her. She still moved underneath me and I reached out to hold her still, the burning pleasure making me so sensitive that every movement after was almost painful. I collapsed, lying halfway across her as our legs tangled together, sticky with sweat. It was minutes before I could even talk and Emilia hardly moved. I turned my head and kissed her lips slowly. Her mouth moved against mine in shallow, affectionate kisses. It might have been enough to get me going again if I wasn’t so exhausted. I was drifting off to sleep when I felt her push against me, wriggling out from under me to get up and go to the bathroom. The shower came on and I figured I could use a shower too, so I got up to join her. Always did enjoy a nice post-sex shower with her, which a lot of times ended up becoming a pre-sex shower to the follow-up. Or even a during-sex shower. Those were good, too. I was brought up short when I turned the knob and it didn’t open. I rattled the door, in case it was stuck but no, it was clearly locked. She was in there, in the shower, and she’d locked the door to me. I thought about that weird insistence on keeping her shirt on. What the hell was going on with her? Would she tell me now? Would this lead to us talking again? I hoped so, but deep down I doubted it. Goddamn it. I showered quickly after she got out, half-expecting her to be gone when I exited the shower, but no, she was curled up in the bed asleep. She looked so small and alone, like a little girl. I lay down next to her, pulled her to my chest and wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her neck. With her warm body settled against me, I drifted off into a peaceful sleep. I woke up at 3 a.m. disoriented, in the dark and with a headache threatening. Emilia’s breaths came in a long, slow rhythm, indicating that she was still asleep. Her bottom was pressed against my cock, which was hard as a rock. My subconscious must have woken me up, seeing this as a perfect time to get lucky. I pressed myself against her ass, enjoying the feel of her against me. She wore her top, but she was naked from the waist down. And the baser, more animal part of me saw this as an opportunity to get while the getting was good. I gently rolled her onto her back, resisting the urge to put my hand up her shirt. I wanted her breasts in my hands so badly, to feel her nipples harden under my touch. But I had to respect her wishes, even though I burned to ignore them. Instead I maneuvered my way between her legs, opening them wide enough for my shoulders. I kissed her hips, her thighs, the soft mound above her sex. Then I parted her and tasted her there, licking and sucking against her hot flesh. I loved the taste of her—more spicy than sweet. Like she was. She didn’t move and hadn’t awoken. Normally she wasn’t the lightest of sleepers, but I suspected she slept even more deeply tonight because of the alcohol. Despite this, I could tell she was aroused. For one thing, she grew wetter under my attention and for another, she started emitting long, low moans in her sleep. She was loud, and the sound sent streaks of lightning straight down to my cock, which was more than eager to answer that call.

I listened carefully, sucking and licking her to her orgasm. When she came, she arched her back, letting out a loud shout. “Adam,” she called in a hoarse voice. I smiled in satisfaction. So the lover she dreamed about was me. Thank God. And if I had anything to do with it—and I would—that would not change. I wiped my face on the sheet and settled my hips between her thighs. She curled her long legs around me, running her hands down my chest and abdomen. “What the hell was that?” she murmured as I slowly entered her. “That was a sleepgasm. You’re welcome,” I said, sealing my mouth over hers. For all that our previous time had been a hot, violent collision of our wills, this time was sweet, slow, languorous. She moved under me, her hips meeting me in a perfect rhythm. Her body was heaven under mine and I craved the feel of her naked breasts against my chest. But I tried not to think of what I couldn’t have and thought about what I did have. This exquisite woman in my arms, beneath me, for the last few hours of the dying evening. I closed my eyes and felt, tasted, smelled and heard only her. For those long minutes in each other’s arms, she became my world, my anchor, my safe harbor. And then I was coming, and it was sweet and slow, just like our lovemaking. And I never wanted to see the end.

Chapter Sixteen I woke up that morning to an economy-sized headache and an empty bed. With a sinking feeling, I felt around for Emilia, but she’d gone. Sometime earlier, she must have slipped out and done the walk of shame back to her own room. I rubbed my forehead and thought about that for a moment, my eyes closed, remembering the feel of her beneath me. It felt surreal—as if it had all happened in a dream. However, after throwing a glance through the open doorway to the rest of the suite, I spied her neglected little fairy wings still lying on the floor. She’d been here. We’d been together. It hadn’t been a dream. But it might as well have been. I wanted her again and she was gone. And it wasn’t just a physical want. I wanted to wake her with a kiss, whisper to her, hold her, chat about the goings-on at the convention, laugh about the mishaps, mock people’s ridiculous behavior at the employee party. Instead I was left to fall from the bliss of a night of fantastic sex, of the tender lovemaking afterward, into loneliness again. I’d hoped, before I’d fallen back asleep, that our night together would be the beginning of something big, of change, of reconciliation. Instead she was gone without even saying good-bye. My fist clenched in frustration as I glanced at the clock. It was still early, but today was the day we packed everything up, loaded the trucks and headed back to OC by bus. I got dressed, packed up my stuff and went down to the area where we were gathering to grab a continental breakfast before hitting the road home. I’d opted to ride on one of the employee buses instead of flying—likely because I was feeling masochistic. Between organizing the dismantling of exhibits and other items of business, I kept my eyes peeled for her. I caught glimpses of her a few times. It was hard to miss that startling pink-and-purple-streaked white hair, even at a distance. I didn’t have a chance to see her again until we were on the bus. She sat a few rows back from me, across the aisle. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, her own eyes shaded behind impossibly huge, dark sunglasses. I’d bummed some medication off the concierge for my headache, so I wondered if she was still suffering from her hangover. She seemed to be avoiding my gaze, however, with her face pointed down and then a pillow shoved between her and the window, as if she meant to go to sleep during the four-hour ride to Orange County. I sat in the front next to Jordan and the group of interns had apparently staked out the seats just behind us. I wasn’t happy about that and wished that Emilia had sat there instead. We needed to talk and maybe the bus wasn’t the best place for us to do it, but as time went on, I was getting more and more desperate to resolve the lingering issues between us. I looked away, suddenly feeling guilty about last night, though not completely sure why. Last night hadn’t just been about needing her near me, needing to have sex with her—or anyone—after a dry spell. It had been more—I’d wanted control over her again. I’d wanted to take over and dominate. That’s where the aggression had come from. I’d needed to know—needed her to know—needed the world to know that she was mine. Be there for her. Be her friend. Heath’s words struck me then, condemning me further. Had I been there for her last night? Or had she been there for me? I couldn’t completely condemn myself. She’d been a more-than-willing participant. Had she not been the one who’d ripped my shirt off? And then laid herself down, open to me, submissive? She’d wanted me to step in and take over. And I’d been glad to oblige. The interns behind us were whispering amongst themselves a lot—and giggling. Four hours of that was going to get old really fast. I wished I could get up and sit with Emilia, but there were no available seats around her. I glanced around to make sure she wasn’t sitting near Dick and was happy to see he wasn’t

even on this bus. Emilia was sandwiched in pretty tightly and she appeared to be sleeping already. I kept my eyes fixed on her, hoping that it was just a matter of time—a short time—before we had this sorted out. I’d arrange for her to come back to my place by that evening. I was optimistic, I knew, but after the night we’d had together—and due, in big part, to my stubborn determination—I knew we would be getting back together soon. And I’d finally get to the bottom of what was going on with her. “So, uh…that was some interesting dancing last night,” Jordan said to me with a significant look. “Didn’t know I had it in me, did you?” “Not sure the type of dancing you did back in your suite later on was terribly advisable, however.” I turned and looked out the window, uncertain whether I was pissed that he knew (which meant that a lot of others probably knew, too), or comforted by the fact that he had my back. Jordan always had my back, but for some reason he had never been thrilled about my relationship with Emilia. “Dude, I’m not here to nag. Believe me, I’m too dysfunctional myself to offer advice but…it seemed like you just were picking yourself up off the floor after she squashed your nuts the last time.” “Thanks for the concern. But I’m a grown-up. I can handle my own shit.” Jordan nodded. “Sure. Sure. I was just thinking about all the other shit going on. The company. The lawsuit.” I looked back, about to reply, when someone tapped on my shoulder. “Adam,” said one of the interns behind me—the one with way too much blond hair for just one woman’s head. She flicked her voluminous mane over her shoulder and flashed a whole lot of white teeth in a wide smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but April and I have a bet and we need you to settle it for us.” I glanced at Jordan, who had also turned around to inspect the bank of women who occupied the seats behind us. I remembered Emilia’s words in the elevator the night before, about how the interns talked about me. I also remembered the death glares she had shot them during their little interlude with the sunscreen before paintball. I swear, she looked like she would cut a bitch. I watched them warily. “How may I help?” “Well…” She shot a wicked glance at her friend, the pretty girl with black hair and blue eyes who reminded me of Snow White. “April says you’re taken and I was pretty sure that you were single. So which is it?” My mouth opened. Wow. They really weren’t subtle, were they? “Ah,” I looked at Emilia. I thought she’d fallen asleep, but her head perked up. I couldn’t see her eyes but I knew she was watching us. I didn’t hold her gaze long. But how to answer that? Emilia and I were broken up, after all. All that had gone on between us the night before hadn’t changed that, at least not yet. She’d even said as much herself: Tonight I’m yours. So in spite of the warning bells at the back of my head, I decided to milk it a little. “I am currently unattached.” Emilia didn’t move. Didn’t turn her head away. Blonde Intern threw up her arms in victory. “I win!” she said, while her friend sat back, not looking upset at all about losing her “bet.” “I’m sure you ladies have more interesting things to talk about than my personal life.” Like hair products, maybe, or shopping sprees with daddy’s credit card. The blonde’s smile grew hungry. She almost licked her lips. “None that I can think of.” Jordan snorted next to me and I shot him a look. “Lawsuit bait,” he muttered under his breath and I nodded, agreeing with him. I turned back around and adjusted my sunglasses, squinting out the windshield. We hadn’t even left Nevada, yet. Three more hours of this. I pulled out my laptop and fired it up, starting to work on my new, secret pet project. Jordan couldn’t peek at my work, thanks to the privacy filter, but the chicks behind me were really starting to bug me with the whispering and giggling. So I grabbed my shit and moved to the

back of the bus where there were two empty seats and I could spread out. As I passed them, I shot the girls a stern glare lest they get any ideas and try to follow me back. And minutes later, I was happily buried in my own little world of code. I loved coding. I could lose myself in it the way an artist got caught up in creating his visual depiction of the world around him, the way a musician was swept away by the creation of music during jam sessions. Coding was a jam session to me. I could rattle out a string of code and relish the challenge as I tweaked and fine-tuned and problem-solved until I got it just right. It was like a giant puzzle that I created and solved at the same time. It was an hour later, while I was checking for bugs before I moved to the next subroutine, that I noticed someone coming down the aisle toward me. I looked up, hoping it wasn’t an overeager intern. It was Emilia, headed to the bathroom just behind me and she didn’t even glance my way. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed that I’d moved. I glanced around me. There was no one in the seat across from me or in front of me—one of the reasons I’d moved here—and the person diagonally across from me, a Dragon Epoch developer, was draped over his backpack, fast asleep. I set the open laptop on the seat across from me and waited for her to come out of the bathroom. When the door opened again and she moved by in the aisle, my hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, tugging her down beside me. “What?” she said, but I put a finger up to my lips to silence her and pointed at Tony—the dude snoozing over his backpack—one of my hardest working devs who, I think, was getting the first bit of shut-eye in at least twenty-four hours. Emilia glanced at him and turned back to me. “What are you doing back here?” she whispered. “I thought you had plenty up there to amuse you.” I studied her. Interesting. She was clearly jealous and not even bothering to disguise it. That was a good sign. “I want to talk to you about tonight.” Her eyes grew wary. “What about tonight?” she asked. “I’d like for you to come over. We need to talk.” Emilia blew out a long sigh and glanced away. I let go of her wrist and laid my arm gently across her shoulder so I could rub her back. “You have a headache?” “Yes,” she said. She frowned, preoccupied. “You want some aspirin? I’ve got another packet somewhere. I think in my laptop case.” I bent and pulled it out for her, grabbing my bottle of water. She took the packet from me, shooting me a guarded look while she popped the pills in her mouth and knocked back a swallow of water. “Adam, about last night—” “Don’t say it,” I said, holding up a hand to cut her off. “We should talk about that, too,” she whispered. “We will. We’ll figure out where we go from here.” She chewed on her lip. “What if we aren’t going anywhere?” I stared at her, but didn’t say a word. She began to squirm. “It doesn’t have to mean anything besides the fact that we were both horny and drunk. What’s wrong with a good meaningless fuck once in a while?” “A meaningless fuck?” She shrugged. “Yeah.” “Yeah, you aren’t bullshitting me with that line. It wasn’t meaningless.” I waited. She fidgeted, then cleared her throat and said, “You know that old saying, ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?”

I lifted my finger and traced it along her jaw, down the soft skin of her neck where the darkening bite marks I’d left were still showing. I studied them. There were more than half a dozen of them. Some of them very dark. I remembered how it had felt, sinking my teeth into her pliant, giving flesh, hearing her whimper of pain. The taste of her. I was hard in an instant, leaning in to get a whiff of her scent. She shuddered when my lips touched her ear, but she didn’t pull away. “I don’t think what happened between us can stay in Vegas. Do you?” My lips retraced every mark I’d put on her. I wanted to make more. I wanted to cover her with my mark of ownership. It was a primal, caveman sort of feeling. I didn’t own Emilia, of course, but that possessive, ferocious need to be with her, to keep her safe, was a palpable force. I needed to mark my territory. “Adam,” she pressed her hand against my chest. “Don’t start this here.” I moved my mouth up to her ear. “When we get back—come home with me.” She hesitated. “I don’t—” I tried to force the frustration from every muscle that tensed inside of me. She was acting like she was a scared deer and I was a hungry wolf. Maybe that wasn’t too far from the truth. “Just for the day, then.” She looked at me for a long time and quietly nodded. I whipped out my tablet, opening up the latest app. We spent the rest of the bus ride playing Angry Birds Star Wars.

Chapter Seventeen When the bus dropped us off at the complex, I made sure to grab her bag and stuff it in my trunk before she could change her mind about going with me. Heath had attended the Con as a player and had ridden back on the player-sponsored bus. Rumor had it that our game friend Katya had made it down from Canada to attend, too, and Heath had spent his time with her. I wasn’t ready to give up the secret to anyone besides Heath and Emilia that FallenOne was actually the CEO of Draco, so despite the fact that I would have liked to have met her in person, I kept my distance. Now Emilia was talking to Heath at his Jeep and I leaned up against my car door watching them from behind my sunglasses. I could hear the tension in Heath’s tone as he fought to keep his voice from rising. I wondered what they could be arguing about. “Whoa, nice car!” said Blondie the intern, who, it appeared, had snuck up on me. I never did get her name and I wasn’t much interested, either. I kept my eyes on Heath and Emilia to make sure she didn’t just hop in his car with him and take off without her stuff. She seemed to want to, but Heath was telling her to go with me. Attaboy. “Thanks,” I muttered. Now go away. “Think I could—maybe—get a ride sometime?” I glanced at her from behind my sunglasses. She had a hand on her hip, her back arched so that her chest poked out. I let myself look. They were nice tits, after all. I opened my mouth to answer her when I heard the Jeep’s door slam. Emilia was storming toward me and Heath sat behind the wheel of his car, shaking his head and watching her with a stern look on his face. Well, this was going to be awkward. “Umm. I gotta go,” I said to the blonde, hoping she’d take the hint and walk off. She didn’t. Emilia came up to the car, tossed the intern a glance out of the corner of her eyes and then turned to me. “I need my bag. Where did you put it?” The blonde’s eyebrows shot up and she gave Emilia the once-over. These two had to work together fairly regularly, so I didn’t want to make this awkward for Emilia. “I heard you need a ride home,” I said. Then I turned to the blonde. “Excuse us. I only have room for one passenger.” The woman’s jaw dropped and I clamped my hand around Emilia’s elbow, making it appear as casual as I could as I guided her toward the passenger seat. Blondie folded her arms across her chest, spun and stalked off. “Great, now Cari’s pissed at me,” Emilia muttered as she got in the seat. “Do you care?” She shrugged. “Not really. Not like I’m going to be working there much longer.” I fired up the car, thinking about that with a sudden tightness in my stomach. I felt like a countdown clock had just started ticking. A clock that suddenly made me fear that if I didn’t find out what was wrong with her—with us—and fix it before she left Draco, then I risked not seeing her again. Ever. The drive to my house was short and quiet. She didn’t comment on the fact that I hadn’t been completely truthful about driving her home. I would drive her home, so it wasn’t a lie. I just wouldn’t do it right away. It was midafternoon and I was stiff from the bus ride. I suggested we go for a swim in the pool. I figured it would take the pressure off and help break the ice a little. I also thought some wine with dinner would be appropriate, too. I’d already texted Chef while I was still on the bus, to have something nice ready for us for dinner. Emilia had left a handful of items she had forgotten in a drawer when she’d moved out—including a bathing suit. Her sexy black-and-white bikini, which was my favorite. I’d done deliciously naughty things to her while she’d worn that bikini.

When I pulled it out of the drawer, she blinked, nonplussed, and then slowly reached for the suit. I watched her for a long moment. Her eyes flew to mine and she paled. “I…I think I’ll just dip my toes in. I don’t need a suit,” she said, a strange sort of hollow echo in her words. It sounded like the voice of sadness. I watched her, waiting for clarification while I unbuttoned my pants to change into my trunks. She turned away, seemingly uncomfortable. I scrutinized her, the strange stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands worked at her sides. Why the sudden shyness, I wondered? She’d seen me naked hundreds of times before. We’d fucked—mostly naked—in the past twenty-four hours. I finished changing while she took an interest in the articles on my desk—as if she’d never seen them before—the framed photos and other stuff. She looked everywhere but directly at me. She was tense and almost vibrating with it. Once in my trunks, I came up behind her and laid a light hand on her shoulder. She didn’t move. Her attention was fixated on a photograph. The photograph. The one of me and my sister as children. I glanced at it over her shoulder. I remembered the day it had been taken. Seemed like a lifetime ago, really. My sixth birthday. Mom had forgotten again. Bree had saved up some babysitting money that she’d kept hidden in one of my stuffed animals—to prevent our wonderful mother from swiping it for booze money. She’d pulled the crumpled dollar bills tucked in a pocket of my favorite stuffed bear and gone to the bakery. We’d celebrated at her friend Christina’s house, avoiding home completely until it was dark. That picture had been snapped by Christina’s mother and proudly handed to me a week later on my way to school. I’d tucked that picture in my school notebook and kept it with me every day. Two years later, Bree would be a runaway. And that picture would be the last physical reminder I had of her until I saw her again, a frail shadow of herself. My chest tightened with the same dark feeling whenever I allowed myself to remember how much I missed her. I blinked. Emilia’s thumb slid across the frame as she studied the picture. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go.” She nodded, but she wasn’t listening, her eyes still glued to that photo. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind. She was deeply absorbed by some terrifying, profound thought and those emotions were easily detectable on her face. My hand cupped her shoulder and I squeezed it. “Emilia.” She shook herself as if to wake from a daydream, turning back to me. We stood close and I was halfnaked and could feel the heat from her body so near. I wanted to pull her against my bare chest, caress her back, feel her hands and her mouth move over me. Damn, this was hard. We were standing in a room where I’d slept with her all night in my arms, made sweet, slow love to her over just about every piece of furniture in here—and in the bathroom, the counter, the bathtub, the shower. It sucked being in here with her now. Feeling this distance, like a canyon between us—like one of those epic mega canyons you see in pictures of Mars from the rover—a canyon so huge and remote that the topography on Earth pales in comparison. We weren’t on Earth anymore. We were on Mars, where the mountains we needed to overcome were so much higher and the valleys so much lower, the ravines so much deeper. Where the sky was burning red. We were in alien, distant territory now and I had no idea how we’d find our way back home. Back into each other’s arms. Not until all the secrets were cleared between us. And wasn’t that ironic, when our whole relationship had been founded on secrets—huge secrets—all by my own doing? I didn’t believe in karma, but if I did, this would be one of those moments where I’d be cursing it, because it was now biting me on the ass. She was staring at my shoulder now. Her eyes fixed on my tattoo. And she’d transferred whatever morbid thoughts she’d been entertaining from the twenty-year-old snapshot to the name inked across my left collarbone.

I backed off and turned to lead her out of the room. It had been a shitty idea to bring her up there anyway. On the side of my house opposite the beach, there was a covered pool that was entirely private, complete with retractable roof and walls. I chose to keep it enclosed and swam laps for about thirty minutes while she sat on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water, kicking up splashes every so often —usually as I swam by. After she made at least a dozen attempts to splash me, I finally decided to get playful and grab her leg. She promptly gasped and tried to kick her leg free, but by then I had my arms wrapped around both of her legs. When I gave her a tug, like I meant to pull her in, she finally stopped laughing and firmly told me to stop, so I let go. I trod water in front of her. She bent down and pushed my hair back from my face, scrutinizing me. “I made marks on your neck,” she said. “I’m gonna guess that Jordan gave you a lot of crap about that.” A lazy smile spread across my face. If I had my way, we’d be making marks on each other’s necks again very soon. “I made more marks on your neck.” I hooked an arm over the side of the pool right beside her leg. I reached out with one hand and cupped her supple, muscular calf. Her legs drove me insane. They were long, curvy, firm. And the silky feel of the skin inside her thighs was enough to make me go hard at the thought of it. In fact I was sporting a semi at this very moment and it would be graduating to full hard-on pretty soon. We’d fucked in this pool once. It had been quite fun. But today I could have just as easily spread her across my bed. Or bent her over a chair. God, my mind was wandering in all sorts of directions I couldn’t afford for it to go. But more than anything, I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to know what her worries were. I wanted to define what this was between us, secure it for the future. I wanted her back with me as soon as possible and I’d do whatever it took to get it. So tonight… No sex. We’d talk. I pulled myself out of the pool at the lip and landed next to her, reaching behind us to pull a clean towel off the rack where they lay. I toweled my hair and wiped my face. Emilia grabbed another towel and started drying off my chest. I jerked toward her, making a feint as if I was going to pull her into a soaking wet bear hug. She smacked me and pulled away. I hooked my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her head to mine, landing a long, firm kiss on her mouth. We kissed for a long moment, my mouth on hers. I didn’t press her for more. I wanted more, but it would have been too easy for us to get distracted. With the energy crackling between us, I knew it wouldn’t be long before we were in bed again. And now was as good a time as any to broach the subject. “So,” I said, after we’d pulled apart and she took a long breath, cold air hissing past my lips. I caught her golden-brown eyes with mine. “So,” she said, bringing her feet out of the pool and pulling her knees up to her chin. She watched me for a long moment. “We should probably talk…” She promptly stopped breathing. I mean—it looked like it, anyway. She sat so still, frozen like a statue, as if in sheer terror. I wondered for a split second if even her heart had stopped beating. And she was definitely paler and chewing on her lip. There was a long stretch of silence between us. I was tempted to let her off the hook. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. There was a delicate line here, I knew. Between pushing her to tell me what was going on and pushing her too hard. I had to find that line and tread it carefully. She took in a deep breath and lifted her head from her knees, her eyes settling on my tattoo again. “Why don’t you ever talk about her?”

I froze. “I don’t have a reason to talk about her.” She frowned. “You don’t miss her?” A strange feeling tightened at the back of my throat. My heart felt—lopsided. Every beat was like stab of accusation in my chest. You don’t miss her? Every day. Every goddamn day. “Emilia—” “Why do you keep her so secret?” Her forehead creased as if she was trying to puzzle out something impossible. Then she reached out and traced a single finger over the script of my sister’s name. “You’ve never even said her name out loud. You write it on your body in indelible ink, but you won’t speak of her.” I captured her wrist and pulled her hand away from the tattoo. “Because. There is nothing. To. Say,” I repeated between clenched teeth. What I didn’t tell her was that it hurt too much to talk about her, to think of her. The only times I did were when my subconscious mind took me to that unpleasant place, that land of loss and loneliness. Her brown eyes found mine. “You don’t think it would help to talk about her? You’d rather just bury her in your heart, keep her secret? Even from me?” I shrugged. “What are you to me right now that I should tell you? Are you my girlfriend or are you just the woman I hooked up with last night?” Her lip trembled again and she caught it between her teeth. “I don’t know.” We stared at each other through a long, tense silence and her eyes slipped back to the tattoo. “You can’t even tell me what she was like?” “Why do you want to know?” “Because…I think”—she glanced at me before continuing—“I think losing her has defined you. In a lot of ways.” I grimaced and went back to toweling off to give myself something to do. “I think your degree was in biology and not psychology,” I said bluntly. Her features clouded and I could tell she was getting upset, but I didn’t know what to say. This was so frustrating and I felt she was using this line of questioning as a diversion tactic. I ran a hand through my dripping hair. “This isn’t something I want to talk about or, really, even can talk about.” She stared at me for a long moment, no expression on her face, then leaned forward and pushed to her feet. “I’m really hungry,” she said. Now that I thought about it, so was I. And I was hopeful that some wine with dinner would help relax her, get her talking. So after I showered off and dressed, we had dinner down in the glassed-in breakfast nook that looked out over the dock. It was too chilly to eat outside. The sun had gone down, so we ate by candlelight. It might have been romantic if I believed in that sort of crap. Making romantic gestures toward her right now seemed phony and hollow. It occurred to me that that thought was rather ridiculous, because here we were, eating together after having spent most of the day together. After having spent the night in each other’s company, having had some mind-blowingly good sex. In the past twenty-four hours we had been playacting at being a couple again. But we weren’t. There was still a wall that separated us, kept us from talking. I poured her a second glass of wine, watched while she sipped at it, and hoped it would do its magic soon. Wine worked like truth serum on Emilia, I had noticed. So I was hoping this might ease our discussion along. “Hmm. Daffodils,” she said, chewing on a small piece of bread and focusing on the centerpiece, the fresh flowers that I’d requested that Chef order for the table. I said nothing, but continued to eat and keep close track of her wine consumption. “Is that a coincidence?” My fork slowed on the way to my mouth. “What?”

She nodded toward the centerpiece. “The flowers. Last night, the General SylvanWood costume. And now daffodils.” I eyed her for a moment before looking away, shrugging. “Ah, don’t know. Guess that’s probably what they had at the florist. And Chef just got those.” I didn’t look at her as she watched me closely. Maybe she was adding up the hints. And this hint was only for her. No one else. The costume had been a hint for everyone. She set aside her wineglass and got up to use the bathroom. She asked for her bag and took it with her, which I found unusual, but thought little of it. I got up from the table and figured we could talk in the living room, so I waited for her on the couch, fiddling with my tablet. She took a while but finally came out, dumped her bag by the stairs and walked up to where I sat and stood in front of me. “So…should I get going?” she asked hesitantly. I made no move to stand up. “I don’t know. Should you?” “Well, Scotty’s not going to beam me there…” I patted the cushion next to me. “Emilia, can we talk, please? Or do you just want us to stay in this… limbo?” She sank down beside me, but as she did, she wobbled a little, as if she was a little tipsy. She’d only had one full glass of wine and a few sips from the second one. She sighed and rubbed her brow. “Do you think one conversation is going to fix what’s screwed up between us?” I set my jaw. “I think it’s a start.” She settled back against the couch and looked up at the ceiling, giving a long sigh. “But where do we even start?” “Let’s start by saying what we want. I know what I want. Do you?” She turned her head and gave me a long look from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, then took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I want.” “You want to be a doctor,” I supplied, trying to be helpful. She rolled her head away from me and looked up at the ceiling, blinking. “Yeah…maybe.” “Emilia, what’s going on? We broke up because you wanted to go to Maryland—now you’re not going to Maryland and—” She frowned, but her voice was still quiet when she spoke. “We broke up because you violated my trust and hired some jackass to stick a tracker on my car. Because you don’t trust me.” I bit my tongue. It had absolutely nothing to do with not trusting her and everything to do with this constant fear inside. I reached out and smoothed her cheek. “Can I ask you to move past that? To forgive me?” Her eyes fluttered closed under my touch and she swallowed. “I’ve already forgiven you. But I still don’t trust you. We’ve got big trust issues, you and I.” I smoothed her hair. “We’re not perfect. But I think we’re worth fighting for.” Her eyes closed lazily and opened. “I think your hugs are worth fighting for…” she murmured in a sleepy voice. “Only my hugs?” I asked, mildly amused. “It’s a good start.” She leaned in to me, nestling against my chest. My arms wrapped around her almost automatically. “Mmm,” she said. “Tighter.” And I complied. So I held her until she dozed off in my arms. I kissed her hair, glancing at the clock. It was just after 9 p.m. and I began to wonder about her weird drowsiness. She’d had a glass of wine, so that might have done it. And—thanks to me—she hadn’t slept much the previous night. But it didn’t add up. I adjusted her against me and that’s when I noticed two small bruises on her left arm. I held it up, at first thinking that our rough sex from the night before had caused them, but these looked like fresh bruises.

I took a closer look and—sure enough I saw puncture marks at the site of the bruises. I stiffened in shock, remembering that she’d taken her bag into the bathroom with her—and had been in there for a while. When she’d come out, she’d been acting more inebriated than she would have gotten from one glass of wine. My heart raced. Fuck. I stared at her white-blond head that was tucked against my chest and thought about that weird request last night to keep her shirt on—the reluctance to put on the bathing suit. I adjusted her against me and with cold fear creeping down my throat I pulled up the hem of her shirt enough to look at her stomach. It was covered with older bruises. Some were yellow, indicating they had been there for weeks. Injection sites. I thought about her fixation on Sabrina today—her desire to pry for more about my sister. Emilia was clearly injecting something. Was she an addict? What the hell? When had this happened? With a dark, cold feeling inside my throat, I gently laid her aside so I could stand up. Then I bent and scooped her into my arms. I wouldn’t let her sleep on the couch all alone. I carried her up the stairs to my room. Laying her down gently, I pulled off her shoes, pulled her phone out of her pocket and put it on the nightstand next to mine. She turned over on her side and I put a throw blanket over her. We’d talk this through in the morning. But before we had that talk, I needed information and I was desperate. I went to her bag and stared at it for a long moment, hesitating before I opened it. If she was using, then she needed help. If I could help her, then I had to. I took a deep breath and unzipped the bag, vaguely realizing that she had just mentioned in the previous hour that she had issues trusting me. And yet here I was again, digging through her bag. My hands shook and I couldn’t get that vision of Bree out of my head…I was that boy again, watching my dying sister teeter on the curb. I knew I’d never see her again as I stared out the bus window. I was powerless, unable to help her no matter how much I begged to. That wouldn’t happen again, goddamn it. It wouldn’t. Not to Emilia. I couldn’t breathe when my hand closed around a plastic container, a portable sharps container. I pulled it from the bag, my jaw dropping in disbelief. It had empty syringes inside. Fucking fuck. My hand shook as I took the syringes to my office to run a check on Google based on the labeling. Oxycodone—a powerful opioid prescribed as a painkiller but also one of the most commonly abused prescription medications around. That’s how Bree had started—she’d swiped a bottle of painkillers from Christina’s mother’s medicine cabinet. She’d stored those in my stuffed animals, too. “Special medicine, just for me,” she’d say. “Adam, you don’t touch this, okay? It will make you sick. It’s just for me.” And then she’d found a way to get more—at the time I’d been too young to realize. She’d refilled that prescription at the drugstore, over and over again, claiming it was for her sick aunt. And when there were no more refills and no more bottles to steal, she’d started hanging out with the rough kids in the neighborhood. She warned me not to come near her when she was with them. She’d flirt and laugh and they’d hand her packets of stuff. She’d hide those, too. She’d take the pills after Mom hit her. They’d scream and yell at each other and I’d hide in my room and cry—too terrified to go out and defend her—I was little, after all, and she was a teen. But Mom would hit her and she’d come to our room, take the pills and sob into her pillow while I pretended to be asleep. I buried my head in my hands, trying to dam the pain. Holy shit. It was happening all over again. With a steely determination, I returned to her bag and completely ransacked it. There were two more syringes—these prefilled and unused. The pieces certainly were starting to fit. She’d pulled away because she’d known about my own issues with addiction. She’d fixated on Sabrina’s story because of the similarities to her own. She hadn’t been

able to bring herself to tell me for fear of how I’d react. Was I angry? Fuck yes, I was. But I was also in problem-solving mode. Hours later, before I lay down beside her, I sent out three different inquiries about rehab by e-mail. In the morning, we’d sit down. We’d figure this out. She’d stay here and I’d convince her that this was the way to go, even if it meant staging that intervention that Alex had jokingly talked about weeks ago. Did Heath know about this? I determined to talk to him, too. I glanced up at the clock, after eleven. Too late to call. I’d talk to him first thing. Overcoming this would be hard. Ultimately, it would be her fight, her struggle. But I would get her the best help possible. I’d support her afterward, too. I’d gone through the twelve steps myself, after I’d realized my work addiction. I’d done the program by myself, but I knew Emilia would need help. And I’d be there for her. I lay down beside her and gathered her against me, still fully clothed myself, but so exhausted I could hardly think anymore. I drifted off to the sound of her peaceful breathing. I woke up hours later to the feel of her mouth and hands on my bare chest. Lying on my back, I kept my eyes closed and savored the sensations. It wasn’t just a pleasant dream, thank God. Emilia had unbuttoned my shirt and was kissing me all over. And I was hard as a rock and aching with it. I didn’t move, curious as to where this was going. I’d wanted her again since the last time. And this was looking promising. One of her hands drifted down over my belly to cup my hard cock. She fondled me through my jeans and I let out an involuntary groan. She didn’t stop touching me, but her head came up. “Darn. I wanted to give you your own sleepgasm.” I cracked my eyes open. It was early morning. The sky was still a pale gray and I could just see her in the predawn light. She still looked so alien to me with that pink-and-purple-striped white hair of hers. I resisted the urge to reach over and grab her, pull her on top of me. I wanted inside her so badly I was nearly vibrating with it. “Don’t mind me,” I whispered hoarsely. “I’ll just pretend I’m sleeping and you can go about your business.” And hopefully that business involved her climbing on top of me and riding me like a cowgirl. She unbuttoned and carefully unzipped my jeans, tugging on them. “Why’d you fall asleep with your clothes on, silly?” I lifted up and she pulled the jeans off me. “I can’t answer that. I’m asleep, remember?” “Oh, yes. It’s too bad you’ll miss this, then.” She reached inside my underwear and pulled out my stiff cock, her hand traveling up it delicately. She pinched the head and I groaned again and in seconds her hand was replaced by her hot, wet mouth. “Fuck,” I rasped as her lips closed around me. Her tongue caressed the most sensitive parts of my shaft. My eyes squeezed shut and all I could do was feel. I had to resist the urge to grab her head and control her movements. I rarely got a blowjob these days and it was understandable that it wasn’t her favorite thing to do, given her history. Every one was a gift, as I saw it. I’d never expected them from her. In the past a man had forced himself on her that way and just the fact that she volunteered to give me one at all told me a lot about her level of trust. I swallowed some guilt at that thought. Trust. I’d gone through her things last night. I’d found— It was so hard to think about anything at that moment because her mouth was doing indescribably amazing things to me. She sucked, hard, as she dragged her mouth across my cock. Sliding it in deep— deeper than she’d ever done before. So much so that I half-wondered—in my delirious state—if she might trigger her own gag reflex. I mustered the willpower to open my eyes and watch her. Her eyes were closed in concentration as she continued, sliding her head up and down. Her movements were regulated, concerted. Her dark brows furrowed and her gorgeous, puffy lips sealed around my shaft. The sight of it almost made me come. But then her eyes flew open and her gaze locked on mine. I couldn’t look away as her head continued

bobbing. Burning pleasure was spreading from my groin into my stomach, down my legs. It felt so fucking good. I didn’t want her to stop. I wanted her to keep sucking me until I came. And I wanted to come in her mouth—something I’d never done before. I wanted it so badly I was half-tempted not to warn her when I felt that familiar twinge just below my navel. “Emilia,” I gasped. “I’m gonna—” but she didn’t stop and my orgasm was cresting that wave of hot pleasure, convulsing over me. My eyes squeezed closed as I spilled into her mouth. Fuck, it felt so good, so hot and intense it was almost painful. She didn’t pull her mouth away. And I was still coming. And she was still sucking. Oh. My. God. I thought the strength of it would blow my head wide open. For minutes I was lost in the sensation of convulsing pleasure, but when I was done and her mouth was still sealed around me, I opened my eyes and watched her. I was certain she’d get off the bed and go to the sink to spit. But instead, her mouth still wrapped around me, I watched her throat bob. She swallowed. Everything. I closed my eyes and threw my head back, so incredibly turned on that I felt everything starting again. Slowly she pulled her mouth away and she would have gotten off the bed, but I stopped her, hooked my arm around her waist to prevent her from leaving. “That was so goddamn hot. I need to have you again,” I groaned. She gasped. “You just did.” “Again. And again. Because I’ll never get enough,” I groaned. “I need you. Here. With me. Please.” She stilled. “We should talk,” she said. I took a deep breath and let it go. She was going to tell me about the drugs. Good. It was better that this came from her…that she be the one to recognize that she had a problem. She bent to kiss me and then got up to use to the bathroom and I laid back, still enjoying that hot afterglow. I glanced at the clock. It was seven on a Tuesday morning. I closed my eyes and was almost completely asleep when she left the bathroom and crawled back into bed beside me. Now I had to get up, but one thing was certain—when I came back to bed she was getting an orgasm of her own, one way or the other. With that thought, I got up and showered. Maybe she’d drift off to sleep in the meantime. I spent my time in the shower contemplating the most delicious ways to wake her up. By the time I got out, I had a semi just from all the dirty thoughts going through my head. It was stunning, really, that we could be so distant from each other emotionally and yet so in sync sexually that I couldn’t get the thought of her body out of my mind. And soon, after we talked, we’d take care of the emotional stuff. We’d take care of whatever was happening to her and it would be all right. She’d be back with me and we’d face it together, just as we should have done all along. I wrapped a towel around my hips and left the bathroom while toweling my hair dry. To my surprise, Emilia was standing beside the bed bent over her bag. She’d pulled practically everything out of it—much as I had done last night. And she was clearly looking for something. I took a deep breath and my stomach dropped. Likely she was looking for one of the prefilled syringes sitting on my desk in front of my computer. Well, she’d wanted to talk. So here was our chance. “Did you go through my bag?” she said without looking up. I hesitated and her fiery gaze met mine. I took a deep breath. “Yes.” She shook her head. “You are unbelievable,” she said between gritted teeth. “I’m worried about you. I saw the bruises on your arms and your stomach.” She paled. “You pulled off my shirt?” “I saw the bruises on your arms—and the puncture marks. I know damn well what they were so I looked to see if there were bruises on your stomach. And they were everywhere.”

She blinked a few times and then returned to her bag, hastily stuffing everything back inside. “I want those syringes, goddamn it. The empty ones, too. They’re a biohazard.” I almost laughed at the irony. Only a would-be doctor would be abusing and simultaneously worry about something like that. “Emilia, you have a problem. We need to talk about it.” “No. You have a fucking problem. You just can’t back. The. Fuck. Off.” With that she pulled the bag closed with a loud zip, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I’m worried about you.” She gave her eyes an angry swipe. “So you say.” “I’m not lying. But this isn’t about me, this is about you. You’re using.” “No. I am not abusing drugs. Now take me home. Now.” I folded my arms over my chest. “We need to talk.” She shook her head. “I’m done talking. You and I are done. You will never trust me and I will never trust you.” Her voice cut off in a sob. “Emilia—” “No! Take me home, Adam.” I didn’t move and I didn’t say a word. Muttering under her breath, she slung her bag over her shoulder and stalked down the stairs and toward the front door. I followed closely behind. “What are you doing?” “I’m walking.” “That’s fifteen miles.” “I need the exercise.” “Emilia, stop.” She kept walking. “I’ll drive you,” I finally conceded. We strode next to each other across the island. It was a beautiful morning, the sun shining, a cool breeze blowing. I inhaled the pervasive, earthy scent of the Back Bay and the freshly mowed green grass, my mind racing for what to say to her. I followed her to the parking garage, the fresh outdoor scents replaced by the smell of exhaust and old oil. I swallowed, throwing a look her way. Had I completely blown this? Would she turn away my help now, if I offered it? I couldn’t force it on her. But, there was nothing to say. She bent over her phone texting furiously the entire time. I surmised she was catching Heath up on everything. When we pulled up into her parking lot, Heath was waiting, his arms clamped over his chest like a bouncer preparing for a brawl. Emilia was out of the car almost before it stopped and Heath came up to stand in front of me while she made her getaway. “Emilia—” I said. She turned to me, her eyes red. “Goodbye, Adam.” And she rushed off toward the condo. I turned to Heath, who was looking at me with pity in his face. It made me angry. I clenched my fists. “Let me go to her.” “She doesn’t want to talk.” “I fucked up, okay?” “Yep. Again.” He nodded. “I think she’s abusing drugs,” I blurted. As if that knowledge would get me a pass with him. Heath’s brow shot up. “Why do you think that?” “Because there are signs—the change in appearance, the behavior. I found syringes…” Heath shook his head. “Because you went through her bag.” I swore, ran a hand through my hair and looked away. “I saw the puncture marks on her arm! What the

fuck else was I supposed to do?” “She’s not abusing drugs. Okay? Trust me. This is not what it’s about.” “Then what the fuck is it about?” His gaze was icy. “It’s not for me to tell you. She was going to talk to you today, but you blew it. She doesn’t trust you, any more than you trust her. You keep fucking it up.” I blew out a breath in frustration. “Tell me what I need to do. I need to make this up to her.” “Back off. Stay away from her for a while. If you pull your head out of your ass, she will come to you.” I clenched my fist again, anger coursing through me. I wanted to take a swing at him. “You said that before.” “And she did, didn’t she? She came to you, but you fucked it up, man.” It was hard to hear. Hard to accept, but he was right. “Fine. But you promise me—” “I’ll take care of her. I have been taking care of her.” I shook my head. “You’ve been doing my job.” He looked bitter. “Yeah. I have.” We stared each other down for a long moment. I looked down, shaking my head. I’d betrayed her trust again. It didn’t help to explain that I’d done it in a moment of utter panic. That I couldn’t get Bree out of my mind. I took a deep, painful breath. “I’m a fucking idiot.” True sympathy crossed Heath’s features. He clamped a hand on my shoulder. “I have confidence that you’ll learn. But you need to leave her be for now.” I hated what he had to say and I wasn’t so sure he was right. That look of betrayal in her eyes as she’d turned away. The way she’d told me “good-bye” had sounded so final. Fuck. With a stiff jerk I got back in my car and pulled out of the parking lot, speeding my way back to Newport Beach.

Chapter Eighteen We both opted to stay away for Thanksgiving the following weekend, which avoided that inevitable awkwardness. Both Peter and Kim were very vocal in their disappointment. Peter called me and laid it down that under no circumstances would this occur at Christmas. “I can’t promise you anything, Peter.” “We’re your family, Adam. Your only family.” I sighed. “I only know what I can do. I’m not sure what she’s going to decide is her limit.” “It’s only fair to tell you that Kim and I are getting serious. I know that’s not the greatest news for you two right now.” “It’s not. But we’re grown-ups. We’ll deal.” Peter sighed. “Kim is very worried about Mia.” She wasn’t the only one. “Tell her she needs to talk to Heath, then. Because I don’t know shit.” *** December started with summerlike weather in Southern California while the rest of the country was submerged in a deep freeze. I was informed that a settlement was imminent and that as part of the agreement, I was required to meet personally with the family of the young man who had perpetrated the crimes. I was not at all happy about this new development and Jordan had to coax, plead and cajole me into it. “Man, I’ll be right there with you. We’ll do it together.” My hands worked at my sides, fisting and relaxing. “Do I have a fucking choice? At all?” “We can see if Joseph can work with the insurance guys to get that taken out, but… If the family senses that you are belligerent in any way, they could dig their heels in, maybe even see it as a way to get more money. Then the insurance company will really be riding our asses.” I took a deep breath and blew it out. “I have no idea what to say to these people. This means I’m going to be sitting in a conference room for a half hour listening to them tell me why I am the spawn of the devil who destroyed their innocent kid.” “Adam…you know that shit isn’t true. I know that shit isn’t true. Sometimes in life we just have to… take our lumps, you know?” I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, completely miserable. It really grated, this having to be complicit with the assumption that I was guilty of dealing out an addictive substance, like virtual crack. It was personal to me, goddamn it. And on top of that, I still couldn’t get the thought of Emilia out of my head. It had been over a week since I’d seen her and now these new developments were going to take me out of state for almost three weeks. I had business in Chicago that had been scheduled for months now. Then this trip to New York City for the insurance settlement paperwork and the meeting with the family. And then it was on to Washington, DC, where I had been subpoenaed to appear at a congressional hearing on the addictive effects of online video games. Coming down from the high of DracoCon and of being with Emilia for that short, mostly happy twentyfour hours, I felt like I’d crashed and burned. Since I was due on an early flight out the next morning, I chose to text Emilia regarding the Christmas question. It was very possible that I wouldn’t make it back in time to celebrate with my family, but if I did, there’d be no time to work out a truce with her that would satisfy my uncle and Kim’s desire to celebrate together. Like I’d promised him, we’d work it out like adults. I texted her and asked her to meet me after work at a nearby café. She took a half hour to respond.

What is this regarding? Fuck. Really? We were going to be like this? It’s regarding what we are going to do about Xmas. I’m sure your mom has been in touch about it. I waited another ten minutes and was in the middle of typing a long, boring e-mail when my phone chimed. I’ll meet you at Carlos Café at six. She was there, sitting in a booth in the back corner when I arrived. I walked down the aisle and she looked up from her phone and watched me. There was no smile on her face. And she looked like shit. I hadn’t seen her in over a week and she looked…different. For starters, she was dressed curiously, in a long-sleeved jumper type of dress, with tights on her legs. She looked like a schoolgirl with that still-ridiculous white hair and her dark eyebrows and wide brown eyes. She was pale and she had dark circles under those eyes. In spite of everything, though, when I laid eyes on her, everything seemed to lighten—in my own mind anyway. I hadn’t realized how much I’d looked forward to seeing her again and how much I missed her, because I hadn’t allowed myself to dwell on it. I’d been burying myself in work. “Hi,” I said, taking a menu and glancing over it. “Hey,” she said quietly, setting her phone aside and looking up at me. “How’s it going?” She shrugged. I waited. That was, apparently, the only answer I was going to get. The waitress came and I ordered my favorite—the two-taco carne asada plate. Emilia ordered a lemon-lime soda. “You aren’t hungry?” I asked She seemed to pale even more at the mention of food. “Not really.” I clenched my jaw and released it, frowning. At that moment, a stab of pain went directly through my left eye. I pressed my finger to my brow just above it, tried to power through, ignore it. She studied me. “You okay?” “I’m fine. Why aren’t you eating?” She shrugged again. “I just don’t feel like eating.” When the waitress came back with our drinks, I ordered a bowl of soup for Emilia. She scowled, but didn’t object. “So…what did you want to talk about?” “I told you in the text. I promised Peter that we’d talk about Christmas. You and I are going to have to find a way to get along on Christmas because they’ve already told us both that they want to spend it together, and regardless of how either of us feels about it, I’m not going to avoid spending the holidays with my family because of you.” She rolled her eyes. “I could just not go. That will make it easy.” I stiffened. “I’m also not going to take a giant ration of shit from your mom or Liam because I’m the one to blame for you not being there.” She poked her straw into her soda a few times and shrugged. “Christmas isn’t for over three weeks. Why talk about this now?” “Because I’ll be gone for a while and I’m going to have to fight to make it back in time.”

Her hand froze. “Gone? Like…where?” I rubbed my forehead again. The headache was starting to tighten in my temples. “Back East. Lawsuit stuff…” “And the congressional hearing? They’re going through with that? I thought those were just blog rumors.” I blew out a long breath. “Nope, apparently not. Someone got a good scoop. Sorry it wasn’t you.” She pursed her lips in thought. “I don’t give a fuck about a scoop. You’ll…you’ll be okay?” I stared at her for a long, silent moment and nodded. “I’ll live. What about you? Apparently you’ve stopped eating…” Her eyes avoided mine. I looked around and slipped her a padded envelope. She looked at me with a question in her eyes. “It’s the medicine you left at my house. I had the empty syringes disposed of properly.” Without a word she tucked the envelope into her backpack. And she sat quietly, fidgeting. This was my gesture—to show her that I trusted her. To show her that I trusted when she told me she wasn’t abusing drugs. It had taken me long hours of deliberating to decide what to do. In the end, I handed them back to her with a cold fear at the back of my throat, giving up what little control I had to prove something to her. “Are you—do you want to talk?” I said, clearing my throat. She looked up into my eyes and I felt a stab of something. That painful jab of constantly missing her. She watched me with wide eyes for a long moment, then shook her head. “Emilia…” I reached my hand across the table and covered one of hers with it. It felt soft, cool to my touch. “If you need anything. Any help. You know you can come to me, right?” She looked away and blinked. After a long tense moment she shook her head. “We were supposed to be talking about Christmas,” she said in a tiny voice. Slowly, oh so slowly, I pulled my hand back. I rubbed a finger along my bottom lip. “We can’t screw this up for them,” I said. “We need to act like grown-ups for their sakes. God knows they both deserve a little happiness in their lives and who are we to decide that it shouldn’t work for them just because we turned into a disaster?” Her dark brows drew into a frown and it almost looked like she would get emotional, but she nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s not fair to them. And they deserve to be happy. Mom deserves to have someone.” So did we. My throat clenched tightly. I couldn’t even swallow. When dinner came, Emilia dipped a piece of bread into her soup and ate it slowly. I watched her while I wolfed down bites of my taco. “So…” I began, suddenly feeling awkward. She swallowed her soup-soaked crust of bread and looked up at me. “Are you going to catch that Doctor Who Christmas special with anyone?” Her jaw clenched. “No. I’ll probably watch it alone.” I frowned. “Not even Alex and Jenna?” “Jenna is going home for winter break. Alex will be busy with family stuff.” “If you wanted to…you could come watch it with me in the theater room.” Her face went blank. “Adam, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Don’t push this, okay? I came here to talk to you about Christmas—” My fist closed on the table in frustration. “We’re done talking about Christmas. I want to know about you.” She picked up her napkin and wiped her mouth. “I have to get going now.” A fresh bolt of pain shot through my head so suddenly I gasped, pressing my hand to my temple. “Do you have a headache?”

I glared at her. “Do you care?” “Of course I do.” “Talk to me, Emilia.” Instead she grabbed her bag and stood up. “Please, Adam. I’ll see you at Christmas, okay? I promise to be a perfect grown-up about it.” I watched as she walked out. Maybe I’d bring that obnoxious blonde intern with me and see how grown-up she’d be about that. I put my head in my hands, only half-finished with my taco plate. That detested feeling of utter helplessness washing over me. I closed my eyes and instead of seeing Emilia in my mind, I saw Bree… “Get back on the bus, Adam! You don’t belong here.” I tug on her sleeve, pulling her with me. “You have to come with me. You have to! I’m not leaving until you do.” I’m so adamant, I stamp my foot, folding my arms across my chest. “No!” she screeches. The people around us turn and stare. She claws her hands through the air like a crazy woman. “You have to go! This is not the place for you. You’re not staying here.” “Come with me!” Her eyes are hollow, haunted. “I can’t. I can’t go back. I’m not as strong as you are.” I cinch my arms around her and start to cry. “Please. You are the only person in the world I care about, Bree. Please come back.” She pushes me back on the bus, but I’m stubborn, I drop my backpack, slip around her arms and step back off. She screams again, tears on her cheeks. “I’m going to kill myself, Adam. If you don’t get on that bus, I’ll lie down in the street until someone runs over me.” She grabs my backpack and launches it at me, her pale cheeks flushing with the first sign of color in the days since I had been with her. I’m crying now. Sobbing. “Bree!” But the bus driver is dragging me back, pushing me into a seat. His hands aren’t gentle and he growls a warning at me that he’ll be pulling out soon and if I take one step off the bus, he’ll leave me in downtown Seattle alone. But all I can do is press my wet cheek to the window. I’m sobbing so hard I can’t move. I can hardly catch the next breath. Hiccups are starting and another one of those really bad headaches that feels like someone is chopping my head open. Minutes later the bus pulls away. And she stands there watching me, balanced on the curb, looking wraithlike in that massive, poorly fitting coat. Her cheeks pale and hollow. She’s dying. I know it even now. And this would be the last time I’d see her. That night, I lay in bed staring up at the darkened ceiling, immersed in that same shitty sense of powerlessness. Just like Bree, Emilia was pushing me away, forcing me to back off. And there was not a thing I could do about it. *** Almost a week later, I was sitting outside the conference room at the offices of my liability insurance company, waiting to go into the dreaded meeting with the families of the victims of Tom Olmquist’s shooting rampage. I was almost trembling with nervous, raw energy. The five miles I’d run on the treadmill this morning had done nothing to diminish it, either.

I worked a hand furiously at my side, staring off into space when Jordan sank into the chair beside me. “So…” he started. I shook my head. I wasn’t in the mood for his bullshit. “I’m going to be right in there with you, man, right by your side. Remember what Joseph coached us on —no admission of guilt. We express our heartfelt condolences at their terrible loss and the horrific tragedy, yadda yadda.” I shook my head, tapping my foot. “This sucks shit. It really does. I go in there and it’s like admitting I’m guilty of being a virtual crack dealer.” “No, man. It’s like…they have a point and we have a point. We both occupy our own moral high ground. It’s like with the paintball war against the Bliz. They kicked our asses at King of the Hill. We wiped the floor with them at Capture the Flag. In the end, we had to declare a draw.” I squinted at him. “You’re comparing this to a paintball scenario?” “Why not? It’s as good a comparison as any. If we aren’t willing to declare the draw and concede, then this drags out for years and years and ends up doing everyone involved more harm.” I thought about that for a minute, rubbing my jaw. It seemed to make sense, though I would have preferred it hadn’t. Minutes later, we were shown into a conference room where three people sat. The couple I recognized instantly from news footage as Tom Olmquist’s parents. The third person, a woman in her early forties, was introduced to us as the mother of Tom’s girlfriend, Evy. There was a somber, heavy atmosphere. They were still in mourning, of course, the loss of their loved ones still so recent. I could feel their accusing stares weighing me down, so I tried not to look at them as I read my canned “cover your ass” statement that had been written and revised by my lawyer and the counsel for the insurance company. I set the card aside when I was done and laced my hands on the table in front of me. “Allow me to add my very…personal condolences to you at this time. I know it must be very difficult.” Tom’s father, Mr. Olmquist, spoke up first. He’d scowled at me the entire time I’d read my statement and now, given the fist closing on the table in front of him, I could see that he was armed for bear. “Honestly, what would you know about how difficult it is? You’re a kid yourself. You’re not—what? Four or five years older than Tom. You’ve sat in front of a computer programming games your whole life. What would you know of grief—of this kind of loss? Of the horror of watching someone you love dwindle into a shadow of himself as he withdraws from the real world?” I swallowed as something gripped me, a feeling I couldn’t quite describe—nerves, anger, frustration. I was being judged by this man who knew nothing of me, nothing of what I’d been through. Jordan placed his hand on my elbow, having read my body language. I relaxed my jaw. “Sir, I’m sorry that you feel that way. I’m honestly sorry for your loss—” “But you’re not sorry for the millions you’ve made while doling out an addictive and destructive game to kids just as young as you are—and younger. A game that ruins lives before they’ve even started. You ride around in your limo, using your fancy gadgets. You have no conscience about the havoc you wreak on other people’s lives. It’s all about the almighty dollar for you.” I sat back, feeling like he’d just pummeled me. I relaxed my hands, which had knotted into fists. We held a long, heated stare. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying not to succumb to my own anger. “With respect, Mr. Olmquist, I may be young. I may only be six years older than your son, but I do know something about addiction and abuse. And I know what it means to suffer when someone close to you is addicted. My mother is an alcoholic. Because of that, I rarely touch hard liquor myself, afraid that I might develop the same problem…” He said nothing, fortunately, just continued to watch me with eyes like stone. The woman beside him, Tom’s mother, dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. I stared at my laced hands. “But she’s not the person who taught me the raw pain and powerlessness of loving an addict.” My voice tightened with emotion and

Jordan shifted at my side. Maybe he was trying to get my attention, to shut me up. But something inside me told me that it was time to let go of this secret now. Because keeping it so close, so deep inside me was only harming me and shutting everyone else out. I cleared my throat and swallowed. “I have—had an older sister. She was seven years older than me and because of our home life, she was like a mom to me. She started using drugs when she was thirteen.” Evy’s mother gave a sharp intake of breath. I plowed on. “By the time she was fifteen, she ran away, leaving me behind, and she was on the streets, a slave to her addiction. So in reply to you, Mr. Olmquist, I do know what that’s like. Exactly what that’s like. And I’m sorry you’ve had to experience it. I’m sorry you had to watch your son get sick. Because I know…” I paused, waited, cleared my throat. Why was this so easy and yet so difficult at the same time? I was talking about things I never talked about. Not even to those people closest to me in the world. Jordan, for example, was hearing this for the very first time. He had no fucking idea I’d ever had a sibling. He sat at my side, absolutely still. I didn’t dare look at him for fear of the pity I might read in his eyes. I took in a shaky breath. “I know that feeling of powerlessness. That struggle against it. That constant second-guessing. I’ve lived it for the past thirteen years, since she died. If only I had refused to get on the bus. If only I had refused to leave her behind. If only I had been a little older, been able to take care of her like a man instead of the boy that I was…” I drew in a long ragged breath and said nothing. Mr. Olmquist sat back and stared at me, his mouth hanging open. Mrs. Olmquist was openly sobbing into her tissue and Evy’s mother was swiping at her eyes with her hand. I didn’t take my eyes off the man in front of me. “I know that addiction is addiction, whether it’s alcohol or food or gambling or even a video game. A person with that predilection inside of him will gravitate toward his poison of choice and unless he can get help for himself, the ones he loves are helpless to stop it. And my hope for you—for all of you—is that you don’t do what I have done. Don’t live your lives with regret, with the secret shame of not being able to change what you were unable to change.” The meeting ended not long after that. Mr. Olmquist and I managed to shake hands, not quite meeting each other’s eyes. When they had walked out, Jordan turned, watching me carefully. “Dude, I have to ask but…you didn’t just make all that shit up to get yourself off the hook, did you?” I looked at him like he’d just babbled at me in Klingon. “Wow, you’ve got a great opinion of me, don’t you?” He snorted and then grew serious. “No, it’s just that …well, that was some heavy shit. I…I really had no idea.” I wanted to shrug it off. Wanted to blow off the concern, which made me feel uncomfortable, undeserving of sympathy. Instead I accepted it. “I never talk about that shit. And I guess that was my big mistake.” He studied me closely and nodded. I looked away, rubbing my jaw. “I think that’s what she was trying to tell me,” I muttered. Jordan paused. “Mia?” I nodded. She’d said that losing Bree had defined me and she was right. I’d kept that secret shame over my powerlessness close to my soul. I’d used it as armor, to keep everyone at a distance, especially her. I’d used the fear of loss to drive me to recklessness. To hurting her. And all I could think of in that moment was how right she was about me. How she knew me better than anyone else, had looked into my soul, seen the worst of me and never looked away—not until my own wild fear had driven me to push her away. The emotion that rose in my throat must have shown on my face because Jordan excused himself, presumably to give me a moment to collect myself. That night when I got back to my hotel room, I had to pack up in preparation for the next leg of the trip in the morning—the short hop to Washington, DC. But before I crashed, I picked up my cell phone and

stared at it. It was midnight on the East Coast, but only 9 p.m. in California. I wanted to call her. Needed to hear her voice. My finger hovered over her number, but I didn’t do it. I couldn’t risk her not answering. I felt too tender, too vulnerable to put myself out there like that tonight. My thumb hovered over the send button… Hey. Just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you. xoooooo (all the o’s mean tight hugs) She’d probably do a double take. We seldom exchanged lovey-dovey text messages. Our text exchanges were usually utilitarian. Meet me here. See you there, etc. We saved the intimate stuff for up close and personal time, the way I liked it. With a deep sigh, I deleted the text before I could send it. I tried to ignore this pain compressing my chest. Tossing my phone aside, I lay in bed, awake for hours. I was beginning to figure that I was catching a clue of how I needed to proceed with her. That moment of epiphany, that thing that Jordan said—about sometimes you just had to concede in order to end a long struggle that would lead to even more harm—it stayed with me. Like it might be a clue for how to deal with this thing with Emilia if I could just figure out how it applied. I’d considered and then rejected advice from The Art of War that went along those lines. The general who advances without coveting fame and retreats without feeling disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do good service…is the jewel of the kingdom. I was willing to concede, finally. I was willing to put this in her hands. I had no idea when I’d get the opportunity to do it or whether or not it was too late. Everything was so out of my hands, so jumbled… and so uncertain. *** The following week was the congressional hearing about addiction and online video games. I’d been subpoenaed as a key witness, along with officers from other prominent companies. My old boss from Sony was there. We had lunch together, laughing about old times while he jokingly berated me for the competition Dragon Epoch was giving his company’s creation, Everquest, and its sequel games. But mostly it was a stressful set of days. Especially when a senator from one of the Southern Bible Belt states started laying into me about the depiction of magic and demonic elements in my game. He didn’t understand that many of these things were key elements to the fantasy genre—dragons, wizards, spells. I saw him as one of those guys I used to hear about back at the beginning of the millennium who wanted to burn all the Harry Potter books. Clueless muggle, I wanted to mutter under my breath. Even though it was stressful, there were moments when an irreverent thought like that would cross my mind. I’d picture this staid, conservative politician barfing up a bunch of slugs or biting into a vomit-flavored jellybean. Or maybe earwax. When the horrible weather started to kick in and the holiday approached, Congress adjourned for the year and there was talk that, due to other issues arising in the news, these hearings might not be reopened for some time. I hoped the politicians would lose interest and this would be the end of it. Yet another reason to be thankful for Christmas. And after a freezing existence in the East, I was all too eager to return home to sunny weather, dry winds and the eighty degrees predicted for Christmas Day. Thank God for Southern California. I made it home on the morning of Christmas Eve. While I’d been gone, I’d had Maggie buy gifts for me. I usually did not adhere to this practice, preferring to make gifts more personal. But this year, since things were so crazy, I’d conceded that I just couldn’t. Jordan called from the road on his way to San Luis Obispo, where his parents lived, for the holiday. He’d flown back from the East Coast days before me to help wrap up the shop for the holidays. “Hey,” I said. “Merry Christmas, bro.”

“What’s up?” “While you were in the air, I got a call from development. The hidden quest has been unlocked. Holy shitballs, Adam. General SylvanWood? Talk about hiding that thing under everyone’s nose. I can’t believe I didn’t even figure that shit out. You’re a fucking genius.” My world spun for a moment and it felt like being once again in the weightlessness of space. I had no words for a moment. It felt like a burden removed from me. I was lightheaded and a little giddy. Was this the feeling of relief, this revelation of yet another deep, dark secret? One of those secrets which I loved so much, according to Emilia. I realized that the crew at development knew about the quest triggering because the programming was in place to send notifications to them when this happened. We’d have some information about the character who had triggered it, and their account. “Tell me what you know. Who was it? One of the big power players on a hardcore server?” Jordan laughed. “They have no idea, actually. The name of the character is MisterRogers and he’s a level-four assassin.” A newbie. “It has to be an alternate character of some other player. Must be a power gamer or some player who belongs to a big guild playing anonymously on a different server. Did you check the account info?” “MisterRogers has no guild tag and he is the only character made on his account. No high-level characters on any server. We checked. The account is fresh. And might I add that I find the name hilarious?” “What about the billing info on the account?” “Nope. Yet another dead end because the account was paid for with a prepaid game card. The quest was designed to be triggered when a character approached General SylvanWood and began questioning him about his lost love instead of following the usual script of the well-known newbie daffodil quest. A certain string of phrases, which a player had to intuit, unlocked the script, which would lead the broken-down general to give the beginning of the quest that would save the captive elf princess. The call cut off after that as Jordan said he was about to go through the big tunnel on the 101 just outside Lompoc. I stared at my cell phone for a long moment, almost tempted to text Emilia and tell her. But I stopped. I’d be seeing her tomorrow. I could tell her then…or not. Still, this feeling inside me was nothing like the panic I’d felt when Emilia had jokingly told me in Yosemite that the quest had been unlocked. No, this one felt…light. Like a burden removed. I could breathe more easily. I surprised even myself with that reaction. I went home and spent Christmas Eve alone when I could have been with her. If only I hadn’t fucked things up so thoroughly. And after being on the road for weeks, all I did was work out, swim and hit my bed early. We would celebrate Christmas day at Peter’s house, like always. And this year, the new family dynamic was awkward beyond words. Emilia arrived late, looking pale with her extra-weird hair in two braids. It was obvious that Kim hadn’t seen her daughter in a while, because she made a comment about Emilia’s new look, complete with pink and purple streaks. Now that I was home and could gather my thoughts about her as I watched her stiffly greet her mom with a face devoid of any expression, I puzzled over this mystery. The change in appearance, the use of drugs, though presumably, if Heath’s assessment was to be trusted, not the abuse of drugs. Her avoidance of her mother. Her distance from her other friends. Her strange and sometimes erratic behavior toward me. And then this whole med school question. She wasn’t going now? She’d said it was on hold. It made my brain hurt. From where I stood, it looked like her entire life was crumbling before my eyes and I was like that child on the bus, sniveling, helpless to change any of it.

Every other time I’d tried to find out, I fucked it up because I’d gone about it in the wrong way. So now I had to take a more direct approach. An honest approach. Honest but not pushy. Could I even manage that? Christmas dinner was greatly improved by the addition of Kim to the cooking team of Peter and my cousin Britt. Liam was still annoyed with me, but actually hung around with us in the living room as we sat and talked and opened gifts. He sat next to Emilia and they talked and joked. Surrounded by my family—which had grown now—I felt more alone than ever. Emilia sat just feet from me, but she might as well have been on another planet for all I could speak to her, hold her, find out what the fuck was going on inside that bleached-blond head of hers. She studiously avoided my gaze. Even when I said something directed at her, her eyes never went higher than my chest and she never answered me directly. I sat back, frustrated. Fuck. We were now in a worse place than we had been before the Con. It was like Vegas had never happened. It was like nothing had ever happened between us. And like before, I was getting sick as shit of the waiting. The family was setting up a card game at the dinner table when Emilia disappeared. I presumed it was to go back and talk to Liam. But when I excused myself to go down the hall to the bathroom, I turned and ducked my head into Liam’s room see what he was up to. Liam was in there alone, detailing some D&D figurines. “Hey guy,” I said, knowing I was sure to get the brush-off. Liam turned his head, but didn’t look at me. “Mia told me it wasn’t your fault.” I shifted in the doorway, leaning up against the doorjamb. “Um, what?” “She said I shouldn’t be mad at you anymore. She wants us to be friends again.” “That’s good. I want that, too.” “I told her she should practice what she preaches—that’s how the saying goes, right? That she should be friends with you.” I smiled. “Yeah. You got it right.” “Yeah, that’s what I told her. Then she got upset and went into the bathroom.” I stiffened against the doorjamb. “She was crying?” Liam shrugged. I excused myself and went farther down the hall to park myself next to the bathroom door. She’d been in there awhile. Was she shooting up in there? I still hadn’t put all my suspicions to rest. Finally after almost half an hour, I heard the door rattle and I straightened, ready for her. She opened the door, stepped into the hallway and, seeing me, she froze. She glanced away, avoiding my gaze. “I’m sorry. Were you waiting…?” That seemed kind of silly since there were two other bathrooms in the house. “Yeah,” I said. “Oh. Sorry,” she repeated awkwardly and stepped to pass me in the narrow hallway, but I shot an arm out to bar her way. She glared at me. “What?” I pointed above us. There was a big bunch of mistletoe suspended from the ceiling. I’d planned it that way. “Gotta kiss me,” I said. She looked up and then, to my shock, her face split into the first smile I’d seen from her all day. She stepped up and attempted to land a kiss on my cheek without actually touching me. But since she was shorter than me and she wasn’t using me to balance when she went on tiptoes, all I had to do was take a step backward and catch her as she lost her balance. I crushed her against me and then turned, landing a bedazzling kiss on her mouth. To my surprise, she kissed back and her hands fisted into my shirt. I stepped forward, moving us toward the wall where I could leverage more pressure with my body against hers. It

felt good, so good. She was breathing heavily when she pulled her mouth away, shooting a glance down the hallway. “Someone might see.” “I don’t care if they do.” She turned back to me. “I do.” I leaned forward to catch her mouth in another kiss. I’d kiss the sense into her if nothing else would work. If talking to her, if trying to do nice things for her, if nothing else worked, this still worked between us. Why not use it to my advantage? I could still overwhelm her with a passionate kiss, an embrace. She stopped me by turning her head, so I kissed along her jawline to her ear. “Merry Christmas,” I whispered as she shivered against me, making my lust surge. “Adam…” she whispered. “Stop.” “You don’t sound very convinced that I should.” “This is too confusing.” “It doesn’t have to be.” She placed her hands against my cheeks to keep my head from diving in again. She was flushed, breathing fast. She wanted it every bit as much as I did. “We can’t—we shouldn’t. We made that mistake once.” “It wasn’t a mistake. It was the natural state for us. We’re like magnets—try to separate us and we will tear ourselves apart to get back to each other. Put us together, let us spin, and we make electricity.” “God, you are such a nerd.” She smiled as she said it. “But that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.” “Emilia, come home with me. Let’s talk this out. I…I have some things I want to tell you.” I wanted so much to tell her what had gone on in New York with the parents of Tom Olmquist. How I’d opened up to them. How it was all because of her that I’d even been able to do it in the first place. How I’d realized that if I could open up to them, then I could bare my soul to her. She’d accused me, rightly of keeping secrets. She had secrets of her own. And if I told her mine, if I gave her what she’d sought from me that night at my house before she’d fallen asleep in my arms, maybe she’d trust me enough to come to me with hers. At least, God, I hoped she would. Sometimes you just had to concede and call a draw in order to shorten the struggle. That life lesson from the paintball war and the settlement were stuck in my mind. Emilia hesitated. Then—I could see that it took every inch of conviction in her to do it—she shook her head. I tried to subdue the frustration that was now building in every muscle. Frustration had gotten me into trouble too many times before. I couldn’t act on what instinct was telling me to do—step in, take charge, dominate. I caught her gaze with mine. “Does this mean you don’t ever want to talk?” She looked down, at the middle of my chest, anywhere but my eyes. She reached up and fiddled with one the buttons on my shirt. I shifted my stance, but still stood with one hand on either side of her head, resting against the wall behind her. “Not today…” I tilted my head, locked my gaze with hers. “When?” Her eyes closed and then opened. “We should talk. But I—” “Don’t keep putting this off.” She shook her head. I straightened, pulled away from her. I was out of patience and getting pissed. “I hope you are able to unfuck yourself soon, because you’re sure as hell not going to let anyone help you.” She showed absolutely no emotion at my angry words. “I don’t need help.” “Everyone needs help from time to time. But you refuse it. Despite all the people around you who care

about you. Who love you. Like your mom. Why can’t she help? Why keep everyone away? You’re talking about not going to med school. You’re changing your looks. You’re—” Her back stiffened. “Stop pushing me, Adam.” She sidestepped and pulled away, then turned and left me standing there, under the mistletoe alone. I scrubbed my hand over my face. I was confused, and totally powerless and I despised the feeling. And I was starting to hate the fact that I was still so hung up on her. Maybe it was just time to walk away from this mess? She clearly didn’t want to work it out. She clearly didn’t care enough about us to want to work through what we needed to. I’d had to practically coax her into even being in this relationship in the first place. Maybe she was just too immature, too much of a coward. Just plain too young, like Jordan and Lindsay had said. She wasn’t in the same place I was because she couldn’t be. That thought dug into my gut, hurting most of all because there was no way in hell I had any control over it.

Chapter Nineteen Two days after Christmas, I was back at work. I headed toward development for the daily meeting— which we called the early morning scrum—where we’d go over the subject of the newly opened Golden Mountains quest chain. On the way, I barely escaped a close encounter with the predatory interns from marketing. They gathered not far from the bathrooms. I paused, not in the mood for them to see me and start the swarm of stupid again. This morning, I was in a pretty black place, actually, as I’d been since Christmas, between all the stress at work and having to deal with the family bullshit. Emilia had left not long after our confrontation in the hall. Peter had to console Kim. Though they hadn’t said anything, I knew they thought I’d said something to offend her and send her home early. I hadn’t yet devised a plan of how to proceed. It all kept coming down to “wait until she quits in January, then move on.” She wanted her freedom, clearly, for whatever reason. But I was slowly beginning to accept that whatever it was that Emilia wanted, it wasn’t me. No, that wasn’t quite true. She did want me. But she was scared. Instead of doing an about-face to avoid the interns, I waited around the corner for the giggle-horde to dissipate. The one who looked like Snow White had just walked out of the bathroom. “Whoever’s in there is puking again! Like every other day this week.” “Shh, we were waiting to see who it is,” said the blonde with all the hair. “She’s got to be pregnant or something.” “Maybe she just binges on breakfast and now she’s purging,” said Snow White. “Does anyone know who it is?” said a third intern I didn’t know. Who the hell hired all these interns, anyway? Why were they swarming around my complex gossiping about coworkers? I moved into full view of them and stopped short, taking them all in. I decided to be a dick about it. “What’s going on here?” I said in a loud voice. They turned as a unit and all jumped when they saw me; the blonde had a huge smile on her face. “Good morning, Adam! How—” I didn’t let her get it out. Instead I made an obvious show of glancing at my watch and raised my eyebrows. “I don’t believe I’m paying you to stand around and gossip.” Snow White sucked in a breath and she exchanged a long glance with the blonde. “Oh yeah, sorry. We were just—Yeah, let’s go.” She turned and followed the rest of the pack, all of them hightailing it out of the corridor as quickly as they could move. I watched them go for a moment before continuing down the hallway. I was just passing the ladies’ bathroom when the door opened. I shouldn’t have looked, but when I saw that brilliant white hair out of the corner of my eye, I did a double take. Emilia came out of the bathroom with a face that was paler than the wall. She halted when she locked gazes with me, looking almost guilty. I tried everything I could to keep the shock I was feeling from my face. Then she faked a smile and shrugged, muttered something that sounded like, “Back to work!” and turned and left me standing there, rooted to my spot. I watched her go and in my mind I replayed the conversation of the little mean-girl interns. She’d been puking for a week, every morning? The mean girls had come to a conclusion I hadn’t yet considered—an eating disorder. But she’d eaten normally whenever I had a meal with her. And while eating dinner at my house, she had shown a lighter-than-normal appetite, but nothing anorexic. She had lost a little weight, but nothing drastic. But then—then when we’d met for dinner at the café and at Christmas, she’d shown little to no appetite. I went back to my office and did some cursory reading on eating disorders by surfing the Internet.

Bulimia? Maybe… Or maybe the erratic behavior and appearance change heralded a mental disorder, like anxiety or depression. I added those to my catalog of possible problems she might be suffering from. It certainly wasn’t pregnancy. She was on birth control so it ruled that out. But something about that conclusion bugged me and I couldn’t put my finger on why. Hours later, in the middle of working through a stack of papers I had to sign, my pen froze when I realized what it was. I’d rummaged through her sack pretty thoroughly the night she’d fallen asleep over at my place. I’d found the sharps container, the syringes, and I’d freaked. After that, I’d ransacked everything, looked in her makeup case and everywhere else. And the one thing I hadn’t seen? Birth control pills. They came in a special box. I’d seen them before, of course, when she’d lived with me and when we’d traveled together. The type she used came in a little green square that opened like a compact when you pressed the little silver button—and they were stored in a grid that was labeled by day of the week. She never forgot those, carried them with her everywhere when we traveled, of course. But they had not been in the bag of her things when she’d come home from Vegas. And in Vegas, we’d… I counted back the days since the Con. Almost four weeks. I fought for a breath after that realization. I paced for a half hour in front of my window. Most of my officers, including Jordan, were out of town still from the holiday. I thought up a long errand to send Maggie on to get her away from her desk and then I went to the drugstore on my lunch break. When I got back, I called Emilia’s desk directly. She answered on the first ring. And I knew she knew it was me, because my name was on her caller ID. “I need to see you in my office.” A long pause on the other end. “Um. Okay, can—” “Now,” I snarled and slammed the phone down, trying to contain the unexpected rage and frustration that had risen up just on hearing her voice. I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax or this would become ugly. I walked over to the door and pulled it ajar so she wouldn’t have to knock, double-checking that Maggie was still gone. When she came in, she must have known something was up because she didn’t close the door and instead stood right next to it. I was sitting in my chair gazing out the window at the atrium garden, my chin in my hand, trying to figure out what the hell to say to her. Without looking at her I said, “Close the door, please.” She hesitated, then slowly shut the door behind her. I gestured to the chair opposite me without saying anything. She crept across the room and sank into the chair, sitting on its very edge. It was casual Friday so she was wearing a pair of jeans. They looked too big for her and I realized these were the old pair she always used to wear—the ones that once had fit her like a glove, that showcased her long legs and her gorgeous, round ass. They were baggy on her now. She watched me with wide eyes. “Did I do something to piss you off?” My eyes went to hers, my chin still in my hand. “What makes you think that?” She blinked at me. “Um. Because you are acting like you’re pissed off.” “Maybe I’m getting tired of the bullshit between us.” She took a deep breath, blew it out and seemed to go a shade paler, if that was possible. She laced her fingers in her lap and bounced one of her knees up and down. “I know you’ve been wanting to talk. I know you’ve got things to say. I’ve got things to say too. I just… I can’t. Not right now.” “You’re sick,” I blurted. Her knee stilled. Her hands smoothed across her lap. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Um.

Yeah,” she finally said quietly. “Are you pregnant?” She let out a half laugh. “No.” “You’re certain?” “Of course. It’s—” “You’re still on birth control, right?” And this is where I’d know if she was lying. Because I already knew the answer to this. She looked away from me and out the window. “I’m not taking the birth control pill. But I’m on other —” “You never mentioned that in Vegas, that you’d stopped taking the pill.” “I was pretty shitfaced. There’s a lot of things I didn’t mention, but—” “So you’re not certain, then.” She looked back at me. “What?” “You’re not certain that you’re not pregnant.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not pregnant—I’m not even fertile.” “I have no idea what that means.” She shifted in her chair and grabbed a lock of her freakish white hair, twirling it around her forefinger. “It means I can’t get pregnant, okay? Stop worrying about it.” “There’s only one way I’m going to stop worrying about it.” She looked at me with the question in her eyes. I opened my desk drawer, reached inside and slapped the pregnancy test on the desk between us. She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “I’m not taking a pregnancy test.” “Why not?” She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Because I. Am. Not. Pregnant.” “Then it won’t cost you anything to go in the bathroom and use it—for the sake of my peace of mind.” “Adam, you need to drop it—” “I’m not going to drop it. I have a right to know and it takes you two minutes to use that.” “You’re starting to really piss me off now.” “You’re going to keep your secrets. You’re going to refuse to talk to me—or anybody—about why your life appears to be circling the drain in front of all of our eyes, fine. But I have a right to know this, goddamn it. Now go and piss on this fucking thing and if it’s negative you can storm out of here and we’ll never have to look at each other ever again.” She scowled, then snatched up the box from the desk. Standing, she walked around me to get into my private bathroom, and slammed the door after her. I waited until I heard the toilet flush and the sink being used. When she turned off the faucet, I opened the door and went in. I’d already read the directions. It had indicated a three-minute wait after use. I glanced at my watch. She stared at me in the mirror as she dried her hands. “Hopefully that makes you happy. You have gone so far over the top this time that you might as well be on your space station trip again,” she huffed, flushing red with anger. “I’m out of here—as in packing up my desk and walking the fuck out of here.” “You aren’t going to wait a minute for the results?” She rolled her eyes. “I already know what the results are. It’s humiliating enough that you made me pee on a stick in your bathroom, I don’t need to wait around to find out what I already know.” I glanced at the test sitting on the back of the toilet where she’d set it. She turned to leave. Very clearly I saw two lines. Two pink lines. The three minutes weren’t even up yet. She was halfway out the door when I said, “It’s positive.” She froze and turned around and stared at me in the mirror. “Is that a fucking—”

But I held up the test so she could see and she never finished that question. Her eyes landed on the test and then widened in horror. She’d been fully convinced that she wasn’t pregnant. But she was. I searched inside myself for some reaction to that knowledge and all I felt was a coldness, a distance. Shock. Disbelief. I read once that these were mechanisms used by the mind to protect itself from falling apart in times of high stress. Her demeanor changed immediately. She started shaking. “It’s a mistake. It has to be a mistake. Where’s the other one?” Emilia had run straight through shock and into denial. I found the box and handed her the remaining test from the double pack. I was pretty certain those results were going to come up the same, but if she needed that confirmation, I wasn’t going to deny her. She stared at it, her brows knitting in confusion. “It’s—it’s wrong. These things are wrong sometimes, right?” Her voice settled somewhere between hysteria and panic, trembling along with the rest of her. “I can’t go pee again right now.” I’ll admit that in another circumstances, if I wasn’t so ragingly pissed off, I might have tried to comfort her. But I didn’t. Because I hadn’t wanted that thing to be positive any more than she had. Any hopes of healing us, of getting back what we’d lost, seemed gone now, blown away in the wind. The heavy weight of this new development would snap the fledgling branch upon which our hearts, our lives hung. We couldn’t handle our own lives and now there was another one in the balance? She stared at me for a long moment and I didn’t move, didn’t say a word. I had no idea what the hell to say. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was so done with this. With us. With the lies and the stupid games. The rage started to bubble up, burning through the layers of ice in my gut, melting the shock. How I hated the powerlessness I felt at that moment. My life was careening, out of control. My hands clenched into fists and that red-hot lava burned up every limb. She seemed to be pressing herself into the bathroom door, or using it to hold herself up. I squeezed past her and stalked back into the office. The first thing I did was grab that ridiculous vase that Maggie had put on the table last month—one filled with a bunch of colored marbles. I turned and slammed it against the wall. It shattered into fragments, marbles bouncing everywhere. And it didn’t make me feel better in the least. Fuck. I turned to stand next to the window. The top part of my vision had that curious wavy quality to it, a migraine aura presaging another vicious strike of lightning into my brain at any time now. Great. Just fucking great. After long moments where I continued to stare into the daylight as if daring the headache to flare up, she reentered the room. I couldn’t look at her. I stood rigid, still, my arms folded across my chest. I’d been so careful, always, with my sex partners. I’d never had sex without a condom and usually some other type of birth control on her part. But I had never used a condom with Emilia. Had trusted her to bear the burden of the birth control. That probably wasn’t entirely fair of me but goddamn, it’s the way it had been between us since the beginning and damn her for changing the rules without telling me. Whether or not this was intentional, it was a trap. She had knowingly gone to bed with me unprotected. “Adam,” she said, her voice quiet, hoarse from unshed tears. I shook my head. I couldn’t even find the words. “I know you think I did this on purpose.” “I don’t know what to think.” “I honestly thought this was impossible. I—I haven’t had a period in months.” I turned around and looked at her. Okay, she was thin, but she wasn’t that thin. From my cursory research about severe eating disorders, I knew that women sometimes stopped having their periods, but she didn’t look like she’d lost enough weight for that to happen. “Something is clearly wrong with you. Tell me what it is.”

She opened her mouth to answer and then shook her head, her hands shaking as she pushed her hair away from her face in nervous agitation. “I have to go,” she said. I couldn’t believe my ears. “You’re going to walk out of here right now? You’re going to just leave it like this without telling me a goddamn thing?” “You’re too pissed off right now. We’re at work, for God’s sake. Your secretary is right outside the door! I can’t talk to you here.” “Enough with the bullshit, Emilia! I’m sick of the excuses.” Her head came up, her eyes narrowed. “You just smashed that vase into a thousand tiny bits and you think this is a good time for us to talk? No way.” My headache intensified to the point where it suddenly felt like there was an army inside my skull waging a war to get out. I pressed my palm to my head. “Your head hurts?” I shook my head, clenched my teeth. “Stop putting this off.” “We’ll talk. Tomorrow. I’ll—I’ll come to your house.” “If you walk out of that door now—you walk out on me again, we are done. Forever. The way it should have been when you moved out in October.” One tear streaked across her pale cheek. “It takes two to fuck up and if you can’t acknowledge your own failures, then you’re right—we are done,” she said, voice trembling. “We were done months ago. I’ve just been the fool for holding out hope.” She nodded, blinking, fighting furiously to contain her tears but they were escaping again. I suddenly wished I had ten more vases like the first one to smash against the wall. “You don’t need to worry about it, then. I’ll take care of this,” she choked out. Then she turned and walked to the door. I spun, staring out into the atrium, refusing to watch her walk out of my life forever. I shut my eyes, squeezed them tight against the pain that was intensifying like a torrent of hammers raining from the sky. Even if I wanted to run after her, I doubted I could. The door opened and clicked shut just as quickly. I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, my head bursting with pain.

Chapter Twenty I spent half the night wondering what to do. Wishing there was someone I could talk this through with. There was no way I was going to go to Jordan. I had half a mind to call Heath, but wasn’t sure if Emilia had told him yet. I almost called my lawyer to try and figure out what my rights were. In my anger and pain I’d effectively cut her off by telling her in all finality that we were done. Now, she no longer worked for me. She had alienated herself from her mother so it was unlikely that even the family connection would be worth anything. Ironically, I had balked at the fact that once she stopped working for me, we’d no longer have a connection in our lives. It seemed I’d worried about that needlessly. Because now, we were connected forever. I wasn’t sure how long it would take before we were composed enough to talk this through like the adults we were supposed to be. How long would it take me to calm down? Or for her to unfuck herself long enough to determine if she could even handle going through with this? I ended up seeing her again a lot sooner than I thought I would. At eight o’clock that next morning, Saturday, when I was still asleep, my phone buzzed on my night table. I picked it up to see a text from Heath. Get over here NOW. 911. I sat up, texted back. What’s up? He replied. Need your help ASAP. She’s freaking out. I hesitated, actually considered telling him to call someone else. I was done with her, wasn’t I? But my gut still sank hearing that she was having a hard time. Her behavior enraged me, but I couldn’t help myself. Could I even stay away if I tried? That month after we’d split up in St. Lucia and she moved back to her mom’s house, I’d tried to forget her. Our fling had only lasted a few short weeks. In fact, we’d only had sex a handful of times. But try as I might, I couldn’t get her out of my head. She was indelibly imprinted on every thought, every feeling like a tattoo on my soul. The memory of her voice, her laugh, the feel of her body was permanently a part of me. I blew out a breath, running my hands through my hair. I’d struggle and I’d find the will to resist this, resist her. But…we were like magnets. Tearing ourselves apart to get back to each other. I swallowed, my throat feeling prickly. One last burst of stubborn resistance had me setting the phone aside, resolved to forget her. Then I called myself the dick that I was, took it back up and replied. Be there ASAP. I got there a little over fifteen minutes later. Heath lived up in the Orange Hills, so it was a bit of a drive from my place in Newport. I did break a few speeding laws on my way up. As luck would have it, the CHP didn’t know a thing about it. When I knocked on the door, Heath whipped it open almost as quickly. He was still wearing his pajamas. I stared at him. “What’s going on?” “She’s locked in the bathroom and she’s sobbing. She won’t answer me and she keeps saying your

name and ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. We gotta get her out of there, man.” I took a deep breath and walked in. I wasn’t sure what Heath knew or what she wanted him to know. So I walked to the bathroom without saying another word. I could hear her sniveling on the other side of the door, so I knocked. She didn’t say anything. “Emilia,” I called. “Open the door.” “Adam?” she answered after a long moment. She sounded weird, her speech slurred. I looked at Heath and asked quietly, “You have any tools? A screwdriver? I need a flashlight, too.” Heath left to go dig through a drawer in his kitchen. I turned back to the door. “Open the door, Emilia. We’re worried about you.” “You’re not worried about me,” she said. “You’re pissed off at me.” “I can be both at the same time. Open the door.” “They keep coming out the same. Every one of them.” Heath returned with a huge screwdriver and a flashlight. I tried to fit it inside the small hole in the doorknob. I shook my head at Heath. He left and returned with the entire drawer, having pulled it out of his cabinet. I began digging through the tools to find something that would work. I chose a thin screwdriver and held the light up to the doorknob, sticking it into the hole. “Emilia, you need to come out. Open the door.” “You said you didn’t want to talk about it. That you were done.” “I’ve had some time to cool off.” Heath waved to get my attention, frowning and mouthing, What the hell? So that answered that. He didn’t know. Emilia was still keeping secrets. She was crying again, in a muffled way, like she was weeping into her hands or a towel. I twisted the screwdriver. I almost had it. “We can talk about this now. Let me in.” The doorknob clicked and I quietly turned it, slowly pushing open the door. Emilia was inside the bathtub with only a bathrobe cinched around her. All across the counter, a multitude of pregnancy tests were lined up. All different brands, colors and shapes—she must have spent hundreds of dollars on them all. Every single one of them was used. They all showed the exact same result in different ways; some had pink lines, some had blue, some had a red “plus” sign and some just said the word “pregnant” on mini digital screens. Well, that answered that question. She must have been up half the night peeing on them. And from the look of her, she hadn’t slept since the last time I’d seen her. I went to sit on the edge of the bathtub and she looked up at me with pathetic, red-rimmed eyes. “Emilia, you need to sleep.” Heath walked in, looked at the counter and his jaw dropped. He shot a death look at Emilia. “What the fuck is this?” Emilia didn’t move, just pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. I turned to Heath. “Hey, man, I got this. Do you mind—?” And that’s when he grabbed me by the shirt, pulled me up and shoved me back against the wall. “Did you do this to her?” he said, getting in my face. I pushed him off of me. Heath was a big guy and easily had twenty or more pounds on me. It wouldn’t go well for either of us in a fight and I sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for this bullshit now. “Get the fuck off of me—” “What the fuck did you do, man? Did you get her pregnant?” Heath’s face, only inches from my own, was murderous. Emilia was now standing in the tub. She reached over and grabbed Heath’s shoulder. “Heath, get off of him!” The next thing I felt was the sucker punch to my gut. Fire blossomed in my lower abdomen. I shoved

Heath back while fighting for my next breath. He went flying backward into the sink and knocked the army of pee sticks off the counter. I backed out of the bathroom, putting my arms up. “Calm down, Heath.” Emilia was shouting at the same time. “Heath! I have this handled, all right? Knock it off!” Heath pivoted from me and turned his wrath on Emilia. “You’ve got this handled? You’ve got this fucking handled? You have chemo next week. How the fuck do you think that’s going to happen now?” Chemo? That word hit me like a second punch to my gut. Emilia was saying something to Heath in a low voice, but he was red-faced and furious. He stepped back into the bathroom. “No, no. I’m not going to ‘shut the fuck up,’ all right? You should have told him weeks ago. You should have told them all weeks ago. Maybe then he wouldn’t have fucked you and handed you your death sentence.” I stepped back, stunned. From my angle, I couldn’t see either of them, but I could see the counter behind the sink and now, beyond the plethora of scattered pregnancy tests, I noticed an entire lineup of prescription bottles. The realization hit me then, like a Mack truck driving straight through my chest. Emilia had cancer. And she was pregnant. And she needed chemotherapy. I turned and staggered down the hall, trying to catch my breath, running my hand through my hair. Heath came down the hall after me. I spun. He looked exactly like he was going to take another swing at me. “You fucked it up again, man. You fucked it up good—literally.” I could feel the blood draining out of my face. I almost stepped forward and purposely left myself open for another punch. It would have felt better than the utter terror coursing through my veins at this moment. I could hardly even think. “She has stage two HER2-positive breast cancer,” he choked out, appearing as near to losing it as I felt. “It’s extremely dangerous—extremely aggressive. When she was in Maryland, she had a chunk of her breast removed and she’d been taking drugs that fucked up her hormones. She was also on painkillers for a little while—those syringes you found in her bag. She’d just finished radiation therapy before the Con. And she was supposed to start chemo next week, but they won’t do it now if she’s pregnant so fuck you very much for that.” I turned away from him, put my face in my hands. I didn’t even care if he came at me. Oh, God. This got worse and worse with each minute that passed. I longed to go back to yesterday when the worst problem I thought we were facing was what we were going to do about her pregnancy. But this was making me wish the ground would open up under my feet and swallow me whole. There was silence between us and I could tell Heath was trying to figure out what to do or say. That made two of us. I was reeling, like the room spinning around me. I closed my eyes, squeezed them shut. My heart was still racing. When Heath finally spoke, it was in a voice thick with emotion. “I fucked up, too. Because I should have told you, even if she would have disowned me. She’s shut everyone out and I’ve been the one carrying the football for this whole thing.” I blinked, looked down, hardly trusted myself to speak, glad he couldn’t see my face. “Thanks for taking care of her. I—” My voice shook and I cut myself off, shaking my head. My throat stung and I couldn’t think. I heard Heath come up behind me slowly. “You should talk to her, man.” I fought for breath, and even that simple act was painful. “I have no idea what we have to say to each other.” Heath came closer and I tensed. He hooked a hand onto my shoulder. “You need to talk to her. You know what she needs to do and she’s not going to listen to me.”

“She’s not going to listen to me either.” “Adam,” Heath said, his voice hardening. “Man up, okay? Look past your own hurt feelings. If she doesn’t do what we both know she has to, she could die.” I shrugged off his hand, turned from him and rubbed the morning beard on my chin, knowing he was right. I nodded. Heath sighed heavily. “I’m gonna get dressed and get out of here for a few hours. Let you two talk.” I nodded again, still unable to look at him or focus on anything. He turned and walked out. I sat on the couch and stared down the hall for a long time after Heath ducked his head into the guestroom where Emilia was staying and told her he was leaving her with me. I pulled out my smart phone and did a search for stage two HER2-positive breast cancer. I added pregnancy into the search. I skimmed as fast as I could to glean as much information as possible. The cold fear was fading into the background and now hard, rational problem-solving was stepping in to take its place. This I was comfortable with. This I knew…As I gathered the information I’d need, my mind was working constantly to find a way through this puzzle. I waited for her to come out, bent over the tiny screen, my elbows on my knees, my face in one hand. Finally, after over half an hour, I heard her step down the hall. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. She wore those same baggy jeans from yesterday and had pulled on a bright pink T-shirt, just as baggy. I didn’t move, didn’t look up until I felt her sink down on the couch next to me, curling her legs underneath her. I stood up. “You need breakfast,” I said. She looked away from my gaze. “Not feeling real hungry right now.” I ignored her, went into the kitchen, stuck a piece of bread in the toaster, scraped a small bit of butter across it, the way I knew she liked it, and brought it back to her, holding it in front of her. “Eat,” I ordered. With a distinct sigh she pulled it off the plate and took a tiny bite, then pulled it away from her face, taking forever to chew it. I continued to watch her and when she swallowed the first bite I raised my brows at her expectantly. She grimaced and took another bite, tearing it off reluctantly and chewing. When I was satisfied that she would continue, I sat down on the same spot beside her. She only finished half the toast before she set it on the plate. I didn’t protest. It was better than nothing. “Heath told me that you know everything,” she finally said in a shaky voice. I cocked my head toward her, trying to ignore the ice-cold boulder of panic forming at the center of my being. But it wasn’t just panic. It was betrayal. Hurt. Helplessness. God, it was like Bree all over again only ten times worse. “Do I?” I finally asked in a tight voice. She blinked. “I was going to tell you right from the start but—” She cut off at my look of disbelief. “I was. That night we hung out at Dale and Boomers…I was going in for the biopsy the next day and I was going to tell you, but…you were stressed and upset about the lawsuit and I didn’t even know if this was going to turn out to be anything so I didn’t say anything.” I continued to stare at her without responding, with the hope that this would draw out more details. “Adam, it’s been a shitty few months for you and I didn’t want to make it worse. But when the test came up positive…I came over to your house to tell you.” I blinked and looked away. The day she’d found out about the PI. “And yeah, I got pissed off because you were trying to take over and take control instead of letting me come to you. I was so angry and I felt betrayed. So I didn’t want to tell you for a while. After that you were pissed because I went to Baltimore and then you started dating other people so I thought it was over —” Her voice trembled and cut off at a sob. She put the back of her hand to her mouth as if to smother it. I closed my eyes, utterly horrified at what she’d gone through alone—and then thinking I’d moved on with someone else. “One person. One time. And only because…because I thought your going to Maryland

meant that you’d decided to move on without me.” I reached out and took her hand in mine. It felt limp, cold. Like death. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Her fingers returned the pressure, but she didn’t look at me. “There were so many times when I wanted to tell you—when I almost told you. But something always stopped me. Or maybe it was just my own cowardice.” That frustration rose up inside, me, tightened in my chest. “I could have helped you. I would have taken care of you. Fuck, I’d walk through Hell barefoot for you if necessary.” “You would have taken over.” I was silent for a long moment, scrubbing a hand over my face. “And my not having any control at all has turned out so well,” I said dryly. “Adam—” “You remember when you said I was like a storm blowing you this way and that? And I told you that the storm was life and I was the anchor holding you down. I could have been, for this. I would have been here for you, if you had let me.” She tilted her face down so I couldn’t see when I glanced at her, but she sniffed a little and swept a tear away with the back of her hand. Long silence stretched between us, thick, solid. I felt lightheaded, disoriented. “What happens now?” I asked. She opened her mouth to reply and then shut it. “I—I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Of course she hadn’t. Neither of us had. But Heath’s words were still fresh in my mind. You know what she has to do. I did know. And I had no idea what her reaction would be. “Well, you should see your doctor first thing on Monday. You’re seeing an oncologist?” She nodded. “A good one?” She cleared her throat. “The day after the diagnosis, I went to see Dr. Martin—the oncologist I did my undergraduate research under. He’s the one who sponsored my application to Hopkins. He got on the phone with a colleague who specializes in breast cancer oncology here and then set up my consultation and surgery in Maryland.” My mouth dropped open. “How did you afford all that?” She took a deep breath and shot me a fearful look. “Um. Credit card and…the engagement ring.” I looked away, and wildly, a chuckle rose in my throat. A strange orphan of a creature, this cynical, dry laugh. It was born from the bizarre irony we found ourselves in. That ring—that symbol of my trying to take control of a situation quickly slipping away from me, used instead by her to assert her independence, so she wouldn’t have to come to me for financial help. I pulled my hand away from hers. It probably should have hurt my feelings more than it did but at this point I was starting to feel dead inside. “You need a second opinion. I’m going to find out who the best is and you are going to see him or her.” She stiffened next to me. “I have my treatment plan in place. I’m already—” My voice rose. “Oh really? What part of your plan involved getting pregnant?” She blinked. I instantly felt like a dick for blurting it out. I reached out and took her hand again. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t what you planned. I’m just…” and I let my voice die out. “Scared?” she said. Fucking utterly pit-in-my-stomach terrified was more like it. I looked away, nodded. My hand tightened around hers. Was Heath right? Was getting her pregnant like handing her a death sentence? “I’ll find a good clinic, too. I’m sure there’s something fantastic up in LA where we can have it done quickly.” She frowned. “Have what done?”

“The abortion.” She sat back, pulling her hand away from mine. “I haven’t made that decision yet.” I turned on the couch so that I was fully facing her. “The decision has been made for you. You have cancer. You need chemotherapy. You can’t have that and be pregnant. And who knows what damage the radiation has done…” She shook her head. “I finished that before I conceived. There’s no risk after the fact.” Her eyes drifted to the window, her head tilted, thinking. “As for the chemo, I could delay it.” My fist closed on the couch beside my thigh. “No, you can’t. You have no time. You need to fight this shit now.” Her gaze returned to mine. “There are some forms of chemo that are safe for a fetus in the second trimester.” Yeah, I’d just read that. But it wasn’t the type of chemo she needed and the second trimester was at least two months away. “You don’t have that kind of time. I’ve been sitting here reading about this and it’s worse than most other types of breast cancer and—” She put her hand out to stop me. “Please. I know and I don’t need to hear this right now.” “But maybe you need to be reminded that your type of cancer is particularly sensitive to hormones. That’s why you had to stop taking the pill, right?” She nodded. “And what do you think the pregnancy hormones are going to do to you? What do you really think your oncologist is going to say?” She slumped back, rubbing her forehead. “Please tell me you aren’t saying all this because you don’t want this.” “What I want doesn’t even belong in this conversation, besides the fact that I want you to have the best chance to fight this. To live.” “Where would I be if my mother had made the choice to abort her pregnancy?” she said in a quiet voice. “She had the choice and she chose not to.” Ah fuck. Fuck. She was actually considering this lunacy. “Her circumstances were different. If she were here right now she’d tell you that exact same thing.” She turned to me, paling. “Please don’t tell her. She’ll get worried. She might get sick again—Please, Adam!” That was an argument for another day. I wouldn’t make that promise. If I determined that Kim was the only one who could talk sense into her daughter, then I sure as hell was going to tell her. And for fuck’s sake, there’d been more than enough secrecy about this already. “You can’t go through with this.” “My father wanted my mother to get an abortion,” she said in a raspy voice, glaring at me. Great. Now she was comparing me to that bastard. Why did it always come down to this? “Emilia, you can have other children, when you are healthy again.” “If chemo doesn’t destroy my fertility like it could. This might be my only chance.” I clenched my teeth. “This is no chance, for you or a baby. If the cancer becomes metastatic during the pregnancy, then it’s all over and that child has no mother to grow up with.” “He’d have a father,” she said. I blew out a tight breath and looked away. After a minute I shook my head. “Please tell me you aren’t seriously considering this—” “I’m saying I have a choice and I need to think about—” “No!” I nearly shouted, causing her to jump. Then I cleared my throat and took a breath to calm the fuck down. “No, there is nothing to think about. There is the choice of life or death.” “No, it’s life or life. My life or the baby’s life. And terminating the pregnancy does not guarantee I’ll

be healthy anyway.” I ran my hand into my hair, curling my fingers so that it pulled at the roots. I would have happily yanked it out if doing so could solve this issue. I shot up off the couch, bubbling over with restless energy. I started pacing, like I was thinking through a programming snarl or working out a development issue, my mind racing over every eventuality. In every one of them except Emilia getting the abortion, I saw her dying. Either next year or five years from now. She watched me, her eyes glued to my every movement. “I don’t expect you to understand—” I shook my head furiously. “No. No, I don’t understand. It’s like you’re giving up. Like you don’t give a shit about your own life.” I stopped and faced her. “Well, what about my life? What about what this does to me if you have the kid and then you die?” She took in a shaky breath. “Don’t take over for me. Don’t railroad my decisions, my fight, my struggle. This is partly the reason I didn’t tell you in the first place. Because I knew how this would be. You’d step in—you’d ‘handle’ it. It’s my life—” “It’s our life, Emilia. But you haven’t ever wanted to think of anything as us. Ever. That’s been our problem all along.” She shot up from her seat, her face flushed with anger. “I was thinking about you, Adam. I was. Don’t you pull that shit on me. Who’s the one who flipped out when you thought I was going to Hopkins? Were you thinking about ‘us’ then or yourself? What about when you hired that PI to stalk me and tell you everything? Or going through my bag. Or—fuck does it ever end? So don’t you dare pull that ‘I’m the only one thinking about us.’ Because I call absolute bullshit on that!” During her tirade, her pale features had grown flushed. I opened my mouth to respond but she waved me off with a cutting gesture. “You don’t understand. You could never understand. You refuse to understand. I have life and death growing inside my body right now. I choose life.” She turned and left the room. I stood, stunned, watching her go. She disappeared into her room and I could hear her rifling through the drawers in her dresser. I knew what that meant. I burst through her door when her backpack was halfpacked. “Oh, no you fucking don’t,” I said, upending the backpack and emptying it onto the bed. “You are not running away again.” “Stop it! I need to get away and clear my head. I’m going up to Anza for a couple days.” “Does that mean you are going to talk to your mom?” She glanced at me as she grabbed fistfuls of her things and shoved them back in her bag. “She’s staying over with Peter this weekend. They were trying to convince me to go out to dinner with them tonight. She won’t be in Anza.” “So you are going up there all alone?” She raised her brow. “I’m a big girl.” “You had better have your ass in that doctor’s office on Monday morning.” “Or?” “Or I’ll come get you and drag you there.” She frowned, shaking her head. “This isn’t one of those problems you solve by pulling out your wallet, writing your check, or where you puzzle it out with your think tank. There is no one right answer and you think you can force your answer down my throat. This is why I couldn’t trust you.” That sucker punch that Heath had thrown into my gut an hour before? Yeah, that hurt less than her words had. This is why I couldn’t trust you. “Emilia—” I took her arm as she moved around me, with her repacked bag. She shrugged it away. I grabbed her again and she turned and slapped me on the face, then backed

away. The tears were coming now and she was shaking. “No! You need to understand something. This is my body and I haven’t had full control over what’s happened to it for months. I’ve been poked and cut into and irradiated. Now they want to pump toxins through me to root the cancer out. But this I have control over and no one, not you, not anyone can take it away from me.” I struggled to draw in a breath. That fear was back. Bree, shouting at me to get back on the bus, throwing my backpack at me. My vision blurred for a split second. “You can’t leave.” But she was already turning, already out the bedroom door. I spun and followed her. But all I could see was my dying sister on the curb, staring at the bus as it pulled away. I’d cranked my head around, my wet, sticky face pressed to the glass. I’d watched her until she disappeared from my sight. Forever. Sometimes you had to concede—call a draw to end the long struggle. Her hand was on the doorknob and I wanted to bar her way, shove my weight against the door, forcibly prevent her from leaving. But I couldn’t. She was right. It was her choice. But now that I knew her secret, it was time she knew mine. “I love you,” I said hoarsely as she turned the knob. She froze. Then, she took a deep breath, pulling the door open. Barely above a whisper she said, “I know.” “No, you don’t know. There’s so much you don’t know because—because I could never tell you. Because it hurt too much. If you walk out that door it will be just like what Bree did that night she left and never came back.” Quietly Emilia closed the door again and removed her hand from the knob, but she didn’t turn to face me, waiting for me to continue, presumably. “She tucked me in every night. After I changed and she checked to make sure I’d brushed my teeth. She did it every night. Made me open my mouth so she’d know I wasn’t lying, because I hated brushing my teeth.” My voice shook and I was feeling pretty goddamn unmanly at the moment, but I couldn’t stop myself from talking. Emilia tipped her head forward and rested it on the door, listening. “But that night was different because she didn’t change into her pajamas. She stayed dressed in her clothes and her duffel bag was packed. She told me she was going to stay over at Christina’s for a while. But I knew it was a lie because Christina hadn’t been allowed to see her for months since Bree had stolen her mom’s meds and her mom had found out about it.” I was babbling like an idiot, I knew. The odds were that Emilia had no idea what I was talking about. “So that night she sat me down before I went to bed and she told me she loved me and she’d always watch out for me. She wasn’t going to see me for a while because Mom wouldn’t stop beating her up and she had to go. I did exactly what I want to do to you right now—I threw myself in her way, barred the door. Because I knew that she wasn’t coming back…how could she just leave like that?” My voice faded away. Emilia’s shoulders shook as if she was crying. I cleared my throat and waited a moment for when I could trust myself to speak. “She was a good kid. Smart. She wanted to be a journalist someday and travel the world. She never got further than the skuzziest part of Seattle. She was fucked up. But she was a mom to me. My little mom, I used to call her. She told me stories and made sure I had clean clothes in my drawer. When she left, I had to start doing that all for myself. I was eight goddamn years old and the only person who’d ever loved me—who I’d ever loved—was leaving me and I was utterly powerless to help her. I couldn’t do a fucking goddamn thing and she died, and I will always blame myself for not being able to save her.” I rubbed the back of my neck and caught my breath. “I’m sorry I’ve fucked this up with us so badly. I wish I could explain to you how goddamn terrified I am inside—all the time—of losing you just like I lost her. That fear is the voice inside my head that tells me I have to move in and take control. If I don’t, I’ll lose everything. But it’s so fucked up because that fear is what caused me to push you away—”

I stopped when she spun to face me, leaning back against the door. Her face was wet with tears and her eyes red from exhaustion. I wanted to cry just to see her like this. The emotion stung in my throat, the backs of my eyes like thousands of tiny needles. But I swallowed. I couldn’t lose it. Not here, not in front of her. “Why are you telling me all this now?” she finally squeaked. “Why didn’t you tell me months ago?” I shook my head, scrubbed a hand over my face. “I should have done everything the opposite of what I did. I know that’s small comfort now. I can’t get Heath’s words out of my mind—that I’ve handed you a death sentence…” My voice cut out, the words dropping like rocks in my throat. She pushed off from the door, and came to me, crying again. She placed a hand on both cheeks and pulled my face down to look into hers. “You are not to blame for this. Okay? I should have told you about the diagnosis. I should have been more flexible—about everything. But I was scared, too. Of losing myself in you. That if I gave up completely on the goals I’d had before us, I was somehow betraying the person I was before. But you are right. We were an ‘us.’ It was no longer just about ‘me.’” I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her to me. “I promise you can go anywhere you want to for school. I won’t say a word about it. Even if you want to go to Germany, I’ll follow you there—or anywhere. I’d freeze my ass off in Alaska or bake in the Sahara or wherever. I will be wherever you go. But you have to promise me that you’ll fight this, goddamn it.” “I’m so lost, Adam. I don’t know what to do.” That made two of us. Her head fell against my chest and she was crying again, into my shirt. I kissed her hair, swallowed that emotion that was rising up again. “The first thing you have to do is sleep, because you haven’t had any in a long time.” The minutes stretched out until she gained some composure, then slowly I slipped her backpack off her shoulders. She didn’t resist, leaning heavily against me. “Come on…” “I couldn’t sleep all night.” “I’m here now. You can sleep, okay? I’ll even hold you as tight as you want.” We went back into her room and I quickly cleared the bed of things she’d left there in her frenzy of packing. She slipped off her shoes and her jeans and all but collapsed into the bed. I pulled her comforter over her and smoothed her hair back from her face. “Why the white hair?” She blinked lazily. “I figured it was all going to fall out anyway, so I wanted to see what I’d look like as a blonde first.” A fist of emotion gripped me at the thought of her going through chemotherapy. I looked away, blinking. Was it going to happen now? This decision was completely out of my hands. It was her body. But I was terrified she was going to make the choice I couldn’t bear for her to make. I bent down and kissed her brow. “You’d look amazing with green hair, or yellow or purple. But I like the original color best,” I said. She smiled. “Hmm. That’s an idea…maybe green next week.” “One day at a time, okay? Get some sleep. I’ll stay here with you if you want.” She rolled over on her side facing the wall, just as she’d done that night after Heath and I had come home from the pub. I climbed onto her narrow twin bed, gathered her in my arms and held her tight. “You were in so much pain and I never knew. And I bitched about a couple fucking headaches.” She reached up and put a hand on my cheek. “Shh. Let’s make each other a promise okay? No recriminations, self or otherwise. We’ve both made a lot of mistakes. But we’re smart people. We’ll learn from them.” God, I hoped so. She was quiet for a long moment, then she took a deep breath. “Tighter,” she whispered and she pressed her back and legs flush up against me. “I love you,” she breathed. “I know,” I answered, wrapping her in my arms and squeezing tight.

“Your arms around me…the prescription for all that ails me.” God, how I wished that was the case. “They’ll always be here whenever you need them,” I whispered. She relaxed in my arms. “I’ve been scared constantly, every single day since this happened. The only times I wasn’t were the times when you held me. It was the only time I felt like everything would be all right.” I pressed my lips to her temple. “Sleep, my sweet Mia. I’ll be here to hold you.” My heartbeat drummed against her back. With each thud, I heard the question, what the hell are we going to do? What in God’s name were we going to do? The question spread over me, like a thick blanket, threatening to suffocate me. I could feel the panic rising again inside of me. I had no control and I despised this feeling. All I knew was that I couldn’t lose her. I couldn’t. I listened to her breathing slow as she drifted off into sleep. She felt thinner in my arms. I pressed my cheek against hers, thinking about the tough road she had ahead of her. It would be months and months yet of grueling medical treatments. And this was in addition to the added complication of her pregnancy. What if she didn’t make it? The numbers were not nearly as good for her type of cancer as for other types of breast cancer. And the younger a patient was, the more dangerous the cancer could be. Last year this time, just before New Year’s, Emilia was just my online friend, the one whose company I’d so enjoyed, whose blog I loved to read. The one who caused me to find excuses to log on and play with the group. I enjoyed the others, but Emilia was the one who’d kept me coming back again and again. I could never, ever have imagined how my life would change the day I’d decided to win her auction. I thought that we’d have that trip to Amsterdam, the failed attempt to go through with the auction terms, and then I’d fade back out of her life again. But once I’d spent that time in her presence, I couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let her go. Much as I would have never admitted it to myself at the time, I’d fallen hard and fast. My life was forever changed for the better since she had come into it. But would she leave me nearly as quickly? After an hour of these panicked thoughts racing through my mind and my inability to even breathe, I pulled myself away from her and kissed her before adjusting her blinds to keep the room dim. Then I went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of one of Heath’s microbrewery beers. Opening it, I sat down at Emilia’s rig in the alcove to continue with my initial research. I’d spend the rest of the weekend lining up everything we should be doing on Monday—emergency consultation with her doctor, mandatory second opinion, perhaps a third opinion if necessary. And hopefully, if I could convince her, a meeting with her mom. I jiggled her mouse to wake up her computer. The log-in music to Dragon Epoch was playing— presumably she’d left it on all night. It was at the log-in screen, like Heath had complained about. I went to exit her account from the game when my hand froze. She’d been playing on a different server and she had a completely new character in the loading screen, a level-four assassin. I blinked and through inexplicable blurring and thick emotion rising in my throat, I read the character’s name. MisterRogers. She’d unlocked the secret quest. Fitting, since she’d also traveled the impossible labyrinth to firmly implant herself in my heart. She’d stripped me bare of all the secrets I’d cloaked myself in. I was raw and honest and no longer hidden. Did she have any idea of her power over me? Of what she had done? I was a new man. Emilia had offered me my own red pill and I’d taken it. That red pill was the choice to embrace reality’s painful truth. But as the proverb went, that truth had set me free. It was an unburdening. It was freedom. I buried my face in my hands and allowed myself that moment of agony that I’d been holding off since I’d first found out about her illness. The tears finally came. They felt like thumbtacks poking the backs of

my eyes, my throat. I couldn’t lose her. Not her, too. My fists clamped into balls of impotent rage, pressing against my leaking eyes. I wanted to throw something. My vision blurred, my mind blurred. How could I think when she was every other thought? How could I breathe without her when she was my breath? How could I live without her when she was my life? This life. Unpredictable. More puzzling than any game could simulate. One minute you’re at your highest high, only to be sent screaming to your lowest depths. At any turn, it shifts, it changes. And what once was normal is now forever lost in the past. So I allowed myself five minutes to let it all out and cry like a toddler for the first time since I was a boy watching his dying sister from the bus window. But I couldn’t allow more. I had to be here, be her rock. Be strong for her. For us. I had a lot to atone for.

At Any Moment A Gaming the System Novel By Brenna Aubrey For all survivors and for the beloved memory of those who didn’t.

It’s Dangerous to Go Alone! Mia Strong never expected to be deciding the rest of her life at age twenty-two. Is she willing to become a human lab rat? Does she need to write a will? Does she ever want a family--and if so, with whom? She can’t dodge the tough questions--not if she plans to live to see twenty-three. With her life hanging in the balance, Mia wants nothing more than to rely on Adam Drake, but he’s hurt her before. You Must Gather Your Party Before Venturing Forth… Adam Drake knows that he’s made mistakes, but when he discovers what Mia’s facing, he realizes how much those mistakes could cost him. Now he has to choose between being the man who can save Mia’s life or the man she can love. No matter how much it tears him apart, Adam knows he has to put Mia first...even if it means he’s out of the picture entirely. Will their love survive this epic battle or is it game over? Click here to sign up for my newsletter.

The Do-Over “Respawns, Do-overs and What Video Games Can Teach Us About Life”— Posted on the blog of Girl Geek on December 16, 2013 The hangovers from the first annual DracoCon have faded, and the sleep is wiped from our eyes. Our anticipation for the next Dragon Epoch expansion is only increased and that ever-elusive secret hidden quest still beyond our grasp. I take this moment to consider that some gaming truths can teach gamers the cold, hard realities of life. Seems like a weird idea, no? You are thinking that Girl Geek has finally lost her mind. You play to blow off steam and hang out with your friends online and have fun. Life lessons, Girl Geek? You’re a looney! But think about when you are faced with a difficult quest, a seemingly impossible foe to defeat or a trap-riddled dungeon that you just can’t make it through. Once your character’s life is reduced to zero, what happens? Respawn! You show up at your home point as a ghost and after a minimal wait period, your character’s belongings and health are all restored. You take what you learned from the previous encounter with that monster whose attack took you by surprise or that trap that caused you to get run through with a spear and pinned to the wall. You go back to that encounter with increased knowledge and maybe, after a few—or a few hundred—more tries, you accomplish what you set out for. Wouldn’t it be awesome if life had a respawn button? Oops, did you accidentally tell your girlfriend the truth about how her ass looked in her new jeans? Or did you take that dreaded moment to actually look at her ass when she asked you? Big mistake! And by now I’m sure you are suffering the consequences. But if there was the ability to hit the respawn button, you could go back to that split second with the knowledge that one hesitation, one extra second to actually catch a glimpse, will get your head bitten off. Respawn button. “No, baby, you look absolutely beautiful in those new jeans!” Lesson learned! The lure of a do-over is attractive with more serious mistakes in life, too. Why can’t we respawn after screwing up, so we can do it over—even if it means showing up as a chainmail-bikini-wearing ghost? We are fortunate that our beloved Dragon Epoch doesn’t feature the Hardcore Mode, which leads to the dreaded permanent death. Permadeath would be one damn depressing way to end your game. Your fiftieth-level Barbarian mercenary has just died? Time to start over in the meadow as a first-level Fire Mage picking daffodils for General SylvenWood. But even then, worst case you can start over with a new character, dump all your baggage and have a totally clean slate. Don’t you wish you could hit a button and start parts of your life over again? In so many ways, as we learn, we are also screwing things up. And in the process of bumbling our way through life without that wonderful respawn button, we make it nearly impossible to untangle the very mess we are creating while we are learning those important lessons. I’d like a respawn button for life. Time for a do-over.

Chapter One Mia This was the ongoing story of how I completely and utterly fucked up my life. I guess cancer had some part in the whole mess, too, but it was definitely off the rails before all the medical stuff happened. I wished I could blame the cancer, but it wasn’t cancer of the brain. No, apparently something else had gone wrong with my brain before the cancer showed up. I’d always tried to be an optimistic person. When life gave me shit, I made lemonade. Absent father? Sick mother? Monstrous tuition? I set up an auction to sell my virginity in order to make the money I’d needed. I could always think my way around a crappy situation in the past. But this…this…I wasn’t prepared for it and it had bowled me over. I couldn’t think straight about any of it. Now we were in the middle of a nightmare and I had no do-over button. Given the vacant, zombie-like look in Adam’s dark eyes, I could tell he was wishing for one, too. So here it was finally Monday morning after a completely gut-wrenching weekend. We had both just found out about my pregnancy and Adam had just found out about the cancer. I glanced over at him without turning my head. His eyes were on the road, both hands gripping the white vinyl steering wheel of his vintage Porsche. He couldn’t see me studying him but there was no mistaking his stiff bearing, the undeterred focus that he usually put into his driving. In spite of those appearances, he was clearly distracted. His mind was always running, like one of his computers. It never shut down and right now, he was in problem-solving mode. Trouble was, not all problems could be solved, not even by a boy genius. “So, um, I’m going to need for you to wait in the waiting room…” I said. His cheek bulged as he clenched his jaw. “I have a lot of questions for the doctor.” “But—but he’s going to do an examination and…” Ridiculous. I sounded half out of my mind. Well, I was beyond exhausted, but the thought of letting him see me with my shirt off…no. Just no. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye—probably to determine if I was serious or not. I took a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t in the mood for an argument, because I sure as hell wasn’t. He pulled into the parking lot and parked. Then, before getting out, he turned to me. “Please let me be there. I’ll wait until you get undressed to come in the room, but…I really would like to be there.” I looked out the window for a long time. It was only fair, really. This affected his future, too. “Okay. I…” He took my hand in his. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I understand. But this is important. We need to have all the facts, okay?” I looked down and nodded, swallowing. I knew what “getting all the facts” meant. Adam was on a mission to convince me that my decision to carry the baby to term was the wrong one. Sure, he’d assured me that it was my decision, that he’d agree with whatever I ultimately decided, but I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure he wasn’t going to step in and dominate this situation like he always did. I took a deep breath. He touched my cheek with a brush of featherlight fingers and then turned and opened the door. Before he could come around to get mine, I’d opened it and sprung out. He didn’t say anything when he came around to my side, raised his brows, and shut the door behind me. “Adam…” “Yes?” “Thank you for being here…but I need for you to not do your thing where you try to take over.”

His lips thinned, but he nodded. “I’ll behave myself. I promise.” I kissed him on the cheek and he gave me a faint smile. He took my hand and we walked in together. Things were still weird with us, but better than they had been in months. We were at least trying to hold it together during this wretched turn of events in our lives. We’d spent the last few days constantly in each other’s presence and things were strained but okay. But the tension in that doctor’s examining room could be cut with a knife. Once Dr. Metcalfe entered and asked me to open my paper gown for my exam, I cast a self-conscious glance in Adam’s direction. He lowered his head, focusing on his tablet. The doctor looked over the scar and indentation on my left breast, where the tissue had been removed, and commented that it was “nicely healed.” Then he performed the usual breast exam. “Any tenderness?” he asked. I pressed my lips together, then swallowed the nervous lump in my throat. “Yes, actually.” The doctor straightened and I adjusted the paper to cover myself again. “Which breast?” he asked. “Both.” “Any specific location?” I cleared my throat, avoiding Adam’s gaze from across the room. “All over.” The doctor frowned at me. “Could you—” “I’m pregnant,” I blurted before he could finish his sentence. Dr. Metcalfe sucked in his bottom lip and looked at my chart again. “It doesn’t say—” “I just found out. Home pregnancy test.” “And your last period was…?” And then I had to go into detail about how I hadn’t had a period in months because of the hormonal treatment I’d been on. How I’d thought that meant I wasn’t at risk of getting pregnant. He shook his head. “You can still ovulate even with the hormone therapy.” Yeah, obviously. I swallowed a sob of frustration and rubbed my forehead. Dr. Metcalfe seemed to get over his momentary astonishment. “Well, this certainly means we can’t start the chemotherapy as planned.” I saw Adam stiffen in his seat out of the corner of my eye. He cleared his throat, stood and approached my examination table. I pulled the stupid paper frock tighter around me. “What are her options?” Adam asked. The doctor cast a furtive glance at me before answering. “It depends on whether or not she decides to terminate the pregnancy.” “If I don’t?” “Then we wait until fourteen weeks—how far along did you say you were?” “Six weeks,” Adam answered. I jerked a look at him. He’d figured all that out, apparently. Thank goodness, because I had no idea. The doctor’s brows shot up. “That’s at least an eight-week delay.” “What are the risks of waiting?” asked Adam. He was stiff, facing the doctor like he was conducting a business negotiation. It was almost like I wasn’t even there. “With her type and stage of breast cancer—had she been able to start now, without this complication and with the full round of chemo, she would have had an eighty-five percent survival rate.” The doctor had Adam’s full attention now. He seemed focused in on everything Dr. Metcalfe was saying, his jaw tightening, obviously not happy at the eighty-five percent number that I already knew about. “And now? If she continues with the pregnancy and delays the chemotherapy? How does that change the prognosis?” The doctor glanced at me and took a deep breath. “That’s difficult to say. You want an exact number? I

can’t give that to you. You want a rough estimate? She has hormone-sensitive carcinoma and is not only delaying treatment but also exposing her breast tissue to pregnancy hormones. Also, if she proceeds with the chemo at the second trimester, a less aggressive drug will need to be used, one that is not as successful with her type of cancer. At best, I’d say a fifty-five percent chance of survival.” My jaw dropped, along with my heart—and my stomach, too. Things were happening in slow motion. I was in a dream, underwater. Adam was firing questions at the doctor as quickly as the doctor could answer and I was sinking deeper into myself. Their conversation echoed in the distance. I blinked, trying to fight back the shock, the anger, the helplessness. Now wouldn’t be a good time to puke up my guts. While they talked, I slid off the examination table and made a beeline for the sink, huddling over it, pathetically clutching the white crepe paper “gown” while my stomach upended itself. When I finally straightened after rinsing my mouth out, I almost fell over from the head rush. Hands reached out to steady my shoulders. I leaned up against a solid body supporting me from behind. His arms slid around me and it felt painful and sweet. I leaned against him, relaxing, calming. But inside, things were tender and prickly. His touch simultaneously hurt and comforted me. “You okay?” he whispered. I couldn’t speak. I didn’t trust myself to. I shrugged. “The doctor’s gone. You can get dressed if you want. Did you have any more questions for him? He said we can sit in his office if you did.” I shook my head. He slowly released his hold on me. I almost wanted to cry from the loss of his arms around me. I’d missed him so badly. And now he was back—but under these circumstances, it was hardly a thing to celebrate. There was that ache that wouldn’t go away—that ache I felt every single day since we’d broken up. I swallowed the emotion rising in my throat. He was tense. I could feel it in every muscle as he hovered near me. He was preparing to do battle. And he was anticipating that it would be epic. He wasn’t wrong. I turned from the sink, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and went to grab my funny padded bra and shirt. “Can you turn your back, please?” I said. My voice was raspy, hoarse. He watched me with his unreadable eyes. It was a ridiculous request, really. He’d seen my naked body hundreds of times before— touched it almost as often. God, how he’d touched it. My cheeks heated at the memory and I looked away. He turned around, snatching up his tablet and typing furiously into it. Likely he was looking up some of the terms the doctor had used. I pulled off the paper covering my torso and glanced down at my breasts. The right one was perfect, untouched. The left one had an angry red scar slicing into it and a scoop-shaped divot taken out of it. I shot a look at his back. Maybe he’d find the disfigurement disgusting. He’d never been shy about expressing his appreciation of my breasts before. I slipped on my bra and hooked it. It wasn’t a sexy bra —those little lacy things I used to love wearing when I had the money to splurge on one. This was more of an old lady’s bra. Sturdy, supportive. Functional. Thanks to cancer treatment, I was slowly but surely being robbed of my youth, between scars on my body, hormone therapy and the dreaded chemo-beast, which loomed near, like one of those giant dragons scrawled across the edges of antique maps. Soon I’d be as shriveled as and even balder than my grandma. As the child of a surviving cancer patient, I knew what I was in for with chemo. I’d seen my mom go through it all. The thought made my gut twist in dread. Maybe the pregnancy was my unconscious way of engaging in the ultimate procrastination where that was concerned. Knowing what I knew, I probably would have jumped off a balcony and broken both my legs to delay the inevitable. After I slipped on my shirt, Adam turned around, closing one app on his tablet and opening another. It looked like a calendar.

“Your next appointment is at one.” My head shot up as I grabbed my bag. “Next appointment?” “The second opinion we discussed. You’re going to need to sign some papers on the way out to get your records and test results.” I signed the papers and copies of my tests and records were transferred onto a flash drive that Adam had handed to the office staff. When they gave it back, I snatched it and stuck it in my pocket. Damned if I was going to give him access to pictures of my maimed boob. Hell no. Since Jordan, Adam’s playboy best friend, had been setting Adam up on “hot dates” lately, Adam had probably been rubbing elbows—and God only hoped no other parts—with models and actresses. To say nothing of the swarm of interns at work that I had mentally nicknamed the “Adam groupies.” They liked to catalogue what he wore to work and rate how hot he looked from one day to the next. It had been hell having to sit around and listen to that shit day in and day out while attempting to ignore it. Not that I thought he’d ever date any of those interns. They were like eighteen and nineteen. But they had perfect bodies and I was sure not a one of them had a big divot taken out of their left breast. Nor would any of them soon be balder than Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise. I caught Adam watching me a couple times. Well, it was more like I could feel him watching me. Adam’s dark eyes had a way of drawing your eyes to him like a magnet. “What?” I said finally. He shook his head, unlocked his car and opened the door for me, patiently waiting for me to get in. I paused and folded my arms against my chest, turning to him. “You’re up to something.” He frowned. “Why do you think that?” “Aside from the fact that you are always up to something, you haven’t mentioned Dr. Metcalfe’s prognosis numbers yet.” He rested an arm across the edge of the open door and looked at me—really looked in that way that usually felt intimidating. “What’s there to say, Mia?” Then he took a deep breath and looked away. “Those numbers speak for themselves. You’re an intelligent woman. And hopefully you’re going to be an oncologist. If you were in that doctor’s place, what would you recommend your patient do?” It suddenly felt a little harder to breathe, like a band had been wrapped around my chest. Instead of replying, I dropped my arms to my sides and sank into the passenger seat. Adam gently closed the door for me and came around to the left side of the car to slide in behind the wheel. I bent my head, rubbing my temples against the beginning of a headache. His use of the word “hopefully” was not lost on me. Odds were good that if I went ahead with the pregnancy, I would not be starting medical school any time in the near future. He didn’t start the car, just sat and watched me. I pressed back harder into my seat and sighed, looking at him. I shook my head. “I can’t do this. He is one opinion, one estimate. His number might not even be right.” We stared at each other for a while—long after it had become awkward. I wanted him to reach out and hug me. And it was strange…if I wanted him to hold me so much, why didn’t I ask, or—better yet—lean forward and take him in my arms? I swallowed and blinked, my eyes stinging. “I need to stop off at the office for a few minutes to grab some of my stuff,” he said. “You aren’t going into work today?” He gave me a look like I must be crazy for asking him that and turned to start the car. Twenty minutes later, at the campus of Draco Multimedia, Adam’s company, I rolled down the windows of his car, telling him I’d wait while he got his stuff done inside. He promised me he’d be no more than ten or fifteen minutes but I knew better, because his secretary would catch him to sign some papers or someone would call or he’d get stopped a half dozen times on the way back to his office. I could have gone in with him, but I wanted to avoid that awkward return to work. The Friday before, I’d

hurriedly packed up my desk with no explanation whatsoever while Mac, my superior, and the interns I worked with watched me with slackened jaws. I hadn’t cared, though. All I could think about at that point was the pregnancy test I’d just taken and the subsequent angry confrontation with Adam in his office. I played a game on my phone to avoid having to sit and think about everything that was happening. I’d done too much thinking throughout the weekend and was starting to get exhausted and nauseated by it. But the game was interrupted when Heath, my roommate and best friend, texted me. Hey, did you make it to your dr. appointment okay? I typed out my reply: Yes. On way to 2nd appt. Alone? No. A is with me. Ok. I’ll be home when you get here. Just as he’d promised and in spite of my fears to the contrary, Adam returned about a quarter of an hour later with his laptop case slung over his sturdy shoulder. He got in and we went to the next appointment. The second doctor was in some fancy medical building in Newport Beach, right next to Hoag Hospital (half country club, half medical response to the rich and sometimes famous). Adam’s search for “the best” in OC must have led him there. After taking twenty minutes to page through my tests and charts from the flash drive, she looked up at me, grim-faced. Her numbers were not as good as Dr. Metcalfe’s. Less than fifty percent if I went through with the pregnancy. She was dead serious and adamant that I not pursue this course. “I strongly recommend termination and immediate rounds of chemotherapy.” And that’s when, slumped on her fancy exam table, I felt the tears filling my eyes. I met Adam’s gaze through my hazy vision. His face was cold, impassive. I imagined him telling me, “I told you so.” I looked away and blinked, unable to breathe. The whole world around me felt like it was sinking.

Chapter Two Adam I watched Emilia closely as the doctor delivered her prognosis numbers. She bravely tried to hide the emotional reaction that I knew was near the surface. The doctor excused herself and I stood, approaching her as she sat on the exam table. She didn’t look up or move at all, her eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance, her mind far away from this point in time. I swallowed, feeling the same old guilt almost suffocate me, but by necessity, I shoved it aside. I couldn’t let emotions get in the way—not now. This was a critical time and we had to act fast. My sole concern was Emilia’s health and survival. Everything else could be taken care of later, when she was healthy again. Hopefully by then there would be enough pieces of us to pick up and put back together. I prayed to a God I didn’t really believe in that she listened to what the doctors had told her today. Since I’d had the time to recover from the shock of discovering that not only was she pregnant but she also had cancer, I’d taken the time to analyze the way I’d handled it, determining that I should have done everything in the opposite way of what I’d done. So I’d spent the whole weekend strategizing and coming up with a plan. These doctor visits were part of that plan. I hoped, rather than knew, that she would follow the medical advice. Emilia was a very smart woman, but at this point she was being driven by pure emotion. Since we’d argued on Saturday morning about her need to terminate the pregnancy, and faced with her adamant refusal to do it, I’d decided to back off and be there for her. We hadn’t mentioned the subject again because I feared that the more she fought me over it, the deeper she would dig in her heels. I hoped that she’d listen to the medical advice, but if she wouldn’t, I wasn’t going to give up—I’d find something or someone she would listen to. For this reason, I had set up a back-up plan. Emilia was quiet the entire walk down to the parking structure. I opened the car door for her and she slid inside, her shoulders rounded. When I sank into the driver’s seat, she was staring straight ahead. I reached over and took one of her hands in mine. It was cold and lifeless, and she didn’t return the pressure when I folded her hand inside mine. “Mia,” I said quietly. “Are you okay?” She blinked. “What do you think?” “I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault.” She buried her face in her hands and laughed bitterly. “I bet you wish you’d hooked up with that model of Jordan’s instead of hopping into the sack with me.” I pulled her into my arms. She laid her head on my shoulder. “Now you are just being silly.” She grabbed my shoulders, holding me against her. “Adam, I’m sorry.” “I don’t want you to apologize. All I want is for you to have the best chance possible.” After holding each other in long silence, she quietly said, “Can you take me home now?” I hesitated. Home. For me, her home was my house, where we’d lived together until our breakup two months before. And it hurt when I realized that her reference to “home” meant Heath’s condo. I turned and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then pulled away. I started the car, on the way to set my back-up plan in motion, but it didn’t involve taking her to Heath’s place. By the time I got on the freeway, she was dozing in the seat next to me—thankfully. I knew she was exhausted. I’d kept the top up to minimize the wind inside the car so it wouldn’t keep her awake. She hadn’t slept enough lately. Her head lolled forward and all I could see was that ridiculous white fluff of hair that she had recently bleached white and dyed in rainbow colors to match her fairy costume for the company costume party at our convention in Las Vegas. The hair coloring had been permanent—

presumably because she’d anticipated it would soon be falling out from the chemotherapy she was supposed to start this week. She looked like a faded punk rock star from the ’90s. I took the long route, so she didn’t start to stir until I exited the freeway. Rather than head straight up Chapman Avenue to Heath’s house, I turned right, toward North Tustin and my uncle’s house instead. She blinked, coming awake, groggily asking, “Why are we going to Peter’s house?” When I didn’t answer, she glared at me, realization dawning. She straightened in her seat. “Adam, stop the car.” Instead I shifted, pressed the gas and headed up the hill toward the high school. “Adam,” she said between clenched teeth. “You need to tell her sooner or later.” She hissed through her teeth like I’d just punched her in the stomach. “Stop. The. Fucking. Car.” We were about two blocks away from Peter’s house. I pulled over to the nearest curb and turned off the ignition. I hesitated, staring out the window in front of me, gripping the wheel. Emilia sat stiffly beside me, fuming. I’d been willing to risk her anger because if Kim was the only one who could talk sense into her, then she was my secret weapon. At this point, I was willing to do whatever needed to be done. I was that desperate. I waited for her to catch her breath, her cheeks even paler than normal, her hands white-knuckling the edges of her bucket seat. I took my hands off the steering wheel and watched her carefully. “Mia…She’s your mom. You have to tell her.” She pressed the heel of her shaking hand to her forehead. “I don’t have to do anything.” I took a deep, calming breath, staring out the windshield, trying to collect myself. She fidgeted in her seat next to me. “Take me back to Heath’s, please.” After a long pause, she turned to stare at me expectantly. “I’ll take you back to Heath’s under one condition. You hear me out first.” Her jaw tightened and then relaxed and finally she nodded, her eyes avoiding mine. “When we were just online friends, I recall sitting up with you online until six a.m. the night you found out about your mom’s cancer. Do you remember that?” She bit her lip. “Of course.” “I know how painful that was for you. I also know you are trying to protect her now—” “Don’t make this about me. You are angry with me because I didn’t tell any of you, but what you need to understand—” I held up a hand to cut her off. “We’re not talking about me right now, Mia. We’re talking about your mom. She has a right to know. She has a right to be the strong one for you, to help you. You’re going to need people. That’s probably harder than hell for you to admit.” She rubbed her forehead with a shaky hand. “I know I need—but—I—God, I remember how I felt when she told me. I remember how it felt to be the helpless one standing by, not able to do a single goddamn thing. It was the worst thing I’ve ever gone through in my life and I wanted to spare her”—she looked at me—“and you.” I bit my tongue to keep the irritated reply where it belonged—unspoken in my mouth. Because finding out the way I did was so much better than your not telling me. Her eyes widened in reaction. Apparently she saw what I was thinking and I cursed myself for not hiding my thoughts better. I used to be so good at that. She took a deep breath. “I know it was my own cowardice, too. I can’t explain what was going through my head because it sounds so ridiculous. It started out just a small thing. First a suspicion, a biopsy. But then the diagnosis came and I…It was like getting cancer was somehow letting you all down. There were all these problems between us before and then this…I thought it would finish us. I was like damaged

goods.” I exhaled in surprise but didn’t say anything. She swallowed, casting a nervous glance at me before continuing. “I know these sound like silly excuses.” “Yes, they’re excuses,” I replied quietly. “There’s never a good time to have something shitty happen to you. But to lock everyone out? That’s how you make it worse for everyone else—and for yourself. Because by doing that, you made us more than helpless. And whether you’d want to admit it or not—You. Need. Our. Help.” She sighed. “I thought it would be a quick surgery and some radiation. So I didn’t think it really necessary to bother anyone with it—” I scowled. I couldn’t help it. Fucking cancer and she didn’t want to “bother” us with it. “Let’s not worry about the past, okay? It’s done. Let’s talk about today. Now. Your mom needs to know. She deserves to know. And she deserves to hear it from you.” The same way I deserved to hear it… She shook her head. “Don’t force this on me.” “I won’t. But…think of it like this. What if she had never told you about her cancer? You were away at school. She could have kept it from you for months without a problem. How would you have felt after finding out that she’d gone through all that alone? She will find out, eventually. You can’t hide this from her forever. Please, Mia.” She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes and began to sob, her entire body shaking. “I’m scared, Adam! Okay? I don’t know which I’m more scared to tell her about, the cancer or the pregnancy.” I reached out and pulled one of her palms away from her face, took her hand in my own. My fingers closed around hers. “I’ll be there. I’ll help you.” She was still and silent for a long moment. Took a deep breath and, with her head bowed, finally nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, and her hand tightened around mine. After a long pause, I slowly removed my hand from hers and turned to start the car again. A few minutes later, I was pulling into Peter’s driveway. Kim had stayed over another day when I’d contacted her yesterday, asking her to. Heath would be here shortly, too. This was Emilia’s intervention.

Chapter Three Mia I slowly got out of the car, my muscles stiff with annoyance. Adam had been prepared to handle this in the same high-handed fashion he handled most things—until he’d heeded my pleas to pull over. But I hadn’t been prepared for his calm, cool reasoning. His gentle pleas. That was different… I took a deep breath, my heartbeat racing. Adam hesitated, hovering nearby. I stared at the red-trimmed front door to Peter’s house, knowing my mom was in there, knowing I was about to drop a bomb when she had just found a new love and things were starting to look up for her. “Give me a minute,” I muttered. He didn’t move, looking away and putting his hands in his pockets. “Take the time you need.” Adam did have a point—it was time to tell Mom. I’d been wondering when I could tell her and I’d kept putting it off. Might as well get it over with in one quick and painful blow. A weight sank in my stomach and everything tightened in my chest as I nodded and he turned for the front door. I numbly followed him up the porch steps. He opened the door without knocking—like he always did—and called inside, “Hey, we’re here.” Mom was the first person I saw and Adam stepped aside so that she could greet me, throwing a hug around my neck. I could tell by her face that she didn’t know. Her features were clouded with uncertain worry. I’d like to think I’d know what her face would look like if she knew about the diagnosis. I’d seen that face a thousand times when I’d imagined telling her. In my own thoughts, I never got past the first word or two before utterly breaking down at the thought of having to destroy her like this. I knew how that had felt two years before when she’d gotten her diagnosis. It had gutted me, and Mom was only very recently cancer-free herself. What if the stress of my diagnosis made her sick again? I pulled away from Mom, unable to meet her eyes. She put her hands on either side of my cheeks. “Mia,” she said quietly. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it, okay? I’m here for you.” I looked into her brown eyes, so much like my own, and I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. I started sobbing. Again. Her arms wrapped around me. We were now alone in the kitchen. Adam had already stepped away. I tilted my face into my mom’s shoulder and muffled my crying as best I could, but I was shaking so hard I couldn’t even gather a thought, much less collect myself. “Shhh,” she said, smoothing my hair like she used to do when I was a little girl. She led me into the living room where Adam and Peter sat in chairs across from us. Mom guided me to sit down next to her on the couch. Somehow the presence of others forced me to try to pull myself together and stop bawling like a baby. Adam got up, fetched a box of tissues and set them on the coffee table in front of me. I grabbed a handful of them and mopped my face. “Adam, maybe we should step out,” Peter said quietly. “No,” I said finally in a shaky voice. “It’s okay. You should be here for her.” I turned to my mom, who’d raised her brows at my words. I put a hand on each shoulder, sniffed and squared my own shoulders, trying to find the strength to say those horrid words. “I—uh—” I began in a shaky voice. I cleared my throat. “I have cancer, Mom.” Mom didn’t react at first. Then, after about a three-second delay, she looked like someone had stomped on her feet with steel-soled boots and she was trying not to show a reaction. So I took a deep breath and kept talking. “It’s, um, it’s a carcinoma, stage two, in my left breast. I had a lumpectomy in October and hormone therapy and, uh, I need to start chemo.” My mom’s lips disappeared into her mouth and I could tell she was trying her hardest not to cry. She was trying to do that thing I’d done when she’d told me about her diagnosis. Finally, after a minute of trying to contain it, she broke down. “Oh God, baby,” she said, taking me in

her arms, pulling me close. No one understood the road ahead of a cancer patient like a cancer survivor. My mom knew intimately every torture in store for me. Almost every torture. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said tightly. “I didn’t tell anyone.” “Not even Adam?” she said, pulling away and looking at him. And that was when I finally felt like dirt for the first time. I’d thought I was being strong for them. I’d thought I was choosing to brave my battle—a battle that only I could fight—without burdening them. This was the first moment I realized how selfish I’d been. I sat back and looked at Adam. His face was blank but his eyes were heavy with accusations and hurt. I looked back at my mom. “I only told Heath.” My mom shook her head, clearly not understanding. A million excuses jumped into my head. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I was confused. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to fight the cancer on my terms. But every excuse was dust and ashes. Meaningless to the people who loved me. “So you made Heath keep this from us? Oh, Mia, that was so unfair to him. But—” She put her hand on my arm, shaking my shoulder so that I’d look at her again. “Now is not the time to discuss how you’ve handled it. Now, we talk about what comes next. When do you start chemo? And where?” I straightened, pulling away from her. I kept my eyes fixed on her. I couldn’t meet the gaze pinning me down from across the room. This was what he’d counted on. He knew that it would rip my heart out to tell my mother that I was going to refuse chemo. I clenched my teeth, trying to swallow that bitter pill. “Kim, there’s a complication,” Adam spoke up in a quiet voice. “Mia can’t start chemo this week because she’s pregnant.” I closed my eyes—mostly to block out my mom’s reaction. But I was such a coward because of the relief I felt that Adam had told her for me. I felt like falling at his feet in gratitude. My mom’s head jerked back toward me. She opened her mouth to say something, but, apparently unable to find the words, she shut her mouth again. Her face went white as the wall behind her. The doorbell rang and Adam stood up to get it, walking quickly down the hall. Peter leaned forward. “Kim, can I get you some water or something?” At her vigorous head shake, he leaned back, watching her carefully. Mom turned back to me, her jaw slack again, gaping like a fish. Adam re-entered the room with Heath, who immediately walked over to my mom. She stood up and practically leapt into his arms, clasping him close to her and weeping into his shoulder. Adam must have notified Heath to come. I realized now that I had been right earlier when I’d told Adam that I knew he was up to something. He’d scheduled a meeting so they could all sit around and tell me what I needed to do. I shot him a look but was distracted by Mom’s sobs. I watched them, feeling like a knife had impaled me through the sternum. A wave of nausea smacked me and my stomach roiled. I swallowed bitter bile at the back of my throat. Mom finally stepped back from Heath and scooted over on the couch to make room for him at the end. Then she turned to me, wiping her face with the back of her hands. Heath leaned forward, grabbed some tissues and handed them to her. She wiped her eyes. Without looking at him, she said, “Heath, I’m sorry I was so angry with you at Christmas when you wouldn’t tell me what was going on with Mia. This must have been impossible for you.” Heath put a hand on Mom’s back and didn’t say anything. He looked like he might start crying, too. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes as if to dam my own tears. “Do you want to talk about what you are going to do?” Mom asked. I was too chicken to uncover my eyes. After minutes of silence, I muttered, “I know what I want to do.” I took a deep breath and then dropped my hands, sitting up. I looked at Adam. He was as still as a statue,

as impassive and unreadable as he’d been in the doctor’s office today. “But it means not getting the chemo.” Mom grabbed my hand and pulled it into her lap, squeezing it tight. “Mia, you need the chemo.” I let out a shaky breath and shook my head. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t tell her that her daughter was choosing to forgo therapy. From the corner of my eye, I could see Adam stand up and put his back to the room while he stood stiffly, staring out the window. I studied his tense shoulders. “Mom, what if you’d chosen not to have me? I can’t do this.” Mom’s jaw dropped. “My circumstances were completely different. I wasn’t fighting for my life, Mia. You can’t compare yourself to me!” “I might never be able to have a baby, after the chemo—” “Is that worth giving up your life for? A full life? You’re twenty-two years old—a baby yourself!” I opened my mouth to reply but she interrupted me, gripping my shoulder firmly as if hanging on for dear life. “You have everything ahead of you—you’re going to go to medical school. You’re going to be a doctor. You’re going to save lives. But right now you have one life that is the most important to save —yours.” I fought to catch a breath. My chest felt like it was compressed under tons of steel. This was a nightmare. They all wanted the same thing. No one—not one—could see my side of the issue. That there was life—a future child—growing inside me. A child who deserved a chance to live. Then another voice spoke up—another whisper inside my brain—didn’t I deserve the best chance to live, too? Before the diagnosis, before that call from the doctor’s office, I’d been on top of the world. I was waiting for responses from medical schools—had been accepted to my dream school—and I had an amazing man who loved me—whom I loved. That ache of loss diffused into my chest again. It had been as much a part of my daily life for the past few months as the endless blood tests and harsh medications I’d been forced to put in my body. And what loomed ahead was worse still. “Is it really so bad that I believe in my child’s right to live?” I said in a tiny voice. Mom looked at me, frozen. Then she touched my cheek. “No, honey, it’s not bad at all. But—I need to beg you to remember my child’s right to live—to finish her life. Don’t sacrifice my baby, I beg of you.” I suddenly felt as if I would collapse from the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. Everyone except Adam watched me as if waiting for some pronouncement…some decision. I put my hands to my temples, rubbing them. “I need to think. I can’t make a decision like this right now. Please. Can you understand?” My mom looked at me, her eyes so sad that it broke my heart. She actually bit her lip to keep it from quivering. But she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “You’ve still got a little time? Please—please don’t shut us out again, okay? That’s all I ask. All I beg. Let us love you.” Let us love you. Was that what I had been doing? Pushing them away, refusing to allow them to feel these feelings? I turned and looked at Adam, who was watching me again with veiled dark eyes. We held each other’s gaze across the room and my insides felt heavy, tight. I could hardly breathe. I didn’t want to think about this. Didn’t want to do this. I wanted to lie back and wait for things to happen to me. I had no desire to ponder these difficult choices. My life was starting to feel like an epic failure. And there would be more failure along the way before I could pick things up, start again, if I even had the will left to do it. I declared myself exhausted and in need of sleep. I hadn’t slept very well in almost a week. Since finding out about the pregnancy and the big explosive confrontation with Adam. The day he’d found out about the cancer. All of it. New Year’s Eve was tomorrow and I didn’t want to welcome in a new year that would be full of sadness, broken hearts, and tension between Adam and me.

I went to stand beside the passenger door of his car before determining it would probably be more practical to go home with Heath, since I lived with him now. Things between Heath and me had been strained since before this big blowup. He’d been pressuring me for weeks to tell them all. And I’d refused. I’d taken advantage of his loyalty to keep him silent. He’d had to face Adam and my mom demanding answers as to what was really going on with me. I owed him big time for it all. I turned to walk toward Heath’s car when I felt a hand on my upper arm, stopping me. Peter stood on the front steps with his arm around my mom’s shoulders, and Heath was speaking to her in a low voice while she sniffled into a wad of tissues. I turned to face Adam. His hand tightened on my shoulder and then slid down my arm. “You okay?” I sighed and looked away. “I was pissed at you for bringing me here…planning all this.” I swallowed a big lump in my throat. “But now I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest.” He nodded. “I’m sorry that it upset you.” At least he didn’t say that I deserved it. I glanced up into his face again before my eyes darted away. I knew perfectly well he was still angry with me. He hid his feelings so well that sometimes it took a stray glimpse, a brief tightening in the muscles of his face or an even briefer flicker in his eyes to figure out what was going through his mind. I knew that I’d hurt him. We’d hurt each other. A lot. And I could only see more hurt down this road before we could start to heal, if we ever could. Fresh guilt clutched at my throat again. If he could set aside his anger at a time like this, then I could, too. He cleared his throat. “I know you’re too tired right now, but can we talk in the morning?” I wondered if he’d have anything new to say. Would it be more of the same? Would he yell at me again and insist I get the abortion? Fatigue pulled at every inch of my body, weighted it down. All I wanted right now was to stop struggling, stop fighting. I found that, in spite of everything, I wanted him with me, holding me. I almost asked him if I could go home with him tonight instead. “Umm. Yeah, of course.” “Pick you up for breakfast?” I hadn’t eaten breakfast in over a week. That was the time of day when I was sickest. But I really didn’t feel like starting something with him. And as much as I’d tried to avoid him in the past few weeks, it seemed that now I needed his presence as much as I needed to breathe. I could pick at a piece of toast and sip some juice if it meant we could spend some time together. “Yeah, come get me whenever.” He bent to kiss my cheek. When he leaned in, I caught a whiff of his amazing scent and my heart skipped a beat. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him close. He hesitated—it was only for a split second but I knew it. His bearing was stiff before he relaxed, his arms sliding up my back to rest on my shoulder blades and then the imperceptible movement of his head as he turned to smell my hair. I pressed my face into his shoulder and he held me. I closed my eyes and relished that salty ocean smell and that smell of man. I breathed it in. It felt good. So good. But it was over almost as quickly as it had begun. He pulled away from me, first with a small jerk, then slowly, as if reminding himself not to be too abrupt—as if handling a fragile puppy or kitten. It physically hurt. That separation cut like a knife, deep into my heart. “Adam…I’m sorry,” I whispered. He reached up and smoothed my cheek. “So am I.” That look we shared in the low light made my chest tighten, and new tears threatened, burning the backs of my eyes. A respawn and a do-over at this point would be fantastic. If only. If only I could have restarted things back to that day I’d gotten the letter of acceptance to Hopkins. I really could have handled that better. But I’d been so wrapped up in that accomplishment—that

monumental achievement that had been my single hope and dream for the past few years. One that I thought I’d failed miserably at when I’d failed the MCAT exam. That had been the point when we had both started making the big, stupid mistakes. Adam pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “We have to stop saying it over and over, okay? We’re moving past it. No recriminations, self or otherwise, right? That was your rule, after all.” I smiled wryly. “You’re all about the rules, aren’t you?” “Life is all about rules. Even games have rules.” I nodded. This was no game—far from it. I opened my mouth and almost, almost asked him if I could go home with him tonight. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to feel him lying beside me, to listen to the peaceful sound of his breathing in sleep. It had been too long. Way too long. But I was too afraid he’d say no, so I silently hoped he’d offer it to me instead. “Sleep well,” he said in a soft voice. I closed my eyes, feeling something drop inside me. Things were not the same and wouldn’t be the same for a long time, if ever. There was something missing or guarded in his voice and the way he looked at me. And in that instant, I knew exactly what it was—trust. He no longer trusted me. And no, I didn’t fully trust him either. “You, too,” I said. He walked me to Heath’s Jeep and opened the door for me. Previously, he would have insisted on being the one to drive me home, even if he knew that Heath was going that way anyway. But not tonight.

Chapter Four Adam After yet another long and sleepless night, I found myself driving almost on autopilot back to Orange. I could probably make the trip with my eyes closed by now. I’d hardly ever driven this route before I started seeing Emilia. It was early in the morning on New Year’s Eve and the traffic was lighter than normal. People probably only had half days at work—like those still working at Draco—and were planning to cap their holiday celebrations with bright and hopeful expectations of the new year. I wondered what that must feel like. Because any way I looked at it, this new year ahead of us did not look very cheerful. Emilia and I were speaking again, at least. But our shaky relationship was about to get hit—very, very hard—by some dark shit. For us, there wasn’t much to celebrate. I stopped by a nearby specialty bakery to pick up a few things for breakfast and then went to get her at Heath’s. She opened the door. Her strange rainbow-colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail and through the back of a dark blue baseball cap with the Draco company logo on it. She wore baggy jeans and a denim jacket. Her mouth curved into a wan smile when she opened the door. “Hey,” she said. “Hey. I thought we could go eat breakfast at the park. And maybe talk?” She visibly paled at the mention of breakfast—even her perfect pink lips were almost white. She looked like she was about to puke on my shoes. But her smile didn’t falter and she nodded gently. Walking back to the car, she slipped her cold hand into mine. I closed my fingers around hers, almost without thinking about it. I should have been pissed at her. Part of me was still demanding I remain pissed at her. But most of me could see her for what she was: lost, alone, as terrified as I was, and the woman I loved more than anything in the world. We drove to a nearby park that had hills and big trees and hiking trails—a line of pines almost a mile long and a semi-private place for us to sit at an empty picnic table. She sat across from me, keeping her face down as I set down the tray of coffee and pastries. She glanced at the box. “I hope you aren’t offended if I don’t eat anything.” “I won’t be offended, but I do think you should eat something. You need to keep your strength up.” Her brow arched. “I can do that this afternoon, when my strength doesn’t come up with my breakfast.” I grimaced, grabbing one of the cups. “Well, at least have some coffee.” She looked at the coffee cup and then away. “I shouldn’t.” I froze, my cup halfway to my mouth. I knew what she was implying with those two words and they infuriated and scared the shit out of me at the same time. I plunked down my cup, but I didn’t say anything. She watched me, unsurprised by my reaction. I was probably as pale as she was now. “So you’ve made a decision,” I said flatly, my voice as dead as the rest of me felt at that moment. She looked away, rocking in her seat. Two joggers bounced past us, a little too close. I glared at them. She cleared her throat into her fist and took a deep breath. “I know I said it’s my body and my decision. And it is, but…I’m not going to shut you out.” I laced my fingers together on the table in front of me, studying them instead of looking at her. “So what does that mean?” She turned to look at me, but even with the weight of her eyes on me, I didn’t look up. “It means we talk about it. In clear, quiet voices. We do what we haven’t been able to do in months—communicate.” I looked up then and our eyes met. It was powerful, like a physical blow. My chest felt tight and it was difficult to breathe. I reached out and clamped my hand around her delicate wrist. “Thank you.”

She didn’t smile. “Don’t thank me yet.” I held my breath. “I want to keep the pregnancy.” I swallowed a golf-ball-sized lump in my throat. “So that’s the end of the discussion?” She shook her head. “No. It’s the beginning. You tell me what you want.” I blinked. “I want you. I want you healthy. I want you to have the best chance of surviving you possibly can. Eighty-five percent isn’t the greatest number, but at least it’s better than—” She pulled her hand away from my hold. “No, don’t do that. Don’t talk numbers and percentages. Tell me what you are feeling. Tell me what you want.” I clenched my teeth in frustration. “I can’t not talk about the numbers, Mia, okay? Everything in my life is about numbers and percentages. Everything. It’s my job. It’s the way my brain works.” She took a breath and looked away as a light breeze caught some strands of her long, white and multicolored hair, sending it dancing around her shoulders. “We’re talking about an embryo. A new life—a little you and me. In eight months it will be a baby—our baby. How does that make you feel?” The only feeling I had inside was icy numbness, certain dread. “I don’t feel anything but cold fear, to be honest. I can’t lose you.” Her dark brows bunched together. “If we end this, I may never be able to bear another child. You may never be a father.” I shook my head and looked away. “For one thing, that is not the most important thing to me right now —” “It will be, someday.” “Maybe. But I know what I want now. I need you to be healthy again. I need for you to do everything you can to fight this.” Emilia blinked. “Okay, and what was the other thing?” “The other thing is that there is more than one way to become a parent. If and when that becomes important to me, there will be other ways.” “For you, maybe, but not for me. Chemo has a big chance of putting my body into permanent, early menopause.” I shifted my seat on the hard bench. “I spent the entire day yesterday researching this. You can’t do an egg retrieval because of the hormones involved and the timing, but you can have part of your ovarian tissue frozen—” She wasn’t looking at me. Her face was blank, like she had zoned out. “Mia—” I said, shaking her hand. She looked up at me—looked through me. “You aren’t telling me anything I can’t find out myself from Google or my doctor. You aren’t telling me what only you can tell me.” “I can’t tell you what you want to hear. That I’m happy you are pregnant. I’m not.” She exhaled slowly, clearly frustrated. “I don’t want you to tell me what I want to hear. I want to hear about what you feel. What do you feel?” I paused, looked away, studied the long morning shadows we were casting on the trail behind us. I cleared my throat past the sudden tightness. “I’m afraid.” She gave a curt nod. “And?” “That’s all there is. Fear. I love you and I need for you to survive this. I need you to have the best chance of doing that.” “And…what about the baby?” “It’s not a baby.” “In eight months—” “In eight months, if I have anything to say about this, you will be finished with your chemotherapy and

be declared cancer-free and I will finally be able to breathe again.” She frowned. “I’ve never had much family. It’s always just been me and my mom. I wanted brothers and sisters growing up, or even cousins and aunts and uncles. I had my grandma and we saw her once in a while, but—I always wanted a family. Thought that after I became a doctor, maybe I’d have a child…” “You and I can be a family. We have each other.” Her hand came up to rub her forehead. “Someday you’ll need more.” “This isn’t someday, this is now.” She looked up at me with exasperation in her eyes. “Someday I’ll need more. And this is my only chance.” “We’re young. We shouldn’t have to face this shit now, but we are. Life isn’t fair.” “Adam,” she said in a low voice, trembling on the second syllable of my name. I waited while she collected herself, cleared her throat. “There is still a chance I won’t make it. If I don’t, you’d still have the baby—our child.” My hand tightened into a fist on the table in front of me. “I’m not going to respond to that because that is not a possibility. I’m going to have to borrow your mom’s words here. Please don’t sacrifice yourself. You have so much to live for. Med school in the fall—” She shook her head. “I’m not going to med school.” I tensed, utterly frustrated now. “Stop this. You are giving up your dream, now? You are already letting cancer win.” “I want to live. I’m not giving up.” I took a breath and let it out slowly. There was no manipulating her here. If I even tried, this fragile door that we’d opened between us would be slammed shut and barred. I’d already learned that manipulating her to do what I wanted only made things worse. I’d fucked up badly in the past, but I wasn’t an imbecile—at least I learned from my mistakes. I took her hand again. “I can’t pretend to understand what this is like for you. I only know what it’s like from the outside. But for God’s sake, there are so many of us who want the best for you. Who need you. Me, your mom, Heath, all your friends…” Her head tilted down, the brim of her cap hiding her face. “Mia,” I whispered. “I’m sorry that we can’t have everything. I wish to God we could. But we have to choose what’s most important here. For me, that’s you. For you, I hope that’s you, too.” She put her free hand to her face and only nodded. I got up from my side of the table and slid onto the bench next to her. She melted into my side before I even put an arm around her. She felt limp, her posture relaxing immediately. I practically had to catch her against me to hold her up. She turned and pressed her face into my chest. My arms tightened around her. I held her like this for long, long minutes. She had grabbed handfuls of my shirt and was hanging on for dear life. She didn’t move and I could hardly tell if she was breathing. And I would have given every last dime I had to know what was going on in her head. I was holding my breath, too, hoping she’d make the choice I needed her to make. She turned her head to the side, laying her cheek against my collarbone. She wasn’t crying, but when she spoke, her voice trembled. “If I do this, I will regret it forever.” “If you do this and live to regret it, put that burden on me. I’ll take that on my shoulders. They’re sturdy. They’ll take the weight.” She sighed and I held her. “I need time,” she whispered after an endless stretch of minutes. “You don’t have much,” I reminded her. “Please, Adam,” she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

I opened my mouth, wanted to push her to make the decision now so that we could take action today, but I couldn’t. This had to come from her. And I was helpless, utterly helpless to take this into my hands. “Whatever happens, whatever you decide…” My voice faded and I cleared my throat. “I love you.” “I know.” “Do you want to spend the day together or do you want to be alone?” “Can we be together?” I held her, bending to kiss her face. “Of course.” I had no idea what tomorrow would bring. I had no idea if this pain would eventually split us up for good, but for now—today—she wanted us to be together and I wanted it, too. And maybe, just maybe, we could make some enjoyable memories where I could forget this cloud of doom hanging over us and be in the moment, be with her, be in love.

Chapter Five Mia We spent New Year’s Eve in Adam’s audiovisual room—his private little movie theater. We watched the Doctor Who Christmas special almost a week late. Then we binged on reruns of Battlestar Galactica, pretending that that horrid last episode didn’t exist. So we spent an hour making up our own stories about what happened to the characters instead of them landing on a primeval earth forty thousand years in the past and deciding to die out as dirt farmers and cavemen. When I dozed off in my recliner, Adam carried me up the two flights of stairs to his room and laid me gently on the bed. By the time we got there, I was partially awake again. “Is it after midnight?” I asked in a groggy voice. “It’s twelve fifteen.” “Hmm. It’s a new year.” The bed dipped as Adam sank beside me. “Yes,” he said, smoothing my hair back from my face. He cleared his throat. “You want to sleep in your clothes?” “Can I have a T-shirt?” He got up and pulled one out of a drawer, at the same time grabbing one for himself and some pajama bottoms. I watched as he undressed, his beautiful body outlined in the dim, silvery moonlight that poured in through the windows. His chest and hard abs were a sight to behold—one that I’d missed. My throat tightened and suddenly I was very awake and aching to have him close to me. I might have been sick and pregnant, but I wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway. Once dressed, he came around to my side of the bed and I rolled onto my back. He reached down and unbuttoned my jeans for me. Was he going to undress me? Oh, that was too much, but I didn’t move. I relished the feel of his hands on me. The last time…well, better not to think about the last time, right? We’d both been drunk off our asses and it had led to disaster. But again, I wasn’t dead and I still wanted him so much it hurt. He had the waistband of my jeans in his hands, ready to tug them down my legs. “Lift up,” he murmured. So I did, like a helpless child, and shivered as the denim slipped over my legs, exposing them to him. Adam liked my legs a lot. I knew he did. But in the dim light, I couldn’t tell where his eyes were or whether he was looking at them. Maybe he was too focused on the task at hand? I sat up to pull off my shirt. “Can you look away, please?” I whispered. He didn’t say anything, just froze. I cleared my throat to explain myself. “It’s—I’m sorry. I feel ugly there.” I hated the thought of him seeing my disfigurement, of his possible disgust at my scars, at the tiny black dots that had been tattooed on me to mark the spots that needed radiation therapy. Of the long, angry and still pink-red scar down the left side of my breast, where it puckered around missing breast tissue. He raised a hand to my face, smoothed my cheek. “There’s no way in this world you could ever be ugly. You’ve never been anything but beautiful to me.” His words made me ache even more but before I could reply, he shifted on the bed and turned away. I didn’t say anything but hurriedly pulled off my shirt and bra and slipped on his big T-shirt to sleep in. Before he could turn back, I clamped my arms around his neck and kissed his rough cheek. I really loved the sandpapery feel of his cheeks when he kissed me at night or early in the morning before shaving. After making love, I felt tender everywhere that he’d kissed me, and I savored the slightly sore reminder that he and his scruff had been there. I wanted to be able to turn everything off, the constant ache inside, the thoughts that threatened to drive me insane. I wanted to feel…him, his hands, his kisses all over me. But when he turned and kissed my

lips, his mouth stayed closed, despite my best efforts. I sank back against the bed, pulling him with me. “I need you,” I said. There may have been more than a little pleading in my voice. Instead of lying on top of me, he slipped beside me, still kissing me, pulling his mouth away from mine to pepper my jaw and neck with kisses. I felt his desire stir against my leg, but there wasn’t any passion in the way he kissed me. It was more…affectionate. “Please?” I asked. He didn’t reply immediately, but he stopped kissing me, pulling me tight against him. He was hard, so I knew his body wanted it, but apparently his mind didn’t agree. “I’m tired…” he began. But I knew that wasn’t the reason. I knew Adam and he rarely, scratch that, never passed up the chance for sex—at least in the few short months that we’d been together as a healthy couple. “You’re still angry with me,” I said. It wasn’t a question. He hesitated. “No.” “Then…?” “It’s too soon. It’s—I’m sorry, but I can’t stop worrying about you, in this condition.” I nodded, unable to explain or even understand this hurt that rose up like prickles in the back of my throat. He seemed to sense it. “Mia, I want you. I do. But we shouldn’t do anything tonight.” It was hard to explain the bitterness that drowned out the hurt. Maybe the timing was wrong. Maybe it was because everything was completely uncertain… But he wasn’t being honest with me. He was angry, resentful. I needed him but that didn’t matter to him. I took a deep breath and his hands were gentle on me as they guided me to rest against him. I reminded myself that he needed time, too. That mind of his, it was always going, and likely he wouldn’t rest easy until something was settled between us…one way or the other. We had no idea what our future would be even two days from now. But in his arms, I’d always felt beautiful, like the most important, desired and gorgeous woman in the world. The center of his universe. I laid my head against his shoulder and his arms came around me. I wanted things to go back to the way they’d been, before we were broken. I wanted it more than anything else. But that would never happen, would it? Our normal, those few short months of happiness, were now wrecked forever. I pressed my cheek to the center of his chest and fell asleep, lulled by the rhythm of his heartbeat. *** When I woke up, bright light was pouring through the windows and the bed was empty beside me. I could hear the shower going so I lay flat on my back and looked up at the canted wooden ceiling. I’d been agonizing over a life-changing decision. One that I knew I wasn’t grown-up enough to make. My birth certificate might have stated that I was twenty-two years old, but inside I still felt like a girl, immature, scared. Afraid to come out of her shell, open herself up, take a risk. Deep down I was that girl inside the body of a woman. Everyone around me seemed so much more together, so much more in touch with who they were as adults. Especially Adam. He might not always have been right, but he was always certain of what he wanted and what he did. I closed my eyes, feeling a stab of pain as I thought about him. Without realizing it, my hands went down to my belly, resting atop my womb. I had his child inside me. Until five days ago, I hadn’t even known it existed. But now that I did, I wanted it more than anything— maybe even my own life. But how could I tell him that? Or my mom or anyone else? And how could I want this more than my own life? I was a scientist. This life form was not viable and

soon my body would not be a hospitable place for its own systems, let alone a completely dependent one. This option made absolutely no sense to my biologist’s brain. My scientific mind knew that it wasn’t a baby yet. It knew that one in four early pregnancies spontaneously aborted on its own—oftentimes before the woman even knew that it existed. The same could happen to me. I couldn’t make this decision lightly, but was it my decision alone to make? As a feminist, I strongly believed in a woman’s right to choose. Every woman deserved to determine what happened to her body. I’d fight for the right for a woman to choose, and I’d never, ever dictate what that choice must be for anyone else. It was a thing so personal, so dependent on circumstance. But what I faced—was it really a choice at all? That was what rankled me most of all, what left me nearly breathless with helplessness. I was being robbed of my choice. Because my life wasn’t just about me. It was about all those who loved me—Adam, my mom, my friends. It was about my future, all the years I still had before me to live for myself…for them. Anger and bitterness stung the backs of my eyes. I’d make this choice for them, because I loved them and I wanted to live for them. But it wasn’t fair. It was so not fair. In order to save my own life, I had to destroy that tiny life inside of me before it ever had a chance. When Adam came out of the bathroom, one towel around his waist and another around his shoulders to towel his hair dry, he found me like that. Lying flat on my back, both hands on my stomach. His expression blank, his dark eyes zeroed in on my hands, narrowing slightly before he turned away. He’d easily deduced what was going through my mind. It wouldn’t have been hard. It had been going through both of our minds constantly for the past few days. I sat up, staring out the window as he dressed. When he was done, he came and sat beside me on the bed. “Hi,” he said. “Good morning.” “Want some breakfast?” I shook my head. “Not even a little tea or dry toast?” I shook my head harder. “You’re green.” I nodded. “You’re also not talking.” We held each other’s gaze. My heart leapt into my throat. He felt distant from me, guarded. I wanted him so damn much. I wanted to stay here and be with him. I wanted his love. It felt less accessible now than ever before. Like a distant dream I never had any hope of attaining. And what I wanted more than anything was to live. For him. For my mom. For my friends. I’d find a way to live with myself later. “I’ll do it,” I finally croaked. His brows drew together. “What?” “The termination. I’ll do it.” Adam looked like he was about to fall over in relief. For long minutes, he didn’t move, didn’t smile, didn’t breathe. He just watched me. “Tomorrow?” he asked. I nodded. He sighed. “Okay.” I felt cold inside. Numb. Why should I feel guilty for trying to save my own life? I couldn’t answer that

question. Part of me wanted to shrivel up and die right there. Part of me, a larger part, was gearing up for the epic battle ahead. “I need you,” I said. “I need your help.” He put his hand to my face, cupped my cheek. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.” I fell against his body and he pulled me to him. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the part of me that was curled up and rocking in the corner, already wanting to weep with the loss we were about to face.

Chapter Six Adam Emilia spent the rest of New Year’s Day in her room at Heath’s after I dropped her off. Connor, Heath’s new boyfriend, was there and they were on the couch watching Sherlock. I stayed for a few minutes to trade pleasantries with them. Things between Heath and me were still tense. I was pissed at him for helping Emilia keep her secrets. He was pissed at me for getting her pregnant. It would blow over—maybe, eventually. I hoped it would, because I liked Heath. Nevertheless, I did plan on depriving him of his roommate. I’d have to discuss living arrangements with Emilia soon. Once things settled down, I was going to make a good case for her to come back and live with me. I needed her near, needed to know she would be okay. I needed to take care of her. But for now, I needed to give her some time alone. She’d made an agonizing decision, and though I was so relieved I couldn’t even think straight, I knew she must have also been dealing with a lot of doubt and self-loathing. I hoped it wouldn’t last long. She needed all of her strength, all of her fight to face what lay ahead. I followed her into her room. “So…should I come get you tomorrow morning?” Emilia was picking up discarded clothes from the floor and throwing them into a laundry bag, apologizing for the mess. She cleared her throat. “Yes…I’ll have to make an appointment.” “I…uh…I already did, after we talked this morning.” She straightened and looked at me for a long, tense moment. I shifted weight on my legs where I stood. “Are you—are you okay with that?” Her mouth thinned and she took a deep breath before releasing it. “You can’t just do that…” I froze. Damn it…I’d fucked up again. I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about it. I was trying to be—I wanted to save you the trouble of having to do that. I know how hard this is for you…or at least I’m trying to understand how hard it is.” She frowned and then bent to sit on the bed and didn’t say anything. Then she patted the spot next to her. Slowly, I sat down beside her. She looked up at me, grim-faced. “We can’t keep doing this—making the same mistakes over and over again. I know you meant well. I know you were trying to help…but look at this from my point of view. It looks like you were jumping on the situation and making that appointment so quickly because you were afraid I would change my mind.” I swallowed. Maybe that thought had been in the back of my mind, too, but it wasn’t the reason I’d done it. “I’m sorry. I fucked up.” Then I took a deep breath and let it out. My throat tightened. “You can, you know…” She tilted her head to the side, a question in her eyes. Fear made my heart feel like it was spearing my chest with every painful beat. “You can change your mind.” She blinked and looked away. “Either way I choose, there’s somebody’s gaze I won’t be able to meet —either all of yours or my own, in the mirror.” I needed for her to do this—we all did—and so, giving her that out was all I could do. And yes, I’d said those words because I’d had to—because I had no idea what it must feel like to be in her position. “You’re strong, Mia. You’ll get through this and I’ll be with you every step of the way, if you want me.” Her eyes remained drenched in misery, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Her head

sank to my shoulder. “Yes, I want you.” I closed my eyes, turned my head, smelled her hair, that peaches-and-vanilla scent which overwhelmed my senses. This rush of protectiveness washed over me, infusing every muscle. But no matter how much I vowed to watch over her, I was helpless to protect her from the greatest threat of all. We made plans for me to pick her up in the morning and I left. There was an awkward moment where I think she wanted me to kiss her goodbye. And I would have, but Heath tucked his head in at that moment to make sure Emilia was okay—or probably to make sure I wasn’t up to something with her, given the glare he gave me. The second oncologist we had seen had provided me the information for a doctor who would see her immediately for the procedure, given the circumstances. His office was the one I’d called that afternoon. I’d also called the oncologist to set up the follow-up appointment for afterward. I was at Heath’s place again early the next morning. It was a cold, crisp day that promised moisture later on. A dark, dreary sort of day. Suitable, really, for what we were about to do. I hadn’t let myself become emotionally involved. I was in problem-solving mode. I had to be the strong one for her. It was my job—one that I took seriously. I only hoped she could do what I’d asked her to do —to put her burdens on my shoulders. I was ready to carry that weight. Emilia had once called it a baby —a child, our child. But I’d refused to think about it that way. Instead, it was an obstacle to her becoming healthy, a possible threat to her life. I wouldn’t think about it otherwise. We said little on the way to the doctor’s office. She kept her pale face pointed downward, staring at the clenched hands in her lap. I didn’t bother with small talk. She never looked up once, and that was the first time that I began to wonder what kind of long-term effects this whole thing would have on her, beyond the cancer. Would it affect her will to fight it? I clenched my jaw. One step at a time. We’d tackle that problem later. I filled out the paperwork when we got there, leaving blanks for her to complete with information I didn’t know, like her medical history. She underwent a quick examination to confirm the date of conception. Then the doctor handed her a small plastic cup with two pills inside and a glass of water. “You’ll come back for an exam and more medication in two days and a blood test in seven. Remember to follow the guidelines in the paperwork if there are any unusual symptoms.” Emilia gave a vague nod and took the water in one hand and the pills in the other. The doctor left the room and we were alone. She hadn’t looked at me or directly addressed me since we’d arrived at the office. Now she stared at the pills like they were coiled rattlesnakes. “I can’t do this.” That same cold fear clutched at my throat. She was changing her mind. “Mia—” She wrinkled her brow, focusing on the pills, her hand beginning to shake. “I thought I could.” I gently put my hands on her shoulders and stooped to get at eye level with her. “Look at me.” But she didn’t. “August eighteenth. That’s the due date. I looked it up.” Her lip trembled. I moved my hands so that they were on her cheeks, holding her. Finally, her gaze met mine. The tears pooling in her beautiful eyes shredded my heart. Valiantly, she blinked them away and swallowed. I soothed her cheek with my thumb. “Adam…” she whispered. “I can’t.” My attention narrowed on her so that she was my entire focus, my entire world for those few critical moments. “You can. Mia, I need you—so much. Please.” My voice died out and I was incapable of saying a word with my throat closed up, clogged with fear and agony. She froze, her gaze dropping. Any color she’d had in her cheeks was long gone. She was so pale, in fact, that she looked like she might pass out. I swallowed. “Do you need a minute? I’ll step out. I’ll—I’ll do whatever you need. And—” I gulped air, suddenly feeling sick. “If you can’t…if you change your mind, I’ll be here for you for that, too.”

Her eyes flew to mine—as if to ascertain whether or not I was serious. I was, but God—I prayed to any and all of them that she wouldn’t choose to carry to term. We stared into each other’s eyes. “You’d do that?” she choked out. “I want you in my life for as long as possible—one way or another. This is your choice. You know where I stand. But I can’t pressure you beyond telling you how much you mean to me. And I can’t even find the words to tell you that in any adequate way. But I’ll go and be right outside the door and give you a moment to figure this out.” “No,” she said, her voice half a shaky sob. “I need you to hold me. Please. Just hold me and don’t say anything.” I nodded, taking her in my arms. She turned so that her back was to me and I tucked her head under my chin, wrapping my arms around her waist. She felt thin, frail, breakable. “Tighter,” she whispered. The cure for all that ails me, she’d once said about my hugs. Now my words had no power. She knew what I wanted…but what I wanted meant nothing right now. I was lost, at her mercy. For long, silent moments, she was still, making no sound. She wasn’t weeping. She wasn’t shaking. Then, after an agonizing string of minutes, she put the cup with the pills to her lips. She began to tremble and with a sob murmured quietly, “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.” She jerked her head backward, following up with the water and swallowed. Then she went limp in my arms. It really felt like she was coming undone. Every muscle shook. I buried my face in her hair and she stilled. I wished, somehow, that there were a way I could transfer my own strength and health to her. For the battle she was about to face, she would need them. She’d need everything she could get. But first and foremost, she needed to heal from this. She needed not to blame herself. Even if it meant blaming me. She finally pushed away from me to go to the sink and splash some water on her face. I noted that she still wasn’t crying—hadn’t shed a tear since telling me yesterday that she was going to go through with this. I didn’t know whether that was a good sign or bad. Bending over the sink like she might fall over, she looked sick. Then, she started to laugh—an ironic, wounded sound—like she was laughing and crying at the same time. “I’m sick as hell with morning sickness. But if I puke this up, it’s not going to work. How weird is that?” She put her face in her hands. I came up behind her. “You going to be okay?” It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay. On so many levels. Stiffening, she stepped away from the sink, away from me. “I’m fine,” she said in a flat, raspy voice. “Take me home, please.” My stomach dropped. “Sure. Can I—do you want me to stay with you?” She looked down. “I’m not going to be pleasant company.” “I’m here for you, not the other way around.” “But Heath—” “—will understand, I’m sure.” I scratched my jaw for a moment, studying her, wondering why she was being evasive now. Was she already starting to blame me? I drove her back to the apartment. The cramps were already starting and she was as pale as a stone. I walked her to her room and she lay down on the bed without my even having to ask. “I’m going to run out and fill your pain med prescription and get some other things. Text me if you need anything. I’ll be back soon.” I got back an hour later and gave her the medicine, which she refused to take, telling me it wasn’t that bad. She was curled up on herself in bed, her forehead clammy, and even I could tell the pain was considerable. “Mia, please take your meds.”

“I will, just not now. Please don’t pester me about it?” I pulled out my laptop and used my special login to give her access to Dragon Epoch. It was the beta version of the completely new and unreleased expansion that wasn’t due out for months yet. She sat up, somewhat interested as I showed her some of the new features. She leaned on my arm, breathing heavily. I fought the urge to try to get some pills down her again, wondering why she seemed averse to pain medicine now when she’d had no qualms about injectable medication during her earlier cancer treatment. Eventually, she slid down on the bed, eyes half-closed. “Adam,” she whispered. I tucked away the computer and turned to her. “Can you hold me for a little while?” “Of course,” I said, lying down beside her. She turned toward the wall and settled back against my chest. “Are you okay?” I asked quietly. She took a long time to respond. When finally she answered, her voice was groggy, on the edge of exhaustion. “I need to sleep. For a long, long time. When I wake up, it will all be over. Maybe I’ll wake up and this will all have been a nightmare.” I didn’t answer, as I felt her go slack in my arms. I wondered which parts of this last year she wished away. Did she regret us and the pain our messed-up relationship had brought into her life? She’d fought so hard not to be pulled into this. Maybe on some level, she’d known something that I didn’t. Maybe, once she was well again, she’d decide this wasn’t healthy for her. I pushed that nagging fear aside, reminded myself that I was here for her. I was the healthy one. I’d protect her until my last breath, if it came to that.

Chapter Seven Mia My body felt like it was breaking in half and my heart along with it. For a week I only left my room to go to the bathroom. Heath brought me food and so did Adam. And I ate a little, because neither of them would leave me alone until I did. But I didn’t take the pain meds and Adam actually started an argument about it before I shut him down. After that, I would take a few of the pills out of the bottle and throw them away when he wasn’t there to see. But he wasn’t stupid. It was impossible for me to hide the pain, and he knew I wouldn’t be like this if I had taken them. After our argument, I only got the deeply concerned looks when he thought I wouldn’t notice them. I wasn’t against medication at all. But for this…well…I couldn’t explain it fully. Something inside of me strongly compelled me to feel everything, the emotions of what was happening, the physical pain. I was afraid to be numb about it. So I felt it all. Because one thing I couldn’t afford was to fall into depression. That would defeat the purpose of why I was going through all this in the first place—depression would only inhibit me from surviving the cancer. And I had to survive, especially after this. I’d done this for everyone who loved me so, because of that, I wouldn’t give up. But Adam didn’t understand and I lacked the words to explain it to him. All I could feel, in his every stiff muscle when he visited, holding me in his arms when I asked him to, was worry, concern, and yeah, deep guilt. It made it hard for us to talk and, to be honest, I don’t think either of us could have even if we’d wanted to. On one of the days when Adam had to put in a few hours at work in the afternoon, and when I was feeling well enough to migrate to the couch and watch TV, Adam’s cousin William paid me a visit with a plastic box tucked under his arm. “Hello, Mia,” he said with a nod as he sat down on the chair, facing me where I reclined on the couch. His mannerisms were formal and stilted in social situations. I was used to his autistic quirks by now, but sometimes I could tell that they made Heath uneasy. I sat up, racking my brain, trying to remember if I’d brushed my hair this morning. I ran a self-conscious hand over it, gathering it behind me into a makeshift ponytail. William hardly noticed. “How are you feeling?” he said, his eyes on the floor in front of him. William didn’t know about the pregnancy or specifically why I was feeling under the weather at this time. But Peter and my mom had told him about the cancer. They’d broken it gently but Mom had told me that he’d been very upset, suffering an anxiety attack. Peter had been able to calm him down, but they’d all discussed it and decided it would be best if he didn’t visit me until he felt he could handle it. Apparently, this was that day. So I was going to make extra sure to put him at ease. While the thought of doing that should have exhausted me, it actually was comforting to know that I could step outside of my own misery and worry about someone else for a little while. “I’m doing just fine, William.” He nodded, bringing his eyes up to my chin before they drifted down again. He rubbed his hands across the front of his jeans and appeared out of things to talk about already. “How’s work?” He grunted and shrugged. “It’s okay. There is a lot to do. We have deadlines to meet for the new expansion.” “Yeah, I can’t wait until that comes out.” He frowned. “Well, unfortunately, you have to.”

I smiled at his literal interpretation. I usually tried not to use figures of speech around William because they weren’t his forte. He rubbed his palms over his lap again a few times before bending to snatch up the box he’d set next to him when he’d come in. “I have something for you.” And he presented me with the box. I took it from him. “Oh, thank you.” It looked like a portable box for fishing tackle. I knew, because Heath had one like it, which was actually full of stuff he took on his camping trips. I gave William a fearful look and he said, “Do you want me to open it for you?” “Uh…no, that’s okay. You know I don’t fish, right?” William stared at me like I’d spoken to him in Martian. So instead of saying anything further, I opened the box. Inside, each tiny compartment that had been designed to hold fishing tackle items was instead filled with pieces of foam cut to fit each square. Resting in the middle of each piece of foam was a tiny pewter figurine—the figurines he loved to paint in his old room when he was visiting his dad’s house. I touched one, gently taking it out of its resting place. “Oh, William…they are so gorgeous.” One dozen carefully painted figurines, all in different poses and portraying different types of characters. There was a jester and a knight in full plate armor, a scholar and a man holding a map and a sextant. “Those are the ones you’ve admired when you have visited.” I blinked, looking back at the box, and noting that he was exactly right. These were the figurines that, in the past, I’d pulled off the shelf behind his worktable to take closer looks at them. Among hundreds of figurines that he’d had sitting there, he had remembered every single one I’d specifically admired. I took the figurines out of the box and arranged them on the coffee table in front of me. “I’m going to find a special place for these. So I can always see them. They must take forever to paint.” “Not forever. Or I’d never finish more than one. Depending on the figure, they take about six to nine hours to complete. First, I need to prime them with base paint, then I do the biggest amount of base color…” And he went on like this for the next ten minutes, tirelessly explaining every step while I nodded and smiled and examined each figurine in turn. Heath brought him a beer at some point—maybe hoping that would break his monologue—but William didn’t quiet down until Adam arrived. William grew visibly uncomfortable at the sight of his cousin. “Hey, Liam,” Adam said as he sank down on the couch beside me and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. William gave Adam a cold nod. I raised my eyebrows, and Adam frowned and pretended not to notice the brush-off. William looked at his watch and then, with dismay, at his nearly finished bottle of beer. “I need to wait another forty-five minutes or so to metabolize the beer before I can drive home.” “I think you’re probably good, William,” Heath said. “You’re tall and it’s just one—” But Adam cut him off with a hand gesture. “Yeah, best to drop it, Heath, and just let him stay. There’s no point in arguing it.” Heath got up to answer a text message, and I reached out and took Adam’s hand. William watched with interest, so I held our hands up and smiled. “See, William? All’s good with us. You don’t need to be mad at Adam anymore, okay?” “I was angry with both of you,” he said simply. “You were both behaving immaturely.” Adam and I exchanged a startled look. I hadn’t meant to open that can of worms. There was an awkward silence but then William continued. “If you would have talked to each other, you wouldn’t have had the problems that developed.” “You’re absolutely right,” Adam said, his hand tightening around mine. “But we really don’t want to talk about all that right now. It’s not productive.”

William peered at his cousin through slightly narrowed eyes and then nodded. “How did you two… how did you start dating?” Adam and I shared another long, uncomfortable look. Of our friends, only Heath knew the sordid circumstances of our beginnings—the virginity auction, Adam winning the bid and pretending he hadn’t been my online friend already for over a year. It was all a complicated mess that was either a) too hard to explain, b) too embarrassing to explain, c) none of their business, or d) all of the above. “We met in the game, Liam. I told you that,” Adam said. “Yes, but you were only friends then. When did you ask her to go out on a date with you and how did it happen?” I shifted in my seat and fought the urge to giggle at Adam’s discomfort. It was funny, actually, watching him sweat it out, but I decided to let him off the hook and answer. “Adam and I decided to meet, and then after we hung out for a while—as friends—things developed into more.” Adam’s dark eyebrows rose briefly at my careful arrangement of the truth, which William seemed to accept. Adam’s cousin frowned and then rubbed his thumb along his forehead. “So how do you go from knowing someone—maybe even being a friend—to having a romantic relationship?” Adam opened his mouth to answer and then shut it, looking utterly lost as to how to answer that. By now I was suppressing laughter behind my free hand. William really was asking the wrong person that question! Adam had had no romantic relationships before me. Just a series of standing hookups with various partners over the years—not so affectionately referred to by me as “fuck buddies.” In fact, our mutual inexperience in the relationship department was a big part of why our relationship had run into trouble in so short a time. I turned back to Adam’s cousin. “William? I’m curious, is there someone you’ve been thinking about asking out?” William looked down, a small smile on his mouth before he blushed and then straightened in his seat. “Yes.” Then he stood up and grabbed his keys. “It has only been forty minutes, but I can spend the last five minutes walking to the car.” I went to stand up but Adam stopped me. “William, can you spend fifteen seconds of that giving me a hug?” I said. And he stiffly bent and allowed me to give him a hug. “Thank you for the figurines. I love them.” And he was gone. Adam locked the door behind him and sat down beside me again with a smile on his lips, shaking his head. “Poor guy has no clue that I’m the last person he should be asking for advice about women.” “Hmm,” I said, leaning over to rest my head on his shoulder, relishing the feel of his arm around me. “I think you do quite well with the ladies…too well, as a matter of fact.” He laughed and tucked me into bed not long after that. But I noticed, when he thought my eyes were closed, that he picked up the pill container and checked the level on it. *** One week later and with the help of a blood test, I was declared officially no longer pregnant and ready to start rounds of chemo. It was honestly as matter-of-fact as that, like being told my red blood cell count was low, or something. I tried my best to show a brave face to everyone around me. To make sure those feelings of hollow worthlessness at what I’d done didn’t show on the surface. Heath checked on me regularly. My mom came over every day to spend hours with me. We’d talk about other things, never about what was happening to my body…how I had allowed my fight against cancer to kill the little life inside me, one rapidly dividing cell at a time.

And Adam. He spent lots of time over at my place. Things were tense between him and Heath for the first few days, but after that, they seemed to begin to go back to normal. Adam and I got along great on the surface. But beneath that, it was weird—as if there were some kind of unseen barrier between us. Ironic, since we had both shed all our secrets. It seemed like we were finally open to each other, yet neither of us could really turn and look at the other and see them for who they were. Would it get better? Or was the demise of our relationship only a matter of time? We had way more baggage than any two people our age should have. And we were currently wading through the worst of it now. I worried about what our future would be—even more so, I think, than my own future. I took for granted that I’d still be around to worry about all of this stuff. Sometimes I caught him looking at me, his dark eyes nearly unreadable, but I could detect a sharp sort of worry. That look made my heart hurt. I didn’t doubt he still loved me. But there was some essential ingredient to that love that seemed to be missing now. We’d hurt each other and he hadn’t quite been able to see past it yet, despite all his earnest attempts to focus on the bigger problems in our life at the moment. “So,” Adam began when we were sitting side by side on my bed, each with a laptop resting on our legs. I was still a little weak from the pain but aware enough to pick up the subtleties in his behavior. “With all this going on, I didn’t get a chance to tell you that the hidden quest has been unlocked.” I hesitated and studied his face. He was looking at his screen and typing at his crazy-fast pace. “I, uh, I know,” I said. He stopped typing and looked at me with a faint smile. “I know you know.” I blinked. “How did you know it was me?” “You left your rig on the login screen the other day. I knew the name of the character that unlocked it.” I raised a brow. “So what does this mean? Are you going to disable my account?” He frowned. “Why would I do that?” “So I won’t blog about it.” He shrugged. “You can blog about it if you want. And you can blog about it how you want.” I looked askance at him. “You mean…you’re okay if I spill all the secrets?” He looked at me again. “I have no control over how you dish your scoop.” I frowned…there must be things he wasn’t telling me. Or maybe it was my own discomfort at the thought of reporting on his beloved project that he’d spent so long developing. “But it’s your big secret quest. You love that quest.” “It was meant to be enjoyed by players. It’s time. I’ll think up something new and even more frustrating for them to look for next.” I snorted. “More frustrating? I’m not sure that’s possible.” “You know me, don’t you? It’s entirely possible.” I nodded. “Oh yes, you’ve cornered the market on frustrating.” “Besides, you’ve unlocked it but you haven’t solved it. And you don’t even know what the quest is supposed to accomplish.” “Yes, I do…Save the poor, helpless elf princess Ally—uh—Alloreah’ala—or however the hell you pronounce it. How do you pronounce it, anyway?” He shrugged. “I have no idea. I jumbled a bunch of vowels and apostrophes together to make it look Elvish. Do you know how to pronounce half the Elvish names in Tolkien’s books?” I smiled. “Nope. But I do know this quest is a standard save-the-princess type of quest.” His sensual mouth turned up at the corner. “You don’t know that for sure.” “What else could it be besides that? She’s been captured and dragged away, imprisoned under the mountains by big, nasty trolls. Of course the quest is to go and save her.” He leaned back against the wall, watching me. “Okay. If you want to think that.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and his smile grew. “You suck,” I said. That gorgeous dimple I loved so much appeared just below and to the left of his mouth. “Sometimes, yeah. And I like it.” I smacked him on his hard bicep with the back of my hand and went back to my blog post—a commentary on another game that I’d been beta testing. That article had been started and left unfinished due to recent chaotic events. I was almost done when Adam, who appeared to have finished whatever he’d been working on, turned to me. “There’s something I want to talk about,” he began. I held up a finger to finish typing my thoughts before hitting the save button and closing my computer. I turned to him. “You want me to move back to your house,” I said matter-of-factly. His dark eyebrows rose. “Umm, yeah. That’s a neat trick. Do you read minds now?” I smiled. I wished. I’d have loved to know what went through his mind most of the time. He hid his feelings and thoughts so well. “Nope. But I know you well enough to predict that you’d be angling for this soon enough.” “I’m not ‘angling’ for it. I wanted to know if… Well, I’d like to take care of you.” I hesitated. Things had not gone well between us the last time we’d lived together, and I didn’t want to upset the shaky ground we seemed to be standing on now. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” His jaw tensed. “Bullshit.” “Maybe I’m tough enough to get myself through it okay.” His mouth thinned and irritation flashed in his dark eyes before he looked away. “Maybe you are. But maybe there are people here who want to help you anyway.” I sighed. “Let me think about it. The last time we lived together—” “This won’t be like last time. I’ll do everything I can to make sure of that.” He was tense and I rested my head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you want to take care of me. But I’d like to think I have my independence for a little while longer.” Despite what I’d just said to him, I knew that soon I’d be very sick and at the mercy of anyone willing to help me. *** On the night before my procedure to insert a port for the chemo—and to have a portion of my ovarian tissue taken out to be frozen for possible later use (since this procedure was still experimental), Adam had to work. I assumed he was clearing the deck and setting things in motion so he could take more time off later to spend with me. I sat on the couch and read the latest Game of Thrones novel while Heath banged about the condo. He appeared to be organizing, moving things around. After he removed his fourth box of crap to take out to the garage, I looked up. “Hey, what’s going on?” He shrugged and didn’t look at me. “Just making some room in here. It’s getting pretty cluttered and my storage unit is almost full.” I raised my eyebrows. Heath was not the tidiest person I knew and he usually spent his free time playing games instead of cleaning. He paid someone to come in and clean his place every week. I cleared my throat. “You okay?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” “Just wondering. I haven’t seen Connor in the last few days. Everything okay?” He sighed and sat down. “Connor was getting a little…needy.” I leaned forward, alarmed. “What do you mean ‘was’? You didn’t break up with him, did you?” Heath looked at me and then away. “No. I’m not you, after all.” I sat back, deflated. That had stung. “I guess I deserved that.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t say anything. Instead, I fiddled with the edges of the pages of my book and swallowed a sudden lump that had formed in my throat. Heath’s words smarted, but it was true—I’d deserved the comment. I’d broken up with Adam after one fight—albeit a huge fight. He’d done something to utterly betray my trust, but instead of giving him the opportunity to explain, or even a second chance, I’d shoved him away. I’d thought it would be easier. It was almost as if that fight had given me the excuse to spare him this whole cancer thing. I’d been like a one-woman crusade, vowing I was strong enough to overcome it all by myself. But I’d leaned on Heath—far more than I should have. I looked up at him. Was he finally feeling bitter because of it? My throat tightened. He got up and sat next to me on the couch. We stared at each other and then he stretched out an arm. “I’m sorry. Come here, dollface.” I leaned forward and his arms came around me. “I hope things are okay with you and Connor,” I said, looking over his huge shoulder at nothing while he hugged me. He let me go and I sat back. “They’ll be okay. He’s wanting to spend more time with me and there aren’t enough hours in the day.” I pressed my lips together, watching him. What he wasn’t saying was that he felt obligated to be around the house to look after me and drive me to my appointments. Even though I’d told him repeatedly that he didn’t need to. I reached out and grabbed his hand. “Thank you for putting up with my idiocy.” “Hmm. Yeah, I wasn’t doing you any favors.” I blinked, my eyes stinging. “Thanks for being there for me even though I’m not perfect.” He didn’t say anything. “Heath?” He glanced up at me. “Yeah?” “I’m sorry. I never told you that before, during all of this. I’m so sorry. I put you in a crappy position.” “You were afraid. I get it.” “I still am.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “Yeah, we all are. But, the difference is that most of the time we don’t let fear lead us to do stupid things. Who was it that said…something about courage not being the absence of fear but the triumph over it?” I sighed, rubbing my forehead. “That was Nelson Mandela or Eleanor Roosevelt or someone like that.” “Hard to get those two mixed up.” He laughed. “I’m trying to say that you can’t let fear rule you all the time. You’ve got to stand up to it and overcome it. Let it help you grow as a person.” I smiled, throwing a playful pretend-punch at him. “When did you get all wise and stuff?” “Wise and wiseass—there ain’t a big difference.” “Good point.” I smiled. “Why don’t you ask Connor to come live here?” He threw me a glance out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve been…thinking about it.” I laughed. “Is that what this unprecedented cleanup job is all about? Decluttering to make room for the boyfriend’s stuff?” “So you wouldn’t mind?” “Why would I mind? This is your place. You have the right to ask your boyfriend to live with you.” “You and I were roommates before Brian and I got together. Then I moved out, forced you to move to that dive studio.” “It wasn’t a dive!” “You know what I mean. I don’t want you to think that if Connor moves in, you have to leave.” I leaned forward and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it. Now ask him.” When he pulled me into a hug, thanking me, I couldn’t stop thinking about his words—about fear. That

it was exactly what kept me from accepting Adam’s offer to move in with him again. Would fear of all that lay ahead lead me to make more poor choices?

Chapter Eight Adam Emilia had her minor surgical procedures done and then a few days later we showed up at the hospital for her first round of chemotherapy. She would endure a total of twelve treatments, one every week for the next three months. And this morning, at the bright and early hour of eight a.m., we sat in a private room in the UCI Medical Center while a nurse went down a checklist and pricked Emilia’s finger to get some quick blood work done. Emilia didn’t say much. She sat in a comfortable recliner with a big IV stand next to it and she had that same dead stare she’d had for days. Her golden eyes hadn’t glowed for—what was it, weeks? Months? She hardly seemed like the same Mia I’d fallen in love with. It was like she was becoming a shadow of herself. She reached down and gripped my hand. “You didn’t have to come, you know…but thanks.” I didn’t have to come? What the fuck was that? I frowned. “So you wanted to do this alone, too?” She gave a light shrug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” “But you did specifically ask me and your mom not to tell any of your friends that you were coming in today. Was there a reason for that?” She took a deep breath and let it go. “This isn’t easy…” “Asking for help? Yeah. I’m noticing that it’s damn near impossible.” She grimaced, avoiding my eyes. “Have you considered that it’s more than just wanting to help you—it’s needing to help you? To feel that in some way we are doing something and not standing by feeling utterly helpless and shut out?” Emilia blinked and frowned, as if the idea hadn’t even crossed her mind. “I don’t want to shut you out…not anymore.” I sighed. “This is one of those things that can’t continue on between us like it has in the past. Like when I made the appointment for you without asking you. I can misinterpret your intentions just as easily as you did mine. You don’t want to show weakness by asking for help—so you’re saying that you don’t need me. Or you don’t want to need me—and your other friends.” She looked up and met my gaze, her brows pinched together, that tiny valley appearing in her forehead between them. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” She let out a long sigh as if it hurt her to admit it. Putting my hand behind my ear, I said, “What was that?” I smiled and she made a face and stuck her tongue out at me. “I’m only going to say it once.” “Seriously, though, Mia…let us be here for you. Please?” We stared at each other for a long, silent moment and then she let go of the breath she was holding. “I will. I’ll try my hardest.” “Do, or do not. There is no try.” I broke into a cheesy grin. Finally, a wide smile from her. “Whatever you say, Master Yoda.” I checked my watch. “Your mom will be here any minute.” She suddenly looked very afraid, shifting in the huge recliner. I reached up and smoothed her cheek. “You’re going to be fine.” “I’m going to be Pukey McBarferini.” I grimaced. “That’s a lovely image.” “So is the one with me bent over a toilet for the next twenty-four hours. You don’t need to be around for that.” I raised my eyebrows and cleared my throat.

Her lips formed an o-shape when she realized why I was correcting her. Then she shook her head. “Wow, it comes so automatically.” At that moment, Emilia’s mom walked into the room with a brave smile already fixed on her face. “Hey, you!” she said in a cheerful voice. She bent down and kissed her daughter on the cheek. “I brought you some stuff from home.” Kim pulled out a bag with a battered stuffed animal, some fuzzy socks and an empty insulated plastic cup and straw to fill with ice water, presumably so Emilia could keep hydrated during treatment. Emilia’s face flushed deep red. “Mom!” she groaned, grabbing the stuffed dog and tucking it quickly behind her in the recliner. She threw me a look and I fought a smile. “Is that your stuffed dog?” I asked. “How cute.” Her eyes narrowed and she held up a closed fist. “Don’t say nothing to me, mister, or you’ll regret it!” “Mia!” Kim chided. Emilia stuck her tongue out at her mother. “No interruptions from the humiliation committee, please.” I grinned. “I might be afraid of the violent threats if they put something like super soldier serum in that IV.” She looked over at the bag of glowing orange medication sitting on a tray, ready to be injected into her body in short order. With a grimace she said, “It looks radioactive. Maybe it will turn me into SpiderWoman.” I grinned. “A helluva lot more sexy than Pukey McBarferini.” “No doubt.” After a few more jokes, she seemed at ease, but my heart twisted in my chest when, after the nurse reentered and explained the process, she inserted the IV into the port in Emilia’s chest. I pretended not to notice when Emilia quietly pulled the stuffed dog from behind her back and cuddled it next to her. Instead, I got up and went to the window, stuffed my hands in my pockets and tried to disguise the worry, fear and heartbreak in my own features before I turned back to her again.

Chapter Nine Mia “Not All Secrets Stay That Way Forever”— Posted on the blog of Girl Geek on January 19, 2014 Ever have a secret you were dying to tell but knew you’d be in big, big trouble if you did? What is it about the weight of a secret that makes unburdening oneself of it so satisfying? Well…I’ve got a secret. It may just have something to do with that secret. You know the one. And it’s not Victoria’s Secret, although the chainmail bikini armor sure looks like she could have designed it. Sometimes I expect my character to come strutting down a catwalk with angel wings pasted to her back, all covered in mandrool. It’s not the Secret to Everybody from the Legend of Zelda. And it’s not the secret cow level in Diablo. And no, I wasn’t teasing you. I’ve got a secret. A secret from Dragon Epoch. That secret. But unlike the hack sites who prefer to use crowdsourcing to solve an intricate and long-hidden quest in hours, I will act as your guide instead of your guru. Have you scoured every inch of the Golden Mountains, killed every computer-generated monster a zillion times, examined every single last bit of loot, questioned every non-player character that lives in that zone and every zone adjacent? Well, no wonder you are frustrated. You are looking in the wrong place. Girl Geek’s first clue is to begin at the beginning. Lest you don’t believe me, I’ll be posting a screenshot (with telling details blurred, of course) that proves I have unlocked the secret quest. Now if you’ll pardon me, I have a princess to save. *** I think it was day two AC (after chemo) that I finally came to in the dark of my bedroom at Heath’s condo. I had no real way of ascertaining the date. It might have been day three or five or ten, for all I knew. But I did know that I was dog thirsty. I could have lapped up a lake, but the water bottle by my bedside was empty. So I ventured outside of my tiny shelter of a room. My joints ached and the skin on my hands and feet felt like it was too tight. Classic signs of water retention. I was likely about to start sloshing around like a whale before I peed it all out. And that didn’t even touch on the blazing heat in my chest or the pounding headache. At this moment I didn’t know which was worse, the cancer or the medication to fight it. Chemo was making me wish for a quick death. I almost wanted to sob at the thought of eleven more rounds. I fumbled toward the kitchen, my water bottle in hand. I was halfway there before I had to pause from exhaustion. The apartment was dead quiet and dim but for the light coming from the living room. Heath must have gone out. Good for him…and here was my chance to prove that I didn’t need to be babysat like a toddler. I straightened after a few minutes, took a few more steps before I bumped up against the cabinet door in the hallway. Suddenly, someone was standing beside me. I opened my mouth to begin a rant about how I hated life, this world and everything in it, including the air I was currently breathing. “Heath—” My vision swam as I turned my head, registering the figure next to me—not quite as tall as Heath and with dark hair instead of blond.

“You need more water? I didn’t hear you come out of your room,” Adam said, reaching for my metal water bottle. “I should have checked, but you were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you.” I pulled the bottle away from him when he reached for it. “What are you doing here?” He straightened. “Giving Heath the night off. I told him I’d camp out here in case you needed anything overnight. Heath’s out with Connor at a movie.” “I was going to fill this up myself.” “But that’s what I’m here for.” I suspected he’d been here all weekend and wasn’t just staying over tonight to give Heath a break. He pulled the water bottle out of my hands, which I released with only a little resistance. “You want ice?” I nodded and he guided me to sit on the couch in the living room where he’d been sitting. I could feel the warmth that his body had left and instead of being annoyed because I was already burning up, I sank into that warmth. There was an ache at the back of my throat, a prickling behind my eyes. I sucked in a shivery sigh. Emotions clashed inside me, chaotic, striking sparks off one another like atoms locked in a chemical reaction. He returned with the ice-cold bottle and handed it to me. I pulled my knees up under me on the couch and he sat beside me, watching me closely. “You feeling okay?” “Oh, peachy,” I rasped between desperate gulps. “I can see why the chemo defeats cancer. It’s so miserable and shitty that even I don’t want to be inside my own body anymore. I’m sure that’s why cancer decides to take a hike.” He smiled halfheartedly, as if laughing at my joke would be too much—maybe even disrespectful. I rubbed at my hands. They felt swollen and yet they weren’t. “Your hand hurts?” he asked. “Everything hurts. I think I even have a migraine headache.” His eyebrows twitched together. “I’m sorry. I at least know how much those suck.” I shook my head. “Seriously, I can’t believe you deal with this shit all the time,” I said, pressing my hand to the throbbing ache in my forehead. “You learn to live with it,” he said, watching me closely. “You’ve been sleeping a lot. Like, for days straight.” I continued to rub my brow, the only part of my face I could still stand to touch. “Yeah, what day is it, anyway?” “Sunday night.” Two days. I’d lost two days. I blew out a breath. “Fuck.” “You need to eat something.” I shuddered and shook my head. “Please. I can get you anything. Even if it’s a dry piece of bread.” I cocked a brow at him. “Or…not, I guess.” My eyelids felt heavy over my eyes and my head was still pounding, but I didn’t want to go back into the dark and be all alone again. I’m sure that after two days in bed, I reeked. It was a good thing I couldn’t smell myself. “What were you doing out here?” He shrugged. “Just playing around on my tablet.” “You’re not bored out of your skull sitting here all weekend?” He fixed me with his dark gaze. “Nope. Why? Trying to get rid of me?” “I think it would probably take several sticks of dynamite and a couple anvils to get rid of you.” He smiled. “So I’m like that coyote in the cartoons?”

“Yeah, only Road Runner can’t run very fast these days.” My head sank to his shoulder. “She looks pretty exhausted, I have to admit. Guess I won’t need my Acme motorized skateboard to chase after her.” He shifted, pulling me against him. I closed my eyes. It felt good, even through the plethora of suckitude going on inside my body. I swallowed. “Maybe she stopped running because she doesn’t want to be chased anymore.” “So when is she going to move in with the coyote so he can take care of her?” I frowned through my brain haze. In truth, I was a little surprised that he hadn’t brought the subject up again before this. “Meep. Meep,” I breathed with a light laugh, hoping he’d let me evade the subject with a little grace. He didn’t reply, running a light hand over my back. “What do you need? Do you want to sit and watch a movie or…?” My eyelids grew heavier by the second. “This feels good…right here…” My words were stumbling over each other, my tongue suddenly feeling thick. His head shifted and he kissed my hair. “Okay. We can just sit like this, then.” I fell asleep to the sound of his voice coming from inside his thick chest, relishing the feel of it vibrating against my cheek.

Chapter Ten Adam I leaned back against the couch and listened to her sleep. I knew I should have carried her to her room then. She’d hardly get the rest she needed leaning up against me. But I kept telling myself, “Just five more minutes.” I turned my head and smelled her hair. It smelled like her—straight and undiluted, not masked by hair products. I closed my eyes, that tight feeling pulling at my chest again. The sense of smell was a gatekeeper to vivid memories. I savored the ones that arose from this small sniff—the first time I’d kissed her in the hallway of her tiny studio apartment, the first time I’d really touched her in Amsterdam in that gorgeous, glittering black dress. The feel of her healthy, glowing skin under my hands. I pulled my head away, turning to stare at the wall, unwilling to torture myself any further. The happy times—those brief flashes in our near past—only made the stark present hurt more. I glanced down at her pale face, wishing I could be the one to take care of her. That I could do more than the measly amount of babysitting I was doing tonight. I held her in my arms for almost another hour before Heath and Connor came in through the front door and crept into the room quietly. “Did she eat anything?” Heath whispered. I shook my head but pointed to the water bottle. Connor took it and went into the kitchen to refill it. I slowly extricated myself from Emilia, lifting her from my chest and then bending, I picked her up to carry her to her bedroom. I tried not to think about how much lighter she was in my arms than she used to be, how much frailer she felt. I gently laid her on the bed and when I straightened to go, she reached up and clamped her hand tightly around my wrist. “Adam,” she said. I paused and then sat beside her on the bed, smoothing her cheek. “I need you.” Something about that simple admission struck me like a blow in the center of my chest. I took a deep breath. “I’m not going anywhere.” With that, she seemed satisfied and soon her breathing was steady and rhythmic again. I bent to kiss her. I felt powerless, helpless. And these were two feelings that I wasn’t accustomed to. Feelings that angered me. Feelings that I usually avoided at all costs. I knew how to keep my distance emotionally. And with hardening resolve, I decided to do so. I left her when Heath came in to take my place at her bedside with the refilled bottle of water. Then I drove home, my work for the evening only beginning.

Chapter Eleven Mia “You need to do it, Mia.” I sighed, watching my mom as she finished folding my laundry. I was crammed in the corner of my small room at Heath’s condo, sitting in a chair with my novel on my lap while Mom finished pairing all my socks. “I don’t need to. I could just—” “It’s not fair to Heath. And it’s not fair to Adam, either.” My mom was trying to convince me to move back into Adam’s house. She needed to go back and see to the ranch. Her favorite mare was due to give birth any time now and her caretaker wasn’t equipped to handle that. And in any case, she’d been away for weeks longer than she’d originally planned due to my surprise cancer-bomb. I fiddled with my book, flipping the pages between my thumb and forefinger. “Maybe.” “What are you afraid of?” Of history repeating itself? Of going back to the fighting? “We rushed into it last time. I think it will jinx us. I know that sounds silly and superstitious, but…” Mom’s mouth quirked to the side as she pondered that. She looked at me with hooded eyes. “How hard did you try, Mia?” I frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?” She picked up a stack of folded T-shirts and pulled open a drawer in my dresser. “Well, as far as I understand it, you moved out after one fight. It’s not like he kicked you out.” I clenched my jaw. Mom didn’t know the half of what had gone on between Adam and me. The heat of indignation rose in the back of my throat. I felt judged. “He gave me an ultimatum. I don’t do those.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying he didn’t make mistakes, too. You both did.” My lips pursed with irritation. “But somehow my mistake was bigger than his?” Mom returned to sit on the bed, her hands on her knees. “No. But the last time I checked, Adam didn’t try to hide a serious illness from everyone close to him.” The air left my chest. So here it was. I was wondering when Mom would confront me about this. Apparently, she’d judged that I was now feeling well enough. “I know you are still mad at me and I know I deserve it, but—” “I’m not so much mad as…disappointed—hurt. I know you and your legendary stubbornness, kid. I’ve known it since you were a baby. But you have to stop it. You have to grow up sometime and realize that not everything can go your way all the time.” A wave of bitterness washed over me. “Things haven’t been going my way much lately.” My mom’s face sobered so suddenly I thought she was about to burst into tears. My chest tightened to see it. “I wish to God I could do something about that, Mia. I honestly do.” I blinked, suddenly feeling prickles in my eyes as well. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I hurt all of you.” She bit her lip, watching me. “I know you are. I know you are trying to do the best you can.” Apparently my best wasn’t good enough. Not really. I looked down, avoided her eyes, hoped she’d drop the subject of my moving in with Adam. She didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, as if for lack of anything better to do, she turned and scooped up my socks and started stuffing them into my top drawer—where there was not much room for them. I rubbed my forehead. “So, you won’t even consider it, then?” she finally asked.

“Why do you think it’s such a good idea?” I folded my arms over my chest. Best way to avoid a difficult question was to ask another question. But I also knew that she was no stranger to this tactic. She looked at me through narrowed eyes. “Because you can’t do this alone. I know you. I know you want to do everything by yourself. God knows what a frustrating experience it has been to be your mother and to have to deal with that stubbornness. You used to insist on tying your own shoes even when you didn’t know how. Then you’d trip until you skinned your knees bloody before you’d let anyone help you tie them. But it’s one thing when you are six. It’s quite another thing to face the medical treatments you have ahead of you with no help at all.” “But I have Heath…” And even as I said it, I knew that she was right—it wasn’t fair. Mom caught it pretty quickly. “You’ve already put a hefty burden on his shoulders, Mia. Sometimes I think he’s about to crack from it. You need to give him a break. And you need to give him a chance to be able to spend some time with his new boyfriend and not play nursemaid for you.” I sighed. “You’ve made good points. I’ll, um, I’ll think about it, okay?” Her eyes narrowed. “I can’t leave until I know you are going to be taken care of properly, since I won’t be able to do it myself. You can call me at Peter’s when you’ve made your decision.” “But Mom, what if Rusty goes into labor—” Mom gave a tight shrug and that’s when I knew that she meant business. “Horses have been giving birth in the wild for thousands of years.” My jaw dropped. “Mom…” Her brows rose. “You got that stubbornness from somewhere, kid. Don’t even try it.” I put my head down and rubbed my forehead. Inexplicably, tears stung my eyes—tears that would never slip down my cheeks. I blinked fiercely, unwilling to allow it. “What are you afraid of, Mia?” I sucked down a breath of air and shook my head, shrugging. “Blowing it again? Because even if we didn’t ruin everything, it’s all hanging by a thread.” “You’ve been through a lot in a short amount of time.” “It’s all like a blur,” I murmured, blinking my eyes. My vision seemed a metaphor for my life. “It’s like one moment everything was going great. Wonderful. All these pieces were falling into place and then…” “And then?” “Is he just with me because I’m sick—because of everything that’s happened?” My mom patted the bed beside her and I looked up. She nodded reassuringly, and I stood up and went to sit next to her. She slipped an arm around my shoulders. “I’m going to tell you the truth. I don’t know. You don’t know. Heath doesn’t know. The only one who knows? You need to ask him those questions.” I didn’t say anything for a while, watching the spotted carpet beneath our feet. “How about you? Are you just with him because you’re sick? Because of everything?” There were those feelings again, the jumbled ball of heaviness at the center of my chest. It was hard to breathe. I didn’t want to talk about this with her. I shook my head. I supposed if I sat down for a few hours and thought about nothing else, unraveled this ball like it was a tangled spool of yarn ends and examined each piece, I might be able to tell her what every nuance and twinge meant—love, hurt, longing, distance, loneliness, distrust, regret, guilt. They were all there bunched up in knots. And my heart was tender and vulnerable for it. “I’m afraid if I go there, if we live together, that it will ultimately be what makes us fail.” “Or, it could be what makes you stronger. Maybe you should believe in yourself more.” I put my head in my hands. “Why do I have to deal with this now?” “You don’t have to do anything but let the people who love you take care of you. Your job right now is to get better. Okay?”

“Mom, you have to go back to the ranch.” She looked at me. “And what about you?” I avoided her eyes. “I’ll talk to Adam.” She seemed to relax beside me. “Good.” *** Later that day, Adam came by after putting in some time at the office. He brought me a box of fresh cinnamon rolls, cinnamon bread and a pack of cinnamon gum. Since getting any sort of appetite back after the first round of chemo, I’d been craving cinnamon to get rid of the rusty, metallic taste in my mouth. I’d mentioned it this morning when he’d called to check up on me and now, here he was, like some sort of Cinnamon Sugar Plum Fairy bearing gifts. He’d grabbed a sandwich for himself and we sat at the table in Heath’s kitchen. Heath had gone to pick up some of Connor’s boxes to move in. I nibbled on my cinnamon roll, licking the icing from my fingers. Adam watched me carefully while trying to make it appear that he wasn’t. I got down about one third of the roll before I set the rest aside. “Milk?” he said. “Can’t. It’s on the ‘no’ list,” I said, referring to my dietary restrictions. He nodded and bit into his sandwich thoughtfully. My hands fidgeted on the table in front of me. “Umm,” I finally said. He chewed and swallowed, looking at me expectantly. “If—if that offer to stay with you is still open… I’d like to accept it.” Adam wiped his mouth with a napkin, his eyes brightening. “Sure—yeah. Yeah, of course it is.” “I just want to tell you something, though.” I cleared my throat. “Um. I’m a little scared about this. Because of what happened last time.” Adam reached a hand across the table and took mine. His warm palm enveloped it. “Last time was different. We both made a lot of shitty mistakes.” I nodded. “Okay…” “No recriminations, remember? I think we can move past this. Do you?” I frowned but nodded slowly. “I hope for it, anyway,” I said. He was moving his hand on mine, idly tracing my palm with his index finger. His touch tingled, burned. My fingers closed around his, but I didn’t know whether I was grasping at him to pull him closer or to stop him. It was so confusing. “Grab your bag and toothbrush. Let’s go.” I looked up, stunned. “Now?” His brows drew together. “Sure. Why not?” “Um.” He stood, boxing up the leftover pastries and stuffing everything back into the bag he’d brought them in. “Come on. I’ll get my assistant over here tomorrow to get the rest of your stuff.” “But—” He stopped and turned toward me, waiting for me to finish. I remembered that night when I’d first told Mom about being sick. When the thing I’d wanted most was to go home with him, for him to hold me. I had a vague memory of two nights ago, when I’d emerged from my chemo coma and he’d been here—camped out on the couch all weekend. He’d carried me back into my room and I hadn’t wanted to let go of him, hadn’t let go of him until I’d fallen asleep. I took a deep breath. Time to stop being so scared. “Yeah—I’ll, uh—I’ll get my T-shirt and some clothes for tomorrow.” His mouth turned up in a small smile and he nodded. “I’ll go shove this in the car and come back for

your bag. Be right back.” With shaking hands, I quickly gathered up my stuff and texted Heath to let him know where I’d be. And then I hopped in the car and we left. A half hour later, we stood at the bridge that crossed the small bit of harbor water to take us to Bay Island. Adam insisted we take one of the little army of golf carts waiting at the end of the bridge instead of walking the hundred yards to his house. When I hesitated, he insisted, saying I looked tired. I probably just looked like shit since shit was my new look, compliments of the chemotherapy. And I wasn’t even bald yet, though I knew that was coming soon. I could have walked but I didn’t push the issue. Adam wanted to take care of me. He worried. So I’d humor him. After all we’d been through, I realized that arguing over something as simple and as trivial as this was just pointless. There were more important things in life to fixate on. We got out and he took my backpack, gripping it as if it and I might both vanish if he didn’t grab on tight. He’d been waiting for me to say yes, to come stay with him. Though he didn’t show it, I could tell he was quite pleased that I’d finally agreed. Why else had he rushed out of Heath’s apartment as if he were afraid I might change my mind if I stayed there one more night? It was late afternoon when we walked up to his front door with our long shadows preceding us. A fresh breeze blew off the harbor and the familiar scent of the Back Bay assailed me. Only in Southern California, during an unusually warm winter, could we boast eighty degrees in January while the rest of the country was locked under a massive sheet of ice. Adam unlocked the front door and opened it for me, guiding me in with a light hand pressed to the small of my back. My muscles tightened under his touch, suddenly aware of how long I’d been craving something more than just a hug or a squeeze of the hand. Now that the crappiness from the first dose of chemo had mostly faded, I was only mildly feeling like ass rather than weakly wishing for my own quick and painless death. I was bouncing back. I’d read about this. With every treatment it would take me slightly longer to bounce back, with fewer and fewer days of feeling good in between. I tried not to think about what lay ahead and instead chose to adopt my new philosophy of living in the now. I vowed not to fret about what might come tomorrow, choosing to accept and appreciate what I had today. And today I had a very attentive, very hot young man at my beck and call. Tonight, we’d be lying in the same bed together and I hadn’t felt his touch in that way in far too long. My heart raced with anticipation. It didn’t matter that I still had a dull headache or that my joints still were a little stiff. I was still alive, goddamn it, and for today, why not enjoy it? Adam checked his watch when we hesitated in the entry hall. Before spending the night on New Year’s Eve, I hadn’t been here in almost two months, since just after our trip to Vegas and the god-awful fight we’d had when he’d found the painkiller syringes in my bag. I swallowed a ball of nerves stuck in my throat and glanced around. Everything was still exactly the same. The house looked as unlived in and spotless as ever. “Miss Emilia!” Adam’s housekeeper, Cora, cooed as she came out from the kitchen and greeted me with her usual bright smile, a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then she put her hands to my cheeks. “You look tired. I made some dinner. Mr. Drake told me you were coming.” I raised a brow at Adam. He shrugged. “I texted her when I went out to the car.” “Dinner’s in the fridge. You can reheat it whenever you want.” She spoke with Adam, telling him the chef would be here in the morning to make breakfast. He said he needed to prepare a shopping list for her with my diet restrictions. “Hey, I’m going to run upstairs and freshen up,” I said, interrupting them. I turned to move past them when Adam caught my wrist while he finished giving Cora instructions to

pass along to Chef. I paused, fidgeting beside him. He glanced at me. “Just a minute, okay?” Cora brightened. “Mr. Drake has a surprise for you.” I turned to look at him. He grimaced at Cora, as if she’d said something she shouldn’t have. She threw her hands up at him and shook her head. “I’m going to go. You are okay for everything tomorrow?” “Yes, we’re fine. Thank you for everything,” he said while escorting me toward the stairs. I threw him a look. “I used to live here, in case you forgot. I know the way to the bedroom.” There was a small smile on his sexy mouth, which he hid almost instantly. “That’s not where we’re going.” I puzzled at that, following him up the stairs. I knew better than to ask him what the hell he was talking about. With Adam, all was revealed in due time—his due time. So when we turned left in the upstairs hallway instead of right, which led to the master suite, I mentally scratched my head. Holding my hand, Adam led me into the guest suite. “Step into my TARDIS, young lady.” “It’s bigger on the inside!” I said almost automatically, staring around me in wide-eyed wonder at the transformation in the room. Adam smirked. “That’s what she said.” I made a face. “Perv.” The entire time that I’d lived here before, for a month before Adam had left on his hike, the month during the hike, and a month after that when we’d been together before I’d decided to move out, I’d only been in this room a handful of times. The suite was nearly as spacious as the master suite that I’d shared with Adam. But today it looked completely different. It had been redecorated and, in some cases, renovated. There were different windows—huge ones that went all the way up to the ceiling from a brand new upholstered window seat that lined the entire thing. The room was decorated in two shades of green, my favorite color, and crème. The designs were muted and soft with forest and mint green accents. There was a modern, ergonomic lounge in the corner with a retractable desk, complete with a brand new laptop computer. The bathroom, which had been gorgeous before, had been redecorated to match. It had a beautiful shower tiled in jewel tones, but I noticed steam jets had been added and the sunken tub beside it was new. It sat flush against the tile floor and was backed by a new recessed gas-lit fireplace. It was an overflow bathtub with a lip all the way around it that allowed water to go right to the edge and then drained away any excess. “This is amazing!” I said. “You’ve been busy the past few months.” Adam smiled. “The past three weeks, actually. My decorator organized a rush job.” I raised my brows. “Expecting some important guests?” “Yep,” he said, watching me closely. “You.” My heart stuttered a little bit, but I wasn’t quite sure whether it was from pleasure or disappointment. He’d done all this—a huge undertaking in a short amount of time, a major modification to part of his home —for me. But it was for me to live in…to stay in. To sleep in. Alone. While he slept down the hall. I turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the mixed emotions on my face, walked out of the bathroom and back into the beautiful bedroom. I stared out the huge windows at the view that looked out on part of the Back Bay of Newport Harbor. Sailboats were motoring in after a long day of leisure on the ocean. Small electric boats full of tourists and locals alike were tootling along the calm water while maneuvering around the bigger motorboats. “The best part about this room is the windows,” Adam said, coming up behind me. “They are nice windows,” I said quietly. He picked up what looked like a remote control from the marble-topped nightstand. “But they aren’t

always windows. Sometimes they’re a wall.” He pressed a button and suddenly the windows went opaque and turned a flat eggshell color, as if part of the wall. We stood in semi-darkness, the only light coming from the bathroom skylight behind us. “What the hell just happened?” I said, confused. “No blackout curtains necessary. Just hit this button at night and the room stays dark until you hit another button in the morning. Or you can even put it on a timer so they go transparent again at a certain time of day. Or if you only want to let a little light in…” He pressed another button and the window was back, only with a frosted, muted effect. “Can I project movies and video calls on it like Tony Stark’s windows?” He grinned. “Not quite yet. When they invent an Iron Man window, that’s going into my room first.” There it was again, that twinge in my chest when he said my room. There was my room and there was his room. There was no “our” room. Did that mean there wasn’t an “us”? I turned away from him again. “They’re more than windows and wall, though—they are also lighting.” He hit another button and the windows went opaque again but glowed with a golden light that mimicked indirect lighting. He pressed another button and a bunch of tiny white lights appeared along the seam of the walls where they met the ceiling. I wandered over to the low bookcase that stretched the length of the wall perpendicular to the window and its seat. On top, there were a series of framed pictures. One of my horse, Snowball, who was still up at the ranch in Anza. One of me and Heath on a visit to Palm Springs when we were in tenth grade. One of my Mom riding her favorite mare, Rusty. One of Heath’s gorgeous desert sunset shots taken at AnzaBorrego State Park. And one of Adam and me standing next to Diamond Falls—that spectacular cataract in St. Lucia—the morning after the night we’d first made love. My chest tightened to look at us then, so happy, so in love even though neither of us would admit it to the other—or even ourselves—at that point. I picked up the picture, instantly fascinated that these two people were the same ones standing in this room, getting along swimmingly even though we felt miles apart from one another. “So what do you think?” I swallowed and set the picture down. I wouldn’t dare let him know about my disappointment. He’d done a magnificent, wonderful thing. Made a very kind gesture. I plastered on a smile and turned back to him. “I can’t believe you did all this. You didn’t even know if I was going to come back.” He set down the remote and shrugged. “Well, I hoped for it. And I wanted to make sure you’d be comfortable. So I had it done. Just in case.” Just in case. He’d spent thousands and thousands of dollars on a rush remodel “just in case.” He approached me, peered into my eyes. I was still faking that rapturous smile. He put a hand on my cheek and my eyes fluttered closed. Every touch from him was like magic, like a thousand words, feelings and gestures wrapped up into one split second. His fingertips grazed my cheek. “Like I said, I want to take care of you.” He did. He did want to take care of me—from fifty feet away, down the length of a long hallway and separated by two doors. He frowned. “You okay? You seem distracted.” “I think I need to puke. And you don’t need to see it.” I forced down a wave of nausea that had washed over me like a tsunami of sick. I turned, slipping into the bathroom and falling to my knees, into the familiar position of praying to the porcelain gods. Even though the initial wretched days of my first round of chemotherapy were behind me, I still felt sick—at least once a day, sometimes more. Maybe that was the real reason Adam had decided to put me up in my own room—so he wouldn’t have to hear me hurl daily. Hopefully that meant he’d stay in the other room while I took care of this.

Chapter Twelve Adam I stood frozen for a moment while Emilia heaved into the toilet. Uncertainty stilled me because the first thing I wanted to do was go in there and comfort her, but she’d specifically told me to stay away. I went to the closet and grabbed a spare throw and some pillows and took them to her. It was puzzling because she’d hardly eaten a thing at Heath’s. What could she have possibly had in her stomach to throw up? She was on her hands and knees, her head down over the toilet bowl and her long hair strewn all around her. I reached down and pulled it back for her. “What part of ‘you don’t need to see this’ didn’t you understand?” she choked, but from the tone of her voice, she was more dismayed than annoyed or angry. I didn’t move, just kept her hair back for her while I set down the pillows and blanket beside her. “What’s that for?” she asked. “For your knees, and the blanket is in case it’s cold down on the floor.” She choked again and then sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. I filled a glass of water from the tap so she could rinse her mouth out. “You are incredibly sweet.” I sat beside her on the ground. “Shh. Don’t let that get around. My dev team would never believe it, anyway.” After rinsing her mouth, she sat back and watched me again with that long, enigmatic look. She seemed…sad. My chest tightened. She always looked sad these days. Resting on her heels, she gave me a small smile. I took the empty cup from her. “You need help up?” She was fiddling with her hair, running the part I’d held back from her head through her fingers. “I, uh, I like to stay down here for a little bit, just in case.” Darting me a look, she grabbed one of the pillows I’d brought and stuffed it under her butt, sighing in satisfaction. The other one she crammed against the wall and rested against it. “Hmm, maybe I should get you a little lounge to sit on for these episodes.” “A toilet lounge?” she grinned. “Your decorator would have a fit.” I shrugged, leaning back on my own piece of marble-lined wall, the chill seeping through my shirt. I was glad she had the blanket to keep her warm. I wasn’t kidding. I’d email my decorator tonight and get her to find something to fit the bill. Call it a toilet lounge or a commode couch or whatever. “So there was one more thing I wanted to give you,” I said. I pulled the box from the front pocket of my shirt. She took one look at it and swallowed, and I realized her hesitation was because it was a jewelry box. Good things had not happened the last time I’d handed her a jewelry box. I flipped it open to allay her fears that it was another engagement ring. Besides, who the hell would propose over a toilet? Her brows went up when her eyes landed on what was inside and then she frowned, clearly intrigued. She reached a hand out and stroked the inside of the box. “Take it. It’s not going to bite you.” She stuck her tongue out at me. “You do not want me to breathe my barf breath on you, dude.” “No, I have a feeling that could be a lethal weapon.” “There isn’t a dragon even you could dream up even in your twisted imagination that would have breath more lethal.” I leaned forward and she pulled the piece from the box, the gold chain dangling down. She peered at the object at the end of it and looked up at me with a questioning expression. “A compass?” I nodded.

Another rush job, this time from a jeweler, who had designed the face of an antique gold compass with a flat backing of dark blue lapis lazuli and a pattern of small diamonds in the form of a constellation on the surface. “That looks like your company’s logo.” I was glad she recognized it. “Kind of. They are both patterned after the constellation Draco the Dragon.” She nodded, fingering the surface. “Is there a special meaning to it, then? Beyond your company name?” “I wanted to get it for you…as a reminder.” She slipped the chain around her neck and it rested low on her chest. The chain was long and it dangled just above her breasts over the loose gray T-shirt she wore. “What is it supposed to remind me of?” “Draco is a constellation in the sky, near the North Star. It’s always in the sky, no matter what time of day and no matter what season.” She nodded, watching me, her face unreadable. Her fingers smoothed over the glass surface. “Uh huh…” she said, sounding like a child listening to a story, prompting the storyteller for more. “It’s the lost zodiac constellation.” I pointed to the diamond that represented a star in the head of the dragon. “This is Thuban. Four thousand years ago, this star was the North Star. Now it’s forgotten because the earth’s axis has shifted. I chose it as the symbol for my company because it reminded me never to take my eyes from my goal, my true north. So I thought I’d get this as a reminder for you.” She concentrated on the tiny recreation of the constellation. “My true north. And what is that?” I wanted so badly to supply that answer for her. Us. We are, I wanted to say. I watched her for a long moment, hoping she could figure that out for herself. It wasn’t something I could ever provide for her. “It’s what you have to figure out. It’s your reminder to be strong. To have hope. To keep being the warrior I know you are.” Her lower lip disappeared into her mouth, her eyes teary. The rest of her froze. Then suddenly, she leapt toward me so fast I thought she would crash right into me. But she hooked her arms around my neck so tightly that she was in danger of cutting off my airway. “Easy now,” I chuckled. Wow…this got me a much better reaction than the engagement ring. I’d really screwed that one up, hadn’t I? She held me tight, her knees practically in my lap. My arms came around her to hold her lightly to me. She rocked in my arms before turning her head. “If I didn’t have barf breath, I would kiss you so hard right now.” I turned, kissed her cheek and released her. “Are you safe from puking again?” “Probably. I’m going to brush my teeth.” I got up and went out into the bedroom while she dug through her bag and brushed her teeth. I was messing with the kick-ass windows when she came in. “I had them install these in my room, too. The whole house gets them next. But I had to wait and put them on order while they make them. They also control how much heat comes into the room, and they can make the window one-sided so people can’t see in even while you can look out.” “You’re such a gadget addict,” she said, watching the windows go from opaque, to frosted, to transparent, and back again, one time abruptly and another time gradually. I pressed a few more buttons. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. This remote is also an intercom.” “An intercom? You mean so we don’t have to shout down the hall to each other?” she said, and her voice shook a little when she said it. I glanced at her but pretended not to notice. I was still getting that weird, nervous vibe from her. She’d said as much—that she feared us walking down the same crappy road we’d traveled down before. Not if I could help it. Hopefully I had enough safeguards in place to

prevent it. “Yeah, in case you—well, in case you need me.” I showed her the button to press. “There’s one in your bathroom, and I’ve got one in my room and my office and downstairs, too.” “Can’t I just ring a bell instead? And have you bring me a tray in bed while dressed only in a Speedo and bow tie?” I suppressed a laugh. “I don’t wear Speedos.” She eyed me playfully. “Too damn bad.” Suddenly, a rush of heat rose under my collar. The way she was looking at me…I had to take a deep breath and remind myself that she was sick. There would be none of that, no matter how much my body protested. She’d just been on the floor, puking. Before I could stuff in another thought of protest, however, she stepped gingerly toward me, slipping her hands around my neck, lacing them at the back and pulling me down to kiss her. I tasted the peppermint of her toothpaste and another taste, strong and medicinal, like she’d rinsed with mouthwash. Her hands tightened around my neck and her kiss deepened, her mouth opening. She pressed her chest against mine and—wait, what was I supposed to remember again? My hands slipped to her lower back, pressing her against me. She was saying something, but I barely heard over the rush of desire roaring in my ears. She was thanking me for the room, telling me she’d missed me. I opened my mouth and slid my tongue into hers. I angled my head to press her for more and— This was getting out of hand. I pulled my head away gently and lifted on her tiptoes to follow me. So I took a deep breath and stepped back, still holding her at her waist. She stared up at me with those lovely brown eyes, a tremulous smile on her lips. “This was so sweet of you,” she whispered. “I can’t—can’t believe that you did all this. But…” Her eyes flicked away. “But what?” I prompted. If she wanted us to communicate better, there was no time like the present to begin improving. She backed off, suddenly looking embarrassed. Her teeth clamped down on her luscious bottom lip and her brows lowered over her eyes in a pensive frown. “I just thought we’d…that I’d…” She took a deep breath and I waited, a little nervous as to where this conversation would go. “I thought when you wanted me to come back that you wanted us to be a couple again.” I put my hands on her cheeks to hold her still. “We do need to work on our relationship. I agree. But right now is about you getting healthy again. I don’t want you to feel any pressure about us. I don’t want to let the difficulties we’ve had get in the way of you getting better.” “What makes you think they will?” My hands dropped back to my sides. “This isn’t a good time for drama. And there’s been a lot of drama between us. It’s like what you said before—that we can’t keep making the same mistakes. So we just need to be careful.” She was watching me, hardly masking her disappointment, fingering her compass while looking at me with wide eyes. “So it’s not because I pushed you away before?” I shook my head. “No. This isn’t about shutting you out, Mia. It’s…it’s supposed to be your place, a little sanctuary. So you can get better.” “And you won’t stay here with me.” Her voice was quiet, calm, but it shook just a little. It wasn’t hard to detect her hurt. “Of course I will…when you want me to. But I think it’s really important that we stay positive and go slow.” She raised her brows in surprise, but understanding was dawning in her eyes. “Go…slow?” “So…one step at a time, okay? We have a long road ahead of us and a lot of time to cover that ground. But not today. We will figure this out, but the most important thing right now is you—your health, your

happiness and well-being…okay?” She nodded slowly, not looking entirely on board with this plan. “I’m willing to give it a try,” she began quietly. “Good.” I smiled. “But it might get lonely sometimes,” she started, a smile tugging at her lips. “Hmmm…” I said, feigning deep thought. “You didn’t bring your little stuffed dog to keep you company?” She smacked me on the arm with the back of her hand and we laughed. Not long after, we went down to the kitchen, hand in hand. *** Emilia went in for her second round of chemotherapy a few days later. This time, Heath and her two closest girlfriends, Alex and Jenna, were there, along with her mother and me. But instead of going home to Heath’s afterward, and me having to dream up excuses for camping out on his couch all weekend, she came home with me, where she belonged.

Chapter Thirteen Mia “Meta-Gaming, or The Lives Our Characters Lead, Without Us”—Posted on the blog of Girl Geek on February 15, 2014 I remember the first time I loaded a simulation game—you know, the ones where your characters actually simulate real life. They have a house, a job, relationships. All of these require work to maintain. Clean the house by getting your character to scrub the toilet. Get up at six a.m. to get dressed for work. It was hugely entertaining at first. I spent long hours those first few days pinned in front of the computer, clicking away while my own real-life dietary and cleaning needs were ignored. After that, I never touched the game again. I realized that my characters’ lives were more boring than even my own. Not so with the other games we know and love. The exciting adventures, zooming through the streets of LA in a stolen car or careening through space exploring the universe in your own spaceship. Or… questing your way across Yondareth with a magical weapon in hand. But what happens when we hit that log-off button? In the world of massively multiplayer roleplaying games, where thousands of people interact on a server, the world goes on, but our character vanishes from it until the next moment we log in. It’s like our character takes a little vacation from life, stepping into a stasis. What if, instead of those fantastical adventures our characters lead—or even the more mundane ones of the world-famous simulation games—we logged in to a game where our character logs in to a game to play a computer game? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate form of meta-escapism? *** This second round of chemo didn’t floor me for long. Thank God. I hoped that boded well for the future. I had a chart sitting on the nightstand beside my bed. It had twelve boxes and two of them were now checked off. Two down, ten to go. Just kill me now. Or maybe I was waiting for my superpowers to kick in. My chemo oncologist, a wonderful man who had male pattern baldness, admired my still full head of hair and warned me that it would most likely fall out soon. Running his hand over his own bald pate, he said, “But at least yours will grow back in!” Of course, getting cancer wasn’t worth the jokes, but I’d take them over self-pity. I flipped the chart over on the nightstand with no desire to even think about the ten rounds remaining. Instead, I studied the group of figurines that William had given me. They were so intricately painted, detailed and shaded—even the tiny pewter bases upon which they stood were painted to simulate grass or earth or stone. There was the Guide with a map and sextant. The Bodyguard dressed in a full suit of armor. The Jester with the funny hat and wildly colored clothes. Sometimes I’d pass an hour staring at them, rearranging them. Pretending they represented people in my life. I also spent a lot of my downtime on the laptop playing Dragon Epoch. Since these were times when none of my friends—except Adam—could log on, I worked on the secret quest that he was completely hands-off about. I knew better than to ask him about it or to try and wheedle more clues out of him. He’d once thought himself the height of generous by giving me the uber-elusive “yellow” as a clue. In the end, it had been a very valid clue but so generic as to be useless. After our talk about asking for help, and the very simple fact that I needed help constantly, working on the quest by myself was a way that I could assert my independence and do things on my own. I spent long

hours lying in bed, my laptop propped on my knees, looking for answers on how to proceed with the quest. But I was getting nowhere and once I was feeling better frustration drove me out of bed. I decided to take a shower. Though I’d prepared myself for the inevitable loss, it still hit me as a shock when the first clump of hair came off in my hands. It was dry and dead like autumn leaves, and it left my head with little to no resistance. With a quick intake of breath and a sharp stab of alarm, my heart battered against my chest in fear. I pulled out four or five handfuls and let them fall to the floor. Though this loss was nothing to what I’d already suffered, it was still something to remind me of all that cancer was robbing me of. This loss may have been temporary, but it served as an all-too-poignant reminder of all that I had lost. My breath came in shivery gulps and tears prickled my eyes. The drain was starting to plug up with the excess water running out of the showerhead before I finally stopped yanking and pulling at my own hair. I reached up to touch my patchy scalp. The skin there was tender, sensitive. I think I tried for about sixty seconds to be brave, but it was soon overwhelming and I was shaking with rage and anguish as tears trickled down my face to match the rain of the showerhead. Fuck you, cancer, for succeeding in stealing yet another thing from me…my hair and all it represented—youth, beauty, femininity. By the time the shower started overflowing onto the bathroom floor, I was on the ground, sobbing and trying to pull the hair out of the drain to unclog it. The world around me turned and my stomach flipped. I felt like throwing up, but fortunately I held it in. I was not as successful with my tears. Because of that, I could hardly see what the hell I was doing and the water began to get cold as I became more frantic. Suddenly, there was a rush of cold air and the showerhead turned off. I huddled on the shower floor, a mess, bent over myself. Adam knelt in the water beside me. “Mia. Get up.” But I didn’t move. I buried my face in my hands. “I don’t want you to see me.” “I’ve seen you naked before. Come on. You’re shivering.” “Get me a towel,” I sniveled. He’d seen everything, yes. But not like this. Not this scarred, maimed, skin-and-bones version. I would disgust him. I knew I would. I disgusted myself every time I stared in the mirror. This cowering wimp was a far cry from the empowered, confident female who had once shucked my bathing suit to expose myself to him before luring him to take a shower with me. I’d been confident in my body then. I’d wanted him and I’d wanted him to want me. And he had. He so had. This body belonged to a sick woman. A husk. A sniveling, pathetic weakling. Because along with the physical losses—the weight, the pregnancy and now the hair—there were those that couldn’t be seen— confidence, independence, empowerment. Cancer was slowly yet surely breaking me. I didn’t know this girl. She wasn’t me. She was the furthest thing from me I could have ever imagined. And I had no doubt in my mind that he felt the very same way. I swallowed that ever-present shame. It stabbed in my throat like a jagged piece of glass. In seconds, Adam was holding out a towel in front of me, his head turned to the side so that he couldn’t see. “Stand up. I’m not looking.” Slowly I stood and walked into the towel he held out, wrapping it around myself. He kept his eyes away from me as he went to grab the fluffy bathrobe off the hook in the corner and held it up while coaxing me into it. Then he turned and looked at the shower, which was still backed up. He grabbed the trashcan and sloshed into the shower, the legs of his jeans now entirely soaked. He proceeded to unclog

the drain, pulling out clumps of my hair. The water ran down the drain with a hearty gulp. Shaking, I watched his impassive face in the mirror. “I’ll clean up the mess. Please…let me.” He didn’t look at me, grabbing extra towels to soak up the excess water on the floor. “No, you won’t.” “But—” “You aren’t cleaning anything. Don’t even try.” “Adam—” He stopped, straightened and looked at me in the mirror, bathroom trashcan still in hand. He met my gaze, his face dead serious. “Don’t argue with me, Mia. You aren’t cleaning. You’re a guest. My guests don’t clean.” A guest. That word sounded so weird. I’d lived here. For three months this had been my home. Adam had once called it our house. But now I was a guest. Moving out in a huff must have demoted me to guest status. He turned and finished up with the wet towels, grabbing them and throwing them in the second sink. “I’ll have Cora call the cleaning people in the morning.” I hadn’t had a chance to turn my attention to my reflection in the mirror until that moment. What I saw almost made me gasp in shock. My head looked like a sheep that had some kind of weird molting sickness. Patches of hair hung by barely a thread. Huge clumps had been pulled out and some of it was still firmly rooted in its place. I’d been mentally preparing for this moment since I’d been prescribed chemotherapy. But it still struck me, almost taking my breath away. I sniffed and blinked, ferociously fighting new tears. Adam finished tidying the bathroom and then straightened, watching me watch myself in the mirror. “Mia, take a deep breath.” So I did. It was shaky and weak, like the rest of me. “I look like a leper.” He came up behind me, reaching around to belt my robe, which I had left hanging open (but, mercifully, I was still covered by the towel). The feel of his arms around me was both thrilling and alien at the same time. I wanted him to pull me to him, whisper in my ear that I was still beautiful to him. I avoided his gaze in the mirror. I wasn’t beautiful to anyone. “Come with me,” he said, taking my hand and leading me out of the bathroom. He pulled me through my bedroom and into the hall toward his bedroom. “Where are we going?” “My room,” he said matter-of-factly. “I can see that. Why?” “Trust me.” I let him tow me along, his grip around my hand tightening. We went through his room and straight into the ensuite bathroom. He stopped and bent to pull something out of the bottom cabinet. He had an ironic smile when he straightened. In spite of myself, I laughed when I saw what it was. Electric clippers. “May I do the honors?” he said, waggling them in front of him. “I may have fantasized about shaving a beautiful woman’s head.” “Sicko.” My eyes narrowed at him. “Shut the fuck up and turn those on.” He grinned. “Oh God, please talk dirty to me. Hurt me, baby.” I playfully slapped his chest with the back of my hand. I grabbed a towel and laid it across the sink. “Don’t want to be responsible for plugging any more drains.” Then I bent over the towel while he plugged in the clippers. He gently placed them against the back of my neck and moved the clippers forward. They were cold and tickled my scalp, buzzing across my sensitive skin. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to be done.

“Good riddance to this white hair with the pink and purple. It’s god-awful My Little Pony hair. I’ve never been so glad to see hair go!” I swallowed my laugh. “It’s platinum blond, you dolt.” “Dolt! Ah, you can do better than that. Come on, hit me hard.” The clippers slipped against the back of my ear, tickling me. I started laughing. “Bastard. Fucktard. Asshole.” “I’m shaving all your hair off. You’re going to be the chick version of Humpty Dumpty.” “Fuck you, prick,” I ground out between gritted teeth. “Damn, the reflection of this light off your head is blinding me. Can’t see a thing.” He purposely set the clippers against the sensitive back of my neck and I shrieked, laughing. “Pencil dick.” “Are you married to Mr. Clean?” “You better run when you’re done with this shit, ’cause if I catch you, I’m so kicking your ass.” “Sounds exciting,” he said, clicking off the clippers. “Done.” I didn’t move for a stretch of minutes, taking a long breath. “You ready? You need me to psych you up?” “Shut your hole, asshat,” I said, then cleared my throat and straightened, looking at myself in the mirror. Yeah, I was speechless. I looked like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. My eyes flew to Adam, who was watching me very closely, probably expecting another meltdown. So I took my pinky finger, raised it to my lip and said, “I shall call him ‘mini-me,’” in the best imitation of Mike Myers that I could manage. Adam’s handsome face broke into a smile. His stance relaxed, as if he was relieved. I raised my hand to my naked scalp. “Shit, this feels so weird.” He held up the clippers. “Wanna do me now?” “Don’t even think about it. How would the horny little interns fantasize about running their fingers through your hair if you were as bald as me?” And what would I fantasize about? I mentally added. He rolled his eyes in response. I ran my hand over my head again. “Feel this shit. It’s weird as hell.” He set down the clippers and obediently ran a hand over my head. He shot me a seductive look in the mirror. One that, in other circumstances, might have made my panties hit the floor fairly quickly. “Shit. I’m getting so turned on right now.” I elbowed him lightly in his hard stomach and he gasped as if I’d slammed him with a two-by-four. “You are the hottest bald woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” “Fuck you.” He threw his hands up. “What? I’m serious. Ilia from the very first Star Trek movie? Did you see that? The one from the seventies?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “A long, long time ago.” “Yeah, she was this Deltan chick. So hot that sex with her killed any human dude who tried to screw her. Still not as hot as you.” I turned around and faced him, folding my arms across my chest. “You’re so full of shit.” “Am not. You see V for Vendetta? The bald chick in that one—Natalie Portman. She was hot. Very hot. But again…not as hot as you.” I bent my head now, trying to hide the fact that I was laughing. “You know of any other bald women?” “Demi Moore in G.I. Jane. Not even close to your level of hotness.” “Did you do an Internet search to look this up or something?” He gave me a funny look. “I watch a lot of movies.” I turned back to the mirror and ran a hand over my scalp. He came up behind me and put a hand on my head again. He bent toward me as if he might kiss me. My heartbeat raced and I tilted my head back

slightly in anticipation. Would he kiss me? Did he want me? But before he connected, I watched him stiffen and draw back almost as quickly. We locked gazes in the mirror and I swallowed. “Ripley,” he said. “What?” “Ripley from Alien. You know… Sigourney Weaver.” I frowned at him. “She had hair.” “Not in the third one. She was bald—bald as you.” “You actually saw the third movie? I heard it sucked so much ass it could be a black hole.” “You are still hotter than bald Ripley from the ass-sucking Alien movie.” He shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of bad movies, too.” I looked at myself again. “At least I still have my eyebrows and eyelashes…for now.” Adam shrugged. “You could possibly still keep those.” I glanced at him and shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s not like I’m out to impress anyone.” Except him. “Are you going to get a wig?” The thought of putting a heavy wig on my head was not appealing to me in the least. It would make my head sweaty and hot, and I just didn’t see the point. “I think I’ll just wear a hoodie every day.” He tilted his head, studying me. “Not a bad idea. I think I have a knit cap or two. Something to wear when it’s not eighty degrees out.” “Can’t stand the thought of a wig.” “You could wear bandanas. But be careful what color you wear in whatever part of OC you’re in.” I flashed him a phony gang hand sign. “Yeah, because there are so many gangs in Newport Beach.” He grinned at me and it made my heart flutter more than a little bit. He looked so much like the guy I’d fallen in love with. That brilliant, sexy man with the little boy’s impish grin. “I think this night calls for some ice cream and Farscape.” I frowned at him. “Farscape?” He raised his brows at me. “Seriously? You’ve never seen Farscape? It’s only the best science fiction that has ever been televised. I will have to force you to watch a marathon someday so that you, too, can appreciate the genius that is Farscape. And there’s a hot bald woman in that, too. Zahn. She’s not as sexy as you, either. And she’s blue.” I laughed. “Glad to know I’m sexier than the blue bald chick.” Except I couldn’t eat ice cream. The chemo diet did not allow dairy, nor did it allow soy. I was doubly screwed in that department. No frozen yogurt, either. He muttered something about ordering a snow cone machine instead. We sat in recliners in his home theatre to watch the episodes of this show from the early 2000s. I made it all the way through the first two episodes—the bizarre but amazingly done fantastical journey of John Crichton, hunky, brilliant astronaut from Earth who’d inadvertently discovered how to create a wormhole and ended up on the other side of the universe, where plants had evolved into humanoids, giant spaceships were creatures that were alive, and a strange, controlling race that looked exactly like humans, called the Peacekeepers, ruled with an iron fist of tyranny. It was late when the second episode ended. He clicked off the widescreen TV and came to stand in front of me. “Off to bed with you, baldy.” “I could so kick you in the nuts right now,” I muttered, yawning. “Yeah, you aren’t very frightening when you can’t even keep your eyes open.” “Where’s my paintball gun? I could so shoot you in the nuts right now.” He gasped as if in remembered pain. “You are going to trigger my PTSD from the paintball war with

talk like that.” I halfheartedly kicked my foot in the general direction of his crotch and he caught my leg around the ankle, laughing. “Bed. Now.” And I didn’t have the energy to argue. It had been a long, harrowing day. *** The next morning, a tiny pixie-like woman with blond hair and the highest heels I’d ever seen showed up at the house with several garment bags slung over her shoulder. I’d met her once before, when I’d lived here with Adam before the breakup. Sonia was Adam’s shopper, and she stopped by every month or so with new clothes for him. That was the day I’d discovered that what I had once thought was Adam’s knack for dressing well wasn’t really a knack at all. He relied on Sonia to dress him. And she did a good job. Not only did she have great fashion sense, but she knew enough about him to determine his own particular style. Not that Adam would ever wear something he didn’t want to, and he did send some clothes away every time a delivery came. Sonia usually just had clothes delivered to the house from the department store where she worked at Newport’s exclusive high-end mall, Fashion Island. But today she paid a visit in person, and I’d learn later that it was at Adam’s request that she stop by. Because now Sonia wasn’t just Adam’s shopper, she was mine. And though the idea of someone else buying clothes for me didn’t thrill me at first—especially when she started talking about head-covering options and wigs—her suggestions soon intrigued me. She took my measurements and we looked through some magazines. She asked me a long list of questions about my own sense of style and she had color swatches. She showed me the different things I could put on my head, from creatively tied scarves to berets to “buffs”—thin, tubelike knit caps that hugged my scalp. When she left, I gave Adam a tight hug and a kiss, thanking him. I actually didn’t need an excuse for wanting to be close to him, but I took advantage of one whenever it popped up.

Chapter Fourteen Adam Over the next few days, all she seemed to do was sleep, eat and watch Farscape with me. I wasn’t sure if it was the natural fatigue from the chemotherapy or depression. I crammed my work into the times when she was asleep, opting not to go into the office. Jordan, my CFO, brought me the important stuff I had to see to every few days and—to his credit—asked about her health and seemed concerned. Though I was expecting “the talk” and eventually I got it. “So, uh…can I ask—what’s going on with you two, anyway?” I looked at him over the paperwork he’d lined up for me to sign but didn’t answer. “Are you two, uh…you know…?” I started signing. “Friends? Yeah, we’re friends.” “But you’re not…together…” “In what way does that concern you?” I asked, whisking the top paper off the stack and proceeding with the next one. He held out a hand and looked away nervously. “Okay…I’m just trying to watch out for you, man. After last time—” I clenched my teeth. “This isn’t last time.” “Are you sure about that? Adam, you have a big heart and I know you feel sorry for her, but she had you tied up in knots for months.” My pen froze and I straightened. “I don’t feel sorry for her. I love her. We’ve moved past that…or at least we’re trying to, until well-meaning people bring it up again.” Jordan took a deep breath and let it out. “Fine. Okay. Just…just be careful, okay? You have no idea how this is all going to…shake out…” His voice died out and he grimaced as if, in hearing what he was saying, he realized how ridiculous he was being. As if he had to remind me that I didn’t know how this was going to end up. Her eighty-five percent chance had done that for me. That number hovered at the edge of my thoughts every damn day. It had stunned me speechless the first time I’d heard it at the doctor’s office, and I’d buried it under a brave face ever since. Of course, I had no idea how this was all going to turn out, but I didn’t need Jordan’s reminder of that all-too-real fear. I didn’t say anything for a long while, burning my way through the stack, skimming each page to make sure of what I was signing. Then I straightened and put the cap back on the pen, looking at him. “Listen. I get what you are saying, but I’m okay. And she will be, too. She’ll pull through this.” He nodded, bent to take up the stack and then stopped, looking at me. “Yeah, she will. But after she does? What about then?” “I realize that she’s not your favorite person—” Likely because he preferred his women dumb as toast and Emilia far exceeded his maximum IQ limit for a woman. Some men were genuinely intimidated by a smart woman. But I had no patience for this today, no matter that it was well-meaning. I clenched my teeth. “She needs friends now. Support. Why don’t you be that instead of the constant critic?” Jordan frowned and didn’t say anything, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I know that my advice in the past has only made things worse for you, but…well, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you, man.” “Your advice is shit.” I laughed and he tilted his head and smiled self-deprecatingly. “Hey! I was wondering if you wanted—” Emilia rounded the corner from the hallway and into my office, obviously unaware that Jordan was here. She halted in the doorway and locked eyes with Jordan, who she sometimes referred to as her nemesis.

They stood and stared at each other in silence. She didn’t have anything on her head and Jordan was the first person besides me, her mom and my housekeeper to see her with no hair. “Hey, Jordan,” she managed weakly, her face flushing red and the color spreading across her naked scalp. “Mia!” he said in a bright voice as if our previous conversation had never taken place. “Wow, you’re looking—” “Bald?” she interrupted, putting a self-conscious hand to her head. “Shiny?” Jordan hesitated awkwardly. “I was going to say ‘a lot better than I thought you would be looking after two weeks of chemo.’” Mia’s brows rose. “Oh—oh…thanks.” “I hope you are feeling okay?” Her mouth thinned a little, but she didn’t look at me. “I’m feeling great, actually. Never better.” Jordan didn’t react to the obvious lie. Good for him. He fidgeted for a moment and then gestured to the stack of papers in his hand. “I better be getting along, but I’m glad I got to say ‘hi.’ I’m glad to see you are doing so well.” A brief frown crossed Emilia’s face, but she thanked him and then Jordan grabbed his stuff and left. “Wow,” she said when the front door downstairs had shut. She turned back to me with a sardonic smile curving her lips. “He must think I’m on the verge of death or something.” I grimaced. “No, he doesn’t. Why would you say that?” “Dude has never been that nice to me.” I laughed. She laughed. “I guess if he’s going to keep being that nice, I’ll bother to powder my head next time.” She rubbed her scalp again. “You brazen hussy,” I said. “Flashing all that skin!” She stuck her tongue out at me. “Now you’re just torturing me,” I said. She slunk around the desk in an overtly seductive manner, swiveling her thin hips in her yoga pants, and came up next to me. “Is it working?” she whispered into my ear as she put her arms around my neck. “Mmmaybe.” I closed my laptop and turned my office chair to face her, hooking my arms around her waist and landing a light kiss on her cheek as she sank onto my lap. She pulled her knees up, leaning in against my chest. “Whoa,” I said, suddenly very uncomfortable at the closeness. I may have been joking around but it had been a while, and she was now sitting on me in her very sexy yoga pants and thin T-shirt. I had to fight a mental battle with myself not to cop a feel of her ass. Because, damn, I really wanted to. “What’s up?” I asked a little shakily. She shifted against me, sending a not-unpleasant jolt to parts south. “Nothing. Just wanted to say ‘hi.’” “Okay,” I said, my mind racing to find a way to get her off my lap without hurting her feelings. “You aren’t going to work today?” “Naw.” “Why not?” “You have another round tomorrow. I thought maybe we could do something before…before you aren’t feeling so great again.” She sighed. Her hand came up to press flat against my chest and rub it lightly. I bit down on the inside of my cheek and tried to think about something other than the fact that it had been months since I’d had sex. “You okay?” I asked. “Sure. Never better.” “Jordan and your mom aren’t here now. You don’t need to lie to me.”

“Well, I’m good, really. Just got a weird email, though.” “Who from?” “From another gaming blogger. The owner of GameGlomerate. He wants to buy out Girl Geek.” “Are you kidding me?” I stiffened, leaning back to look into her face. She smiled. “I do bullshit you a lot, but not this time.” “Those guys are tools. Why do they want your blog?” She pulled a face at me and then rested her head back against my shoulder. She fiddled with a button near the collar of my shirt. “Don’t act so surprised. It’s a good blog.” “It’s an excellent blog. But what are they planning to do with it?” She shrugged, avoiding looking into my eyes. “I think they are buying up several smaller popular blogs to expand their platform and readership.” I laughed. “They could just do that the old-fashioned way by writing their own content. But they’ll never be as clever as you are.” She didn’t say anything for a while, just continued to fiddle with my shirt. I studied her. “You aren’t thinking about it, are you?” She shrugged. “You aren’t selling your blog, Mia.” She looked up at me. “It’s my blog.” “You’d really tolerate someone else swooping in and picking up your platform that you took years to build? All the content you’ve written, all the connections with your readers, other bloggers and commentators. What would you do without it? Why would you sell it? You don’t need the money.” She was silent for a moment, then she quietly unbuttoned one button, opening my shirt at the neck. “I didn’t say I was selling it. But sometimes…blogging about DE can get awkward…especially with all the new traffic I’m getting about the secret quest.” I swallowed and looked away. Her hand slipped to the next button at the base of my neck. “What’s so awkward about it?” She shrugged. “It feels wrong, somehow…because you and I are—because we live together.” Her verbal gymnastics were not lost on me. She was as in the dark about what this was between us as I was. Her fingers unbuttoned the second button. I decided it would be safer to change the subject and get her the hell off my lap. “Hey, I was thinking we should take the Duffy boat out and go down to the end of the jetty. Or we can go to the Fun Zone…” “Or…we can stay here,” she said, her hand slipping inside my shirt. I took a deep breath and willed my hormones under control. Her hand on my bare skin was doing strange things to my ability to even think straight. I reached up and gently pulled it out of my shirt. “Aren’t we getting together online with Heath and Kat today?” Heath couldn’t come over because he had a cold and Emilia couldn’t be around anyone who had any type of illness. The chemo made her highly susceptible to bacteria and viruses due to her suppressed immune system. She frowned, watching me. “I think they wanted to, yeah.” “Good. Do you want to go outside and go for a walk or something before we do that? You’ll be stuck inside for a little while after tomorrow.” She blinked and slid from my lap, standing up. I almost sighed in relief. “Uh. Yeah, sure. Let’s do that.” I stood up and moved past her to grab our sweatshirts and put my shoes on. I tried to ignore the puzzled look she gave me as I passed by her. It was a mixture of surprise and hurt. I was aware I’d just rejected her advances—and that it had probably hurt her feelings. I made a mental note to discuss it with her later. But not now. Because right now, if I didn’t get out of here, I was likely to do something I’d regret—something I

really wanted to do—like pull her back onto my lap again and kiss her senseless. I’d assured her we should go slowly, and if I didn’t stick to my guns, disaster was likely waiting in the wings. So I ordered my body to calm down and we headed outside into the fresh air, where there was no danger of temptation.

Chapter Fifteen Mia “Take that, you green-faced fucktard!” I yelled into the mic of my headset. Shooting off another fireblast spell, I pasted a stray orc against the wall of the fortress we were fighting our way through. Obediently, the orc burst into flames and was no more. “Such violence, Mia,” Heath’s laughing voice came through the earpiece on the headset. “Mmm. I’m in that kind of mood,” I replied, using another high-level spell on a very low-level monster and thus vaporizing it. Hell had no fury like a sexually frustrated woman who’d just been rejected by the object of her lust. “What up, girlfriend?” Kat asked. “Everything okay?” I gritted my teeth and fired off another over-the-top spell. “Just fucking peachy.” “Okay. So…does anyone know if FallenOne is going to log in?” I bit my tongue. After our walk along the beach, he’d left me to go get started with our group while he finished up some things in his office, promising to join us as soon as he could. I’d hardly heard most of what he’d said because I was still mentally licking my wounds from earlier. He’d been perfectly sweet to me during the entire walk. But I knew he was still mad at me. Why else would he keep pushing me away? And just how slow did he mean we should go? I’d only been here a couple weeks, but I already hated this plan of his. Unless there was another reason…and that was the other thing that smarted. Because I wasn’t an idiot. I saw myself in the mirror every morning. I was perfectly aware that I was beginning to look like the Queen of the Borg from Star Trek. Between the pale, sallow skin, the darkening veins in my arms, and the bald head, I was sure I made up the perfect sexy picture. I frankly couldn’t blame him for being revolted, though I’d hoped he wouldn’t be. I blinked away the sting of that feeling by reminding myself that this was all temporary. These losses wouldn’t be forever, unlike others… I focused on the computer screen in front of me. A horde of goblins came running around the corner of our corridor where we’d slaughtered their orc cousins. I wasted them all with my highest-level spell. “Mia!” Heath hissed. “Stop wasting all your high-level magic. We’re going to need that later when we get to the boss.” Heath referred to the big bad monster that was the one carrying all the best loot, the one we’d most likely find at the end of this foray. *Your friend, FallenOne, is now online. I blew out a breath. Well, apparently he was done with work now. “Damn, maybe Fallen can talk some sense into you, woman,” Kat said. Heath barked a laugh. “I seriously doubt that.” I rattled off a private message to Heath. *You tell Fragged, “Knock it off or I’m pasting you next!” *Fragged tells you, “WTF did I do?” *FallenOne has joined your group. “Hey, Fallen,” Kat said. “Can you get to us? We are halfway down the south corridor and Mia is going apeshit with her magic. We’re going to need some help when we get to the boss.” Adam’s voice came across my headset. “I think I can fight my way down to you.”

I took a deep breath and looked out the window. I was sitting in the window seat, propped up on pillows, but it was a little hard to see because of the sunlight reflecting off my laptop screen. Also, my butt was starting to get numb from sitting in one place, so I got up and moved to the bed. As I did, Adam came in through the doorway, his headset on and laptop balanced on one muscular forearm. He put a hand over his mic so the others couldn’t hear him. “You okay?” “Sure. Never better,” I said, giving him my canned response. He grimaced, a flash of irritation passing through his dark eyes. “Do you not want to play today?” I shrugged. “No, I’m fine. Just jittery about tomorrow.” “What’s tomorrow? Who are you talking to, Mia?” Kat said. Silence. Heath sneezed. Shit. I froze. Kat still didn’t know that Adam and I were—or had once been— a couple. She had no idea who FallenOne really was. She was as clueless as Heath and I had been this time last year. All she knew was that I’d held an auction to sell my virginity—had given me her blessing, as my only friend who had approved. And later, when she’d asked, I’d told her that it hadn’t gone through—we’d had that talk during the time after Adam and I had split up in St. Lucia and then never really discussed it again. One thing about online friends was that you could always hold them at more of a distance than face-toface friends. And since these past few months had been about keeping my face-to-face friends—and my boyfriend—at bay, I’d shoved everyone away and was still paying the price for it. Adam still had his hand over the mic. “She still doesn’t know?” I gave him a guilty look and then leaned back, resting the computer on my knees. “Fallen, are you coming or what? Let’s get this party started,” Heath said, clearly trying to distract Kat from her questions. Adam sat on the edge of the bed without another glance at me and turned his attention to the game. He started making his way through the same fortress in which we were fighting orcs and goblins. Our group had to backtrack over territory we had already crossed in order to meet up with him. “I know what Mia’s problem is,” Kat said, that familiar mischievous tone in her voice. “What’s that?” Heath asked. “Sexual frustration.” I choked, looking up from my screen toward the end of the bed. Adam hadn’t looked up from his laptop, engrossed in some battle against a group of goblins that had just jumped on his character. “That’s you projecting, Kat. You probably really need to get laid,” I retorted. “Oh, I’m certain it’s your problem. But you just don’t know it because you’re too pure and virginal.” Adam threw me a sidelong glance and Heath started hacking on the other end of his mic. I couldn’t tell whether he was coughing or laughing—or both. “Um,” I said. “No, that’s not my problem anymore.” “Shut up!” she said. “Did our little virgin finally lose it after her scandalous auction fell through? Who was it? Was it that hot guy you were dancing with at the employee party in Vegas?” Oh, for the love of God… I looked at Adam. He had his head down as if concentrating on the screen, but his shoulders were shaking like he was trying to keep the laughter inside. “He wasn’t that hot,” I said, and when Adam looked up at me again, I stuck my tongue out at him. He squinted at me. “Incoming!” Adam cried out as his character came running down the hall toward the rest of us with at least five big orcs behind him. I pressed the button for one of my big nuker spells. Again, total overkill, but it was too enjoyable to watch them all drop like rocks. “What the…?” Kat muttered. “Again…we could have used that spell against the big boss, Mia. What the hell are you going to fight

him with now? Sticks and rocks? It’s going to take you an hour to get that spell back.” Heath was clearly irritated with me. I shrugged, though I knew they couldn’t see the gesture. I knew I was being immature and probably should just log off due to my pissy mood. I’d do less harm leaving than I would shooting off my good spells left and right. “Mia isn’t feeling well,” Adam said, looking at me. And he was right. He’d said that at almost the exact moment I’d felt a headache clamp down over my head. It felt like someone was driving a spike through my skull. And I got hot and sweaty. Suddenly, I could hardly hold the keyboard in my lap as I started shivering. Without another word, Adam stood up and set his laptop aside. “Hold on, you guys, I’m AFK and so is Mia,” Adam said, giving the universal gamer’s code for unavailable—AFK meant “away from keyboard.” He tore off his headset and had my laptop off my legs in seconds. Grabbing the fleece wrap on the end of my bed, he enfolded me in it. “Lie back,” he whispered. “Ugh,” I said, putting my hand to my head. “Usually I get so excited in my lady parts when you say something like that to me.” Adam’s expression looked grim as he pulled the fleece blanket over me, tucking it around my body. I continued to shiver. “Why did you keep playing if you were feeling sick?” I shrugged. “Helps me keep my mind off of everything.” He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “I’m fine—go help them take care of their dungeon crawl.” But he didn’t move. “I’d rather take care of you.” My teeth chattered. “God, this sucks. Kat has no idea, either. I just…haven’t told her.” Adam’s thoughts were unusually transparent on his handsome face when he gave me the “I am so not surprised” look. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered between shivers. “Can I get you anything? Some water or something?” I stared at him for a moment. “Get me my headset.” He frowned before turning to grab my laptop and headset and set them near me. I pulled the headset onto my head and glanced at the screen. Kat and Heath were in the middle of fighting goblins while arguing. “How come no one’s told me this whole time that Mia and FallenOne are a couple and have been living together?” I sighed. Oh, I had a lot of splainin’ to do to poor Kat. I swallowed. “It’s not his fault. It’s mine. And it’s a super long story that I should tell you on the phone or over Skype without the guys around…” I glanced up. Adam had grabbed his laptop and was sitting next to me on the bed, putting his headset back on. “Oh yeah, well, I’m fine with doing that now. They can go off and play while we talk.” There was an edge to Kat’s voice, one of hurt and confusion. Because it wasn’t enough that I’d stomped all over Heath’s, my Mom’s and especially Adam’s feelings. Now I was being made to suffer from the stupidity of my actions on every level and with everyone I cared about. “Not now, Kat. But soon, I promise. I’m feeling kinda shitty right now and I need to log off.” “What’s wrong with you? Did Heath cough on you or something?” “No, Kat. I have cancer.” Those three wretched words weighted everything down like an anchor—or an anvil falling out of the sky. Adam’s hand curled around mine but he was looking at his screen, managing to help the other two fight off monsters one-handed. Only he could do something like that. I squeezed his hand tight.

“Ha ha, yeah. Okay. No, really, what the hell is wrong with you? Fallen didn’t give you the clap or something, did he?” “I wish I was kidding,” I answered. Silence. I heard Heath cough on the other end. Adam and I shared a look. I tapped my mic. “Kat, are you still there?” There was a long sigh and then Kat cleared her throat. “Uh. Um, yeah. I’m here,” she said, her voice trembling. She sounded like she was seconds from tears. “I’m—I’m sorry. There’s a lot I haven’t told you.” The only thing I heard on the other end of the line was a long sniff. “You okay, Kat?” I finally said. “No. No, I’m not okay,” she said in a trembling voice. “I’ve got to log off. See you guys later.” My stomach dropped as I watched the screen. Persephone, her character, teleported away from the dungeon at a critical moment where there were a bunch of goblins—too many for us to handle, really— attacking our characters. She was our healer and we had no way, except for my crappy healing spells, to survive. In seconds, our characters were dead, hovering as ghosts in the graveyard. Heath heaved a long sigh. “Well, that was excellent timing,” he muttered between coughs. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I had no idea she’d take it that hard.” “Mia, I love you but sometimes you are just fucking clueless,” Heath said. I glanced up at Adam, whose jaw had set at Heath’s words. But he didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell whether he was agreeing with Heath or preparing to go to battle for me. Instead, he was silent. “I know,” I agreed. “Maybe I just need to grow up.” “Doll, there isn’t a person alive who loves you more than I do. And I don’t want you to be down on yourself. I will talk to her. She’ll be okay. Just keep your strength up. I wish I could be with you tomorrow. But it’s round three. Only nine more to go after that.” I fell back against my pillow, tears prickling my eyes. Only nine more rounds of sheer and utter hell. Yay. We logged off and Adam sat beside me for a long time. Finally, I got the courage to ask him the burning question that had been on my mind all day. “So this afternoon, when I was sitting on your lap…did you not like that?” He didn’t answer for a few long, heavy minutes. Then, he cleared his throat. “I liked that. A little too much, probably.” I blinked. That made me feel a little bit better. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” He shifted next to me so he could look into my face. “We’re supposed to be going slow, remember?” “That was your idea, not mine.” Another beat of silence. “True.” “So…how slow is ‘slow’?” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Maybe we could play it by ear.” “So does this mean like…no kissing, no groping, no making out?” He appeared very uncomfortable. “Let’s…play it by ear?” he repeated. I sighed heavily and he smoothed his hand across my bare head, my cheek. I drifted off to sleep but felt his kiss against my smooth scalp before he got up to leave me. Heath was right. I was fucking clueless. And now that I was becoming self-aware, it seemed I had no idea how to get myself out of these pits I’d dug myself into. I found myself needing the people around me more than ever, but because of my own actions, they were more distant. Mia Strong was an island, all right. But she was fucking lonely and dying to have someone save her from her solitude.

I dreamt of William’s figurines. They were life-sized and animated, yet still made of metal. They could only speak to me in the quietest of whispers, but it seemed they all spoke at once and I couldn’t hear them over the roaring wind and storm all around me. But I knew—I just knew that they had important things to tell me. Vital things. Things I needed to know for my own survival. But I couldn’t hear. I woke up at two a.m., sticky with sweat and burning up. My mouth was dry, my pajamas were soaked and I had a headache as big as the mansion I now lived in. Stumbling out of bed, I went to splash cold water on my face and all over my head, soaking my T-shirt and yoga pants even more. It was damn unfair that my last night of freedom before more chemo was being ruined by this taste of menopause. Like I really needed that reminder that I was now as barren and lifeless inside as the moon. And probably as inviting, as my rejected advances toward Adam had indicated. I stumbled from the bathroom, now completely wet, and peeled off my clothes, grabbing a thin tank top and pajama pants. But I felt stifled, suffocating in the still air of my room. And I still had no idea how to open my new, fancy windows. Plus, I had no desire to go back and toss in my bed for hours, thinking about the certain doom that would be injected into my veins in a matter of hours. The night before each round of chemo was a lot like how I imagined it must feel for an ex-inmate anticipating his next incarceration. He knew exactly what hell was in store for him, and he also knew that he was powerless to avoid it once the jury declared, “Guilty on all counts.” The IV injection would feel like the cold weight of manacles around my wrists and ankles. The almost instant metallic taste in my mouth and dull headache would be the sounds of the jail door clanking shut, locking me in for days. I hated chemotherapy almost as much as I hated the cancer. And now it was slowly bleeding me of my will to live, to survive, to fight. With a shaky sigh, I rubbed my hands over my smooth scalp, my new substitute for twirling my long hair with my fingers. I slipped through the threshold of my little sanctuary—soon to be my prison—and I glanced down the hallway toward Adam’s room. I opened and closed my fists several times, fighting the urge to pad down the hallway and slip into bed beside him. I wanted it so badly—wanted him so badly. I wanted to listen to his peaceful breathing, cuddle up to his hard body, feel his arm curl around me. Feel his lips caress my neck. But I couldn’t forget our short conversation before I’d fallen asleep—his insistence that we take things slow. Could I blame him? He seemed as scared about this as I had been to move back in here. And we were getting along rather well, so maybe there was some wisdom to it. But it still annoyed me. I thought about that as I felt my way downstairs in the dark and flipped on a dim light over the wet bar. I could see my way to the glass doors that led down to the private beach on this side of Bay Island, where Adam’s gorgeous home overlooked the Back Bay of Newport Beach. As I exited, the cool night air caressed my burning skin and I took a deep breath, already feeling calm, peace washing over me though my heart raced. I fingered the pendant around my neck. I never took the compass off. I still wasn’t fully clear on what Adam had been trying to tell me the day he’d given it to me, but having it next to my heart was my constant reminder of him—of his kindness and his love, and of my love for him. Not that I needed much of a reminder of that last one. Every time I thought of him, that pinch in my heart did it all on its own. I lay across the cool sand, looking up into the murky sky, shrouded in thick clouds. I thought about us for long moments, the compass pressing against my sternum. I hoped, rather than knew, that we would survive this. But we hadn’t been strong enough once, and in the wake of all that had happened since, I honestly had no idea how we could be.

Chapter Sixteen Adam I’d drifted off to sleep again, my head against my arm as I hunched over my desk. I rubbed my aching neck and checked the clock, remembering that I’d have to take Emilia to the hospital in the morning. I’d better get at least a few hours of sleep in a bed so I could be there for her. Forcing myself to work—and therefore keep myself distracted—did not seem to be as effective as it had once been. I moved down the hallway toward her room, determined to look in on her before going to bed alone. She’d been weak and shaky tonight, upset at Kat’s abrupt reaction to her news. She’d managed to fall asleep in spite of all that and I was grateful. She’d need all her strength for tomorrow. But when I got to her room, I found the door wide open and her bed empty. The clothes she’d been wearing were wadded in a pile on the floor. Maybe she’d gone downstairs to grab a bite to eat? Hopeful that this was the case—because she probably wouldn’t be eating again for days, if her previous rounds were any indication—I jogged down the stairs, but the kitchen and bar area were empty. However, a dim light had been left on over the alcove near the glass doors that led out to the beach, one of which was ajar. Had she gone for a walk at this time of night? It was perfectly safe, of course, but what if she’d gotten weak and passed out somewhere? I was out the door in a second, and after a moment of letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, I scanned the stretch of sand in front of me. The chairs and lounges were all empty, but after striding toward the shore, I became aware of a human-shaped form spread out on the cool sand, just feet from the shoreline. I cleared my throat loudly to let her know I was there without startling her. Hopefully, she hadn’t fallen asleep out here. Her head turned and she came up on her elbows, looking behind her. It was a dark night out. What little moon there had been was obscured by the ever-present coastal inversion layer. I came up behind her and sat on the sand nearby, the cool seeping through my jeans immediately. She was only wearing thin pajama bottoms and an even thinner tank top, but she did not appear cold. “Are you okay?” I asked without preamble. She nodded, speaking almost as an afterthought. “Yeah.” I paused and she seemed to be avoiding my eyes, turning her gaze back up to the sky. “What are you doing out here?” “I couldn’t sleep. I was feeling really hot.” She shrugged. “It was nice and cool out here. I could breathe.” “What’s wrong?” She waited to answer me, keeping her gaze glued to the sky. “I can’t find Draco.” I looked up again. There were no stars to be seen. The black of night was completely covered by the dull gray of low coastal clouds. She took in a shaky breath and then shot me a look before her eyes darted away like skittish birds. “You told me that Draco is always in the sky—no matter what time of night, no matter where you are in the northern hemisphere. You can always find it. But I can’t see it tonight. What does that mean?” I reached out and touched her smooth, cool cheek with the back of my knuckles. She was trembling so slightly that it was almost impossible to notice. “You can’t see Draco because you can’t see any stars tonight. It’s the marine layer.” Her breath shivered out between her lips and she closed her eyes. I continued to stroke her cheek. “I want to see it. I need to see it.” “You just have to trust me. You can’t see it, but it’s there, I promise. Do you trust me?” Her head sank as she lay back flat on the sand. I bent over her, looking upside down into her eyes. Our

gazes locked. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. I stroked her cheek again. Her eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings. She was as delicate as one of them. As fragile. And I’d never thought of her in those terms before. She was vulnerable. And in many ways she was, at the mercy of everyone around her. Including me. My throat tightened. She watched me for long moments, reaching up and hooking her hand around my neck as if afraid I would pull away. “You know what I love most about your eyes?” she asked. I frowned, confused at the abrupt change of subject. Her thumb moved across the back of my neck and I tried to ignore the tingling her light touch evoked. I wanted to pull her hand away but she was so breakable. And I’d pushed her away earlier. “They are so beautiful—your eyes. And so different.” I sighed, trying to laugh it off. Emilia’s intensity was unusual but not surprising. It didn’t take a genius to understand why she’d be feeling somber tonight. “Men don’t like being called beautiful.” She grimaced at me and I saw a glimpse of my Mia return. “Whatever. Deal with it. Your eyes are beautiful. In a totally manly way, of course.” I smiled but didn’t reply. She tightened the clamp of her hand around my neck, pulling me closer to her. Our eyes were inches from each other, but I didn’t look away though the intensity of her gaze made me feel like I was staring into a 1000-watt spotlight. “They are so dark, so mysterious. I used to think of them as curtains, or shutters. To close off what was going on inside. But tonight I think of them as…mirrors. Reflecting everything. I can see myself in there.” My breath stuttered a little. “Oh,” I answered in the smallest whisper that seemed to get swallowed up in the ambient sounds around us, the regular lap of the water on the shore, the distant hiss of the freeway even in the early morning. “Oh, you’re in there, Mia. You are most definitely in there.” And then without thinking, just feeling, my mouth sank to hers. I was bent over her, our heads facing different ways, my top lip sealed over her bottom lip, and she opened to me and I tasted her. I was kissing her upside down. This kiss held more than passion, more than a declaration of desire. It held love. My love. Her love. They collided like waves crashing against a barrier that prevented them from meeting. Like that rugged, unmovable jetty that protected the harbor from the worst of the weather on the southfacing coast. “Spider-man kisses,” she murmured against my mouth. I kissed her chin, her cheeks and the tip of her nose. She’d referred to the famous kiss Spider-man shared with Mary Jane in the first Marvel movie. Completely unaware that Spider-man was her next-door neighbor, Peter Parker, Mary Jane had peeled back his mask from the bottom half of his face and passionately kissed him in the rain as he dangled upside down from his web. Spider-man kisses. But was I as disguised to her as Peter Parker had been to Mary Jane? In many ways, I was. I wore a mask because this wasn’t the time for us to deal with all the bullshit that had gone on between us. My lies. Her lies. Our respective secrets. They’d created that barrier between our hearts and there was no telling if they were surmountable. But now was not the time to test them. These days I cared about one thing and one thing only. Her survival. A thin, silvery tear leaked from the corner of her eye. I pretended not to notice, pulling back, stroking her cheek. “I’m sorry…for everything,” she whispered. “I know. I’m sorry for everything, too.” She took in a shaky breath. “How will we ever get over this? Is it even possible?” “Shhhh,” I quieted her, placing a finger over her lips. “Now isn’t the time.” She watched me again. Her tears stopping, her eyes widening slightly at the realization that I was

brushing this aside. Would she dissent from that opinion? Force the conversation that we’d been avoiding since the moment I’d found out about the cancer, her pregnancy, the huge gap that had widened between us when we hadn’t been looking? “When will it be the time, Adam?” I took a breath and let it go, touching her cheek again. “When you are strong and healthy again. Come on. You need to sleep. It’s going to be a long day for you tomorrow.” And just when I was readying myself for her protest, trying to outthink her argument, she only nodded and moved to stand up without my help. I rose beside her and she slipped her small hand in mine. I clasped it firmly, pulling her toward the doorway. She sighed and leaned against me. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Please…can I sleep with you?” I wanted to tell her no, encourage her back into her room. I wanted to push her away again. Because she was getting too close. The safeguards around my feelings and that tiny bit of reluctance to let go of past resentments stood to take a battering. But she needed me. And I needed her to need me. She came to my room and I changed, lay on the bed and pressed her close against me, wrapping her in my arms and burying my face against her neck, immersing myself in her smell. That ever-present sting, like a scab that had been ripped off my soul, intensified. She was asleep in minutes, so still and frail in my arms. And my mind was wandering through all the possibilities that the future held for us—even to those unthinkable yet too likely ones that I never allowed myself to consider. If I lost her, I’d lose everything. But there was more way than one to lose her. She would survive. She had to. But that didn’t mean that we as a couple would. I had to admit it…I had my doubts. We were human, after all, and there was a lot of water under that bridge—a lot of hurtful things had happened between us. It would be a long, hard road to mutual and self-forgiveness. The love was there…oh God, it was there. But obstacles like this required more than love to overcome. My eyes finally closed hours later, and in what seemed like seconds, my alarm was blaring in my ear and the space beside me where she had been was empty and cold.

Chapter Seventeen Mia “Online Friendship: Is It the Real Deal?”—Posted on the blog of Girl Geek on March 3, 2014 What’s a “real” friend versus an online friend? Are those relationships the same or even similar? Should they be stuck with the same label? Recent studies on the online social media phenomenon have shown that a person usually has far more virtual friends than real-life ones. These same studies, however, claim that the virtual friends can be no substitute for “face-to-face” friends because realtime experiences cannot be shared in the same way through text chat and comments on your favorite social site. With online gaming, such is not the case. It can be argued that with our online friends, we have complete control over how we present ourselves. We have time to formulate responses to them. We can be selective in the information that we share. We don’t have body language or weird tics or insecurities to hide. These facts can lead to the belief that your gamer friends cannot possibly know you like your face-to-face friends do. The medium of online gaming allows us to form a buffer for ourselves, erect a façade of the written word. We can even provide an avatar as a visual in order to prevent exposing our real identity. But those same online friends we hold at such a distance are, in many ways, our close comrades in arms. We go off to battle together, spend long hours working on quests together. We adventure together, virtually. We sit for long hours waiting for the right spawn to show up with the items we need. We joke. We play around. We make memories. And they may be memories shared over bits and bytes rather than stories swapped over the campfire, but is there really a difference? These are our companions. We fight virtual wars together. We comfort each other through disappointments. And sometimes…sometimes we meet in person. And we find that that same chemistry that brought us together as friends over the game exists even more in real life. Because aside from forming that bond based on geography, as you would with random classmates or roommates from school, you have shared epic experiences. Events that, at some later time, you’ll still chuckle at and start your sentences with things like, “Remember that time we were fighting the Cinder Dragon in Ashenstorm Castle and it took us eight hours to clear the place because we all kept dying over and over again?” We’ve spent hours and hours in each other’s presence, helping each other, problem-solving. And at times, when things got more personal, we helped each other with real-life problems, sometimes talking with one another through the night, to fight the loneliness and isolation we sometimes feel. Sometimes those virtual friendships have blossomed into something more. Face-to-face forever friends. Or lovers. Or lifelong companions. And when you really think about it, even though the interaction is different, are the feelings any less worthy of the label “friendship”? No, indeed. *** My third round of death by IV was dealt by smiling nurses and a very kind oncologist, Dr. Rivera, who I would have loved to have had for a grandpa. He was head of the oncology division at the UCI Medical School and had brought some students with him on chemo rounds. After talking to me for a few minutes, he sent the students on ahead and sat down opposite me. “I hear that you are going to be a medical student yourself, Mia. Is that so?” I sent a glance toward Adam, who sat beside me, reading. My mom was still up in Anza with the

overdue mare and Heath was still sick, so it was just him and me. And I was suddenly wishing that he wasn’t here to listen in on this conversation. “Um. Well, I would have been. But that’s on hold for now.” The doctor looked thoughtful. “You’ll be well and done with your rounds of chemo by the fall. Dr. Tahan from Johns Hopkins says he’s looking forward to having you in his program.” I shifted in my chair. Adam appeared to be reading email on his tablet, but I knew he was following every word. “I’m probably not going to be in his program. I notified him—” “Mia, dear,” Dr. Rivera said, placing a hand over mine. “It’s okay to plan for the future. You’ve been through a lot, but don’t lose sight of your dreams and goals.” “I haven’t,” I said. He smiled. “Of course, you could always stay in lovely SoCal and attend our school. We’d be ecstatic to have you—and I see you requested the deferment from us as well. But I’ll be the first to admit we probably can’t compete with JHU in the field you want to study.” I smiled. “We’ll see. At this point, I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to keep my lunch down today. I’m not really at the stage where I can give it much thought.” Dr. Rivera sobered, his shaggy brows puckering over deep-set eyes. “Have you attended any of the group therapy sessions, Mia? I think they might be good for you.” “I’ll look into them,” I said. My way of brushing him off, of course. I had no intention of going to group therapy. I couldn’t spill my soul to the people I loved most in the world. How could I rattle off the string of tragedies to a bunch of strangers? And I’m sure that there’d be plenty of judgment meted out for the decision I’d made to get chemo right away, too. It wasn’t too far-fetched to anticipate, after all. I judged myself for that decision every damn day. Adam never spoke up, but I caught him watching me for the rest of the chemo session. I started popping anti-nausea gum, playing dumb by avoiding his gaze. I knew we’d keep on playing this weird unspoken game between us where we went through the motions of being perfectly healthy without discussing the biggest issues between us. It was almost as if we were both hoping that if we pretended these problems went away, they would. But he didn’t want to deal with those things now because he thought I couldn’t handle it. “That doctor had a point,” Adam said on the drive back home to his house. I wasn’t yet feeling the rumblings of the usual nausea, but the headache was starting to beat down on me. I slumped down in my seat and looked at him. His features were completely unreadable behind his designer aviator sunglasses. “I draw the line at group therapy.” “Okay, but what about private therapy? It might be good for you.” I glanced at him sidelong. “Yeah, it might be. And it might not. I think I’ll be fine without it.” I punctuated this statement by folding my arms over my chest. “And what about what he said about medical school?” I didn’t say anything, just massaged my forehead, hoping the body language was enough to get him to drop the subject. He glanced at me again. “I think it’s a good idea for you to make plans for the fall.” He meant it was a good idea to make plans that didn’t involve the possibility that I wouldn’t survive this. I squeezed my upper arms where I held them. I wished I could push away those nagging fears that told me I was somehow in that fifteen percent that would not make it. I wished I could assure him—like he obviously needed to be assured—that I hadn’t given up hope. The hope was there, but it had been bruised and battered along the way and it was hard to see. I looked at Adam again. I wasn’t going to fight him on this. If he needed to see me not giving up, then I’d somehow find a way to give it to him. “I’ll do that at some point…when I’m feeling better.”

*** This round came and went with the usual brand of grossness. But after about four days, I started to bounce back. I was even eating a little, so Adam thought we should go out. I didn’t like to go out, though. I was still self-conscious about my looks and anywhere nice wouldn’t let me keep my hoodie up. And—just my luck—the winter was an unusually warm one and knit caps grew sweaty and uncomfortable. But Heath was feeling better now, and Adam suggested grabbing takeout and going to his house for a visit. That I could get behind. We grabbed some Greek food—my favorite—and headed over. I had a key to Heath’s place, but now that he was living with Connor, I never used it. Instead, I knocked at the door while Adam lagged behind me to get the food out of the car. But what happened when the door opened totally floored me. A beautiful red-haired woman of medium height and curvy figure opened the door and stared at me, her jaw dropping. We’d met in person for the first time just a couple months before at DracoCon. I gasped. “Kat?” “Nice to see you, too, bitch,” she grumbled and then pulled me into a tight hug. “You’re bald, by the way.” “As a Ferengi, yes, I know. Attractive, isn’t it?” “Fuck no. But you’re still hotter than me.” I gasped, laughing. “What the hell are you doing here?” “You keep cancer a secret from me and you are asking me to explain myself? Maybe I wanted to come see you.” “Heath helped you pull this off?” “Yeah, I’m staying with him and his BF for a while. He said I could crash here as long as I want.” I heard a rustle and figured Adam had caught up with me. Kat looked up, eyes widening. “Fallen?” Adam grinned. “Kat. Glad to meet you in person at last.” “Yeah…glad to finally be in the loop.” I turned to him. “You knew she was here?” “Yep.” I made a face at him. “Nice work.” Kat was staring at Adam through narrowed eyes. “You look so familiar, Fallen. Don’t tell me you were at the Con and I didn’t know!” Adam laughed and looked away shyly. “I’m going to go put this in the kitchen,” he said as he squeezed past both of us. “I’ll get my hug later, then,” Kat said as he moved past her, his arms laden with kabobs, gyros and different varieties of hummus dip. She watched him pass and when he turned his back, she waved her hand as if she was trying to cool her face. “He is fucking hot, Mia. No wonder you wanted to keep him a secret. Figured I’d take him away from you, huh?” I laughed. “Something like that. Men lose their shit for redheads. And well, since I’ve got no hair on my head, there’s no way I could compete.” “Seriously. Fuck me. Does he have a friend as hot as he is?” I raised my brow. “No one’s as hot as he is. But there are a few who are close.” “We’ll talk about that later. I’m going to go get my hug from him and see if his body is as hard as it looks.” “Slut. If he looks at your ass, I’m beating the shit out of you.” “You’re a bit too skinny for those kind of threats, my friend,” she said, turning around and leading us toward the kitchen. Heath stopped me on the way in. “Hey, doll,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “Feeling

better?” “I should ask you that, Typhoid Joe. You aren’t going to give me your disease, are you?” “If by disease, you mean awesomeness, then no. I can’t pass on my awesomeness that way. You’ve been wishing that for years.” He landed a peck on my cheek. I wiggled out of his hold. “I’d better get in there. Kat has the hots for Adam.” “Well, no fucking duh. Who doesn’t?” I heaved a sigh. “Go on, then. Defend your territory,” he chided. “Not that you really need to, you know.” I shrugged. Heath stopped me, putting a heavy hand on my shoulder before I moved through the door. “I mean it. I know you are feeling and looking like shit these days—” “Wow, thanks—” “But you don’t need to worry about him. He’s by your side until the end.” I swallowed a sudden dry lump in my throat and looked up—way up—at Heath. He was a lot taller than me so I had to tilt my head back to do it. “The end of what?” He frowned. “Goddamn, I’m sorry. That was a shitty choice of words.” I turned to go through to the kitchen. “I agree. But we are all permitted our lapses.” “Lapses? What lapses?” Kat asked, backing away from apparently having hugged Adam. “Lapses in judgment. Like letting a saucy redhead leave her new job to travel here from Vancouver— over a thousand miles—” “—to see a sick friend,” Kat interrupted. “And I’d lose my job again in a heartbeat. Just like I know you’d do the same for me. You aren’t getting rid of me, Geek Girl.” I grinned. “Good!” “What’s good?” Heath laughed. “You aren’t the one who’s stuck with her and her Lucky Crispy Sugar Flakes addiction. She seriously eats the shittiest sugar cereal in existence.” Kat waggled her brows. “I have a cute dentist. I like to have an excuse to visit him.” “So is that true?” I asked. “You really lost your job to come down to see me?” “Pfft.” She waved her hand. “It was a crap job anyway. I’ll look for another when I get back…if I get back. I have to say the weather here is ah-mazing. How could I go back to Vancouver after spending a winter here?” “There might be something for you at Draco, Kat. Maybe something cool like playtesting. Because I know you’d be honest as hell,” Adam said “A job at Draco? That would fucking rock. You know someone with an in?” I glanced at Adam, raising my brows. “Does the CEO count?” “We are talking about the gaming company, right? The owner of the game we are all hopelessly addicted to? Because this would be hella disappointing if you all were talking about Draco garbage delivery or Draco burger joint.” I started giggling and both Adam and Heath watched me, open-mouthed. I closed my mouth, selfconscious. “What?” Heath glanced at Adam and then turned back to me. “I think we are both just happy to see you laughing again. It’s been a while.” Kat snunk up beside me and slipped an arm around my shoulders. “Then my visit has been good for something.” Adam watched both of us, his gaze intensifying thoughtfully. “I’ll be the first to agree with that.” He turned to her. “Kat, if you want to stay, then I can make sure you have a job.” Kat raised her brows at Adam. “Oh, and how will you do that? Do I need to blow the CEO at Draco or something?”

I opened my mouth to answer but Heath’s snicker interrupted me. “No, that’s Mia’s job.” My face flushed with heat and I didn’t look at Adam, though I would have liked to. I was starting to feel better again after that last round and when that happened, my sex drive usually kicked in, too. And it had been a while. A long while. But Adam seemed more interested in taking it slow. We sat down to eat the Greek food and explained the entire thing to Kat. She was still gap-jawed and pale from shock when we left a few hours later. *** The next day Kat was sitting with me in my room at Adam’s house. We’d all agreed that she could stay as long as she liked at Heath’s place. I’d lend her my car, since I really wasn’t using it. And not having a car in Southern California really wasn’t an option. It was just too difficult to get around without one. Heath was more than willing to let her stay in the guest room and she’d look for work, hopefully at Draco. We were sharing playlists over the sound system in my little sanctuary. Adam had gone in to work, which was what he usually did for the first few days after I was feeling more myself after a round. Kat threw surreptitious glances at me and I could tell she wanted the details of what was going on between us. “You might as well just ask me,” I sighed after more than a half hour of her out-of-place coyness. “Is he as hot in bed as he is to look at?” My mouth dropped open. “I’m not going to talk about that.” Especially because it had been so long, I almost couldn’t remember. Almost. Adam was hot to look at, sure. And he was even hotter in bed. But he wasn’t sharing any of that with me anymore. “To be honest, the memory is starting to fade…” Her eyes widened. “You haven’t gotten any since you’ve been sick?” “Who can blame him? I’m starting to look like Skeletor, after all.” She snorted. “Oh, come on, you are still so pretty.” “I’m a far cry from my ideal weight…” “Girl, your ideal weight is Adam Drake on top of you.” In spite of myself, I laughed. Kat didn’t know about the added complications—the pregnancy, the agonizing decision to terminate, the abortion itself. I didn’t even like to dwell on those things, let alone discuss them. Aside from the two of us, only Heath, my mom and Peter knew. And, in my opinion, that was far too many. I swallowed those usual dark feelings and tucked them aside. I’d become quite practiced at it. “Yeah, maybe he thinks my body parts will fall off like my hair,” I said, trying to laugh it off. “But like, there’re other ways, you know. You don’t have to be, like, going at it like animals in order to have a little fun.” I watched her as I considered the fact that the highlight of my sex life these days was getting myself off when I couldn’t stand waiting any more. Or that the only time I got felt up was at the doctor’s office during a routine examination. The subject of my sex life was more than depressing. “Well, like, how about oral? I mean…you have no hair on your body at all, right? Not even…down south?” “I’m bald everywhere, except my eyebrows and eyelashes.” “Consider the advantages to this. I mean, aside from the puking, of course, you don’t have to shave! No waxing your legs. No Brazilians. You’re as clean as a whistle down there. This should be like the heyday of getting some good oral in. You don’t have to worry about him hacking on hairballs like a cat or getting razor burn.” I gasped and then choked out a laugh at the mental image her words evoked. I tried to ignore the flush of heat that rose from the center of my being as I pictured Adam’s dark head between my legs, licking and

sucking, bringing me to climax. God, I could use some of that. I really could. “And, you know, when you are better, you’ll get some reconstruction work done, eh? You could, like, ask for any size you want.” I raised my brows and then threw a self-conscious glance at my less-than-impressive chest. “I’m a perfectly respectable B cup. And besides, the surgery was only on one breast and I have to keep them the same size, of course.” “Bor—ing,” Kat replied, her deep blue eyes brimming with humor. “No, you see, this is how you play this. You want a nice C or even a D. He will go bonkers for that. More than enough to make a handful! You can get them both fluffed up, and since everyone knows what you are going through, you wouldn’t get judged for going a little bigger. Or even a lot bigger.” I shook my head. “I don’t get reconstructive surgery for a while yet. I’m not even letting him see these babies until then.” Kat’s ginger brows shot up on her forehead. “You aren’t going to let him see or touch the ladies and yet you are wondering why you aren’t getting any? Girlfriend, I bet if you walked into his room tonight and pulled your shirt up, he’d be all over you.” I thought about that for a moment. About the angry scar slicing from my armpit to my nipple and the puckered flesh underneath. I was repulsive and the thought of it repulsed him, too. He hadn’t actually seen, though he’d come close. But he’d gone out on dates with Jordan’s model friends while we’d been broken up. There was no telling how far he’d gone with them or if he’d gotten breast gropage in the meantime. There was no way he could even remotely be interested in mine and that thought stung more than a little. “Maybe.” Kat watched me, her gaze softening, her jokey manner fading. “Try it. I bet he will…” I nodded. “Okay.” She stayed a few more hours. We’d actually broken out our laptops so I could show her my work on the secret quest, but I was well and truly at an impasse. When Adam got home, she opted to leave of her own accord. When she hugged me goodbye, she mimed pulling her shirt up and then pointed at Adam’s back, nodding knowingly. I grinned and told her she was an ass and kissed her cheek. And that night, I almost did it. When he walked me to my room after we’d spent the evening watching more episodes of Farscape, I hesitated at my doorway, turning to him like a shy teenager wondering if her first date was going to kiss her on the porch. I wanted more than a kiss. I wanted him to push me up against the wall, press his hard body to mine, pull my clothes off, push into me. He’d done it before and the memories of his touch burned me. I missed it. I missed him. I went to kiss him and his mouth landed on my cheek. I clamped my arms around his neck, kissing him at the base of his throat. “Adam,” I whispered. “I want you. Tonight.” He tensed. It was for a split second before it was gone. He said nothing, stroking along my spine with one hand. “I’m really tired tonight—” He didn’t want me. I swallowed and almost pulled back, almost pulled up my shirt like Kat had suggested. But it was very difficult to change Adam’s mind once he set it on something. And he seemed dead set against touching me. I just wished I knew why. Was he really that scared about us making the same mistakes? Or was it his anger, still, at the circumstances around our breakup? Was it fear that he would hurt me? My stomach dropped…was it resentment over the pregnancy and the abortion? Or was he just not interested? “I know you said you wanted to go slow, but I didn’t think that meant at a glacial pace.” A smile tugged at his mouth and he ran the back of his finger across my cheek. I swallowed and closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Mia. I promise we’ll hang out all day tomorrow. I’m not going in to work again until

next week.” I blew out a breath and he bent and kissed me again, this time on the mouth, as if that would appease me. I almost—almost—grabbed his head and forced the issue. Even tired, he had to be at least a little horny. I had no clue how to even go about finding out what his issue was. I could ask him, of course. But would I get the truth or some bullshit answer about how he was too tired to answer me? I let out a small sigh and pulled away, planting a brave smile on my face. “I’m sorry about the long work days. I know you were just trying to get over those, and it seems like with the time you take with me while I’m sick, you have to work twice as hard when I’m feeling okay.” “I don’t mind. I want to be here for you.” “Kat can be with me now on those days. It can’t be pleasant listening to me puke my guts up all day.” And probably the biggest turn-off ever. How could I possibly expect him to desire me after that? He frowned. “She can be here for you, too. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be. You are my top priority.” “I love you,” I said, my voice growing more and more quiet as the conversation continued. He leaned in and kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, my chin. “I love you, too. Goodnight, sweet Mia.” I slumped into my room but didn’t close the door. I didn’t close the door these days, full of hope that he’d be tempted to slip inside. There were enough barriers between us. I didn’t need the physical ones. I knew that if I lay down on the bed now, I’d be tied up in my own sexual frustration for hours. So instead, I went into the bathroom—leaving that door open, too—and filled up the large overflow bathtub with hot water. After a few minutes of soaking, I fantasized about him coming into the bathroom, pulling his clothes (for some reason they were wet and clinging to his muscular frame) from his body and sinking into the bathtub with me. He’d rub me down with his soapy hands until every inch of me was tingling and screaming for his touch. And then he’d pull me on top of him, entering me while putting his mouth on my breasts. I moaned and put my hand between my legs, picturing his beautiful body. The last time I’d seen him naked was when we’d been together in Vegas. But that time, it hadn’t been about making love. There’d been very little love that night. That had been us coming together because we couldn’t stay away. It had been explosive and erotic and utterly intoxicating. But it had resulted in disaster. A moment that had forever changed our lives and that had possibly broken us. And that, at least, had been all my fault. Getting myself off these days was always tinged with that guilt—as if some part of me didn’t believe I deserved to feel sexual pleasure ever again. I still did it, but I couldn’t enjoy it the way I had before. The way we had enjoyed each other. And it occurred to me then that this might be the real reason that Adam couldn’t touch me. Because of that last time. And now it was occurring to me that that last time might possibly have been our last time ever.

Chapter Eighteen Adam After brushing my teeth and changing into my pajamas, my thoughts roiling with our conversation over and over again, I decided to go back into Emilia’s room…just for a little while. I hadn’t touched her in any sort of erotic way for over three months. Sure, I was starved for it, and apparently she was, too. I’d been keeping her at arm’s length, but I could tell she was growing exasperated. We’d have to have a talk about it sometime soon. But for now, I trusted myself to give her what she needed without allowing it to go too far. We weren’t ready for that yet. I wasn’t ready. And fuck what my body wanted, because I knew the rest of me wasn’t there yet. I padded down the hallway and slipped into her dimly lit room, glancing at her empty bed. The light was on in the bathroom and I could hear the sound of splashes from the bathtub. I took a step toward the bathroom before I remembered how shy she was about me seeing her altered body now. I froze next to the doorway, pausing with indecision until I heard her sigh. I took a step back but didn’t move again when she let out a very quiet moan. I closed my eyes, well acquainted with those sounds. Emilia was getting herself off, likely out of desperation because I wouldn’t touch her. And though it felt like an invasion of privacy to listen at the doorway, I didn’t move, transfixed, my own body reacting to her sighs and moans, remembering how it felt to be the one to evoke that pleasure in her. I loved being in control of her body, being the one responsible for those sounds, that gratification. Was she fantasizing about me while she touched herself? I got hard, remembering that it had been just as long for me as it had been for her. And every bit of me wanted to march into that bathroom, pull her wet, naked body against me and do deliciously dirty things to her. But I didn’t move. Instead, I leaned against the wall and listened like a perv voyeur. It didn’t take her long before she was gasping quietly with her release. There was nothing explosive or overwhelming about it. Just a natural expression, probably no more exciting than a sneeze or a cough. I went to leave, to give her back her privacy, but couldn’t move a muscle when I heard the first sob. Her crying was louder than her orgasm had been. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling an inexplicable tightening in my chest. She sniffed and sniveled and sobbed, and I felt sick inside. Because I was powerless to change what she was feeling Was it rejection? Was it loneliness? Was my behavior leading her to believe that I found her ugly? She was likely running every scenario inside her head but the real one—the deep, bone-wracking guilt that permeated every breath, every heartbeat. The real reason I couldn’t look her in the eyes. Because the last time we’d been together had not been an act of love on my part, but an act of possession. Like a caveman, I’d staked my claim, declared her mine over and over again and taken her. Even the memory of it made my body flush with arousal but my gut writhe in disgust. The result of that night’s events had threatened to take her life. I stepped quietly out of her room and retreated back to my own like a whipped dog. If I’d had a tail, it would likely have been wedged firmly between my legs. Needless to say I didn’t sleep very well, but I was determined that we would make it through this. We could talk about it. So the next day I asked Chef to pack us a picnic lunch that Emilia could manage to keep down. Simple, organic foods and the requisite ginger chips, which, together with the anti-nausea medicine, worked well in keeping her from being too miserable in between her rounds of chemotherapy. We’d go out on the Duffy boat, putter around the Back Bay, eat a bit of lunch, maybe get a famed frozen banana at the Balboa Fun Zone before heading back home. With a cheerful smile, Emilia donned a knit cap, wearing her hooded sweatshirt over some jeans, though it was not that cool. She had to be warm, but there was no way she was exposing her bald head to the world. Even out here where no one would really

notice. We passed numerous boats docked in their slips, sea lions lazing in the sun on top of the buoy at the entrance to the ocean. Emilia watched the stretch of mansions go by, remarking on the different lavish homes belonging to the rich or famous of Southern California. And we talked about everything. It was like old times. She smiled and laughed like nothing wrong or awkward had passed between us the night before. “So Heath was telling me about this new thing about the Star Wars movies.” I cocked an eyebrow at her. “What, about the new one coming out next year?” “Not really. But, the good news is that after the prequels, it probably can’t suck any worse, so there’s that. And even though all the original actors are pretty old, at least they’ll be in it. So we get to see what Han Solo will be like as a grandpa.” I rolled my eyes. “Sounds exciting.” “Heath says that there’s a new canon among the first six films. That people should be watching them in what he called ‘machete order.’” “Machete order? What the hell is that?” “It means you behave as if Episode One had never been made.” I raised my brows. “Well, that sounds promising. And does this ‘machete order’ involve hacking out Jar Jar Binks from the other episodes with a machete?” She laughed. “Sometimes the way your mind works really disturbs me.” I nodded. “Thank you.” “No, machete order states that the Star Wars saga, instead of being about Anakin Skywalker’s rise and fall, as George Lucas would have us believe, is actually about Luke Skywalker.” I frowned. “Okay. I’d buy that with Episodes Four, Five and Six, but what about the other two? He’s not even born until the last five minutes of Episode Three.” “Yeah, so machete order states that you should start watching the saga with Episode Four, A New Hope, then Episode Five, The Empire Strikes Back.” “Okay. I’m with you so far. Those two are my favorites of all of them. Then you stop there, I take it?” She frowned at me. “How can you stop there? Empire ends with Han frozen inside carbonite and a prisoner of Boba Fett.” I shrugged. “I could live with that mystery if it means I don’t have to sit through three hours of Ewoks in Return of the Jedi to discover how it resolves.” “Well, machete order doesn’t involve editing out Jar Jar or the Ewoks. It just states that since the saga is about Luke, you watch A New Hope and Empire Strikes Back first, and then treat Episode Two, Attack of the Clones, and Episode Three, Revenge of the Sith, as flashbacks. Then conclude with Jedi.” “So the only thing machete order does is eliminate the existence of The Phantom Menace.” “Yep. But it’s worth it, isn’t it?” “Hmm. Would be more worth it if someone pulled out a machete and hacked Jar Jar’s head off in the first scene. That’s what I’d call ‘machete order.’” She giggled, nibbling on one of her ginger chips. I watched her, a gray knit cap pulled tightly over her head, her beautiful brown eyes peeking out just under the edge. “So how are you feeling?” Her mouth twisted and she gave me a look. “Yeah, I know I ask you that a lot, but I still want to know.” “I’m fine. Just great. For a few more days, until the next dose of death.” I frowned. “Just means we need to enjoy these days even more, then, don’t we?” She darted an unreadable look at me and turned. Grabbing her glass of ginger ale, she sipped, looking out over the harbor as we puttered along at a measly three knots in the little electric boat. The sea air was bringing a healthy pink flush to her cheeks.

I took the opportunity of her distraction to admire her. She was lovely, even when obviously ill. And she kept her head up. She was braver than anyone else I knew. My heart swelled with pride to recognize that in her. I just wished I knew what monologue was going on inside that head of hers when I saw those flashes of pure sadness pass like a ghost through her eyes. I wished we could do things over, apply a brand of machete order to our own lives. There was a lot about how I’d handled things between us that I wish I could just cut out. But there was no way out of this hell but straight through it, with the dogged hope that our love would still be intact on the other side. “Emilia…” She turned, her eyebrows drawing together in a tight frown. I opened my mouth to continue, but the way she was watching me caused me to pause. “What’s wrong?” “You don’t call me that anymore…or at least you haven’t. You’ve been calling me Mia like everyone else.” “Oh. Yeah…” “I liked it. I was wondering why you’d stopped.” I opened my mouth and then closed it. The reason I’d stopped calling her by her full name had everything to do with the reason I’d started. When we’d first met, it had been a way to verbally intimidate her. Then it had grown into a habit. Her name—her full name—was a term of endearment to me. The name that no one but me called her. I couldn’t help but remember that every time I’d tried to claim her, to pull her into my orbit, I’d changed her life irrevocably…and not always for the better. I took a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure you liked it…you didn’t, at first.” She looked at me, her face serious. “You’re right. I didn’t like it…at all.” She turned and gazed out over the bay again, a small smile on her lips. “But I was determined I would never give you the satisfaction of letting you know that.” “But…that changed?” She reached up and tucked her hand under her hat, rubbing her scalp. “Yeah…I started liking it. A lot. I think some time around the first night we spent on your yacht. It’s not like I’ve ever hated my full name…it was just never…me. But that night…” She took a deep breath and then let it go shakily. “I began to realize it was the way you thought of me. Of who I was to you…the way you said my name sounded so right.” She glanced at me shyly and then away, smiling. That pride I’d felt earlier was morphing into something else—this muted joy of just being in her presence, of enjoying every moment with her. But we had things to discuss… “So I was thinking that maybe we needed to talk,” I began. She turned to me, her eyebrows raised, and I patted the seat next to me. I couldn’t move to her because I was seated behind the steering wheel of the boat. She frowned, scooting down the bench to sit beside me. “We have been talking,” she said, glancing up at me a little nervously. “Sure…but I thought maybe…about last night?” Her mouth fell open and she looked away. “What’s to talk about?” I drew in a long breath and then let it go. “Well, I get the feeling that you’re not so keen on the ‘going slow’ plan.” She closed her mouth and then, without looking at me, shrugged. “I’m just not sure what it’s supposed to accomplish.” I turned, suddenly uncomfortable, focusing on the polished wood of the steering wheel, running my thumb over the smooth surface. “It’s not because I don’t want to. You understand that, right?” She looked down, clasping her hands together in her lap. “It’s hard to understand what’s going through your head regarding sex these days.” “I just want to do things right this time. I’m…I’m scared of screwing up again.”

“I thought—” she said and cut herself off, shaking her head. “What?” I prodded. “Tell me what you thought.” “I thought it was because you resented me.” I frowned, watching her. She still couldn’t meet my eyes so I reached out, took her chin and lifted her eyes to mine. “I admit that…I still have some issues about your keeping this from me when it all started. It makes it hard…” My voice died out before I let myself complete the thought. But she understood perfectly what I’d been getting at. “You don’t trust me.” I swallowed. Yes, it was true. I didn’t trust her—not fully, not after last time. But I was determined to find that trust again. And I would. We still had a long road to her recovery—she had months more of chemo treatments in front of her. We had time. “I think we both need time…to learn to trust each other again. To learn how to be healthy—not just physically but in our relationship, too. I believe that we need to be slow and rational about this.” Her eyes looked slightly haunted as she nodded. “Rational. Right. So until we figure that out, we’re just…roommates.” Navigating this conversation was beginning to feel like walking through a minefield. I took a deep breath, dropping my hand from her chin. “If being deeply in love with someone but not having sex with them counts as roommates…” Her brow furrowed but a small smile played about her mouth. Something in what I’d said had pleased her. Perhaps it was the reassurance that I loved her. Perhaps that was what she sought whenever she pressed me for intimacy. I resolved to reassure her more often that I did love her. Very much. “Come here,” I said. She leaned forward and I kissed her with no fear that she would attempt to pull me into something deeper like she’d often tried of late. I tasted her lips—with that hint of ginger chips—as always, just as sweet as I remembered. When I pulled away, she was smiling. That smile did amazing things to me— made me slightly disoriented. That magical moment, those few split seconds after our lips left each other, contained all of the thrill and excitement of those first days we had spent together, quickly—if reluctantly —falling in love. I opened my mouth to tell her again that I loved her. But she held her hand up and turned her head away, looking as if she was trying to fend off a sneeze. “Just a min,” she said, her eyes half-closed, and then she let loose with the most violent chain of sneezes I’d ever heard from her. People in nearby boats looked over, shocked by the loud sounds coming from our boat. At one point, I thought I’d have to grab her to prevent her from falling into the water. She’d sneezed a grand total of five times in a row and had to hold still afterward, convinced that she’d start again in seconds if not. But she didn’t, thank God. I handed her a wad of tissues and she blew her nose a few times before sitting back with relief on her flushed features. “Wow…where the hell did that come from?” But I could only stare, because I just realized that something was very, very wrong. She frowned at me but only one of her eyebrows lowered—because the other one, it appeared, had been completely blown off by all the sneezing. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to say something or allow her to keep the illusion for a short while longer—until her next glimpse in the mirror, anyway—that she still had her brows and lashes. Because it appeared that they were not long for the world. They’d finally succumbed to the chemo. She looked like she was permanently raising her eyebrow at me, like Mr. Spock’s freeze-face. I half expected her to turn to me and say, “That is illogical, Captain Kirk.” And I knew, under any other circumstance, Emilia would be laughing at this situation. But she was so delicate now, especially about her looks. I just didn’t have the heart to laugh, or even break the news to

her that she was now one eyebrow short of a good frown. Without another word, I turned to the wheel of the boat and maneuvered us the short ride across to the slip beside my house, dodging the tiny ferry that went from the mainland to the Balboa peninsula and back multiple times every day. When we got there, Katya was waiting for us, sunning her very pale Canadian skin on one of the lounges on our small beach. When she caught sight of us, she came running up, wearing big, white sunglasses and a huge smile. When she saw Emilia, the smile dropped off her face. Before I could flag her and signal her to shut up with a finger slashed across my throat, she lifted her sunglasses and squinted at Emilia. “Huh. What the hell happened to your eyebrow? It’s gone!” Ah, goddamn. So much for preserving Emilia’s feelings. She ran straight into the house, demanding to look in the mirror. I gave Kat a long-suffering look. “Yeah, you could have handled that better.” Her eyes widened in surprise and she threw up her hands. “What? Like you could have hidden it from her that she looks like she’s permanently about to say something sarcastic. I mean, she’s her and she’s always saying something sarcastic, but damn. How long were you going to let her walk around with just one eyebrow?” I sighed, giving up. When I saw Emilia about a half an hour later, she had no eyebrows and most of her eyelashes were gone, too. She’d either pulled them out or shaved them. I didn’t have the heart to ask which. In fact, I never mentioned her lack of facial hair at all. I resolved to get my hair bleached blond and dyed pink if her looks became a big issue for her. At least I’d be drawing the freak looks to me instead of her.

Chapter Nineteen Mia I was sure that Adam thought I couldn’t handle a little more hair loss. The truth was, I’d been expecting it. So I got a few different shades of eyebrow pencil and even a hypoallergenic Sharpie pen and practiced drawing in new eyebrows with Kat while we watched still more makeup tutorials online about eyebrows and eyelashes. With the swish of a pencil, I could go from appearing fierce and angry to permanently shocked, or even looking like a purely logical Vulcan. I could also draw in weird zigzags and symbols, like a rock star. In short, I decided that I could either cry about it or laugh about it, and since there had been so much to cry about lately, I chose the latter. This whole situation was starting to teach me something about the nature of happiness. And having Kat around to help me laugh at myself sure helped, too… “Spock, Captain Kirk, Mr. Sulu,” Kat said to me a few days later when I was thumbing through my notes on the secret DE quest in order to prepare for another blog post. We were on the floor in my room and I was using the bed like a desk. “Hmm,” I said, tapping my lip. “Original series or reboot movies?” “The reboot. Duh.” “Let’s see…Fuck Spock. Marry Sulu. Kill Kirk.” Kat raised a brow at me and we both laughed. “Yeah, I kinda want to kill Kirk, too,” she said. “Okay, my turn.” “The dudes from The Big Bang Theory,” I said. “Leonard, Howard and Raj.” “Dude, no!” She started laughing. “I want to kill all those guys.” I pinned her down. “The game is called Fuck, Marry, Kill. Not Kill, Kill, Kill.” “That’s brutal, Mia. Damn…uh. Fuck Leonard. Marry Raj. Kill Howard.” And then she shuddered. I would have laughed, but I was already distracted by my notes. “Are you obsessing over that quest again?” she asked. “Yeah. I’m completely stuck. I’m this close to finding out where the princess’s prison is located, but every time I get near the location, I get wiped out. I wish I had a healer.” Kat looked at me like I was crazy. “And what is Persephone, chopped liver? I’m one of the best healers on the server.” I stared at her for a minute, a little shaken by having missed something so obvious. If it had been a dog, it would have bitten me in the ass. “Uh, yeah, I suppose I could do the quest with other players…you think that’s okay?” She shrugged. “Uh, hell if I know. Ask your boyfriend.” “Oh no, he doesn’t ever say a word about anything to do with the quest.” Kat wagged her eyebrows at me. “You haven’t tried to use sexual favors to bribe him?” I looked away, laughing it off. It would be more like the other way around. It seemed these days that I wanted it more than he did. “So, seriously, I’d need a tank, too,” I said, referring to the common term for a character with a lot of life points who could stand in front of the “squishy” characters like me and Kat and take all the damage. “Um, Fragged,” Kat said. “Who else?” “DPS.” A character that could inflict the most damage per second on opponents. “FallenOne.” I sighed. Why hadn’t it even occurred to me that I could get my regular gaming group to help with the secret quest?

“Um. Gee…maybe you were meant to ask other people to help you, eh? Did that ever occur to you?” I scratched my head with my pencil, peering over my notes. “No, it didn’t.” I frowned, kind of shocked by my own stupidity. The next time we all had a gaming night, I’d ask for their help. And Adam would just have to sit there and keep his mouth shut and go along with what we were trying to do. And that’s exactly what I did…and that’s exactly what he did. Over the course of the next little while, as we made slow but steady progress, my regular group of gaming friends helped me progress in the quest. *** My life settled into a weird pattern. I’d go to the hospital for a new round, sometimes surrounded by my friends. Kat was there, and sometimes Heath, Alex and Jenna. William also showed when he could, but hospitals freaked him out so he wasn’t terribly happy about it. Adam was always there, but he very seldom did much talking. He just kind of hovered near me, like a watchman. Then we’d go home. Just him and me, and I’d be alone with him for days while I felt like I was being put on the rack for my many sins. Sometimes a nurse was there, too, on the first day, but Adam was there for every minute of it. And it occurred to me that he must be exhausted because he never stopped working during that time. Jordan or a messenger brought the work to the house, and he’d spend an hour or two away from me—almost always while I was sleeping anyway—and then be back by my side. The moment I started feeling better, he’d pull twenty-hour days at the office until a few days before I was supposed to go in for another round. Then we’d do something special or different, or just go for a walk on the beach or take a boat trip around the harbor. Sometimes friends would come over and we’d play on the game and eat pizza. My twenty-third birthday came and went. It happened to fall on one of the days when I was still sick from chemo. My mom was there to nurse me and later, when I was feeling better, Adam made it up to me by having our friends over. But I was in little mood to celebrate. Who knew how many birthdays would come after this one? And who knew when things between Adam and me would go back to normal, if there even was a normal that we could go back to? Nowadays, he spent almost every bit of every waking hour with me. But never the nights. On one such day, a late morning with typically gorgeous weather, we sat on the back porch. Adam was reading the news on his tablet and I was flipping through some gamer magazines for ideas for my blog. Between all that was going on with me and the effects of chemo-brain on keeping me from thinking clearly, it was getting harder and harder to maintain a façade for the blog. To say nothing of the awkwardness of blogging about DE. I’d gotten a lot of attention with my announcement about opening the quest. A lot of readers were following my vague progress reports and attempting to glean knowledge from them, but I was feeling more and more torn about the conflict of interest presented by my being with Adam and also blogging about his game. As I paged through the magazine, I stopped at an article about the San Diego Comic-Con. Adam looked over when, about halfway through reading it, I huffed loudly. “What’s up?” he asked. “Mmm. An opinion piece about how hard it is to get tickets for Comic-Con and how it’s getting harder and harder every year. I’ve always wanted to go—someday…” I let my voice trail off without explaining the implication that, given my current condition, there was a chance that “someday” might never come. I glanced up at him and his dark eyes were somber. These thoughts were constant gremlins that I mostly managed to shove to the back of my mind. Most people my age were completely unaware of their own mortality unless, like me, they were forced to face

the possibility of their potential imminent death every day. But I also knew that, given Adam’s personal history, he was all too aware of it. It haunted us like a poltergeist that we tried to ignore. Simple expressions that included the word “dying” took on new meaning for us. We were no longer “dying” to see a certain movie or even “dying” of laughter. Because when you’d been given a fifteen percent chance of actually not making it to see your next birthday, it was no longer just a figure of speech. I cleared my throat and shoved the gremlins away again. “I can hook you up with a pass to Comic-Con,” he said. “But I’m surprised that you never applied for a press pass given your status as a blogger.” I laughed. “You overestimate my influence in the grand scheme of things.” “But GameGlomerate hasn’t, apparently, because they want to buy you out.” I shrugged. “It’s weird. I was never desperate to go, unlike Alex or my other friends. It was just on my ‘things to do before I—things I really gotta do someday’ list.” I corrected myself midsentence and Adam’s lips thinned. “Well, then, I’ll give you one of the tickets assigned to Draco. You can take the place of one of the interns. One less silly idiot I have to deal with on the trip.” “I shouldn’t—” I sighed. I no longer worked for his company. “What if I said I really want you to come?” He cracked a smile. I smiled back. “In that case…why not? Life’s too short.” He frowned and turned away. Ah, there it was—another gremlin had popped up to replace the one we’d cleverly avoided. I sighed. Instead of pretending not to notice his reaction, I moved to sit next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. “You hate it when I say that, don’t you?” He was silent, then glanced at me and kissed the top of my head. “Yeah, I do.” My arms slipped around his shoulders. “Then I won’t say it anymore.” He pulled me against him, kissing me again. “Thank you.” We stayed like that for long moments. I wanted to kiss him so badly. We hadn’t had a good kiss in a long time. How was it that we could be with each other every day, in each other’s presence so often, and yet I’d never felt more distant from him? I turned and kissed him on the lips. It was one of those kisses that an old married couple might give each other after fifty years together. Adam and I hadn’t been a couple for even a year. But what a year it had been. Full of so many highs and so many lows. Had it caused our love to burn out? I looked into his dark eyes as I kissed him again, feeling that familiar lurch in my heart. My feelings hadn’t changed, but I was well aware that our past actions might have irreparably damaged that fledgling love. I pressed him for more, opening my mouth, but he didn’t respond. I pulled away, watching him. We stared into each other’s eyes and I could hardly breathe. That same uncertainty, those same questions were squeezing my heart and whirring around my mind. His eyes were mirrors—but were they reflecting what he thought I wanted to see? I took a deep breath. “It’s my barf breath, isn’t it? I have barf breath.” His mouth crinkled at the corners. “You don’t have barf breath.” “You could tell me, you know. I can take it.” His mouth curved into a full-fledged smile. “You do not have barf breath. However, your eyebrows are disturbing me today.” I brushed my fingertips over the Sharpie-scribbled markings. “You don’t like the magic symbols?” “You look like a dark sorceress.” “I’ll turn ya into a toad if you don’t kiss me.” “That’s backwards.” “Dark sorceresses swing that way.” He pulled me closer and kissed me again, presumably to ward off the toad curse. After a moment, the

kiss grew into something more and with a sigh I rested against him, enjoying it. Adam always started every kiss with a soft touch—like a light taste. An amuse-bouche that left you craving more. It usually didn’t last long. Soon that taste kindled a hunger that demanded fulfillment. From taste to indulgence, it invited complete immersion, a mutual relish. Then came the back and forth. I’d feed him, he’d feed me. We’d feast on each other and the more we did, the hungrier we became. His hands were now on either side of my face, holding me still, holding me against his mouth. The kiss deepened and I found it hard to breathe, my heart racing like I’d just stepped off a treadmill. A cold thrill went through me. He was touching me like a lover again. Finally. Pressing my mouth to his and opening it, I slid my tongue inside and I felt it—a sudden sharp intake of breath, the staccato of his heartbeat under my hand. I had no doubt in that brief moment that he wanted me. I wanted him, too. And the heat that was generating between us held a promise in it. That was, until he pulled away—very gently and without warning. His face was flushed and I could easily tell he was aroused. But he ended it with another one of those goddamn kisses on my forehead— like a grandpa kissing his granddaughter. I sat back, exasperated. “Adam—” “Aren’t you hungry? I’m starving.” I raised one of my drawn-in eyebrows. “Yeah, I’m hungry and so are you. But not for food.” He took a deep breath and let it go, sitting up and causing me to pull back from him. “Why don’t you want me anymore?” He blinked. “Who said I didn’t want you? It should be obvious that is not the case.” “Should it?” He glanced down, indicating his ready erection. I moved a hand toward it, but he grabbed my wrist. “That’s not going slow.” “You’re making me crazy. It’s been months…” “Let’s not argue about this, okay? You are going in for a new treatment tomorrow.” “That’s tomorrow. And I have almost twenty-four hours until then.” He didn’t say anything and I stared at him while he avoided my gaze. “When, then?” He shrugged. “When you are feeling better?” “I have a month of chemo left.” “I know,” he whispered. He pulled me against him. “I don’t think we’re ready yet.” But if not now, then when? And why not? What was fucking with his mind? Because it was obviously something. It was clear that he wanted it, that apparently the fact that I looked like Gollum from The Lord of the Rings had not completely repulsed him. What was it then?

Chapter Twenty Adam I knew she had questions that I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer. I knew she needed to feel close to someone. I needed it, too. But we weren’t ready. We were just getting our life back on the rails from the fucked-up mistakes we’d made. She needed a friend right now and I was determined to be only that. Because the last time I’d touched her—well, we couldn’t stand any more disasters. At least not until the debris from the current ones had cleared. *** “Ugh. Okay, let’s go again, I guess. Time for try number three hundred and sixty-two,” Heath muttered. He may have thrown a dirty look in my direction, too. With a long sigh, Emilia rubbed her forehead below the edge of the bandana wrapped around her head. “We must be missing something super obvious here. We’ve been at this for days and keep getting wiped out.” We were in the gaming room in my house, all sitting around a table with our laptops in front of us. Since we were all in the same room for once, we didn’t need headsets. I stifled a yawn. They always got extra irritated when I appeared bored. What did they expect? I had to mentally sit on my hands and let them figure this out by themselves. Kat straightened. “Okay, I’ve got all my spells back. We are good to go again.” “Shit. We have to do something different. I’m not just going to keep doing the same thing over and over again. This is bullshit. Seriously,” Heath moaned. Emilia was going over her notes again for the tenth time. “I agree that we are missing something…but what? We’re at the right location. There’s a fortress on top of the mountain and I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s where she’s being held. The clues state there is a tunnel that leads to a secret underground entrance to the castle. In theory, that should be here, next to Sergeant What’s-his-face. But every time we talk to him and he gives us the key, that horde of goblins pops up out of nowhere and wastes us.” “Maybe we aren’t supposed to talk to him and just go to the entrance without him,” Kat suggested. Heath expelled a long-suffering sigh. “We need the key and the entrance doesn’t even appear until we talk to him. So if we don’t talk to him, there’s no key and no entrance.” “But the minute we do, a fuckton of goblins jumps our asses,” Kat said. “So either we are doing something wrong, or we need a whole lot more people here to help us.” “Dude, a raid of twenty-four players couldn’t deal with that many high-level goblins!” Heath protested. I sat with my chin in my hand, watching them all, silent as usual. They tended to forget I was here unless they needed to make a sarcastic remark about how frustrated they were. Then suddenly they’d become aware of me. They’d learned long ago not to try and wheedle any clues out of me. I was actually pretty exhausted tonight, but God help me if I yawned. They’d jump down my throat in seconds. “Let’s just go again—maybe we’ll learn something new this time,” Emilia said. Heath rolled his eyes. “That’s what you’ve been saying for the last two dozen tries.” She raised her lightning bolt-shaped eyebrows at him. “Do you have a better idea?” “Fuck, I don’t know. I’m getting frustrated.” “Well, then, just talk to him and trigger the key and tunnel entrance.” Fragged approached the non-player character, Sergeant GriffonShield. Heath began typing furiously.

*Fragged says, Hail, Sergeant GriffonShield. *Sergeant GriffonShield says, “Hail, traveler. What brings you to this forsaken part of the world?” *Fragged says, “I’m here to save the princess. She is imprisoned in the castle.” *Sergeant GriffonShield says, “Some say that her prison is there, yes. The poor lass. I mourn her loss. If only a brave soul would help free her.” *Fragged says, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, enough with your spiel, asswipe.” “That’s not part of the script. He’s not going to answer you,” Kat said. “I’m sick of this asshole. He’s just going to rain goblin hell down on us in a minute if I type the correct line.” “So you are just going to swear at him? That will get you far.” Heath heaved a huge sigh. “Fine. I’ll type the damn line. Sheesh.” *Fragged says, “I want to free her.” *Sergeant GriffonShield has offered Fragged a tarnished key. *Sergeant GriffonShield says, “Here, brave soul. Take this key and find the niche where it fits on yonder mountainside. It will take you to the passage you seek.” *Fragged says, “Screw you, fucktard. Help us.” “Heath, just take the goddamn key,” Emilia hissed. *Sergeant GriffonShield says, “Alas, I would love to help you, but I cannot leave my post until you gather my allies.” Three heads immediately jerked in my direction, eyes huge with surprise. I almost laughed at them. Almost. It figured that it would take Heath’s exasperation for them to accidentally discover what they had to do. I looked down, trying to appear very fascinated by something on my keyboard. “Uh, what the fuck just happened?” Heath asked. Nobody responded so I glanced up. They were all still staring at me. I cleared my throat. “I think he offered to help you. Can I yawn now?” Heath grabbed a scrap of paper, balled it up and threw it at me. I batted it away with a laugh. “Wow, was that the doorbell? Let me go get that. You three can just…talk amongst yourselves.” I stood and, before leaving, caught Emilia’s eye. She sent me a huge grin. I winked at her and left the room. I returned about a half-hour later and declared myself—and Emilia—too tired to go on anymore tonight. She had another round of chemo in the morning and needed all the rest she could get. At the top of the stairs, she turned and hooked her arms around my neck. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?” “You’re just realizing that now?” She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed me. “No. Of course not. I’m dense but not that dense.” “You’re not dense.” She stood perfectly still, hesitating. “What?” “Sleep with me tonight?” I swallowed. It was getting harder and harder to say no. And harder and harder to deny that I really wanted it—wanted her. However, I slept in her bed. I folded her thin frame in my arms and pressed her

against me. It was the most I could give her now. And I honestly had no idea when I could give her more.

Chapter Twenty-One Mia Something was wrong. I knew it the moment this new medicine burned through my veins. It felt different and I was immediately swimming in a sea of weird delirium and constant nausea, which I fought— successfully, thanks to the antinausea medication I was on—to keep down most of the day. Given how things progressed later, it probably would have been better if I’d not fought to suppress that reaction while I was in the hospital under the watchful eyes of the nurses and doctors. Because that night, I was in hell. Adam always knew I had to head straight to bed on the first day of a round. I would be good for nothing but sleep and sickness for at least twenty-four hours, usually more. But when I woke in darkness with the powerful urge to vomit—not even making it to the toilet on time —the sickness overcame me with such violence that I was projectile puking and peeing my pants at the same time. My body convulsed over and over. It felt as if every one of my cells was fighting the chemo. Every single inch of me ready to implode in rebellion against the poison merrily coursing through my veins. I wanted to die. And no, I wasn’t exaggerating. I really, really wanted to die rather than endure this. The craziest part was that I didn’t hit the emergency button on the bathroom remote. I must have been mental or too damn fiercely independent, because in my weird psychotropic delirium, I actually fought the urge to call Adam for help. Not until I was half passed out on the floor. By that time, when I went to reach for the intercom button, I found I didn’t even have the energy to lift my arm in order to do it. Instead, I turned my head, tears seeping from my eyes as my stomach continued to convulse long after there were any contents inside to empty out. Large blue spots in my vision and darkness at the edges indicated with only a split-second warning that I was about to black out.

Chapter Twenty-Two Adam Thank God I checked on her regularly after a new round. Because when I found her unconscious on the bathroom floor, I had no idea how long she’d been there. “Fuck!” I said, kneeling beside her, pulling her into my arms. “Mia… Mia…” I jostled her and she immediately responded, muttering something under her breath that I couldn’t understand. “Sorry…so sorry. Should have told you…” she whispered. “Are you okay? What the hell happened?” She was shivering. “S-s-s-sssso cold.” “Come on.” I pulled her up against me and she slid—almost fell really—but I caught her. She was scaring the hell out of me. I put her thick bathrobe on her, but she continued to shiver. I wrapped her tightly in my arms. The violence of her reaction—the fact that the drugs she’d been administered were new—scared the living shit out of me. I needed to call the hospital immediately. But I wasn’t going to leave her for a second to do it. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” she mumbled. “Get me to the bed.” So I picked her up and carried her to the bed. “Can I get you something? Water?” She shuddered. I grabbed a blanket and tucked it around her. “I’m going to call your doctor—” “No. No, stay here. I need you to write something down for me.” “What?” She flopped her arm toward the nightstand, as if she no longer had control of her hand. “Get paper. I need to make a list.” “You can do that later.” “I’m fine. I need to make this list. Now. You need to write it down.” I grabbed a notebook off the nightstand and searched for her phone. It was nowhere to be seen. Mine was back in my room. I got up to go get it. She hooked her hand in my shirt. “No, don’t leave me. Please, you have to write this down.” I sat down with a huff. “Okay, quickly, because I need to call the hospital.” “Um. Okay.” Her eyes rolled up toward her head as she sat, thinking. “Learn the tango. Kiss someone on the Eiffel Tower. See the Venus de Milo. Ahhh.” I scribbled them down quickly. “Okay. Got it. Now—” She tugged on my shirt. “Not done yet. Keep writing. Sixty-nine, or sex in public.” “What?” “Just write. This is my bucket list.” “You want to put sixty-nine on your bucket list?” “Wish on a falling star. Knit a sweater. Volunteer medical work. Um…a sunrise, somewhere cool like on the Arctic Ocean. See the Northern Lights—” “Okay, enough. You can work on this later. I’m calling the doctor now.” “I have to do those things. I want to before—before—” I pulled her hand out of my shirt and ran back to my room for my cell phone. I had it up to my ear, having forgone talking to the after-hours urgent care and just called 911. When I got back to her room, she was unconscious again. Goddamn it. I scooped her up in my arms, blanket and all, and shouted commands into the phone. There was no way the EMTs could bring an ambulance to the house, and I wasn’t going to wait for them to wheel a gurney

across Bay Island. Instead of taking the time to call the caretaker to meet me at the front door with a golf cart, I just carried her across the footbridge myself. And damn, she was so light that it was hardly a burden at all. My gut twisted with fear and worry. She was stirring against my chest. “It’s okay, I’m going to get you to the doctor right away,” I said. She was mumbling so that I could hardly hear her. “I don’t want to but…going to die. I deserve it, after what I did…” Everything inside me dropped as if I’d suddenly shot up inside a fast-moving elevator. Nausea made my head swim, but I swallowed it and concentrated on what I had to do. In short minutes, I met the ambulance at the bridge that connected the island to the mainland and they spread her on the gurney, buckling her in. I squeezed into the back of the ambulance beside her and we sped away. Hours later, I rubbed my sore eyes. It was four in the morning and she lay peacefully in a hospital room, IV fluid dripping into her arm. She was still and pale and hadn’t stirred since we’d arrived. The doctor had said it was dehydration and exhaustion. She’d had a bad reaction to the new meds, and her oncologist had been notified and would be coming by to examine her first thing in the morning. For now, sedated and hydrated, she was safe and stable. And I was a wreck. I deserve it after what I did. Her words rolled around and around in my mind. That ball of sickness hung in my gut like a boulder. Was she losing her will to live? My face sank to my hands, the heels of my palms against my eyes. I was lost, with no idea what to do. Physically, for now, she was going to be okay. But her will was flagging. And if she lost her fight, who knew what would happen? An hour later she stirred, her eyes cracking open. She turned her head to me. “Adam,” she croaked. I closed my hand over hers. “I’m here.” “I know,” she whispered, a wan smile appearing on her cracked lips. “You’re always here.” I didn’t have anything to say to that so I just squeezed her hand. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital?” “You had a bad reaction to the new meds.” “God, my head is killing me.” “You got dehydrated. You don’t remember anything?” “Uh. I remember power-puking all over the bathroom and then passing out. That’s about it. Is that how you found me?” “Yep. Do me a favor next time and hit the goddamn button, please?” She frowned. “I think I actually was trying to, but I thought about it too late. I was being stubborn.” “I’m shocked.” “Don’t be sarcastic. It doesn’t suit you. Now…you need to go home and get some sleep.” “I’m fine.” “You are not. Go and at least catch a nap.” “It’s five…your doctor is going to be here in a few hours. I want to be here for that.” “You haven’t gotten any sleep all night. Now who’s being stubborn?” I shrugged. “We’re matched well, then, aren’t we?” She smiled and sighed. “I suppose you could say that.” I watched her, haunted again by the words she’d spoken in her delirium—words that apparently she had no idea she’d spoken. “What’s wrong?” I shrugged. “Just worried about you.” “I’ll be okay.” “Yeah? You really believe that?”

She tilted her head at me. “Did I say something to you?” “You just seemed…it seemed like you were losing hope.” Her lips thinned. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember saying that. But if I did say something, it’s probably just borne from being so tired. I’m getting tired of the constant puking.” I nodded. “You made me write down a bucket list.” Her eyes widened. “Shit. I don’t remember that at all. Like, what was on the list?” “Sixty-nine.” “What?” “You had sexual stuff on your bucket list.” She laughed and I thought I saw a little color creep into her cheeks. “You aren’t bullshitting me, are you? Like weird stuff?” “Not weird. Just…unusual. You aren’t missing anything with the sixty-nine thing. It’s not as fun as it sounds.” She tilted her head at me, suddenly very interested. “Oh?” “Yeah…it’s…well, there’s just too much to multitask.” She frowned at me. “You’re a computer programmer and you are complaining about multitasking?” I shrugged. “It’s kind of hard on the neck, too.” Now her eyes widened. “And how do you know all this?” Oh, shit. Well, this was awkward. “Uh…” I looked away. She laughed again. “It’s okay. I’m just teasing. Though someday I’ll kick the crap out of all those other chicks you did it with. Or at least in my mind, I will.” I smiled, heartened by her use of the word “someday.” She’d had no idea about planning to die or wanting to make a bucket list or any of that, and I was relieved. The doctor didn’t arrive until almost noon and I was dragging ass, but all our friends had shown up by then so I could sit back and let her chat with them while I concentrated hard on staying conscious. Liam arrived with a big bouquet of flowers. He’d managed to step foot in a hospital more times in the past few weeks than he had in his entire life. I was proud of him and impressed that his affection for Emilia had dragged him here. “Thanks, William. They are beautiful. But the doctor is going to come in here and tell me I can go home. So I’ll have Adam take them home and put them in a big vase for me, okay?” Apparently, she didn’t have the heart to tell Liam that she was restricted from having flowers or plants near her during her chemo treatments. Liam hardly seemed to be paying attention. He appeared transfixed by one of Emilia’s friends—again. The quiet, studious Jenna. I’d thought that infatuation had passed, but he was eyeing her in a pretty obvious way and she was pretending not to notice. I grabbed the flowers and tucked them outside the door in the hallway on a tray. Alex and Jenna had pulled out some dice game, and they were showing Emilia and Kat how to play it. Heath arrived late and then the doctor, who evicted us all from the room while he examined her. Once he’d finished, I was allowed back inside while he made notes to her chart on his tablet. “She was down to her last three rounds when this happened, and her white blood count is far lower than I would like. So we are going to discontinue the chemotherapy.” Emilia threw a weak fist pump in the air. “Yesss!” “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Is that safe? I mean…if you originally determined twelve rounds and she’s only had nine—” “We were erring on the side of caution, Mr. Drake, given her circumstances. Her counts are down. She needs to rebuild her immunity. At this point, chemotherapy is no longer effective.” “Yeah, you heard him,” Emilia said. I ignored her. “I’m just—well, as you say, being cautious is best. But will the chemotherapy be as

effective in the long run if it’s been cut short?” “We originally increased the dosage on her treatment plan for several reasons. Her age, first and foremost. And given the…the circumstances when she began the chemo…” The doctor was rather delicately referring to the now-terminated pregnancy. I threw a glance at Emilia, who was resting against her pillow and watching the doctor, but her expression had not changed. “I’m discharging her into your care today, but I’ll be sending a nurse by every day to run a blood test on her. She needs rest and fluids.” He signed off on the chart and I suddenly felt the urge to argue with him. I wanted her to have those additional rounds of chemo. “What if you administered the old drug she was on for the additional rounds? So you could keep going—” “Hell no,” Emilia muttered. The doctor had a long-suffering look on his face. “With her white blood count at the levels they are, she isn’t going to be getting any chemo for a while. This last round wiped her out, and while it is an effective drug, the reaction she had to it could have seriously damaged her health. She needs to spend these next few weeks resting. But she’s done with chemotherapy unless something is found in the full-body scan that indicates she should continue.” I opened my mouth again, but Emilia, recognizing that I was about to push the issue, interrupted. “Adam…” I stepped back and took a deep breath. Emilia thanked the doctor and said goodbye. She then sat up in the bed and slowly slid off, walking to me. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You’re exhausted.” “I don’t like this,” I said, running a hand through my hair. She slipped her arms around my waist and snuggled against me. “It will be okay. Can you take me home, please?” So I waited while she changed into the clothes that my housekeeper had dropped off for her. Heath drove us back to the house, and I tried to disguise how utterly terrified I was. As long as she was undergoing therapy, we were doing something. The cancer was actively being fought. But now we just had to wait and hope that it had been enough. The feeling of uncertainty was enough to gut me. But never, not in a million years, would I ever let Emilia see that.

Chapter Twenty-Three Mia “I can help you with one of those, you know,” Adam said the next morning after we’d awoken and were lying in bed, talking. At my request he’d come to sleep beside me again. It had taken no effort at all to coax him. I think he was determined to keep an eye on me after the scare of the night before. But after we’d slept in, both exhausted from little to no sleep the night before, I’d found the open notebook on my nightstand and had been looking over the list he’d scrawled down. Adam’s writing was usually very even and neat, so the fact that I could barely read this spoke of the duress he’d been under when, apparently, I’d grabbed onto him and insisted he write down my bucket list. “What did you have in mind to help me with? Sixty-nine or the sex in public?” His mouth twisted. “Neither one of those. I was thinking the tango.” I checked out the top of the list. Number one, as a matter of fact. I wanted to dance the tango? I guess I had thought about it before, but it seemed an odd thing to put first. “Don’t tell me you know how to dance the tango, too…” “I was my cousin Britt’s practice partner by coercion. It wasn’t just for the foxtrot.” “Mmm. Maybe you can help me knock out a few of these in the next little while.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively at him. “Find someone else for sixty-nine.” I laughed at him. “Oh, so you’re okay with that?” “No. Did I say ‘find someone else’? I meant ‘cross it the hell off your list.’” “I could find someone else. Someone into bald chicks. There’s got to be someone out there who’s got a cranial fetish.” He looked at me, reaching up to rub his thumb along my cheekbone. “All it would take is someone with a beautiful woman fetish, and there are too many out there with that.” His eyes hardened. “I found mine. They can all go find their own.” I rewarded his sweet remark with a tight hug around the neck and then he coaxed me out of bed to eat a little something. For him, I managed to chew off a corner of toast, though the thought of anything more was still too much for me. For the next few days, he insisted I stay in bed and I humored him because he was so worried about me. The rest of the gang logged in during every spare moment that they could to help me work on the secret quest. We’d spent time slowly gathering the Sergeant’s allies by doing quests for them: finding the lost wedding ring for a lieutenant, sobering up an old, broken captain, busting a roguish type out of jail, and much to our surprise, going back to the beginning, to the original quest-giver, General SylvenWood. He wouldn’t leave his spot at the city gate until we’d planted a garden of daffodils in honor of his lost love. Once the allies were gathered, we were ready to progress with breaching the castle. With the help of the allies, we safely entered the tunnel while they kept the goblins at bay. Fortunately, we made our way into the castle, almost at our goal. But we found ourselves stuck once more. Three days later, when I was back to feeling close to my old self again—my old “post chemo” self, anyway—it was time to teach Mia to dance the tango. I figured what the hell, I’d go with it. “So you remember that the foxtrot is slow-slow, quick-quick—” I shot Adam a sardonic look. “Amsterdam was over ten months ago. I don’t remember that.” “Well, the tango is a lot like the foxtrot. Except the tango goes: slow-slow, quick-quick-slow. And it’s kind of a slide. It’s not hard to learn.” “I’m sure hearts are breaking all over the West that Adam Drake is dancing the tango with me.” He smiled at me. “It’s a sexy dance. I’ll be the first to admit it.”

“Well, if it’s sexy and it’s with you, then I’m definitely in.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively at him. As usual, he didn’t take the bait. He kissed my forehead. “Britt’s coming over to help me teach you.” And that’s exactly what they did. In the dining room, with the long table shoved aside, we had tons of room, and even though I had to take a break once in a while to rest, I learned the basic steps to the tango. This went on until right around noon, when Jordan showed up with a briefcase full of work to go over with Adam. He threw a quizzical glance around the room, raised a brow and said, “What’s this, you’re opening a dance studio?” “Come on in, we’ll show you how to do the polka!” exclaimed Adam’s cousin, Britt. Jordan glanced around and gave me a nod. “Hey, Mia, glad to see you’re feeling better. Mind if I steal Adam for a bit?” I smiled. “Be my guest. He’s exhausting me, anyway!” Adam left me with Britt and followed Jordan out to his office with an invitation for us all to sit down to lunch together afterward. *** As we watched them go, Britt suggested we sit down in the living room with some ice water. I think my comment about being exhausted had concerned her. I gave her a smile. Britt asked after my mom, repeating how much she adored her and was certain she was the best thing that had happened to her father in a long time. Then, after an awkward pause, she frowned and shifted in her seat to face me. “How are you feeling, Mia?” I thought about that for a moment, mentally assessing my energy level. The achiness was gone, but I still became fatigued very easily. I answered with a vague shrug and reached up under my cap to scratch my sweaty scalp. I glanced out the doorway through which Adam had left with Jordan. If Britt noticed, she didn’t say anything. “So…I know everyone asks you how you are doing all the time. You must be getting tired of that. I am curious, though, about how Adam is doing.” I smiled. “I’m doing better, thanks. And Adam’s…” I hesitated, looking at the doorway again. I shifted in my seat and fell back against the cushion. “Intense, stressed out and distracted?” I returned my gaze to Britt, confused for a second. “It doesn’t take someone with his IQ to figure that out after spending the morning with him.” She smiled. I shrugged, looking down. “I’m worried about him.” “He’s worried about you.” I nodded and darted a glance at her, wondering how much she knew. It was unlikely that Peter or Adam or even my mom would have told her everything that had gone on earlier in the year. She reached out and patted me on the leg. “It will be okay. It’s his nature. He’s always been the overprotective type.” “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Britt’s mouth twisted. “In high school, he got into a lot of fights because of my brother.” I raised my brows—or would have raised them if I hadn’t sweated them off already from the dance practice. I made a mental note to use the Sharpie next time I practiced. “That’s…um…that’s so surprising. Wasn’t he a skinny weakling in high school?” She laughed. “Adam was skinny, but he wasn’t a weakling. He was an excellent runner. But Liam got picked on quite a bit. Kids are so cruel.”

I nodded. “So Adam was defending his cousin?” She shrugged. “Well, it started out that way. But the one big incident—he told you about that, right?” He hadn’t told me about it, no. But I did know from Heath, who had looked into Adam’s background while doing research for the auction. Adam had been the victim of a particularly cruel bullying incident in high school. A group of boys had ganged up on him after a track meet and beaten him up, duct taped his arms and legs and mouth and shoved him into a locker, where he stayed until he was found the next morning. It had been so severe that he’d had to be hospitalized. He never returned to the classroom again, choosing to finish high school early via independent study. “Uh, yeah, I know about that.” “Those kids started out by picking on my brother, but Adam deflected their attacks onto himself. Then he became the target.” I sat stunned for a moment. That was beyond awesome of him. Britt straightened, perhaps realizing that she might be divulging sensitive information. She cleared her throat. “Anyway…it’s just an example of how he is. He wants to be the big protector…and sometimes it really gets him into trouble.” I took a deep breath and nodded. She hadn’t implied as much, but that same protectiveness had gotten him into trouble with me. His overprotectiveness combined with my stubborn independence had made a near-lethal combination for our relationship. I wondered if we could learn from that mistake and overcome those failings. Or were those shortcomings so inherent to our characters that we were doomed to fail regardless? Britt must have seen the struggle on my face because she put a comforting hand over mine. “Adam is one hell of an awesome guy. And I don’t just say that because he’s family. I know you two have had a rocky road. And I know that this is probably putting a strain on your relationship, but you know what? I’ve never seen him happier, Mia, than since he’s been with you. You two were clearly meant for each other.” I’d believed that, too—once. I blinked back the prickly tears that unexpectedly rose up. It was so frustrating. I was always shamefully close to tears and had been for months. It was almost as if my body and emotions were acting as if I was still pregnant. I bent my head and rubbed my forehead trying to think of something else so I wouldn’t make a fool out of myself in front of her. “I don’t want to lose him…” The shaky words slipped out unexpectedly. I was angry with myself the moment they were out of my mouth. On some level, I almost felt like I deserved to lose him. “You don’t have to worry about that, and I think he’d be upset to find out that you were. I think he’d rather you concentrate on getting better.” He’d said as much—over and over again. “In fact, you should make that your birthday present to him, since it’s in a few weeks.” I smiled. “I’m working on it. And since I have no idea what to get him, I guess that’s as good an idea as any.” She leaned forward and gave me a tight hug. “I think we’d all be delighted with that. Not just him.” And I wanted nothing more than to give that to all of them. But cancer was cancer. I had as much control in overcoming it as any other disease, like diabetes or polio or even the flu. It happened. Shit happened. And even though the feelings of unworthiness for all of my many flaws tended to weigh me down, I was slowly realizing that this hadn’t happened to me because I’d been unworthy or hadn’t deserved to be healthy. The blame for other things still sat squarely on my shoulders, but the guilt for this was fading away and making things just a tiny bit lighter. And for that I was grateful.

Chapter Twenty-Four Adam I spent about a half hour with Jordan signing paperwork and going over some details on our pet project when he finally stopped, sat back and rubbed his eyes. “Heard you had a scare the other day. She looks like she’s doing a lot better now.” “She is, thanks.” “What’s with the dance lessons? Trying to keep her mind off of things?” “Ahh.” I sat back, rubbing the back of my neck. “Actually, it has to do with her bucket list.” Jordan looked surprised. “She made a bucket list?” I tightened my jaw and then released it. “Yeah, she wasn’t doing very well at all. I think she thought she wasn’t going to make it. She’s been kind of down lately, so I thought this might be something to get her mind off of things.” He frowned. “So like, what else does she have on her list?” I hesitated. There was no way in hell I’d discuss some of the things on the list, so I shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know…something about the Northern Lights and doing volunteer medical work and the Eiffel Tower.” “The Eiffel Tower?” “Yeah, you know, the one in France?” He gave me a look. “As opposed to all the other Eiffel Towers out there.” I shrugged and gave him a grin. I liked yanking Jordan’s chain sometimes. Someone had to do it. “So like, she’s never been there? To France?” “No. We hadn’t gotten around to that yet.” “Yeah, I get it. Maybe soon, though?” “When she’s better…definitely.” “But if you wait ‘til then, you might not be able to benefit from it. You said she’s been pretty down lately. What if you took her in a private plane?” I hesitated. I knew that he had his epic trip to Paris planned. He’d been working on it since the fall. “What, are you going to let us hitch a ride on your chartered Leer?” I said. It was a little bit insulting. I could afford the extravagance far easier than he could. “No,” he said, rubbing his goatee with a thumb. “No, I think you should just take the whole trip.” I laughed. “Good one. You almost had me there for a minute.” “I’m dead serious, Adam. Take it. Take her. All the plans are made. It’s a great trip.” “I’m not going to take your trip.” “It’s all planned. I’ve got the penthouse suite at the George V Hotel—the Four Seasons just off the Champs-Élysées. Even with all your money, you can’t get reservations like that at the last minute. Just take the goddamn trip. It will be good for her.” I rubbed my jaw, studying him. He wasn’t bullshitting me and I was stunned. Especially because Jordan had never been supportive of my relationship with Emilia. Or maybe he just didn’t like her. I never knew exactly what it was. But his magnanimous offer now was nothing less than shocking. “You haven’t been able to shut up about this trip for months,” I said. “I’m not going to take it from you.” “I’m not giving it to you, idiot. I’m giving it to her.” “Well, this is a bit surprising, I have to admit. I always got the impression that you didn’t like her.” He shrugged. “I never had anything personal against her. I wasn’t her biggest fan when you were going through all that bullshit with her, but…she’s handled all of this with strength and grace and I admire her

for it.” I clenched my teeth. In truth, he didn’t know the half of what she’d been through. “It’s very generous of you, but—” “Goddamn it, Adam. Just stop arguing and take her. It will do her some good. She’ll be able to cross another thing off her list.” “Two things, actually. She wants to see the Venus de Milo, too. That’s in Paris.” “Good. Surprise her, then. The trip is in two weeks. Do you think you’d be ready?” I blinked. “I’ll call her doctor and ask.” Jordan looked supremely satisfied with himself after that. So I let him do his good deed. We spent nearly an hour going over his itinerary, and I made mental notes to modify it to suit our needs. I also made a note to make it up to him soon. But for now I’d let him be the hero for the day. He seemed to be enjoying it. I noted his secret smile when he hugged her goodbye. But it wasn’t nearly as amusing as Emilia’s shocked expression when he did it. *** A few nights later, we were sharing a quiet dinner at my house with my Uncle Peter and Mia’s mom, Kim. They had called, wanting to take us out, but Emilia had declined. She’d claimed she liked my chef’s food better than anything a restaurant could make. Considering her dietary restrictions, I couldn’t blame her, but I suspected it also had to do with her self-consciousness over looking like “something that’d been chewed up and spit out”—her words, which she’d refused to take back even when I gave her one of my stern looks. Thinking it would be good for her to spend more time with her mom, I invited them over to our place instead. Nowadays, we ate dairy-free, gluten-free, probiotic and organic. It sounded worse than it actually was. But I did miss cheese. Fortunately, my chef was amazingly brilliant and saw the restrictions as a challenge she was determined to overcome. So, in spite of it all, the meals were good. Not my first choice, but if Emilia could go through all she went through with minimal complaints, then I could put up with weird food for her. I just made sure to eat whatever I wanted when I was at work. I should have known something was up with Peter and Kim based on their weird behavior. Peter, who is always quiet, was even quieter, and Kim’s interactions with her daughter were stilted and a little strange. So it was no surprise that over dessert and coffee, Emilia’s mother turned to her and took her hand over the table. “So, uh…we had something we wanted to tell you. Um…” She flicked a glance in my direction. “It might be a little weird for you two, though.” Emilia and I shared a look and then she turned back to her mom expectantly. “Peter and I have decided to get married.” Emilia immediately shot out of her seat and gave her a big hug, kissing her. “Mom, I’m so happy for you!” Well…I was glad one of us was. I just felt like this was beyond bizarre, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. I watched Emilia’s overjoyed reaction. Apparently, she wasn’t weirded out by this news. Maybe it was just me… Because this would make Emilia the stepsister to Liam and Britt, my cousins. Emilia was now hugging my Uncle Peter—her future stepfather. The thought of it was so surreal. I got up and hugged Kim and congratulated her. I hoped I was successful at hiding my reaction to their news. It had been coming, I supposed. I should have been preparing for it. They’d been dating for seven or eight months and getting along very well. And given both of their pasts, they deserved some happiness.

“When’s the wedding?” Emilia asked. “We’re not doing anything fancy. Just something for the family and close friends, like Heath. I’d love to do something on the beach. But we don’t have a date yet because…” Her voice died out when it shook with emotion. Peter took her hand. “We’re waiting until Mia’s scan comes back negative. We’ll figure out everything out then.” Kim let out a long breath and smiled at her daughter. Emilia hugged her again and reassured her that that would be soon. God, I hoped so. Not too long after, we saw them to the door, where we hugged and congratulated them again. I was envious of their uncomplicated happiness. But it wasn’t like they didn’t deserve it. Peter’s wife had left him when his kids were still young, and he’d had to raise them—and then me, later on—by himself. Kim had had her heart broken at a very young age by a worthless cheater and hadn’t found someone to share her life with until now. I did wish them happiness, and I was certain I’d get over the ick factor—hopefully soon. Once the door clicked closed and they were walking back across the island to their car, I turned back to Emilia, who was looking at me with a crooked smile on her face. I took a deep breath and smiled back. She approached me slowly and put her arms around my neck. To avoid that always tense moment of “will we or won’t we kiss?” I kissed her forehead and she blew out a sigh. I didn’t trust myself to kiss her on the mouth again. Not after last time, when I’d almost been sucked into forgetting that we were still trying to take it slow. “So, um…can I ask you something?” “Yeah, sure. Anything,” I answered. “Aren’t you a little…um…grossed out by that?” she said, making a face. I exhaled in relief. “Totally.” She shuddered for a minute. “Um. So are you and I going to be cousins now?” I shook my head. “Let’s not talk about it.” “It’s like…I had to jump out of that chair and hug her right away and not let myself think about it, but the whole time I was congratulating them, my brain was shouting, ‘No! Ewwww!’” We laughed and went to watch TV. She sat snuggled next to me in my recliner, her head on my shoulder. She smelled so amazing that I got a little bit of a high from the scent of her skin. I rested my hand on her waist, willing it to stay put. Fortunately, I was so exhausted I didn’t have to remind myself too many times to keep my hands off of her.

Chapter Twenty-Five Mia Two weeks later, the night before Adam’s twenty-seventh birthday, he got a car and driver for our first romantic night out in months. I would have liked to have been with him on the night of his birthday, but he cited an unavoidable event that would be taking him out of town for the next week. To be honest, I was nervous to be without him, but he gave me no details. Strangely, we drove up to Los Angeles for dinner. We rarely ventured up into the City of Angels. Most residents of Orange County acted like they had a phobia of Los Angeles, which, I’d admit, was kind of silly. But everyone claimed to have the best of Southern California in their backyard, so LA became a necessary evil, only for things like transportation or big shows or the museums that just didn’t quite cut it down south. I dressed in a classic little black dress with a matching flapper-style hat, thanks to Sonia the shopper’s impeccable taste. Adam had threatened to take me out for dancing—presumably the tango—afterward, so I almost, almost donned a wig. I owned two—one of them with bright purple hair, much to Adam’s dismay—but had never worn them for more than five minutes in the house before pulling them off in frustration. It felt fake to wear one and I knew that was a silly feeling…but it was there nonetheless. The dress was short, showing off my now too-skinny legs, and had a high neckline—a requirement of my clothing these days. I never showed any cleavage at all, nor anything that drew attention to my chest. I was only worthy of dressing like a granny now. My body was no longer something to show off, to be proud of. It was a secret shame to shroud under layers of clothing. Adam was as gorgeous as ever, wearing a dark blue evening suit with matching tie against a crèmecolored shirt. I loved when he wore dark colors. It suited him, with his glossy black hair and dark eyes. It added to his alluring mystique. I used to feel beautiful beside him, like we complemented each other. We’d turned heads and I knew we were an unusually good-looking couple. But now it felt wonky, uneven. Like a teeter-totter overly weighted on one side so that it couldn’t move. He was stunningly handsome, and I was a faded, insignificant, too-thin and sick-looking hanger-on at his side. We no longer looked like we belonged together. Quite possibly because in reality, we didn’t. I tried to push those thoughts aside as we slipped into the Beverly Hills restaurant together. As usual, Adam attracted a lot of female notice, which he either was unaware of or completely ignored for my sake. We had a quiet meal at the back, and I was proud that I was feeling so much better that I ate a normal amount of food and kept it down without one bit of nausea. Someway, somehow, my body knew that it wasn’t going to get any more poison and it was bouncing back. Reduced white blood cell count or no, I was starting, more than ever, to feel somewhat normal. Except for my faded looks. But no matter. I was feeling good and Adam was ridiculously yummy all dressed up for his night on the town. I was going to try again and put the moves on him. He couldn’t hold out forever. “Is it dancing?” I asked when he wouldn’t tell me what he had planned for after dinner. “Nope.” His dark eyes twinkled with mischief in the low light. “Is it something on my bucket list?” He smiled, my favorite dimple appearing just below his mouth. Sometimes when he did that, it stole my breath. “It might be.” “You’re annoying,” I said, folding my arms with mock irritation. “It’s your birthday. I’m the one who is supposed to be surprising you.” “Well, you know…control freaks don’t take surprises very well.” My smile faltered and I wondered if he was referring, vaguely to the secrets I’d kept from him, and his

reactions to them. There was a long pause before the waiter showed up and Adam made a point of telling him that we didn’t need to order dessert. Then he turned back to me. “Don’t worry—this is something I’m going to enjoy, too. It will be your gift to me.” He winked. My hopes were soaring high when we slipped back into the town car, especially when Adam hit the button to raise the partition between the driver and us. I’d never listed limo sex specifically on the nowinfamous bucket list, but maybe he’d decided to substitute that for the apparently awkward sixty-nine? He bent to kiss me and my heartbeat raced. It was a light, affectionate kiss. It was playful, and there was something in his eyes that corroborated that feeling. A spark, a twinkle. It wasn’t his usual look of passion or lust, but I’d take it. I was beginning to regret that I’d worn panties under my dress but figured he’d resolve that situation easily enough with one of his famous panty-shredding maneuvers. My mouth went dry at the thought of it. Then, he reached into the seat pocket in front of him and pulled out a scrap of black silk. “What’s that?” I asked. “You’ll see,” he replied. Turning in one quick move, he slipped it over my head. A blindfold. Oh, so we were going to get kinky? I sat up straight. “I’m getting excited now,” I said, reaching for him. He pressed another long, lingering kiss on my mouth. “You should be,” he whispered darkly and I shivered with anticipation. The thought of his hands, his mouth on me made my entire body come to life, flushing with heat. Limo sex. Hmmm. When we got home, I’d quickly add this one to my bucket list and then just as merrily tick it off. The first time we’d be together in over four months. Oh yes, I was hotly anticipating it. The next thing I knew, he slipped headphones on me. Big heavy ones. The kind that canceled out the noise outside. He lifted one of them and said, “I’m going to put some music on right now. No peeking until we get there.” “Get where?” He laughed. “Nice try.” The next thing I knew, I was being treated to the sounds of the eighties from Adam’s playlist. “Sweet Dreams” by Eurythmics was the first song to play. I sat back with a sigh and concentrated on the motions of the car. Adam didn’t touch me. So much for the limo sex. I quietly hoped he had something even more exciting in mind. After getting my heart set on him and me together in the back of the car as it drove down the long stretch of Wilshire Boulevard, anything else was going to be a letdown. A half hour later, the car was slowing, turning and parking. Adam’s hand closed around mine and tugged me toward the car door as I felt him rise and get out. Like a wobbly newborn giraffe, I did the same and he steadied me against him. I raised my hand almost automatically to the blindfold, but he pulled it away, planting a kiss on my forehead. He wrapped a solid arm around my waist and pulled me along beside him. I tried to concentrate on any sounds that might escape the relentless beat of the Pet Shop Boys. We walked on concrete and it was really windy. My skirt blew upward before Adam folded his coat around my shoulders. After a few hundred yards of walking, we made it to a set of stairs. I tentatively lifted my foot to rest it on the first step—textured metal to make it nonslip—but almost stumbled. Adam then lifted me and carried me up the rest of the way. I clamped my arms around his neck and we entered a building at the top of the stairs. When he put me back on my feet, I held a hand out to steady myself, landing against an upholstered wall. Where the fuck were we, and why had it been necessary to blindfold me and muffle all the noise around me? Soon Adam was nudging me into a chair and settling beside me. It was wide and comfortable, like a couch, and the floor rumbled beneath us. My mind sifted through the possibilities. Adam reached out for his music player, which hung around my neck, and turned down the volume.

“Do you know where you are?” he asked. “Um. An airplane?” He pulled off the earphones. “Good. Take off the blindfold.” I did and looked around. This was not like any airplane I’d ever been on before. It was a private jet and it was about to take off—very soon, if the rumble under the floor meant anything. The area where we sat had couches and lounge chairs grouped so that they were facing each other. The seats were comfortable, leather, padded, but they still came with seat belts. Wherever we were going, we would be traveling in style. “A private jet? I thought you didn’t use these on principle.” He grinned. “This is an exception.” I twisted my mouth. “So you weren’t lying when you said you’d be out of town on your birthday. You just didn’t inform me that I would be out of town, too. How typically you.” I stuck my tongue out. It only seemed to increase his pleasure. “Where are we going?” “You think after all the trouble I went through to get you on this plane blindfolded that I’m going to tell you that easily?” “How long will we be flying, then?” I said, glancing behind us. I could see a sitting room and a bedroom through the doorway. A dim light emanated from the bedroom, with a bed all made up and looking as luxurious as any fine hotel room. “We’ll be flying through the night.” Holy crap. Then we were going far. Either the East Coast or even farther. Maybe we were going the other way and headed to Hawaii? Or perhaps we were headed back to St. Lucia, I thought with a sudden thrill. Wonderful things had happened between us in St. Lucia. I couldn’t think of a better place for us to revitalize our relationship. “I hope you packed my bathing suit and some suntan lotion.” I grinned. His smile deepened. “You’re all packed up with everything you’ll need, thanks to Sonia. Hopefully, you’ll like what she picked out for you.” A flight attendant appeared, served us drinks and asked us to fasten our seatbelts, as we’d be taking off very soon. I sipped my mineral water and giggled, shooting a look at Adam. Maybe no limo sex, but what about mile-high sex? I could just as easily swap that out on my bucket list. I decided to cheat and ask the flight attendant where we were headed. She smiled and glanced at Adam. “I was told that our destination is top secret. I can’t divulge.” I sat back in a huff. “Okay, so how long are we flying for?” “Eleven hours, forty-two minutes.” She turned and left the cabin shortly thereafter. Holy shit. I bounced up in the seat with a smile. “We’re going to St. Lucia, aren’t we?” Adam shrugged and looked out the window. “I’m excited to go back.” He turned back to me. “Yeah? Things didn’t end well for us there.” I took a breath, wondering why he focused on the negative ending rather than all the wonderful things that happened before that. “Things started for us very, very well there. Don’t you remember?” He watched me, his mouth curving enigmatically. “I remember very, very well. Every moment of it.” I smiled. “Time for us to go back and make some new memories, huh?” I leaned in and kissed him. He returned the long, lingering kiss before pulling back, his eyes moving over my face. “You’re beautiful.” “Hmmph. You’re a liar, but thank you.” He put a hand to my chin and looked into my eyes without blinking or turning away. In that clipped, nobullshit tone of voice of his, he said, “I’m not lying.”

Chapter Twenty-Six Adam We slept in the bed together and I know she was expecting more. It was getting harder to resist her than ever before. For the first time in months, she looked healthy. She was still thin and pale, but there was new life in her. Before this, when I’d felt like I wanted something, and especially when she’d made advances, I’d told myself she was just starved for affection. I’d tried to supply that in other ways. And I wasn’t lying about being exhausted all the time. I was. I made myself that way on purpose. But tonight, well, it was different. It was like we were shedding our cares with each mile we put between home and ourselves. Like our problems were location-dependent, when I knew damn well that that wasn’t the case. I slept in my underwear and she was in a sexy black slip that she’d worn under her black dress. She had curled against me at once and tried to pull me into a kiss, but I’d held firm. I was proud of myself that I didn’t succumb. She was vulnerable and I wasn’t going to take advantage. She just wasn’t ready, no matter what signals she was sending. We still weren’t ready. Maybe soon, but not now. We landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport in the late afternoon, local time. She still had no idea that we were in Europe. And I hoped to hold out on that secret until the moment we hit a view with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Or maybe when we arrived at our hotel. The weather was cold and wet when we walked from the plane to the waiting car. She screwed her head around, trying to look everywhere. But I hid most of what she could see with the umbrella that I’d been handed before we’d deplaned. We made it to the car before she could see enough to give her any clue as to where she was. And from what I could see, we could be in any nondescript US town for all she knew. As it was, the jig was up the moment our driver made a phone call in French. The cold weather was the first clue that we weren’t in the Caribbean. But the French was the second clue. She turned to me with saucer-shaped eyes. “You didn’t.” I raised my brow to ask the question without saying a word. “You didn’t fly us to Paris…” I didn’t answer. I really wanted to smile, but I kept my face straight. She was in absolute shock. “There are other places in the world that speak French, you know.” “I’ve seen the bucket list that I supposedly dictated to you. You flew us to fucking Paris! Holy shit.” I finally cracked a smile. Her reaction was amusing. I loved doing stuff like this. Thanks to Jordan, I could. We’d driven far enough into the city that the tower was now visible, so I indicated it behind her and she spun around. “No fucking way. We are in Paris!” “We just might be.” She spun back to me. “How the hell did you do this? Does my doctor know I left the country? How the hell did we get through customs without my even knowing?” I waggled my eyebrows. “I have ways. I am an international man of mystery.” “You are the coolest geek on the planet.” “Hmm. Flattery will get you everywhere.” She smirked at me. “That’s what I’m counting on.” “Are you tired? Or do you want to do some sightseeing after we check in?” “Umm. I do believe I have a few bucket list items to check off. How long are we here for?”

“Wait and see.” “Is this trip going to be all like this? With you just giving me no info?” “Is it bothering you?” She smiled. “No, it’s actually kind of fun. I just won’t bother to ask any questions then.” “Hmm. I should have thought of something like this long ago.” “Don’t push your luck, bub. I wonder if bald women get a better rap in Paris? Maybe I could start a new fashion fad if I parade down the Champs-Élysées in front of the Chanel store.” “I think the most alluring models might just shave their heads, but—again—still won’t be as hot as you.” Her eyes shone. “Well, aren’t you just full of flattery yourself? It goes without saying that it will get you everywhere. Hell, as long as it’s been, you needn’t apply much flattery at all these days.” “Mmm. Then I’ll save it for when it’s needed.” She curled up a fist and playfully punched me in the arm as the limo slowed in the Avenue George V and the driver opened the door. This was going to be one of the highlights of our trip.

Chapter Twenty-Seven Mia The hotel was breathtaking, and from the moment we entered, I couldn’t stop gaping at everything around me. Quiet piano music played in the lobby. There were black and white marble floors decorated with tall black stone vases all arranged artistically in the hotel foyer, full of hundreds of fresh white flowers of all varieties. We were escorted to our own private elevator, given a special key card for access and whisked up to our room. The elevator opened right into our penthouse suite. The place was amazing. It overlooked the city, with wraparound balconies on either side of the building providing a 360-degree view of the city. On one side, the Eiffel Tower loomed over the Seine, and on the other, the Arc de Triomphe stood immovable at the center of a sea of cars swarming around the Place Charles de Gaulle. I could hardly catch my breath as with each passing moment I got a view of yet another famous monument I’d seen only in pictures. This was surreal. “So about that comment about being out of town for your birthday…” He shrugged. “I wasn’t lying.” I turned to him. “So what do I get the man who has everything?” I said, moving up beside him and slipping my arms around his taut waist. He gave me another one of those exasperating forehead kisses. “You’ve already given me my present. You’re getting better and stronger every day. I couldn’t have asked for more.” I was thinking more along the lines of my naked body wrapped in a big red bow. That would be a present I could get behind—if I found a way to cover up the top half. Then again, maybe Kat was right… maybe all it would take would be a flash of some boob. Because damn, if I didn’t want to get under this man before, I sure as hell wanted it now. “So do I get to know our plans for the night?” “Hmm. First, we get dressed for dinner. Then, the car takes us to dinner. Then…we’ll see.” “And where is dinner?” He grinned again. “It might just be that we can eat dinner and hit one of your bucket list items all in one fell swoop.” My eyes widened. “We’re eating dinner on the Eiffel Tower?” “We’re eating at Le Jules Verne on the Eiffel Tower, at a west-facing window table so we can watch the sunset.”’ “Then I’d better get ready!” My bag had been unpacked and my things tucked away by the majordomo while we’d wandered around the suite that was bigger than most small homes and hung out on the balcony terrace. I had no idea what had even been packed for me by Sonia. Who knew what sort of eveningwear she’d slipped in there? I whipped open the armoire that had been appointed to me and gasped. In it, along with other clothing, hung one sexy black dress, one red dress and one crème-colored gown. They were completely different than the ones he had given me in Amsterdam but completely reminiscent of that first night we’d spent together. I actually felt tears sting the backs of my eyes as I pulled them out and looked at them. Adam was in the shower and I took a moment to try each of them on. They were gorgeous, and I had no way of knowing if Sonia had picked them out or if Adam had. But each of them was cut lower in front than I would have liked. They weren’t obscene but more like the necklines I used to wear. The red one was stunning, showing a lot of leg under a flared skirt and with a cutout in the back. When I heard the shower stop, I hurriedly tucked them back inside the closet, still unsure of what to do.

It was too much of a coincidence to ignore, and I decided, as I showered and did my makeup, that Adam had been behind the gowns, if nothing else. So I resolved to find the courage to wear one of them. If he wanted to see me wearing them, then I’d do it. Maybe then he’d touch me. God, I wanted him to touch me. So during this preparation time, the seeds of Project Seduction were germinating. Because somehow, I knew if we could get over this hurdle—if he could stop seeing me as sick and fragile and helpless—that maybe we could be equals and both be present in this relationship again. I spent extra time on my makeup because I had no hair to style. Though I did happily notice that my eyebrows were starting to sprout, I carefully penciled them in like the video tutorials had shown me to do them. I also glued on fake eyelashes. Overall my makeup efforts succeeded in mostly hiding the sickly look I’d been sporting. I’d found some stunning scarves and wraps in amongst the accessories so I experimented, tying a lovely black lace scarf around my head with a big knot at the back. It trailed over my shoulder, like a long shock of hair. With the stunning red dress I’d chosen to wear, it actually made me look exotic and a little glamorous. For jewelry, I wore some big earrings, a gold bracelet and my compass. I always wore the compass— always. I felt like a new person, like I was no longer faded and barely visible. Like there was actually some hope that I might get my looks back—or at least most of them. That my body hadn’t permanently gone into premature menopause, and I wouldn’t have the metabolism and skin of a woman over twice my age. But those were things to hope for later. One thing this whole ordeal had taught me was to be present… to be in the moment. Enjoy what I had when I had it. And tonight, I had the handsomest, most amazing man at my side, helping me into the limo, opening doors for me, holding my hand. Feasting on me with his eyes and complimenting me on my dress after casting long, slow looks down my form. He wore a black suit and black tie with a white shirt. It really didn’t matter what he wore, to be honest. He always looked great. I shamelessly flirted with him and made sure my dress rode up my thighs in the car. He looked. I watched him with a suppressed grin. Project Seduction was in its early stages. I had no idea how it might progress. But hey, he was a healthy guy. He hadn’t had sex in almost five months. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? “The dinner at Le Jules Verne is wonderful. You’re going to love it. You’re also going to eat more food in this one meal than you have every day in the past month combined.” I snorted. My appetite was returning slowly, but it still wasn’t what it had been—not by half. “There are six courses, and they’ll bring out a different wine for each course.” “Can’t drink wine yet. Doc said not for another month or so. But you can have mine.” He helped me out of the car and that sparked an idea. Adam wasn’t a drinker. I’d only seen him drunk once. He seldom drank anything stronger than beer or wine…but if he had enough wine, maybe that would help Project Seduction along. Adam led us through the crowd that was lining up to get into the big elevators to take them up the tower and I looked straight up, gasping in delight. We were at the base of the Eiffel Tower! It was a massive structure made of iron yet it actually looked like a delicate, dainty lady. It was lovely. But it was strong and unchanging. We made our way to a private elevator exclusive to restaurant guests, and after he showed the operator our reservations, we were ushered inside. I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “We are on the Eiffel Tower! Holy crap!”

He smiled. “Yep. And you are stunning. My lady in red.” He bent and kissed me on the cheek. Damn it, I was getting sick of the cheek and forehead kisses. I looked at his handsome profile as we made the slanted climb to the first platform of the tower. My heart squeezed in my chest the way it always did when I just let myself look at him, be in his presence. Moments like this, alone with him, consumed me—my thoughts, my feelings pulled relentlessly toward him like a sunflower in the sun. It used to scare me and make me wonder if I was obsessed or losing myself. Now, I accepted it. It was comforting. These feelings were reassurances that I was still alive. That cancer and its dubious cure might have eaten away at my body, but never my heart. Adam still owned that. My throat tightened when he turned his head, most likely detecting my gaze. His dark eyes met mine and he smiled that devastatingly handsome smile and I was lost, finding it hard to catch my breath. Shit. I was even more gone than the silly little Adam-groupie interns at Draco. But that made sense, when I thought about it. They all were all dazzled by the exterior—rich, handsome, sure of himself, physically fit. He was the perfect package that made them all atwitter. What made my heart surge whenever we were together? It was what they didn’t see, what they had no idea existed—the Adam on the inside, who cast that outside Adam, as amazing as he was, into a very dark shadow. The man on the inside eclipsed everything around him. He wasn’t perfect. But in every way that counted, he was perfect for me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight Adam I was enjoying this immensely. She was like a little girl on Christmas Day, all wide-eyed and full of wonder. And it felt good to see her looking so healthy and—finally—happy. We sat down to dinner and she made a respectable show of eating. I kept track of every bite that went into her body, coaxed her to eat more than she probably would have on her own. She was too thin, of course. But now, three weeks out from her last chemo treatment, she was at least starting to get some of her color back—to say nothing of a little of her hair. I actually noticed that her eyebrows were starting to slowly grow back in. She smiled—a lot. And when she smiled so much, I couldn’t help but smile along with her. “So is it true you are giving Kat her dream job of being a playtester?” “If she makes it through all the HR screening, she’s got the job.” Emilia’s hand landed on top of mine, our fingers intertwining. “Thank you. It’s been good to have her around.” I smiled. “It’s been good to have everyone around.” Her mouth widened. “It’s been good having you around. You are wonderful.” I tightened my fingers around hers. “I just do what I have to do.” Her golden-brown eyes seemed to search mine. “Oh…” she swallowed. “Maybe that didn’t come out right…” She shook her head. “No, it’s all right.” I frowned. “I meant that I did what I had to do…because I couldn’t imagine doing anything less for you.” She took in a deep breath and tilted her head, watching me. “You know…I don’t believe in former lives but if I did, I must have done something goddamn amazing in the last one to deserve you.” “Maybe we both did something amazing.” We shared a long look and time seemed to slow. There are moments that occur, that draw our memories, that seem denser than the string of moments before and after them. Years later, in your mind, you are drawn to them by an offhand comment, a flash of color, a scent, a texture, a taste, a feeling. But seldom do you realize the importance at the time that you were experiencing them, the memory’s equivalent of a bauble or souvenir. This long string of seconds where we said nothing but looked into each other’s eyes, seeing pure emotion but refusing to look away. I knew it right when it happened. This was one of the weighted moments, one of those memories I’d savor for years to come. Finally, she looked away, a smile dancing on her lips. “You haven’t finished your wine for the course. You’re supposed to drink it and tell me how it is.” This was my third glass. I tipped it back and was finally starting to feel a bit of a buzz. Emilia watched me closely and then pushed her glass toward me. “Here’s some more. Don’t let it go to waste.” I threw her a questioning look and ignored the glass. The waiter cleared the glasses and plates in preparation for our next course. And with it, of course, came another glass of wine. Since this was the meat course, it was red. I did like a good glass of red wine. “How is it?” Emilia asked, taking an inordinate interest in the wine. I frowned. “It’s good.” “Sorry,” she said, suddenly self-conscious. “I haven’t had any wine in a long time. Since before…” She cut herself off, shaking her head. A dark feeling came over me. There was before and there was after. And it sat like an impassable

valley in between our past and our future. Everything in me felt heavy with that realization. At times, I wondered if we’d ever be able to overcome this divide. With a depressing sigh, I downed the rest of the red wine with one gulp, welcoming the warmth washing over me. After dinner, we went up to the top level, crowding onto the high platform with everyone else. I had warned Emilia that even on the warmest days in summer, it got windy and cold up here so she had brought a jacket. The monuments of Paris spread out around us, lit up like jewels in a sea of black velvet. This city was unbelievably beautiful. And so was the woman beside me. She watched everything with wide eyes, vivid excitement lighting up her features. The lacy wrap around her head was an elegant touch as the loose ends fluttered in the breeze. Soon she noticed the scattered padlocks clamped onto the cage-like safety grid over our heads. “Oh, wow! Look at these. Love locks. I wish we’d thought of that.” I smiled, suddenly feeling very smug. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the heavy golden lock that I’d been carrying in my pocket all evening. “Fortunately, you brought the boy genius with you.” Her grin widened. “Yeah, fortunately I did!” I handed her the lock, complete with key, and a permanent marker. “Here. Write something on it, and I’ll lock it as high as I can get it.” Emilia grabbed the pen and began writing, then flipped it over and continued to write. “You aren’t writing a manifesto on there, are you?” She smirked. “No. Well, maybe just a short love manifesto.” She opened the lock, pulled out the key and handed it to me. I held it up to the light to read it: E.K.S. + A.D. I turned it over to read the back: = Nat 20. She’d used the gamer term from Dungeons and Dragons, which meant “instant, automatic success” by rolling a twenty on a twenty-sided die. I laughed. “Now this is a manifesto I can agree with.” I jumped up and grabbed the cage above my head, pulling myself up and hanging with one arm while I used my other hand to loop the lock around the cage overhead and clamp the padlock closed. Then I dropped back to the platform, where Emilia promptly wrapped her arms around me and pressed her head against my chest. “That was awesome. Thank you.” She held up the key and said, “And this is getting dropped into the Seine ASAP.” “Mmm. We still haven’t hit your bucket list item yet.” “Yeah?” “I believe it was to kiss someone on top of the Eiffel Tower.” “Hmm. I do believe you are right. Know anyone interested in helping me out?” I ducked my head, pulling her closer to me, and landed my mouth squarely on hers. I’d been wanting to kiss her all night. And if there was any sort of kiss to be had on the Eiffel Tower, it was this kiss. I touched my mouth to hers, tentatively. She angled her head to meet me. Then I locked my arms around her thin waist while she rose up to pull me deeper into the kiss. Her mouth opened to me, and my tongue slid inside to explore her. She gave out the most delicious little sigh, almost like a whimper, and my body came alive. My heart thumped and her hands came up my chest, and then my neck to settle on either side of my face, to hold me in place as if afraid I’d pull away. I let her have her way with me—with this kiss, at least. She was starved, wanting more and more. Her tongue met mine and she was sighing and breathing hard. The more excited she got, the more enflamed it made me. And the more I realized that she wasn’t the only starved animal here. Minutes later, I pulled away slowly even though it was obvious she still wanted more. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and when she looked at me, it was with so much love and trust in her eyes. I brought my hand up to touch her cheek—it was like touching an angel. Her eyes fluttered closed, her too-

long fake eyelashes lying on her cheeks. I was reminded of that first night we spent together, on the balcony of our suite at the hotel in Amsterdam. Something I’d inadvertently done had scared her and she’d been so vulnerable. But never fragile. She was strong. Like a warrior. She’d always been. Until lately. Until… I sighed. “You know what it’s time for?” she asked. “What?” She pulled out her cell phone. “A top-of-the-Eiffel-Tower selfie!” She moved up next to me and held the phone out, clicking on the reverse camera, and our faces appeared in the center of the screen. Her hand wavered and when she pressed the button, our faces were cut off just under our noses in the photo. “Crap… I can’t hold it still long enough. You try.” Someone approached us. “Bonsoir,” the woman said. She had a glass of champagne in each hand. “Pourrais-je prendre votre photo?” “Bonsoir,” I answered with one of the half dozen words of French that I knew. Then, before she rattled off anything more, I used my favorite word in French. “Anglais?” The young woman smiled. “Of course,” she answered in clear, accented English. “May I take your photo for you?” I handed her the cell phone and she indicated her full hands with the champagne. She handed us each a glass. She held up the phone and took our picture before giving us back the phone. “I noticed you two from over there.” She pointed at the champagne bar behind which she had been working. “And you looked so happy and in love that everyone around you was watching you and neither of you had any idea.” Emilia blushed and grinned, looking at me. She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Take the champagne. Toast each other with my compliments.” Emilia glanced into the flute and I watched her until she looked up. “Top-of-the-Eiffel-Tower champagne. I think this is definitely worth a sip,” she said. I held my glass up next to hers. “What shall we toast to?” “I am so not poetic. I think we should toast to all our tomorrows.” “To us,” I said, clinking my glass to hers. “No greater love since Han and Leia.” She laughed and took a sip, watching me as I downed my glass. Then she handed hers to me and said, “Finish it.” So with a smile, I did. I’d call myself a lightweight, feeling the bubbles starting to go to my head, but I’d had almost five glasses of wine at dinner and this added to it. By the time we set foot on the ground, our limo waiting to take us back to the hotel, I was feeling lightheaded, pleasantly buzzed and one hundred percent into the gorgeous woman beside me. “Are you getting tired?” I asked. I still had one more surprise in store for her tonight. “No. I slept very nicely on the plane and it’s only, what? Like three in the afternoon at home? I feel okay.” “Good. Because there’s still one more thing I want to do.” She threw me a sidelong glance and a sly smile. “Oh?” Our hotel had dancing in one of the grand ballrooms, complete with a huge polished stone floor, high columns, a private terrace and a live orchestra. And, thanks to my request, they were featuring the tango for part of the night. When we arrived, Emilia threw me a look that was a mixture of surprise and terror. “I don’t know this well enough to do anything but make a complete fool of myself in public.” “You can be bald in public—you have the guts for anything. Besides, I know the steps. I’ll lead you.

Just trust me, okay?” “Okay. I trust you not to let me make a fool out of myself.” I smiled. “Good. Just relax and let me lead you. ‘There are no mistakes in the tango,’” I quoted. “‘When you get all tangled up, you just tango on.’” She squinted at me. “That’s from a movie, isn’t it?” I smiled. “You know me so well. Al Pacino, Scent of a Woman.” I took her hand and led her to the floor. There were a few other couples out there, but many had sat down once the band began playing tango music. The steps I’d taught her were simple, and I could guide her easily enough through anything more complex. We faced each other and she looked into my eyes. Her gaze then darted around the room and she took a deep breath. She was feeling self-conscious, either about the dance or about her looks. If I did my job right, she should forget about both. “Put your left hand on my shoulder. Higher.” She complied, and I took her right hand in my left and curved my right arm around her to press firmly against the center of her back. “Relax your body. Try not to be stiff.” She grinned. “I’m having a weird déjà vu feeling.” I smiled. “Amsterdam?” “Yep.” “You did beautifully then. You’ve got this.” She took a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay.” The music started up again and I stepped forward, guiding her to walk backward for three steps before gliding to the side. She fumbled for a moment, stepping forward just as I did. “Sorry!” she gasped as she stomped on my foot. “Let me lead you, Emilia. Do you trust me?” She looked up at me and nodded. “Yeah.” “Then look in my eyes and stop watching our feet.” She took a deep breath and relaxed in my arms. And for the rest of that first song, she never looked down. Once she was more comfortable, I added a few more complex things, like a turn here and a dip there. The first time I dipped her, she let out a little squeak and laughed like crazy. “My scarf is going to fall off and you are going to expose my chrome dome!” Our bodies moved together. The tango was a sexy dance. Much like the sexual act itself, it was our bodies in close proximity, moving together, our hands holding each other, our eyes, fastened to one another. Our breath coming quicker. Our hearts beating faster. Yeah, I’ll admit it was turning me on. Between the alcohol, the kiss on the tower and now this dancing, it was going to be hard to resist her. But then she pulled out the big guns—because I was well aware of what she’d been doing all night. She’d enacted a studied, careful campaign to seduce me. And I’d played dumb and let her do it. “Don’t twirl me so fast next time. My dress will fly up too high.” “What, you don’t want the old goats in here to see your underwear?” “I wouldn’t care about them seeing my underwear, if I was wearing any,” she said with an impish grin on her face. “Happy birthday.” I stumbled midstep. “You aren’t wearing any underwear?” She paused for a beat and I dipped her, holding her there until she answered me. She looked up at me, hooking a leg around mine as I bent into a deeper dip. “Nope. Not a stitch. Full commando.” Fuck me. I was hard immediately at the thought. I pulled her up and stood absolutely still. “You are a very naughty girl.” Her gorgeous, puffy lips formed a pout and her eyes, all doe-like and innocent, grew wider as she said,

“Mmm, hmmm. I should be punished.” I pulled her closer, her feminine body felt like heaven pressed to me. “You should,” I whispered. She pressed her face to my ear, took my lobe in her hot mouth and dragged her teeth over it. Hot lust streaked through me. God, she was a siren. And there was little holding her off tonight. My blood was on fire for her. She must have felt my erection pressing against her, because she undulated against it, eliciting a gasp of surprise from me. And before we started doing anything indecent, like fucking right there in front of everyone, I grabbed her hand and pulled her off the dance floor. With a laugh swallowed in a gasp of surprise, she trotted along behind me as I strode with purpose to the elevator that led directly up to our suite. I wasn’t even sure I’d make the elevator ride without committing some sort of lewd act. The minute the door closed, she turned to me and I had my hands up her skirt, confirming the absence of her panties. “You see? Nothing for you to rip off of me.” I pressed her against the wall of the elevator. “I’m going to push this dress up right now and fuck you.” She let out a breathy moan that cut right through me. “Yes, please.” “You want it,” I said, my hand stroking up the inside of her silky thigh. Her lids drooped. “Yes, I do.” “But I shouldn’t give you what you want, naughty girl. I should punish you.” When the elevator dinged and the door slid open to the suite, I gave her a light push out in front of me, turning back to press the lock button on the elevator so we wouldn’t be interrupted. She cast a wary glance up at me and then turned away from me, facing the wall. “Punish me, then.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine Mia Project Seduction was about to cash in. With breathy anticipation, I waited as he moved behind me. He stopped, standing very close without touching me. I stood perfectly still, even holding my breath. Adam grabbed my wrists and pulled my hands up by my head as he pushed me forward. His hips pinned my body to the cold marble wall. “I need to fuck you,” he said. And he began to kiss me. His mouth slipped across the back of my neck, my shoulders, my ears, my jaw, his kisses sizzling on my skin like icy raindrops on a steaming hot street. I tingled with his touch, his hands braceleted around my wrists. He took his time tasting every inch of me and I could feel or think of nothing besides his mouth, his hot breath on my skin. I shivered and his hands tightened around my wrists, his breath faltering where his mouth devoured my earlobe. “Adam, please,” I whimpered. He pressed my hands on the wall beside my head and dropped his hold to fumble with the fastening on my dress, unhooking and unzipping it in two quick movements. “My God, you are beautiful,” he said in a tight voice. Everything in me hummed to the vibrations of his uttered words. I swallowed, still fearful for him to see me. If he stripped off my dress, he’d still find my serviceable, unattractive bra hiding my disfigurement. I’d just ask him not to take it off. And I could brag to Kat that I was so good, I didn’t even have to show him the girls to get into his pants. His hands slid inside the dress, tracing my spine from the small of my back to the base of my neck, and then his hot, wet mouth replaced the touch there while his hands went to cup my hips. The sensations were stunning, overwhelming, and I was certain that if I hadn’t been propped up against the wall, I might have swooned like an old-fashioned lady in a too-tight corset. Inside my dress, his hands moved from my hips, over my stomach, one settling between my legs. He traced his finger there, pressing his mouth to my ear. “You’re so wet for me.” I leaned my head back on his shoulder and barely managed to answer with a hoarse whisper. “Yes.” “I think my naughty girl needs to come,” he said, stroking me again. I gasped. Oh yes, she really, really needs to come. “I think the birthday boy needs to come, too,” I replied. Suddenly, his hands were everywhere, moving over my thighs, over my stomach. He moved them so fast it was like he was trying to make up for lost time in minutes, like he didn’t know where he wanted to touch next. I was the air he needed to breathe, the water he needed to drink. Those hands came up to my breasts and cupped them over the thick material of my bra. I took a deep breath and fought the urge to push his hands away. He rested them there, as if testing me to see what I would do. So against my instinct, I relaxed against him, my heart racing in fear mixed with anticipation. He moved his thumbs across my nipples and they immediately responded. I cried out, the feeling shooting through me so intense. Too intense. I arched against his broad chest and his hot breath scorched my neck. He was flame and I was paper. His touch immolated me and I felt light, like the fiery embers of paper ashes carried away on the wind. I wanted him—needed to accept him into my body, feel him move inside me, touch every corner and every hidden alcove, empty himself into me. We two needed to be one. One in desire, one in purpose, one in life. I backed against him, moving my butt against his erection. He sucked in a sharp breath. “I should spank that naughty little ass.” A dark feeling clutched at my throat. His words reminded me of the night we’d been together in Vegas —the last night we’d had sex, over five months ago. He’d spanked me then. But it had been out of anger,

frustration. I’d broken up with him without explaining anything to him. Guilt clutched at my throat. He’d hated me for it. Did he still hate me? Deep down? For everything I’d put him through? Could we just enjoy each other tonight and shove away the baggage? Could I make it up to him? I was determined to try. I turned my face to the side so he could hear me. “You can do anything you want. I’m yours.” His voice was a growl against my ear. “Say it again.” “I’m yours, Adam. Always.” His hands tightened on me and before I could check myself, I yelped in surprise. He immediately yanked them away from my breasts. “Shit, did I hurt you? I’m sorry!” I stifled a groan of frustration. “I’m fine. I’m okay.” He reached out and took the edges of my dress in his hands. My heart lurched. He was going to slip it off. I could barely contain my excitement, closing my eyes and tipping my head back. I was ready to lie back and enjoy the feel of his magical hands on me. Instead, he zipped the dress back up. Um. Fuck. I turned around and looked at him, frowning. We held each other’s gazes for a long, tense moment. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, backing away. “You didn’t hurt me. You just surprised me. I—It must be all the procedures and stuff. I feel very— clinical about my chest.” He nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “I got carried away. It didn’t even occur to me.” His mouth pursed in thought. I approached him and slipped my arms around his waist. “It’s okay. I’m fine. I—I really want to be with you tonight.” He hesitated, watching me. His eyes weren’t mirrors, they were vault doors, shut and locked tight to me. He frowned. “We probably shouldn’t. You aren’t—” I wanted to stomp in frustration. “I’m fine. The doctor says it’s fine as long as I’m feeling like it. Everything is fine. Adam, I want to be with you. I want us to make love. I know you want it, too.” He blew out a long breath, the furrows not disappearing from his forehead. He shook his head. So I took action. I stroked along his jawline, gently angling his head so I could kiss him. Pushing my tongue into his mouth, I felt his breath quicken, his hands coming up to cradle the small of my back. “I know you want it,” I whispered again. “Please.” And then I ran my hand down over his hard stomach and lower, fondling him through his slacks. Yeah, he was still hard. His brain was saying ‘no’ but his body was saying ‘yes’ and I was hoping that would be enough to persuade him. He sucked in his breath. I unbuttoned his pants and he put a hand on top of mine as if to stop me. But I didn’t stop and he didn’t say no. I unzipped him slowly while I kissed his neck. “Let me… please?” I sank to my knees in front of him, and he exhaled sharply when he saw what I was going to do. I took him into my mouth, opening for him and taking it in deep while I caressed him with my tongue. He groaned, putting one hand on my head, then the other. He didn’t pull or push me, but he slid his hands down to my neck, my shoulders. The lace scarf slipped off my head as I moved back and forth, my heart racing with his every heated gasp and groan. “Emilia…” he ground out. “Fuck.” I continued the rhythm I was building, closing my eyes, concentrating on sucking and licking in all the

right places. He put his hand on the top of my head and gently pulled away. Then he bent and picked me up, pressed me against him. My legs went around his hips and only the thin layer of my dress separated us as I felt his hardness rubbing against me. My arms locked around his neck and his mouth sealed on mine. He was carrying me to the bedroom. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the taste of his mouth, his tongue. I couldn’t get enough of him. My heartbeat was thready and rushed, and I could hardly catch my next breath. He stopped us at the edge of the bed, locked together at our mouths and hips. I couldn’t wait another second for us to be together. His hands were on my ass, tight and insistent again. Then he dropped us to the bed. If I’d been expecting it—and had prepared myself—his weight landing on me like that would have been no big deal. Hadn’t I been longing to feel his weight on top of me for months? But instead, it knocked the wind right out of me and I had to gasp to suck in air. Adam scrambled to the side as I fought black spots at the edge of my vision, unable to move. “Shit! Emilia…” I turned my head and opened my mouth once or twice before I was able to get my breath back. Blinking, I coughed. “I’m fine. I’m okay.” But he was pale and his forehead was beading with sweat. “I squashed the hell out of you. I’m so sorry.” I extended my hand to grasp his, but it was out of my reach. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine.” He reached out and cupped my cheek with a shaky hand. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. What the hell is wrong with me?” “Come here. Kiss me,” I said, trying to distract him. He looked like he was about to freak out. Instead, he rose from the bed and looked down at me, eyes still wide with concern We looked at each other for a long time. And I knew that our moment was over. We weren’t going to make love tonight. I sucked in a shivery breath and blinked back tears, pulling myself to a sitting position. Adam knelt in front of me, putting his hands on my waist as if he were checking for broken bones. When he gazed up into my face, he saw the tears that were leaking out. I felt like a miserable failure. “Please don’t cry,” he murmured, kissing me. “What’s wrong with us?” I asked in a squeaky voice. “We’re broken.” He sucked in a quick breath and shook his head. “No. No…it’s just—I’m worried about you. I don’t want to hurt you again.” “You’re not going to, Adam. I swear that I’m fine.” “When you are healthy… When we get home and you get the scan—” I pulled away from him in frustration, scrubbing the back of my hand over my cheeks. I stood and went into the bathroom. He followed me. “It’s how I look, isn’t it?” His mouth thinned. “No. You are beautiful.” I turned on the faucet and splashed water on my face. “You can be honest with me, you know. I can take it. You don’t have to spare me.” I blotted my face with a soft white towel while he watched me in the mirror. When I turned to go, he stepped in my way, wrapping his hands around my forearms so I wouldn’t move away. “You. Are. Beautiful. A head of hair doesn’t change that one bit.” I sighed and looked into his eyes. “I’m worried about us.” He smoothed my cheek and smiled faintly. “Don’t be. I love you more than ever, Emilia. I mean that.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. There was something he wasn’t saying. I was certain of it. But I didn’t want to fight, and I didn’t want to force something from him before he was ready to tell me. Maybe he was just worried about my health. God, I hoped it was something as simple as that. Because the

moment that scan came back clean, I was jumping his bones. I took in a deep breath and expelled it. “I’m so tired all of a sudden.” He relaxed a little. Relieved, apparently. “Me, too. I’m about to keel over onto the nearest bed.” I frowned. There were three bedrooms in this huge suite, all of them equally amazing and luxurious. “Please don’t say we need to sleep in separate beds.” He pulled me into a gentle hug. “I’m not going to say that. I want you in my arms tonight.” He wanted me in his arms. Sleeping. Nothing more. Project Seduction was dead in the water. Mission failed.

Chapter Thirty Adam I folded her in my arms, held her tightly—like she sometimes asked me to do. I noticed those were the times when she was feeling the most lost, insecure. And I cursed myself for not having sex with her tonight. It would have done good things for her self-esteem and body image. I’d certainly wanted her, too. But that moment of hurting her had snapped me back to reality, back to all the problems and doubts and worries. There was so much that needed to be covered first. What about birth control? I hadn’t brought condoms with me—though they’d have been easy to get here. But I hadn’t planned that far ahead, just assuming that things wouldn’t progress that quickly between us. I was still thinking of her as ill, weak, that semiconscious sick woman in my arms declaring she deserved to die… In the silence, I listened. She had long since started that slow, measured breathing of sleep, and I kissed her, laying my cheek against hers. I closed my eyes, replaying everything in my mind again—thinking about my colossal fuck-up and how it had only served to hurt her more. As if in that one split second, all the good of the night had been erased. But I couldn’t risk hurting her again. Not even the smallest hint of a risk. I fell asleep like that, with me wrapped around her. Like I was her coat of armor, protecting her. And I wished it could be as simple as that. But the truth was that sometimes I was her greatest threat instead of her protection. *** The next few days in Paris were wonderful. We took a long walk down our street, Avenue George V, with its iconic cafes, exclusive boutiques and stunning cars parked along the curb. I even suffered through a little her shopping on the Champs-Élysées, but since Emilia wasn’t a big shopper, I didn’t have to suffer long. We spent most of one day in the Louvre, where she got to study the Venus de Milo up close and in person. I’d been to the museum several times before, but what I found most enjoyable about this trip was that I got to watch her react to the priceless, famous works of art hanging on the walls before her. Emilia looked at the canvases, spending time getting perspective, sometimes taking steps back to look at them from another angle. And I spent that time watching her. They say that a person should visit Paris three times in their life—once when they are young, once when they have the money to truly enjoy it, and once when they are in love. I’d already checked the first two off my list. This time, it was like a whole new city to me, because I was seeing it through her eyes, and through the eyes of love. A sappy, sentimental thought so uncharacteristic of me. But one thing I’d learned in the previous few months of utter tribulation that we had gone through—happiness and love were fragile things. And we should be thankful for what we have when we have it. And to say I was grateful for having her in my life was an understatement. We spent one afternoon on a park bench in the Tuileries gardens, sharing a baguette and some cheese between us. “So, we have two more days here,” she said, munching the last of the baguette and murmuring regrets that it was gone. “Yep. We’ve ticked off your bucket list items. Anything else you can think of?” “Mmm. No. Not really. I’m just enjoying soaking up the ambiance of this place. I can see why they call it the ‘City of Love’. I still can’t get over how you ninja’d this trip on me. That was amazing.” “Well, Jordan helped.” She shot me a puzzled look. “Jordan? Really?”

“He’d been planning the trip for a while. When he heard about you getting so sick from the reaction to those meds, he insisted I take over his plane and hotel reservations.” Her faint brows rose. “So we are on Jordan’s trip?” “Well, kind of. I did a lot of tweaking to his plans but, yeah, more or less.” She expelled a long breath and looked out over the park. “I always thought he hated me.” “I think he hated the idea that I wasn’t going to be his wingman anymore.” “He sure tried to rope you back again…when we were broken up…” I shrugged. “I think he feels worse about that than I do, if that’s possible.” She turned to me, frowning. “Why do you feel bad about it? We were broken up. You went out on a date with someone else. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I shifted, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. I wanted to change the subject and opened my mouth to do just that when I realized that this was something we should talk about. We couldn’t avoid the subject of that dark time in our relationship forever. “It felt wrong,” I said. She watched me and I focused on the water basins, where laughing children were launching toy sailboats. “We both made a lot of mistakes,” came her soft reply. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to continue when I just wanted to shut this down. “I was angry. I went out on that date because I was just so pissed off at you. So clearly for the wrong reasons.” “I did stupid things because I was angry, too. I shouldn’t have broken up with you. I just—” She sucked in a breath suddenly, and I could tell she was getting emotional, but I didn’t stop it. This needed to come out and I had no idea how I knew that. Instinct, maybe? “I felt like you were being so demanding and unyielding, and it made me want to do the same thing. I thought that if I gave in…well, at the time it seemed all-important. Now, looking back, after everything, it was trivial bullshit that we could have worked out if we’d kept level heads and just talked.” I reached for her hand, closed it in my own. “We’re talking now.” “Yeah, I guess we aren’t complete idiots if we can actually learn from our mistakes, right?” I raised her hand to my mouth and kissed it. “What’s important is that we can learn from them and also move past them.” She looked away and I saw her visibly swallow. Her hand tightened around mine. “So you don’t think it’s too late?” “Would I be here if I did?” She shook her head, closed her eyes. “And you? Do you think it’s too late?” “I hope it’s not. I don’t trust what I think anymore because my judgment hasn’t been good for me up to this point.” “Hey.” I gently tugged her hand to get her to look at me. “We had a deal. No recriminations, self or otherwise. We move forward and we only look back to learn from our mistakes.” “Okay.” She nodded, the ghost of a smile hovering on her lips. “And when we get home…?” I inhaled a breath and held it. “When you’re better, and we know for sure you are healthy, then we’ll cross the other bridge when we come to it.” She looked at me with that same enigmatic smile that might have put the Mona Lisa to shame. “I’m really, really looking forward to crossing that bridge.” I grinned, a laugh slipping past my lips. “Me, too.” With that, we stood, discarded our garbage and walked back to the hotel, enjoying each other every step of the way.

Chapter Thirty-One Mia The night before we were to fly home, I found the courage to take a bubble bath in the enormous bathtub in our penthouse bathroom. It had a full window in front of it from which I could watch Paris below me. So I dumped a ton of bubble bath into the tub and let the bubbles rise up. I didn’t lock the door. I’d built up a wall of bubbles all around me so that if Adam came in, he wouldn’t see my ugly scars and tattoo marks. He’d just see a naked woman sitting in his tub. If I got lucky, he’d volunteer to join me. They had a special mechanism in the tub that kept the water warm so I could soak in there as long as I wanted. After spending over half an hour with my eyes closed, my head resting against a waterproof cushion, I heard steps in the doorway. “Have you shriveled up like an old lady yet?” “You should try it before you knock it.” “Hmm. So many things I could do with that.” “When was the last time you took a bath?” “I have no idea. I can’t even think of a time I’ve taken a bath since I was a little kid.” I turned around and looked at him. “Are you shitting me? Seriously?” “I’m seriously not shitting you.” “Then strip and get in here.” “Hmm. How do I know you aren’t just using this bath as an excuse to get me naked?” I laughed. I was extremely transparent these days, apparently. It had been way too long since I had seen him naked, goddamn it. And I didn’t want to leave the City of Love without a glimpse of my favorite sixpack and those muscular thighs—to say nothing of his butt. “Well, that’s not beyond the realm of plausibility. But until you’ve enjoyed the true luxury of soaking in bubbles, you can never understand.” “I’m just having a lot of fun standing here watching you enjoy it.” “Hmm. That sounds kinda pervy. I like that.” “I do have a pervy streak.” “I already knew that. Well, get over here and make yourself useful, then. I need my back scrubbed.” He took a step forward and I glanced down, noting that the bubbles had mostly flattened after I’d been in the tub so long and, thus, were no longer covering my breasts. “Wait! Turn around, please.” He froze. I could see his surprised profile in the mirror as I reached out, grabbed a small hand towel and draped it over the upper half of my body. He turned around, his features blank. “Okay, I’m good,” I said, leaning forward. With a little hesitation, he approached again. “There’s some soap over there, and a washcloth.” “As you wish, my lady.” I laughed, amused by the Princess Bride reference. I adjusted the towel against me and said in my best imitation of an English accent. “Farm boy, wet the cloth and wash my back. Every bit of it—please.” He did as I asked with a quiet, “As you wish.” He used the towel at first, and then his hands were on my back, sliding over my soapy skin. I let out a long breath, tantalized by the feel of his hands on me, even if just to clean me. After massaging my shoulder blades, along my spine and down to the small of my back below the waterline, he rinsed the washcloth and rubbed it over me again. “Farm boy, don’t forget my neck.” “As you wish,” he repeated, but instead of washing it, he kissed it. I tilted my head, giving him access to more as tingling energy sluiced through me. My body was alive and coursing with lust from his touch in

under five short minutes. When would it be time to cross that goddamn bridge again? Oh yeah, we hadn’t come to it yet. “So…you want me to wash your hair, too?” I opened my eyes. “Shut it.” “No, you have little teeny weensy hairs here. I see a couple. I could wash them. I think I could spare one or two drops of shampoo.” I blew out a breath between my lips and instead of retorting, I splashed him. “Hey!” He jumped back, but I scooped up more water and got him right in the middle of his chest. His shirt was now clinging to the muscles underneath. Oh, yummy. I should have done that a half hour ago. “Brat.” “Dickhead.” I splashed him again. “You’re wet now. Might as well get in here.” I punctuated this statement with another big splash. He stepped back and slipped on the floor, only barely recovering his footing before he fell. He pulled a couple towels off the rack and laid them on the floor, then fixed me with a grim look before his mouth turned up in a smile. He reached up and pulled off his T-shirt. Hell yeah. I wasn’t coy about watching him strip, either. His body was solid, muscular and beautiful. I sighed with just a little too much longing when he finally pulled off his jeans and boxers. “You’re quite enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” he said as he placed his clothes on a nearby chair. “It’s an amazing view. And I’m not talking about the Eiffel Tower all lit up outside my window.” He came over to the tub, and I reached up and lightly stroked his washboard abs. I’d missed that hard, flat stomach. He stepped over the side of the tub and sank down opposite me. I grabbed some more bubble bath, dumped it into the water between us and said, “You need some more bubbles to truly enjoy the bubble bath experience.” I opened the faucet, letting more hot water into the tub. I had to bend over him to reach it, but I made sure to keep my towel pinned securely to me. Adam’s dark eyes followed me and I leaned over him until the tub had refilled adequately, then turned off the water. Before I could lean back, he caught my arm and pulled me toward him and my mouth landed on his. I moaned as he plunged his tongue into my mouth. I fell against his chest, returning the kiss with about twice the passion he put into his—which was saying something because his kiss was far from chaste. But I was starved for him, and I wasn’t going to let him out of the tub without letting him know that. He reached up and put one hand on my back, the other against the towel I held to my chest. When we finally came up for air, he looked up at me and swallowed hard. “This isn’t easy,” he murmured. I shook my head. “Nope. It’s not.” The hand on my chest moved slightly to the side, as if he wanted to slide it under the towel. I pulled it tighter to me. Our eyes locked and I could tell he wanted it as badly as I did. “I want to touch you. I want to see you,” he said. I hesitated, freezing in sudden terror. I couldn’t let him see me. I was ugly, scarred. It would disgust him. He’d never want me. I swallowed the fear, but it rose up again immediately. Finally, I gently shook my head. He looked away for a stretch of minutes and sighed heavily. “Okay. I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want to do. But eventually…” I sat back, putting a little distance between us. “Eventually, I’ll get some reconstruction.” His eyes flew back to mine. “So I don’t get to see you until after that?” I didn’t answer. I had no answer. It wasn’t fair of me. I did want him to touch my breasts. But the fear was too strong. “What are you scared of, Emilia?” I took a shaky breath. “You have no idea what it’s like to go out in public at your side. You are perfect.

Everyone looks at you and they wonder what the hell you’re doing with me.” He frowned. “You think that if I see you, I won’t want you.” I nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly what I think.” “Yesterday at the park you said you don’t trust what you think anymore because you question your judgment. That’s about right because with this, you’re absolutely wrong. If I just loved the outside of you, then, you’re right, I probably still wouldn’t be here. I’d see only that your beautiful hair was gone or that you were sick all the time.” I lowered my gaze to the surface of the bubbles, his words stinging me. They were honest but they hurt. “But I don’t just love your hair or your beautiful skin, your breasts or your eyes, your body. Those are the bonuses and they will come back. I love you, Emilia. I love your heart, which is worried about me even when you are the one hurting. I love your brain—that we can have long conversations about things and you get it. You get me. I love your soul, which feels, sometimes, like it’s mine, only in your body.” It hurt to breathe as I sat there absorbing his words, the simple beauty of them stunning me to silence. For a moment, my mouth worked and then I began sobbing on the spot. His words were so honest—so unexpected. He moved forward and pulled me into his arms. I wept against his hard, naked chest, his warm skin against my cheek. But I still held that damn towel to me as tight as ever. I wasn’t brave enough yet. It was too scary. His arms tightened around me. He said he loved my soul, but he had no idea of the darkness lurking down in the depths. The wretched, horrid thoughts I forced down on a daily basis. The self-loathing. Yes, I was alive. But at what cost? Had it been worth it? I swallowed the sting of that hurt yet again and then turned and kissed his neck, his shoulder, his chest. I showered him with my love. The kisses weren’t meant to seduce or arouse, but to show him without words that I loved him, too. “I love you—so, so much,” I said. It wasn’t nearly as poetic or romantic as what he had said to me, but it was all I could choke out between whimpers and sobs. He held me to him until I stopped crying and for a long time after, the only sound the crackling of the bubbles and the movement of the water around us, echoing in the white marbled bathroom. I pressed my teary cheek to the damp skin of his shoulder and I felt calm, peaceful. When I spoke, it was with a quiet voice. “I’m scared to go home.” “Why?” “Because it’s been so magical here. Like a fantasy. Here, I have you all to myself. I don’t have to share you. I’m selfish, but I’ve loved every minute of it.” “You have all of me, all of the time.” No, that wasn’t true and he knew it. There, I competed with the job, the friends, all the perfect-looking women around him, co-workers, acquaintances. There, I had the constant fear that I would lose him. “You have me, too,” I said. “Always. Forever.” For as long as that happened to last. He kissed my neck and breathed against my cheek. “I need to tell you that I’m scared, too,” he said suddenly. I swallowed. “About the scan?” “Yes.” “I guess it’s easy for me to say ‘forever’ when that might not mean a very long time.” He pulled back and looked into my eyes. “None of us know when forever will end. It’s not just you. We never know. What makes forever worth it is each day we live and enjoy being with each other. Each day we make each other’s lives better.” My eyes dropped and he trailed the tears on my cheeks with his thumb, outlined my lips. I kissed his fingers as he moved them over my mouth. “So you know that my love for you is not about your looks anymore than yours is for me…right? Or do you love me just for how I look?”

I smiled, almost wishing I could make a joke, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment. “Hmm. I love the man who makes breakfast for me even when he can’t make toast without burning it.” He laughed, continued to trace his fingers over my mouth, my jaw. I closed my eyes, relishing the feel. “I love the man who signs his notes to me with a lopsided heart. I love the man who listens to songs only old people and hipsters know.” He barked out another laugh. I smiled. “I love the man who was there for me…all the time, even when I wasn’t there.” Silence again and the bubbles fizzed around us. Minutes later, muttering that I was turning into a prune, I carefully got out of the tub. He lay back and watched me cinch a fluffy terry cloth robe around me before finally dropping the now-soaked towel. I snagged the other bathrobe and laid it near, where he could grab it when he got out. “Hey, farm girl, what about me? Do I get my back washed?” I sent him a crooked grin and ducked my head. “As you wish.” But it was hard—damn hard, rubbing the soapy washcloth over his muscular back, down his trapezius muscles to his lower back along his latissimus dorsi, to his narrow waist. Oh God, he was just too sexy for his own good. And touching him had riled me up again. It wasn’t fair. I was healthy enough to have an over-the-top sex drive, but apparently not healthy enough for him until that clean scan came back. I sat back with a sigh of sexual frustration. “There. And now, I’ll be in my bunk,” I said. Adam laughed. Firefly was one of his favorite shows. I got up and went into the bedroom, where I sat in the dark and listened to him in the bathtub. The real reason I’d gotten out of the tub was that it hurt too much to keep hiding myself from him. I knew he’d wanted me to drop the towel and stop covering myself. I was hiding from him, in so many ways. Hiding from myself, too. I lay down on the bed and relived those beautiful moments with him where we sat together, where he told me I want to see you. I want to touch you. My daydreaming self was much braver than my real self, so in my fantasy I dropped the towel and he looked at me. And instead of the disgust I feared in his eyes, I only saw desire. Hot desire. When Adam was turned on, his dark eyes glowed with it. They were luminous, beautiful. Like smoldering coals. I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight, my heart racing with my own desire. I pictured Adam’s hands sliding up my waist, moving over my breasts. I remembered how it had felt the other night, his thumbs rubbing over my nipples repeatedly. Lust arced through me and despite the irony of joking that I’d be in my bunk, my hand went between my legs because the tension that had been building in me since arrival was now full to bursting and I couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn’t going to touch me until we knew for sure I was better. But I couldn’t wait any longer. I let out a little moan. It was my hand but I imagined it was his, and in the middle of my fantasy, I felt a weight sag the bed. I stopped, opening my eyes and looking up. Adam sat on the bed beside me, watching me. He’d never caught me in the act before, and in my daze I realized I should probably be embarrassed, but I was just too turned on to be. And the fact that he was sitting there, watching me, turned me on even more. He bent down and kissed me, took my hand and put it back where it had been, rubbing against my clitoris. His hand settled on top of mine, pressing it down. He began penetrating me, his tongue in my mouth and his fingers inside me. I cried out, but it was muffled by his mouth. When he pulled his mouth away, he was whispering things that made the nerve endings dance all over the surface of my skin. “You are so sexy, Emilia. My sexy, naughty girl. I want to watch you come. I want to hear you.” I gasped again. “I’m imagining you on top of me. Inside me.” He groaned and kissed me again, my mouth, my neck, my ears. He lay down beside me, his robe falling

open, and I could see the corded muscles of his chest, the edge of his tattoo peeking out from under the snowy white. “I wish you could fuck me, Adam. I want you so much.” “I want you, too. I want to pleasure you. I want to make you feel good. Do you feel good?” “Yes, yes, I feel good.” He moved again, pushing my legs open, and placing himself between them. My thighs pressed against his sturdy shoulders and he was licking me. I yelped and grabbed the headboard behind me, my eyes rolling back. It felt—So. Damn. Good. Every part of me was on fire and I was breathing so fast I couldn’t catch my breath. All I could feel was that point of my body where Adam’s mouth connected to me, his tongue penetrating, his mouth sucking. My back arched and I came so violently that my hips bucked off the bed and collided with his head. He jerked back and held me down, then put his mouth against me again, refusing to let up until the powerful convulsions had stopped and I was whimpering, begging for him to take his mouth away because the feelings were so intense they now hurt. My body was plunged into lassitude, every bit of tension wrung from it like a damp rag. I could only lie there and relish that stunning afterglow that had me flying so high. Adam straightened and looked at me, then ran a hand over my stomach before moving up to lie beside me. We lay like that for a long time, the tops of our heads pressed together but no other part of us touching. I reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing my fingers around his. Then he turned and said the most wonderful thing of all. “Don’t let that shitty voice inside your head tell you that you aren’t sexy. Ever. Because you are burning a hole right through me. And I love it.”

Chapter Thirty-Two Adam Two days after we returned home, Emilia went in for her scan. I could hardly breathe at all the entire day. And I had to sit in a waiting room in the hospital while she was gone for hours, much of the time locked inside a giant machine, keeping absolutely still. At least that’s how they’d explained it would happen. Since waking up that morning and getting ready, she’d been unusually quiet. Just before being called back, she had taken off the compass I’d given her—probably one of the few times it was ever off of her body, but she had been prohibited to wear or hold it during the scan. She’d pressed it into my palm and made me swear to keep it safe. I looked down into my palm now, studying the dark blue surface, the constellation outlined in diamonds. My throat closed with emotion and I stuffed it in my shirt pocket. I glanced across from me where Kim sat, paging jerkily through a magazine without reading it. My Uncle Peter had a hand on her leg, watching her with concerned eyes. My leg bounced up and down repeatedly. She was going to be okay. I’d repeated that phrase in my head a thousand times since waking up. It was my mantra today. The scans would come back clean and we’d be able to breathe again. If all it took was sheer thought power on my part, we’d have this in the bag. Because I’d dedicated every spare thought and feeling to this outcome for weeks. Peter looked up and we shared a glance, and then I shot out of my seat and went to the water cooler down the hall for what seemed like the twentieth time. Peter was beside me a minute later. “You okay?” he asked quietly. “Trying to be,” I answered. He put a hand on my shoulder. “You know you can talk to me whenever you need to.” I nodded. “Don’t try to be the strong, silent type here. I know it’s your personality. You’re just like your dad in that respect.” I shrugged and took a sip of water. “If you say so.” “Adam, I know we don’t like to talk about these things much. I know you and I have had some kind of silent understanding since you came to live under our roof, but—I just need to say this. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my son. I’ve loved you since you were born, and I was glad and fortunate to have been able to help raise you. Your dad was my favorite brother.” I laughed. “My dad was your only brother.” He grinned. “Details. But he wasn’t just my brother, he was my best friend. It was hard to lose him, but having you here, in my life…it’s like having him still. And I want you to know that I’m here for you. If you ever need to talk or…for whatever.” I set the cup down and looked at him. This was weird. Peter rarely talked to me like this. We’d always had a good relationship, but it had never involved much talking. I always knew that Peter got me on a deeper level than words ever could. He was the father I never knew. I smiled. “Thanks. I love you, too.” I reached out and clasped his shoulder. And to my surprise, he pulled me into a hug. Weirder and weirder. It was an awkward man-hug sort of thing, which involved some backslapping. Just when I deemed it appropriate to pull away, he turned his head and said quietly, “She’s going to be okay.” My breath froze and I stepped back. I looked away and nodded. I wasn’t the only one fixated on that hope, apparently. An hour later, she came out, fully dressed. She looked exhausted, with circles under her eyes, and I thought my eyes deceived me but she looked pale, too. She immediately asked me for her compass back. I

pulled it out and slipped it over her head. Kim and Peter said something about going out to get some lunch, but Emilia quietly shook her head and tucked herself under my arm, asking me to take her home. So I did. The next twenty-four hours were hell. This was the time it took to get her doctors to go over her scans in minute detail and determine whether or not the cancer was still in her, and God forbid, whether or not it had spread to other parts of her body. We spoke little. Watched a lot of television together. We made it through the entire fourth—and final— season of Farscape. We sat in the same lounge chair, my arms around her waist, her head on my shoulder. The next day when her phone finally rang, we both jumped. It was her doctor’s office. With a look of no small terror, Emilia answered. “Hey, Dr. Rivera,” she said, sounding completely normal, if a little breathy. Her hand reached out and clamped fiercely around mine. I sat beside where she stood and looked up in her face, hoping to be able to tell what the news would be. “Okay,” she said, darting a glance at me and then looking away. “Should I come in?” Another long pause. Her face showed nothing. She took a deep breath and the hand around mine squeezed tighter. I had no idea what that meant. “Thank you. Yes. Next week, then. Yeah—I’ll do that right away. Thanks.” She immediately clicked off the phone and I stared at her expectantly. Her mouth turned up. “No evidence of disease,” she said in a trembling voice. I shot up and pulled her into my arms, squeezing her tight. The air rushed out of me in dizzying relief. “Oh, thank God. Thank God.” I lifted her off the ground and twirled her around me. She laughed, her arms tightening around my neck. I kissed her cheek, her neck, her face, her ear. Wherever I could reach her, I kissed her. She laughed even harder. “You have to put me down,” she finally said. “I don’t want to put you down.” She laughed, turning her face to mine and planting a solid kiss on my mouth. “If you don’t put me down and I don’t call my mom in the next five minutes, she’ll come after you with a spoon to dig your heart out.” “Mmm.” I tilted my head to the side as if considering the risk versus the reward. “I guess I can let you down for a few minutes.” “I think we both need to make a lot of phone calls.” She walked over to her nightstand, grabbed up a slip of paper and then tore it in half longwise. “You take this half of the list and I’ll take the other. Let’s get this done quickly or we are going to be up until midnight.” I pulled out my phone and as silly as it was, we sat on her bed, side by side and made it through the list in just a few hours. When we were done, I sighed and flopped back on the bed. “We’ve got that Bay Island charity house tour thing tomorrow, but after that we need to do something special to celebrate.” She seemed to deflate at the mention of the benefit. I turned, propping my head up on my hand to watch her. “I hope you don’t mind. I bought some tickets for our friends. So there will be people that you know there—Jenna, Alex, Heath, Kat, my cousins…” She threw me a slanted smile. “We don’t need to crash your charity thingy with my nerd herd.” I laughed. “I thought you might be more comfortable if they were there.” Her lips pursed. “Actually, I was going to bow out of that, if that’s okay with you.” I didn’t say anything and she scrutinized my face. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” “I’d like you to go—to be by my side.” She hesitated and looked down for a long moment, then squared her shoulders. “Okay. I can do it for

you. I’m sorry. That hadn’t even occurred to me.” I did want her to go. But it was more for her good than for mine. She’d have to get used to being seen in public again. It had been easier for her in Paris, where everyone was a stranger. But work acquaintances and friends, apparently, were a much tougher crowd for her. I called up Sonia and asked her to come over, bring us a new batch of clothes and arrange for a makeup artist to come on the day of the benefit. The better Emilia felt about her looks, the easier it would be for her.

Chapter Thirty-Three Mia I was doing this for Adam. He wanted me there. I had to repeat that to myself several times the next morning when I wanted to hyperventilate and back down, the fear so strong it threatened to steal my breath. Hanging out with my friends in small groups was one thing. Even in public where the public was at a distance—like in Paris—that was fine. But here at his house, it was different. There would be people I’d worked with at Draco, and some of Adam’s rich and important friends. I’d decided to chicken out when the makeup artist had finished with my face. She’d done my eyebrows realistically and applied some lovely fake eyelashes—though my natural ones were almost all the way in. But nothing could account for the tiny bit of fuzz covering my scalp. We tried on three or four different wigs, but none of them looked right. I settled on one with a short bob cut, the hair similar to my own natural color. I was wearing a colorful dress that fit my standards—a high, scooped neckline. There was little to complain about, really, with my looks. Yes, I looked different, but I now looked better than I had in months. I clamped my hands over my knees, rocking back and forth. I didn’t want to go and there was no way I could force myself to do it. Not even with the lure of my friends, who had all been invited. I was going to cower in the house until the last possible minute and hope that eventually, they’d come inside and hang out with me while we watched the hoity-toity charity-giving crowd mill around the gardens, board the yacht and schmooze with Adam. There would be drinks and hors d’oeuvres on the lawn, and then the group would progress to a dinner at a nearby exclusive restaurant. Partygoers would tour the grounds and homes of Bay Island, including the downstairs of Adam’s house and his yacht. If I hid up in my room and locked the door, I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. Except disappointing Adam. And he was somewhere in the house, getting ready and totally unaware of the inner war I was fighting. I was terrified and I didn’t want the pity looks, or worse, the “why is he with her?” questions. And every time I thought about it, it made my throat close up more. When he came to get me, I didn’t move. “I’m sorry,” I said, yanking off the wig. “I can’t do this.” He sat down on the bed and looked at me. He was absolutely stunning in dark jeans, a white buttondown shirt and a black blazer. His beauty took my breath away. How could I stand next to that? I used to be able to do it, confidently. But not anymore. People would think I was his mother—or grandmother. “I’m sorry,” I repeated when he sat there, quietly watching me. “I was going to say that you look amazing. It would be an honor to stand beside you.” I rubbed my hand across my now fuzzy scalp. “I’m sorry. I just don’t—I—” “And all your friends? Heath, Kat and Jenna…I even convinced Liam to come by saying you’d like to see him.” “I would like to see him. Maybe they can come up here and hang out with me?” Adam clenched his jaw and put his hands on his knees but didn’t appear upset. “You’re going to have to jump back into the land of the living sometime, you know.” I looked away. “I know. It will be easier to do that when I have hair and a little excess weight on my body.” He sighed and stood up. “Okay. It goes without saying that I would like you to be down there with me,

but I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want to do.” I looked down, my face flaming with shame. “I’m sorry.” He bent and kissed the top of my head. “Don’t be. But if you are feeling better later, please come down?” “Okay.” He smoothed a hand over my cheek, smiled and was gone. And it felt like my heart was following him out the door because it suddenly hurt. I knew I was disappointing him, but I just wasn’t ready for this. As people started to arrive and progress through the homes, I had a prime 180-degree view of the garden from my windows, and I’d even adjusted them so that I could see outside without them being able to see in. Smart windows indeed! I sat in my window seat and saw faces—more I didn’t recognize than those that I did—of the people on the charity tour. Adam greeted every single one, shaking their hands, handing them off to the party planners, caterers or tour guides. In all, there were several hundred people in attendance. Jordan showed up with a gorgeous woman on each arm. One was a dark-haired, mocha-skinned beauty, and the other a voluptuous redhead in a tight dress. Two? Really? Typical Jordan. Kat arrived with Heath and Connor, all nicely dressed. I got excited, hoping that that they would come into the house and hang out with me. Instead, they all hightailed it to the open bar and got drinks. Sheesh. Nice to see I rated lower than a free cocktail. I pulled out my phone and texted Heath, but he never even checked his phone. He just sat with Kat at a table under the awning, just at the edge where I could see them, and they were soon joined by Jenna, Alex and eventually Adam’s cousin William. Soon I was aching with loneliness, up here all alone. But what the hell had I expected? I had chosen to exclude myself. I was like a little girl, pouting, sequestering myself, wanting to be a part of the party but not willing to do what it took. I had my face pressed against the glass when suddenly there was a knock at the door. I jumped up, hoping it was Kat. Looking down, I saw her shock of dark red hair next to Heath and knew it must not be her. Who, then? Had Mom and Peter slipped by without me noticing? I got up and opened the door and almost fell over in shock. Jordan stood alone with a drink in either hand. He held one out to me while he sipped at the other. “It’s mineral water,” he said. “You thirsty?” I reached out and took the cold glass with a shaky hand. “Yeah. Thanks.” “Can I come in?” “Aren’t you busy enough tending to your harem?” I said with a smile. He laughed. “Ah, you saw me arrive with two women. Nice. I hope everyone else thinks that, too.” I stepped back and let him into the room, sipping at the fizzy water he’d brought me and trying not to show my puzzlement that he was here. “Hey, uh, I wanted to thank you for the trip—” He held up his hand. “Do not say another word, okay? Adam footed the whole bill. He just took over my reservations. I was probably in over my head with that anyway. He did me a favor.” I nodded. “Okay, I won’t say another word. Except thank you, and that was incredibly sweet of you.” He threw me a look of exasperation and then went to the window to look out over the lawn. “Well, at least you’ve got a nice view from up here.” “Yeah, I’m hiding out. How did you know to find me here?” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Adam, how else?” I raised my brows. “Did he send you up?” Jordan laughed. “Hell no. He knows better than that. I came up because…well, I feel bad.” “What about?” He motioned me over to the window and pointed down into the yard. My gaze followed his hand and I

saw Adam talking to the redhead in the tight dress, one of the two women that Jordan had arrived with. She was stunningly beautiful, standing very close to him and gazing up into his eyes adoringly. Something tight and visceral clamped around my throat. Back off, bitch. And the thought startled me so much that I almost laughed. “Why is your date flirting with Adam?” “Hmm. She’s not really my date. I’ve been seeing the other one, her roommate, off and on. This one bought the tickets for the benefit months ago. Back when…well…let’s just say during those brief weeks when Adam was single.” I swallowed a huge lump in my throat. “That’s the woman he went out with, isn’t it?” Jordan shifted in his place. “Uh, yeah. I don’t think Adam even realized she was coming today.” My entire body tensed up. Sure, it was one thing to live with the idea that he’d gone out with someone else when I’d broken up with him during my emotional freak-out. It really hadn’t been wrong of him to go out with her. But to see her here, looking like that, and flirting with him like he was still available? No. Just no. That was not happening. “So, uh. I’m sorry about this. I just wanted to explain that. And you shouldn’t get mad at him.” I folded my arms over my chest, turned my back on the scene and sank onto the window seat, rocking back and forth, thinking. Jordan stepped back, watching me. “You okay?” “Not really,” I said through tight lips. “You sure you don’t want to go down there?” My jaw clamped shut. “Not looking like a circus freak show, no.” “Carisa’s a nice girl and pretty gorgeous, but I wouldn’t worry about it.” “Oh? Why shouldn’t I worry about it?” “Because he was never the least bit interested in her. I’m sure he’s even less interested now, if that’s possible.” I breathed in and out slowly. It was so weird even to be having this conversation with Jordan. The only reason I could think of was that he felt sorry for me. That kind of ticked me off. “So did you come up here because you were taking pity on me?” Jordan looked at me, his hazel eyes full of something—not pity. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought admiration. What the hell did he have to admire? “No. I told you. I just feel bad. That you are up here all by yourself. That I even brought her. I figured you might be able to see and I wanted you to know that it doesn’t mean anything.” I turned and looked outside again. They hadn’t moved. She was still standing inches away from him, right at his arm. Apparently, they had something to talk about. “Feel bad for Adam. His girlfriend is a coward.” “Hmm.” He took a long pull from his beer and glanced out the window again. “I haven’t seen anything cowardly from you for months. Quite the opposite, actually.” I was silent and Jordan turned back to me. “Besides…you could totally take her. I’d pay good money to watch that.” I burst out laughing. “You’re such an ass.” “Yeah. But I’m a loveable ass.” I nodded, agreeing. “Well, Marta’s going to be wondering where I disappeared to. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” I rubbed my temples with my fingertips, looking down at my pretty dress. “And stop thinking you are a coward. I’m sure everyone understands.” I looked up and actually felt a prick of anger at those words. Jordan’s gaze locked on mine, his mouth turned up at the corner. It was almost as if he knew that would piss me off, too. I clenched my jaw and

narrowed my gaze at him, and he only smiled wider. “See you later, Mia.” And without waiting for me to reply, he turned and left the room. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, I thought. I stood up and paced for a minute, then stopped and looked down through the window again. This woman—Carisa, apparently—was standing even closer to Adam and there were a few others in the group now, too. But Adam was still talking to her and practically ignoring all his other guests. Blowing out a breath of frustration, I walked over to the closet and pulled out a couple of boxes and some hangers full of scarves and threw them all on the bed and began rummaging. I was already decked out in this lovely floral dress—just perfect for a garden party—and I’d had my makeup professionally done. I just had to figure out what to do about this bald head. A wig? It would be the easiest solution, though the thought of sweating under it made me nauseous. A hat? On a whim, I had purchased a big floppy hat that, I guess, was fashionable. But it just wasn’t me. In the end, I grabbed a scarf that complemented the colors of my dress, went to the mirror and tied it in one of the ways that Sonia had showed me. It was what she had called a tichel knot, used by Orthodox Jewish women to cover their heads for religious reasons. It looked glamorous when done right and I’d practiced it enough. It looked almost as good as that black lace scarf I’d worn on that magical first night in Paris. I studied myself in the full-length mirror in the bathroom. Okay, I didn’t look terrible. But I did look like a bald woman who was hiding her baldness under a scarf. I fisted my hands at my sides, staring at my reflection. “You’ve got this,” I said. It felt ridiculous to say that aloud, but it also gave me some courage. I slipped on my shoes and before I could have any second thoughts, I went down the stairs and plunged myself into public sight as quickly as I could. The sooner I was seen, the sooner that whole awkwardness would be over with. There were a few people inside downstairs, ambling through the rooms, but no one whom I recognized. So I slipped out the back door toward the beach side of the house where Adam had been standing with the redhead—still—the last time I’d checked. My first obstacle proved to be a difficult one. A cluster of the dreaded interns from Draco—okay, there were only two, the two who had rich enough daddies to buy them the pricy tickets to the charity function. They drove BMWs to work and wore designer clothes and were only there to finish their internships for their résumés. Cari and April were two of my biggest nemeses in the marketing department, where I’d worked for months before quitting that awful day of the pregnancy test in Adam’s office. While I’d worked with them, they’d had no idea that I was in a relationship with “the boss.” They had proceeded to openly gossip and drool over Adam during every spare minute of their time. They even had a scale where they rated how good he looked on any given day based on what he was wearing. It was usually a nine or ten or even a ten-plus. Ugh. I hated them. And right now, they were on the porch staring at Adam, who was still chatting with the redhead, their heads pushed together. I halted, putting a big potted tree between them and me, trying to sum up my courage to walk past them. Standing this close, I couldn’t help but overhear what they were saying. Surprise, surprise. They were gossiping about Adam. “Oh, God,” Cari said. “If he looks over here again with those sultry dark eyes, I think I’m going to spontaneously orgasm.” “He’s so hot,” April concurred. “That chick he’s talking to is a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model.” “Well, considering that his girlfriend now resembles the walking dead, I don’t blame him. But—shit—I need to find a way to get under that man. Now that I’ve seen his house, I think I’ll die if I don’t get into his boxers.” “He’s very lickable but also pretty loyal. They are still together.”

“Loyal,” Cari snorted. “For now. A dog is loyal. A young, hot man like that? He’ll want a woman who can suck the paint off a—” “Maybe that’s why he keeps her around—like maybe she’s just really good in bed.” Okay, I’d been mortified before, but now I was just downright pissed off. With a deep breath and my hands fisting at my sides, I moved out from behind the tree. “Hey, Cari, hey, April.” They spun, both sets of eyes widening and both mouths dropping at the same time. Cari nervously twitched her huge mane of blond hair over her shoulders and glanced at April. “Hey, Mia! You’re here. We were wondering where you were.” April had the decency to just stand there and look completely mortified. “Uh-huh,” I said, then pretended to inspect my nails, which looked half-decent, considering they hadn’t grown in forever, but I’d had an expensive manicure recently. I turned and glanced in Adam’s direction. “Ten-plus today, I think. Of course, I think that every day.” Then I threw them a wide shit-eating grin. “Maybe it’s ’cause I have the advantage of getting to see him naked.” They exchanged uncomfortable glances and Cari was about to say something when I interrupted her again. “Oh, and with regards to what you were just discussing…I do more than blow a guy’s dick, girls. I blow his mind.” I gave them the once-over. “Excuse me. The walking dead like to feast on the brains of the living and there doesn’t seem to be much of a supply of those here, so…ta-ta.” I threw them a smirk and a mock salute, and April’s face went scarlet. I was feeling immensely proud of myself with each step I took away from them, but also increasingly self-conscious with each step I took toward Adam. He was once again alone with the chesty swimsuit model. She now had her hand on his arm and he didn’t move it away. So as with the two idiot interns, I pushed through my self-consciousness, fueled by my anger. I came up next to Adam on the opposite side of Ms. Tight Dress and bumped his arm with mine. “Hey,” I said quietly. His head jerked in my direction, his eyes widening and his even, white teeth gleaming from the huge smile on his handsome face. He pulled me into a hug and kissed me on the cheek. I took the opportunity to throw a curious glance at Jordan’s model friend over his shoulder. She was regarding me with equal curiosity. Adam whispered in my ear, “I’m so glad you’re here.” I turned and kissed him on his cheek and Adam straightened, turning to make introductions. “This is Carisa. We were just talking about you. Carisa, this is Mia.” Her mouth curved into a half smile. She looked like one of those people standing on the podium at the Olympics with a bronze medal around their neck, trying to look gracious while masking their disappointment and not quite succeeding. “Hey, Mia, nice to meet you.” “It’s good to meet you, too,” I lied. “So you came with Jordan?” “Yes, yes, I did. He’s been seeing my roommate for a while.” She and Adam exchanged a look, and then she glanced away with a smile that made my blood boil. I nestled myself closer into Adam’s side and he tightened his arm around me. I decided the best recourse was to ignore it because making a scene would just make everything worse. I turned to Adam. “How’s the tour going so far?” “Good. Better now.” He smiled. I grinned back at him. “Well, I’m glad I came down, then.” Carisa excused herself a few minutes later, claiming she was thirsty. I let out a breath of relief. Adam watched me watch her go. “So I take it Jordan told you,” he said in a flat voice. I shrugged. “I guess I needed some motivation to come down.”

He smiled. “That was very brave of you.” “I was getting sick of being a coward.” He kissed me on the temple. “That’s my girl.” I turned to him, gripping the lapels of his blazer in each hand. “I was thinking…you know it’s been over twenty-four hours since I’ve been declared NED. Do you think we can…cross a bridge tonight?” He immediately understood my meaning. With that delicious dimple that sometimes appeared at the side of his mouth when he smiled and a gleam in his eye, he looked out over the lawn and said, “I think that could be—very enthusiastically—arranged.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Good.” “Do you want something to eat or drink?” “I was going to wander over and say ‘hi’ to the friends. They were at a table, last I saw.” “Actually, I think they are hanging out on the yacht. I saw them go that way just before you came up.” I looked over at the boat. There were people on the deck. “Oh, really? Maybe I’ll take a look there, then.” “I think they’d be very happy to see you. The tour organizer wanted to speak with me briefly, but I’ll come over in a few.” I turned and planted a long kiss on his mouth and he pulled me tight against him. I sighed. It felt good. I’d wanted it. And a little public display of affection never hurt when there were hungry little interns or a swimsuit model waiting in the wings, ready to pounce. If I were a dog, I’d be peeing all over my tree to mark my territory. With that less-than-sexy image, I turned from him, a smile on my lips. It felt freeing to have fought my way through the fear of exposing myself because of my looks. The way that Adam looked at me, held me, kissed me in the middle of the crowd at his house party made me feel like the most beautiful, desired woman in the universe. And on the back of that triumph, I grinned and strutted my way over to the slip where Adam’s yacht was moored. We hadn’t been out on it in a long time because we’d feared that my nausea would only worsen out on the ocean. But I was looking forward to when we could go again. Maybe even take a long trip down to Cabo or over to Hawaii. The thought of it made my blood sing with joy. Weeks alone on a boat with Adam. I could go for that any day of the week and twice on Tuesdays. I found my crowd of friends all huddled around a board game at a table in the lounge. They were in the middle of a heated discussion over the rules when I slipped through the doorway. “I’m here to take your drink order.” Everyone looked up and Heath leapt to his feet. “Hey, hey, hey! Look who finally decided to make an appearance!” Alex bounced up on the other side of me. “She was just being fashionably late, Heath. And look at how fashionable she is.” Jenna and William hardly even seemed to notice that I’d arrived. They seemed embroiled in some kind of dispute over the rules. “I don’t see what the harm is. House rules can be a lot of fun,” Jenna said. “House rules are not allowed in the listed rules. Monopoly has been playtested and balanced in such a way as to provide the optimum game experience.” “Yes, that’s why they are called ‘house rules.’ And they can be a lot of fun! You really should—” “House rules disrupt the balance of the game and prolong it, especially that one you propose, about the money under Free Parking.” Jenna smiled wryly. “Why, William, I can’t believe that you have no interest in prolonging your pleasure.” Kat bust out laughing.

Connor stood up and gave me a hug, kissing my cheek. “How are you, Mia, darling?” “Darling?” Heath said, throwing him a cutting look. “How come you never call me that?” He shrugged. “She’s prettier than you are.” I giggled. “I hope to God I’m prettier than Heath, even without my hair.” “Is it growing back in yet?” Alex said, trying to peek under my scarf. “Hey! It took me a long time to tie that just right.” “I was telling everyone that I know how to do frenología—phrenology. My grandma was from Argentina. She showed me how to read head bumps.” “What the what?” I said. “No one’s reading my bumps.” “Except for Adam,” snorted Kat. I stuck my tongue out at her. “No, seriously, Mia. I could totally tell your fortune by looking at your head.” “Why not just use a crystal ball?” “Is there a big difference between your head and a crystal ball these days?” said Heath. I elbowed him in the stomach and he feigned doubling over. “Come on, Mia. Let me try it. We’ve all seen you bald, and since your hair is growing back, we might not have this chance again.” I sank into a chair between Jenna and Kat and looked across at William, who was meticulously packing up the gaming pieces and ignoring everyone else around him. “Hey, William. You okay?” He shrugged. Jenna leaned into me. “I’ve pissed him off, apparently.” “Don’t be mean, Jenna.” “She’s not mean,” William said without looking up. I scratched my head through my scarf. “Just take it off and let me read your bumps.” I sighed. “Jeez, Alex.” “Come on. I can tell you your future.” “She already knows her future,” Heath said. “Her hair’s going to grow back. She’s going to go to med school in the fall. In four years, she’s going to be Dr. Mia Strong.” “Not Dr. Mia Drake?” Alex said. I frowned. “Um, guys, you don’t need to talk about me like I’m not here.” “Hmm. What about Dr. Strong-Drake?” Heath said. Alex and Kat laughed. “That sounds ridiculous.” “You guys are all idiots,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just go by my first name, like Beyoncé or Adele. I’ll just be that awesome.” “Dr. Mia,” Alex said. “Let me read your bumps.” “Promise you’ll stop bugging me if I take this scarf off?” She nodded ferociously. “Yes. Yes. I promise not to be a pain in the ass.” “Too late,” said Heath. Alex flipped him her middle finger. Jenna’s eyes widened. “Holy crap, do not irritate the Latina. You’ll regret it, Heath.” Heath shrugged and everyone sat again. With a long-suffering sigh, I slipped my scarf off my head and let Alex look at it. “Oooh, how cute, you have little fuzzy hair coming in. It’s like baby chick feathers.” “Just read the bumps, for chrissakes.” “Okay, okay. I need to touch your head. Can I do that?” “Whatever. Just tell me my fortune.”

“Hmmm.” Her fingers flitted over my scalp and it tickled a little bit. I giggled when she placed a thumb on either side of my temple, then spread her fingers across my naked pate. Then, she stroked me as if she was petting a dog. Heath started to chuckle under his breath and Kat shushed him. “This part of your head here at the crown talks about your academic and career success. Yours rises very sharply, which says you will have a very long and prosperous career. You will be very dedicated to your profession.” “Wow, sounds like hard science to me,” Heath cracked, and now it was me who shushed him because I didn’t want Alex’s feelings to get hurt. “And this part, the widest part of the front of your skull, in between your temples, is about your love life. You will have a long-lasting pairing with the love of your life. Hmm. One marriage.” “We already know all this stuff,” said Kat. “We get it. She and Adam are mated for life. Now tell us something useful, like how many kids they will have or something.” My throat closed at Kat’s words. “That’s not—” “Oh! That’s right here at the base of the skull.” She ran her fingers along the top of my neck at the part of my head that formed the edge of my cranium. “Hmm. Two? Nope…one. Only one baby.” I jerked away from her, unexpected emotion suddenly slamming me against my chest. It was hard to breathe. “Okay, all done,” I said in a trembling voice. “But I haven’t—” “She’s done, Alex,” Heath said, watching me with concerned eyes. “I—uh—I gotta go find the bathroom,” I said, stumbling to my feet. I turned toward the doorway and saw Adam standing there, leaning up against the frame, watching me with his dark, serious eyes. Tears prickled the backs of mine and I swallowed fiercely. “Excuse me,” I whispered as I squeezed by him. Instead of heading all the way to the nearest bathroom, I jumped up the stairs and turned into one of the cabins, tucking in as the tears suddenly breached my eyes. I closed the door and sank onto the bed. Only one baby. I bent over, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes. I would not cry. I could not cry. I had to get over this. But how could I, when I’d vowed never to forgive myself? Long-suppressed grief clamped down on me. Grief I’d stuffed down so deep, hidden like bits of dust and grunge tucked so far under the furniture that they were never cleaned out, never saw the light of day. But it was there, selfhatred, self-judgment. I could have done things differently. I could have… Now, I had no idea if I would ever be a mother. Ever hold a child. But Alex, with her drummed-up fortune, seemed to confirm those doubts. That my chance—our chance—had come and gone. A minute later the door opened and I knew who it was, so I didn’t bother to look up. Adam sank down on the bed beside me and hooked an arm around my shoulders. He didn’t speak, just pulled me against him. I wouldn’t weep. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t allow it. I’d stifle it, refuse to let it out. I could be strong. I couldn’t let him see this. I would ignore the fact that I absolutely loathed myself in this moment—and probably always would.

Chapter Thirty-Four Adam “Do you want to talk?” I whispered. She shook her head. She was shaking in my arms but she didn’t cry. That was a good sign, at least. Wasn’t it? “Tighter,” she whispered. I lowered my arms around her waist and tightened my hold around her torso. “Talk to me,” I urged quietly. She shook her head. “I’ll be okay. She just caught me by surprise.” “Emilia—” “I’m fine,” she countered. “See?” She pulled out of my arms, running the backs of her hands over her eyes—and in the process smearing her mascara. Leaning back, she looked into my eyes. She wasn’t crying. But the pain was there, deep and lurking behind the fake smile hovering on her mouth. I rubbed my hand along her back. “Have you thought about…finding someone to talk with about all this? Like your oncologist suggested?” She stiffened, staring at the ground, and I saw the color wash out of her face. “No.” I swallowed, suddenly clueless and afraid of how to proceed. “But it might help—” “Do you think I’m screwed up?” My jaw tensed and then I relaxed it with a deep breath. “I think you’ve been through a lot in a very short amount of time.” She turned and looked at me. “I can handle it. I’m tough. I’ve been through shit before. I’ll bounce back.” Something dark and heavy weighed down on my chest. I wished I could be as optimistic. But I had no reply for her. I couldn’t force her to get help. I hoped in vain that she was right about bouncing back. She didn’t remember it, but I did—that firm declaration that she deserved to die because of what she’d done. Every single time I thought about that moment, it gutted me, rendering me powerless. I watched her carefully. She was dabbing at her eyes again. “I just need a little time.” “Okay.” I swallowed. It was easy to see that she had herself tied up in knots emotionally and I had no idea whatsoever how to help her. This didn’t bode well. She was physically healthy again, but in all the time we had concentrated on her healing from the cancer, had we neglected some other important components along the way? “It will be okay. We’ll be okay,” she said in such a way that it sounded as if she was convincing herself as well as me. I smoothed my hand along her cold cheek. Deep down it felt wrong, shoving this aside again, as we had for months and months. This was wrong. “Mia, at least talk to me. Tell me what you are feeling.” She shook her head again. “I’m okay. I promise…it was just a brief thing that I wasn’t prepared for. Next time…” Her voice died out as if she realized how ridiculous her words sounded. “There will be a next time, and one after that. This won’t go away if we just ignore it.” She nodded, avoiding my eyes. “You’re right. We shouldn’t do that. But let’s just give it a little… time?” Abruptly, she stood and went into the cabin’s bathroom. She spent a few minutes wiping off her smeared mascara from the suppressed tears. Because that’s what she was doing—suppressing her pain. Burying it under a brave face.

I was one hundred percent certain that this was going to bite us in the ass. And I had no fucking idea how to deal with it. Or even if there was a way to deal with it. When she came out, she was looking a little paler than normal but otherwise fine and acting like nothing had happened. This did not reassure me. “I’m so pissed I left my scarf behind.” I pulled it out of my jacket pocket. “I grabbed it for you.” She grinned a grin that didn’t reach her eyes, bending to kiss me on the cheek. “Now I know why I keep you around, boy genius.” She tied her scarf back on and stuck by my side for the rest of the party. At the end of the event, we stood at the end of the footbridge with the other homeowners, bidding everyone goodbye as they went off to the charity dinner. It was getting dark when we walked back to the house together. She held my hand, firmly lacing her fingers between mine. I remembered that she’d intimated that she wanted us to be together tonight, and I stole a glance at her bowed head as she picked her way back in the dim light. I was feeling tired, as usual, but if I put her off, she’d get insecure about it and take it as a personal rejection. Maybe the encounter with our friends had changed her mind? She’d seemed quieter than normal since it had happened. We came upstairs and there was an awkward moment at the top when we hesitated near the doorway to her room. She turned and looked at it and then looked back at me. She swallowed. “How much longer are we going to do this, do you think?” “Do what?” I asked. “The separate bedrooms.” I ran a hand over my jaw. “You want me to come sleep with you tonight?” She turned and wrapped her arms around my waist. “I want to do more than sleep.” I almost made up an excuse. I was still so worried about her, but then she was kissing me on the neck and it felt so damn good. And for God’s sake, it had been five months since we’d had sex. My starved body was responding instantly. I’d probably have to have been half-dead not to respond to her. She stepped back from me and said, “Meet me back here in ten minutes? I want to change into something.” “Come find me in my room, then,” I said. “I’m going to take a shower.” She smiled. “Okay.” My mind raced the entire time I was in the shower. Certainly, most of it was dedicated to the happy thoughts that I was going to have sex again after such a long dry spell, but the small part of my brain that could still think rationally was worried. Was she ready? She’d insisted over and over again that she was. Physically, maybe. But what about emotionally? And she still felt so frail in my arms, the thought of being on top of her scared the shit out of me, like I’d break her in half or something. But I was desperate to find a way to make this work because I knew when I got out of that shower, she was going to be there. I had to think fast. I came out of the bathroom with my towel around my hips. The lights in the bedroom had been dimmed —her doing, because they had been perfectly normal when I’d gone into the bathroom. She was on the bed, laying crossways with her elbows on the mattress, her head in her hands, watching me. She had on a silky blue nightshirt edged with lace. It completely covered her on the top but ended right below her hip, showing every delicious inch of her long, lithe legs. And she had a matching beret on her head to cover the baldness—not that she needed to. She usually didn’t bother to cover her head when it was just us at home, but if it made her feel sexier, then I guess whatever worked. “Hey, gorgeous,” she said, her eyes running down my chest with open admiration. “You come here often?”

I stopped in front of her and smiled. Those long, silky legs, bent at the knee with her feet up, that beautiful smile and that open look of lust in her eyes as she watched me was enough to turn me on. Hell, a stiff breeze would probably turn me on these days. “Hey, beautiful, I’ll come here often—with you.” She wrinkled her nose at me and laughed. “That was baaaaaad.” I sat down on the bed beside her and ran a hand over the silky material on her back. “I know.” She angled her head around and started kissing me on the chest. My heart started to race. I closed my eyes. Her touch burned me and it felt so damn good. She sat up, her face even with mine. “I picked this out myself. Your favorite color.” Our gazes locked. “Yes, I noticed. Very, very nice.” She leaned forward and kissed me and I reached out, holding her mouth to mine. Soon my cock was straining against the towel with a painfully aching hard-on. My body was one hundred percent on board with the idea of sex tonight, but as I held her to me, I couldn’t help but continue to worry about how this would work. I feared hurting her again like I had in Paris, not even realizing that in my desperation to have her, I was holding her too tight—or worse, crushing her. In the shower, I’d thought of a solution for tonight, but I didn’t know what she’d think of the idea. I pulled back from her and she looked up at me, an expectant smile on her luscious mouth. “I was thinking of maybe trying something a little different tonight.” I began. She raised her thin eyebrows. “Oh? Our first sex in almost half a year and you want to do something different?” I had to do this carefully, so she wouldn’t get self-conscious. “That night in Paris, I hurt you completely unintentionally—” She put a hand on my cheek. “You need to stop worrying about that.” “I’m not going to stop worrying about it. You’re lighter than you were. I’m just… I don’t want to get rough with you. I think it might be best—and even fun—if you are on top.” She laughed. “That sounds great, but it’s not like that’s new for us.” “Well, what’s new is I was thinking you could tie me up.” She paused. “Say what?” “You could tie my hands to the headboard.” Her mouth dropped open. “Why do you want me to do that?” “You don’t think it might be fun?” “I’m not saying I don’t think it will be fun, but…” “Well, if I’m tied up, then I won’t get…overenthusiastic.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “You are really that worried about hurting me?” “Yes.” She blinked. “Okay. I’ll tie you up. To be honest, that is more than a little hot. And then sometime soon you can do the same to me.” “That’s more than a lot hot,” I leered at her. She stood up and her legs were so sexy in that short nightie. I was already envisioning them wrapped around me as she rode on top of me. Shit, this hard-on was starting to hurt. She turned back to me. “You have handcuffs or something?” I shot her a weird look. “No. Use one of my ties. In the closet.” “You want me to tie you to the bed with a five-hundred-dollar tie?” “The sacrifice won’t be in vain.” She laughed and shrugged, disappearing into the closet and coming out with three ties in her hands. I raised my brows. “Just how overenthusiastic do you think I’m going to be?” “You could be like some sort of sexual Hulk, turn green and break out of your bonds and chase me

down.” “I have a feeling you aren’t going to run far.” “Nope, probably not.” She tied a loop with the skinny end of one of the ties and asked for my wrist, which I gave her. She put it into the loop and then pulled my arm back toward the headboard. “So do I tie your wrists together or apart?” “I don’t care.” “You know, figuring out the logistics of this should probably be killing the mood, but it’s just making me hotter.” She pulled the other end of the tie to the headboard, above my head. I lay down and she tightened it, so that my arm was extended above my head. She grabbed another tie and did something similar with my other arm. By the time she was done with that, she was flushed and breathing fast and I was more than a little turned on myself. She ran her hand down my arms. “I love your arms. Sometimes I get turned on when you are fully dressed but you have your sleeves rolled up. Your forearms are so sexy.” I laughed. “My forearms? Really?” She ran her hand over them appreciatively again, as if admiring artwork or craftsmanship. “I love your body. And your arms are amazing. Strong forearms, your biceps…firm, powerful, but not bulky.” “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” I said, my eyes half-closed, utterly relishing the feel of her hot hands on me. “Oh, I have. I do. Early and often.” She bent over me, checking the tightness of the knots holding my arms above my head, and her breast grazed against my cheek. On instinct and out of pure lust, I turned and caught her nipple in my mouth, sucking it through the thin silk of her shirt. She let out a loud gasp and froze. I didn’t release my hold and she didn’t pull away. With my tongue, I traced her nipple, sucking more of it into my mouth. It hardened to a tight point. Panting on top of me, she pulled back and straddled me. Then she bent to kiss me first on my mouth, then my neck and chest. She ran her hands over every inch of my chest and stomach. “You are so incredibly sexy. It pisses me off when women look at you, but how the hell can they help themselves?” I laughed. “You’re going to give me a big head.” She snorted, her hand gliding over the towel still knotted around my waist. “I think I already did,” she said, fondling me. I closed my eyes, and as if she were reading my mind, she slipped her hand under the towel and grasped me, stroking with her fingers. Electric pleasure crackled down my spine. I wanted this so badly I could hardly breathe. I opened my eyes and looked up at her. “Kiss me,” I said.

Chapter Thirty-Five Mia I undid the towel from his waist, then explored him everywhere with my hands before taking his silkysmooth length in my hand again. Firmly I stroked him, relishing the sound of his hoarse gasps. His eyes tightened again. “Kiss me, Emilia,” he demanded again. Trust Adam to try to take over even when he was tied up and I was on top of him. I decided to torment him with my hands for a little while longer before finally leaning forward. He pulled his head up and caught my mouth with his, groaning. His tongue plunged into my mouth urgently, moving in and out quickly as if showing me how he wanted to penetrate me in other ways. My body sang in response, completely aroused and ready for him. And since he was under me and totally at my mercy—and quite obviously ready—there was no time like the present. I scooted down over him so that our hips were even with each other, thinking we could start with a little rubbing— He stiffened and pulled his mouth away from mine. “Stop!” he almost shouted. It startled me so I sat back and looked at him. His eyes were wide. “Am I hurting you?” “No,” he said and took a long breath before letting it go tightly. “We need a condom.” “Oh…yeah. Shit. Yeah, we do.” We’d never used them before, but for obvious reasons that was no longer going to be the case. For the rest of my life, I was banned from using any sort of hormonal birth control. He looked at me, exasperated and a little angry. “I’m sorry, it didn’t even occur to me. That was dumb. I didn’t buy any.” His mouth thinned. “Under the sink in the bathroom.” I did not want to know why he had condoms in the house. I’d seen the box there before when I lived here and assumed they’d been from his swinging single days. He’d told me he hadn’t been with any other women since before we got together, but sometimes the uncertainty of those days when we were apart got to me. Adam had never lied to me and I trusted him. But often it was easy to let my own insecurity whisper doubts into my ear. I slumped, got off the bed, went to the cabinet he referred to and saw the box. It was one of those jumbo packs with a hundred or more inside. And it was half-empty. Shit. Don’t think about it, Mia. Don’t think about all the women he’s been with before—about how much prettier and healthier and more experienced they were. Adam hadn’t been with another woman in over a year. Why should I still care? The thought still stung, but I willed myself to build a bridge and get over it. I plunged my hand into the box, grabbed a handful and came back. It occurred to me that I’d never used one—never learned how to use one—and his hands were tied up. I put the handful on the night table and grabbed one of them. Glancing down, I saw that he was still erect. I bent over and kissed his mouth. He enthusiastically returned the kiss. I peppered some more kisses on his chest and leaned back, tearing at the foil wrapper. “Here goes nothing…” I murmured and he watched me carefully. I pulled out the condom and put the wrapper back on the nightstand. “Wait—” he said. “What does the date say? That box is at least two years old. Are they still good?” “Do condoms come with an expiration date?” I said, and he only answered me with a glare so I shrugged and looked at the wrapper. The date on it was sometime next year. “Yep, we’re still good.” “Let me see it.” Puzzled, I held out the wrapper for him to see. Apparently he didn’t trust me to read the date? I’ll admit

that sometimes I forgot things or said stupid things due to chemo-brain, but I wasn’t that far gone. “Okay,” he finally muttered. He didn’t look happy. I frowned at him. The look in his eyes could only be described as intensity tinged with a little fear. What on earth did he have to be afraid of? I took the condom and placed it against the tip of his cock, hoping the thing would unroll easily because doing this now was turning me on again and I really wanted to get to it. Adam watched every move I made like a hawk, though not with an expression of arousal but as if he was afraid I’d make a mistake. I was aware of my first mistake when it wouldn’t unroll as easily as I thought it should. I put my other hand to the task. Many couples didn’t like using these things. They certainly killed the mood and the spontaneity of being together. Sighing, I began to feel frustrated. “You’ve got it upside down,” Adam observed. “Flip it over.” I did as he asked and it unrolled easily, I pulled it down, all the way against the base of him. Then I ran my hand up and down his length. I could tell it turned him on, but he didn’t take his eyes off what I was doing. “Be careful, you don’t want to tear it.” “Do they tear that easily? What’s the point if they do?” I got up to swing my leg over him again when he moved his hips away. “Wait…” “What now?” “I don’t want to take a chance with that one tearing. Put another one on top of it.” I paused. I’d never heard of that before. Then again, I’d only ever had sex with Adam, so what the hell did I know? Apparently, he was all kinds of experienced—even with some of the kinkier stuff, too. My pointless jealousy rose up again. This was starting to piss me off. “Will that work all right?” I said, reaching for another condom and pulling it out of its wrapper. “If one tears, the other will hold. The odds of them both tearing are much less.” “But…won’t they just rub against each other and cause more friction?” He started to tug against the ties holding his arms. “Untie me. Let me do it.” He gave another jerk, almost frantic to be untied. “Hold on…wait. Let me get it.” But he was yanking again, almost panicked now. “Wait, Adam. Let me untie it. Hold still.” He visibly swallowed as he watched me, and it was the first moment where I realized that it was more than that small fear I had detected in his eyes earlier. He was downright terrified. I untied him and he sat up, rubbing his wrists. Judging from the marks around them, he had pulled pretty damn hard to get out of his bonds. I sat back, suddenly too worried about him to care that we probably weren’t going to go through with this now. He pulled off the condom and wrapped the towel around himself again. Tears clogged in my throat. “I’m sorry…I screwed that up, didn’t I?” I said in a quiet voice. He shook his head. “No.” He leaned forward and put his face in his hands, and I watched him for long, silent, tension-filled stretch of minutes. “What the hell just happened?” I asked, my throat tight. He didn’t answer, just ran a hand through his dark hair while focusing intently on some spot in front of him on the bedspread. He’d actually been afraid, panicked, terrified of something. I thought back through it all. His reaction when he’d thought I was going to proceed without a condom. The insistence on looking at the date to see if they were still good. Then the suggestion to double the layers. I sucked in a long and painful breath. When I spoke, my voice was trembling. “You’re afraid I’m going to get pregnant again.” He abruptly stood up from the bed and went into his closet. When he came out, he was dressed in pajama pants and a T-shirt. I hadn’t moved. And when we looked at each other, I knew that I had hit the nail right on the head. He didn’t deny it.

My breath rushed out of my lungs and I wasn’t certain I’d be able to draw another.

Chapter Thirty-Six Adam I watched as her face clouded, like a storm suddenly sweeping overland. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked. But I had no words. And even if I had them, what could I say? She was absolutely right. I was fucking terrified to touch her. The thought that I might get her pregnant again not only petrified me, it made me nauseous. Finally, I looked away. I couldn’t watch as her heart broke, knowing that I was the cause, however unconsciously. The silence in the room was deafening—like a distant ringing that buzzed in my ears. I looked back at her. Her eyes were damp, focused somewhere between us. I clenched my jaw. There was nothing I could say right now to comfort her. And part of me didn’t even want to. This was the harsh reality of what she had tried to avoid earlier—when she’d insisted over and over again that she was fine, that she was tough, that she could get over this by herself. It was best this came out now. But I honestly had no idea how we could possibly resolve it. Suddenly she stiffened, as if she was tired of waiting for me to say something. Biting her lip, she stood up. “I’ll go sleep in my room,” she said in a shaky, quiet voice. I watched her go and I didn’t move a muscle. The minute she disappeared into her bedroom, I ran a hand through my hair and began to pace. My mind whirred through everything that had just happened, every thought that had gone through my head. The moment that everything had snapped for me was the minute when I’d thought she was going to initiate sex without even a thought about the lack of birth control. Things slipped her mind a lot these days. She’d forget things or do things she’d just done over again without realizing it. It was a side effect of the drugs she’d been on. I could have just as easily attributed that to this—her almost starting sex without thinking about a condom. But it had been reckless, dangerous. It could have killed her. I could have killed her. Or brought her cancer back. Just by having sex with her. Just by getting her pregnant again. I buried my face in my hands, a sense of helplessness smothering me. Then, I heard her walk down the hallway toward the stairs. I could let her go, or we could talk this out. I could convince her that she needed to talk to someone. And who knows, maybe I did, too. Because goddamn. The weight of our baggage was finally beginning to bury me, and I could see no way out except to suffocate under it. I moved to the stairs, half the length of the stairway behind her, calmly following her. She had changed from the silky nightshirt into some yoga pants and a T-shirt. Turning her head slightly, she seemed aware that I was behind her but did not speed up to avoid me as she moved to the side door, opening it and leaving it ajar for me to follow her. As I was still approaching the water’s edge, I saw her sit down in the sand and hug her knees to her, burying her face against them. When I got closer, I could hear her quiet, weak sobs. Each one sliced right through me. I stood inches from the spot where, a few months ago, I’d kissed her so tenderly…where she’d questioned our future. I had silenced her then, so intent on one thing and one thing only—her survival. Perhaps that moment had cost us our survival as a couple. I swallowed, my throat suddenly feeling thick. I had no idea what I could say to her. So I let her cry until she calmed down. I slowly sank to the sand a short distance from her.

Finally, after an endless period of sobbing, she quieted, rubbing her cheeks against her pant legs. Wearily, she lifted her head and with a sniff and a hiccup, she spoke in a quiet voice. “I should go,” she said. “I should let you get on with your life.” That tightness in my throat threatened to strangle me. Because I was beginning to think that maybe this was the only solution.

Chapter Thirty-Seven Mia I waited amid the thick tension between us for him to respond. And as each second stretched on, it became more likely that he’d agree with me—that I should go. That this was the only option for us. And that scared me most of all. I’d finally had the cry that I’d been craving since that afternoon—since Alex’s pronouncement that Adam and I would have one child and one child only. Because I knew—and he knew—that we’d already endured that secret, shameful loss. All I could feel was this void, like my chest had been ripped open, my eyes sore and my head aching. I breathed again, those painful, shallow breaths. I should let you get on with your life… He took in a shaky breath. “What makes you think I have a chance in hell of doing that without you?” I gulped in air around a hiccup. “I’m starting to think we might be broken beyond repair.” He shifted beside me. “Sometimes I feel like there hasn’t been better communication between us than there is now. We talk about everything. We don’t keep secrets. Except the one.” “I’m not keeping a secret from you,” I said. “You are. Maybe you’re also keeping it from yourself.” I turned and looked at him. He was looking out over the water, his hand sifting absently through the sand. “I have nothing to hide.” He tensed, jerked his head toward me. “Really? No self-loathing? All the blame you’ve taken on yourself. The guilt you’ve buried so deep it almost threatened your life—” I stood up in a huff and looked down at him. “You’re projecting, Adam. I’m fine.” He didn’t move, kept his gaze out over the water while I stood looking down at him in the dim light. I crossed my arms over my chest. The cool sea breeze ruffled over my bald scalp, making me regret not having pulled on a sweatshirt. I clasped my upper arms tightly, growing impatient. “You were practically catatonic—for days. No talking…you turned your face to the wall, hardly ate a thing…” “How can you blame me for that? It was a shitty time—” “I agree. But you wouldn’t let anyone in to help you. You deliberately increased your own suffering. You refused the pain medications. Why did you do that?” My breath squeezed out of me like I’d just been punched in the gut. Suddenly, I was shaking. I sank into the sand beside him again. I didn’t have an answer for him that he didn’t already know. I’d insisted on feeling every cramp, every ache, every bit of the pain. It had been my way of acknowledging the potential life that I was ending. But Adam wasn’t about to let me off the hook. After minutes of silence, he turned and pinned me down with his black eyes. “Why, Emilia? Tell me.” “You already know why, apparently.” “Do you?” I leaned away from him. “That was months ago and I was going through hell.” He looked away. “We both were, but that gets lost in the shuffle.” I reached out and touched his solid arm on which he was leaning. My hand closed over it. “I never want you to think I don’t acknowledge that this was your loss, too.” “What about the blame?” My jaw dropped and my mouth worked. His eyes were hard, accusing. “I—I’m sorry I got pregnant. It was my fault—” “Wrong.”

I breathed in, a vice tightening around my chest. That pain was back and increasing. “I don’t blame you —you didn’t know I’d gone off birth control. I didn’t tell you. It is my fault. Everything is my fault.” “Why not blame yourself for getting cancer, too, while you’re at it? You’re going to punish yourself. Like refusing the meds, you’re going to keep this poison and darkness inside and never let anyone help you—because you never let anyone help you. You’re going to hide yourself from everyone—from me. Like the scars on your chest.” Tears sprang from my eyes and I shook my head. “You’re not being fair.” “Neither are you. It takes two people to conceive a child, Emilia. I was there, too. I put you in that situation. And I know about the guilt and self-loathing you feel because I feel it, too.” I put my head in my hands, resting my elbows on my knees. Adam made no move to comfort me, and I couldn’t tell if he was angry, frustrated or just scared. “I’m sorry…” “No. Stop it. I don’t want to hear that from you. Life happened. Shit happened. You made the decision that saved your life and now you torment yourself for it. You’ve built a prison for yourself and I’m afraid that you’ll never let anyone in to break you free.” I shook my head, denying his words. “You have. You told me as much, that night you went to the hospital—” He cut himself off, as if he’d said something he instantly regretted. He jerked his head back and turned to look out over the water again. “What did I say?” He closed his eyes, squeezed them tight and then took in a shivery breath. He looked as if he was moments away from breaking down himself. “Please…tell me.” His jaw tensed and he didn’t look at me. “You said that…that you didn’t want to die but you were probably going to…that—” He straightened, tensing, as if fighting his own grief with everything that was in him. “That you deserved to die because of what you did…” His voice trailed off, swallowed in emotion. He reached up and angrily swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and I sat back, flabbergasted. I’d said that? I stared at him, utterly overwhelmed at what he must have gone through then. The feelings he must have felt—the thoughts that must have run through his mind when I’d said it. He’d been in fear for my life, carrying me, barely conscious, to the ambulance, staying up with me all night in the hospital with my words running through his mind on repeat. “Adam, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so sor—” “Stop it!” he practically shouted in my face and I jumped, pulling back. His fist slammed down in the sand. “Goddamn it, Emilia, if you say you are sorry one more time…” I held my hand up. “I’m afraid…how about that? I’m afraid about what this has done to us. I’m afraid we don’t know how to fix this.” “I’m afraid to touch you.” That hung in the air, thickening it with tension. My mouth opened to reply but nothing came out. He shook his head and eventually continued. “I can’t go through that again. I can’t watch you go through that again. Every time I touch you—every time I want you, I’m scared shitless that I’m going to put another baby in you and it’s all going to happen again.” “It doesn’t have to happen again. We’ll be careful…” “We need help. You need help. Professional help.” I sat back on my haunches and looked at him. “I’m not—” “You said you didn’t deserve to live. You need help that I can’t give you.” “Will that make a difference?” I asked in a tiny voice. “Will it even begin to eliminate the baggage we are carrying?”

He looked away and shrugged. And that shrug did more to me than any of his words previously had done. My gut sank. I felt like I was suffocating. Adam had lost hope. He no longer believed that we could be fixed. This realization shook me harder than anything because, since the beginning, he had always believed in us. Long before I had ever thought it possible, he’d believed. He’d pursued this relationship because he’d known we were right for each other. He’d known what he wanted. He’d always been so sure of us. But, apparently, not anymore. “You’ve lost hope,” I said quietly. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just feel empty right now. We’re human. We can only take so much. And we’ve had more than our fair share.” “You said that life isn’t fair. That we don’t get to have everything. But does that mean we don’t get to have anything—that we’ve gone through all that together not to deserve to be happy together?” He shrugged, shaking his head. I wanted to cry again. I felt lost, cut adrift. My hand wandered to the compass around my neck, my fist closing around it. We’d lost our way. We were drifting aimlessly. I watched him and he didn’t move, his hands fisted in the sand, leaning back on stiff arms, staring out over the black water. The water lapped against the shore. I could hear the song of frogs coming down from the wetlands. People were talking out on their patios on the other side of the Back Bay. But between us? Dead silence. Void. Emptiness. “Adam. I still believe in us,” I whispered. It hurt to put that out there with no idea of how he’d react, but the silence between us had hurt worse. After a long silence he said, “I wish I could say the same. More than anything I wish it.” Grief seized me then but I didn’t cry. I’d traveled past that stage into a desolate wasteland that was beyond tears. It was dry, empty and lonely, this wasteland. It was a place of my own making and I had no idea how to find my way out. I fingered the compass. “More than anything, I wish that I had the words to tell you how I feel…about you, about this,” I said. “But you don’t. And that’s the problem. Because I don’t have those words either.” Space and time seemed torn and shredded between us. Ripped. An impassible barrier. My throat constricted. “What should we do?” He turned to me, watched me. “I don’t know. I have to think. You have to think. I’m tired and it’s late and we should sleep.” I knew damn well I wasn’t going to sleep. I’d be up all night worrying about it, running the past few hours through my mind over and over again—running the past months through my mind, whether I wanted to or not. Why did love hurt so much? Without another word, I stood and then watched him get up and brush sand off his pants. Slowly, together but apart, we walked back to the house. He paused to let me enter first and I glanced up into his eyes. Not mirrors. Not shutters. They were pools of black emptiness, suffering, hurt. I’d done that to him. I fought for another breath, moved through the door up the stairs and into my room without stopping. We never spoke another word to each other. Not even good night. I closed my door and flipped off the lights. In the blackness, my back up against the wall, I slid down to sit on the floor and for hours, long after I had any feeling left in my legs and butt, I sat and stared. And thought. And felt. And ached. And then went numb.

Chapter Thirty-Eight Adam I was up all night. I didn’t even try to sleep. Part of it was spent pacing in my office, another part on my laptop in bed—despite Emilia’s efforts to break me of that habit. At one point I found myself typing out exactly what I wanted to say to her. Despite the emotionally painful confrontation on the beach the night before, there were plenty of logical facts and reasons for deciding how to proceed. I agonized over them. We were both burying ourselves under mounds of grief and guilt and pretending we could make it go away without having to deal with it. We were both good at doing that. I didn’t want my words to be delivered from some impersonal email, so instead I memorized the main points of what I wanted to get across and called it even. At six a.m. I changed into my shorts and running shoes and went down to work out in the exercise room. I’d already run ten kilometers on the treadmill and was getting a drink before going back to do some weights when Emilia came down for breakfast. She was fully dressed in jeans and T-shirt, a bandana tied around her head. And she was pale, drawn, with dark circles under her eyes. She’d slept about as well as I had, apparently. I was refilling my water bottle when she came to stand beside me at the fridge. I took a deep breath and said, “Good morning.” A faint smile ghosted her lips before vanishing. “Hey.” “I’d ask how you’re feeling but…well, I think I already know.” She looked into my eyes then. “Yeah. Best not to ask that.” I screwed the top back on my water bottle and turned from her when her hand darted out to stop me. “Can we talk now? Please?” I froze and turned back to her, my insides constricting. I hadn’t wanted to do this now. I’d wanted to wait a little while, until lunch maybe, or the afternoon. Because I knew exactly what I wanted to say to her, but I wasn’t ready for how she was going to take it. I’d need a few more hours to get the courage to break her heart. Despite that thought, I said, “Sure.” I moved to the kitchen table and sat down, and she sank into a chair across from me. I set my water bottle aside. “That was a pretty gigantic can of worms we opened last night,” she began. I fell back against my seat, watching her carefully. “Yes.” She stared at her hands, laced on the table in front of her. “And I’ve been up all night trying to think my way through it. I think between the two of us, there’s a lot of brainpower here, and I know there has to be a way through this for us.” I envied her that hope. Because I just didn’t feel it. I studied her delicate, feminine features, the way she fidgeted with the woodwork on the table, tracing the pattern with her finger, the way she bounced one knee up and down. The love. That pure, strong, unquestionable emotion. It was there, like always, but dampened, muted. Drowned out by a howling ocean of pain. Before I let her travel any further down that road of hope, I knew I had to get this out quickly, like the proverbial ripping off a bandage. I swallowed. “Emilia…” Her eyes shot to mine and I saw the fear there. She knew and she was trying to avoid the inevitable. She shook where she sat. “Please don’t say it,” she murmured. I said it anyway—could barely get it out, but I said it. “We need to be apart for a while.”

She inhaled and the noise that came from the back of her throat sounded like a sob. She sat back as if I’d slapped her. She took in another long breath, as if it might be her last, and shook her head. Her fist closed on the tabletop and her features flushed. “You don’t get to do this, Adam. You don’t get to give up.” “I’m not giving up—” “Bullshit!” she said, standing up so fast the chair behind her scraped across the floor. “This is bullshit —” Her fist pounded on the table. “After what I did for you—” Her voice cut off again in a strangled sob. I sat, fighting the emotion rising up, clenching my own fist at my side, willing myself to calm down when I wanted to stand up and start shouting, too. “Sit down,” I said quietly. She folded her arms across her chest and didn’t move. Our gazes met and the betrayal I saw there—it sucked all of the fight right out of me. I pulled my eyes away, leaned forward, put my head in my hand. “Did you just hear yourself?” I said, my own voice shaking with emotion. “After what you did—you think you did it for me, for your mom, for your friends. Because somewhere inside of you, you can’t let yourself believe you are worth putting yourself first for your own sake.” Emilia turned for a moment, her back to me, then reached out for the chair, and instead of pulling it back to the table so she could sit down, she pushed it over. It clattered across the stone floor and she had her face in her hands. “This fucking sucks!” she said, and then, with a kick that might have done more damage to her than the chair had she connected with more than a glancing blow, she lashed out again. “So now…I get to live— hooray!” She threw her arms up in a mock cheer, but her eyes and cheeks were drenched with tears. “But I don’t have you. And I don’t have a baby.” “Emilia—” “No, you don’t understand.” I swallowed. “You’re right. I don’t.” Our eyes locked and the minutes stretched out into what felt like an eternity when I couldn’t breathe. “You need help. I can’t help you. And you are incapable of asking for help. Therefore, this situation is impossible.” “What about you?” she hissed. “Is everything so perfect in there?” She pointed at my head. “No, it’s pretty fucked up in here, too.” Then she really started to sob, so much that she couldn’t even stand up straight. She doubled over as if in physical agony and seemed to be gasping for breath. I was worried she was going to lose her balance and fall over. I shot out of my chair and went to her, pulling her into my arms. “Breathe,” I said. But she was gasping so quickly that I thought she might pass out, her face buried in her closed fists. On instinct, I tightened my hold around her and miraculously she almost immediately calmed down. Her breaths came at a more measured pace and her sobs slowed until, minutes later, there was just congested breathing punctuated with a quiet whimper. My shirt was now drenched with her tears. Finally she spoke, her face pressed against my shoulder. “I can’t believe that it ends like this. Is that life’s way of playing a sick, cruel joke?” “It’s not the end, Mia,” I said. “Then what is it?” “I don’t know. It’s just…time…time we need to take to get our shit together.” “Why can’t we do that together?” “Because we’re both pretty messed up in our heads right now. I think we have to work on ourselves first.” Another period of silence, and then she stiffened in my arms and gently pulled away. I let my arms fall

slack and she took a step back. Yanking off her bandana, she mopped her face with it, avoiding my eyes. She cleared her throat and when she spoke, her voice was calm. “How long?” I took a deep breath. “I think you should go home to Anza. Spend some time with your mom before her wedding…maybe go talk to your old therapist.” “And you’ll stay here and work? How will that be working on things?” “I haven’t thought all that through yet, but I have some ideas.” I met her gaze and wished I hadn’t. Her eyes were stricken, haunted. I wanted to abandon this plan. I was hurting her. Too much. “And then what?” she asked. “There’s the wedding in June. We’ll see each other then.” “That’s two months from now,” she rasped. “You honestly think that the best way for us to communicate with each other about our issues is to…not see each other?” “Emilia, we’ve been put through a lot of shit in a short period of time. We need to try to heal from it.” She shook her head. “I hope to God you know what you are doing, Adam, because I think this is a really bad idea.” Then she pressed her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes as if to will the tears to stop. Mine were minutes away from starting. But I had to show her the brave face—what I definitely wasn’t feeling—that I was confident this was a good idea. I cleared my throat. “I think it will be good…for both of us. I couldn’t let you go, before…when you wanted space. I kept trying to force the issue and I made things worse with us. I think I’ve learned now.” She sucked in a painful breath but didn’t speak until she finally stuffed her bandana in her pocket and straightened. “I’ll go pack, then. I need to get my car back from Kat.” “I’d rather you didn’t drive there today…in this condition.” She turned to me, her eyes clear but full of pain. “It will be a lot easier for me to drive than it will be for me to stay here another night like this.” I frowned, running my hand across the morning beard on my jaw. “Okay. Then at least take the Tesla. I want you in a safe car. I’ve been driving the Porsche everywhere, anyway.” She turned and left on shaky legs. I watched her go, running a hand over my face. This was so hard. I wanted her more than anything. I wanted her here, in my life, by my side, but we were both so wounded I had no idea how we could be together until we healed. Until we figured out where our heads were—where our hearts were. I loved her with everything that was in me. But sometimes love just wasn’t enough.

Chapter Thirty-Nine Mia Full circle. That’s what this was. Eleven months ago, I’d made this same drive with an injured heart and emotions like tropical storms swirling inside me. And here I was back where I was then, making this same drive. Like my life was on some kind of sick, endlessly repeating loop. Only this time, I’d left my heart behind. Battle-wounded and bloody and left for dead. I fought fresh tears every stretch of that two-hour drive until…until I was about fifteen minutes from pulling into the driveway of the ranch. Passing through the old familiar sights of town—the convenience store on the corner, the little rustic café where I’d hung out sometimes, the small high school, some of my old friends’ houses, a weird sort of peace came over me. I had no idea what it meant. Just that I hoped it would be okay. That I still had any hope at all inside me was a miracle. Mom greeted me with concern in her eyes, pulling me into her tight hug. When I’d called her and told her I was coming to stay for a while, I hadn’t given her details. But I’m sure she’d concluded a lot. “I’m glad you’re here, baby.” I wished I could say the same. I had no idea what I’d accomplish here for the next eight weeks. Going back to Anza was going backward, I’d once told Heath. But sometimes no matter how old a person got, they needed their mom. And thank God she was here. “Mom,” I said, pulling back from her and looking her in the eyes. I’m sure she could see from the swelling in mine that I’d been crying—a lot. “I want you to know that I’m so completely happy for you and Peter. And—whatever happens between me and Adam won’t change that.” She nodded. Taking my bag off my shoulder, she turned to take it into the family wing of our bed-andbreakfast home. “You don’t have to talk to me about this at all. But as far as I’m concerned, you are here to heal your body and your heart.” She turned to me and smiled, putting a hand to my head. “Your hair is growing back! It’s coming in darker than it was before.” I put a self-conscious hand to the fuzz on my head. “You’re going to have respectable coverage by the time the wedding rolls around.” “Yeah? It grows that fast?” She grinned. “Yeah. It will be back in no time. Thick and glossy. And the rest of your body will bounce back, too. You’ll see. I’m on a mission to fatten you up.” “Not sure I feel much like eating these days, even if I’m not nauseous anymore.” “Well, you have no choice in the matter. We need to put some weight back on these bones. And I’m fixing your favorite stuff every day. I just made a whole fresh batch of baklava. We’re healing body and heart. Okay?” I nodded. Mom left me and I immediately went to my desk, rifled through my drawers and found an old blank notebook that I’d been saving until I had something important enough to write in it because it was just so pretty. It had an imprint of illuminations from the medieval Book of Kells with Celtic knotwork design and gold embossing. I ran a hand over the cover and pulled it open to gaze at the creamy blank pages within. Without realizing what I was doing, I grabbed a pen and began writing. Those first few entries might have contained more than a little anger. There might have been smudges staining the pages with my tears. But I began to feel better because I had my own place to let it all out. I wrote in it every day. And I went to see Dr. Marbrow, my psychotherapist. I was determined to do this thing. I was determined that when I saw Adam again, I would be healthy enough in body, mind and spirit to look him

in the eye and tell him how much I wanted him—how much I needed him in my life. And I could only hope that he felt the same way. So with that goal to fuel my courage, I faced my demons. *** After some weeks in Anza, Heath and Kat came up to spend a long weekend with me. I think Heath was really worried about me because he kept giving me that concerned look over dinner—homemade gyros and fresh Caesar salad from Mom’s garden. Of all the delicious things my mom made, this dish was his favorite, but he barely paid attention to it. After dinner, I was getting the horses ready to take them on a sunset ride when he came out into the barn alone. “Where’s Kat?” I said as I brushed the dust out of Snowball’s coat. “She’ll be along. I wanted to talk to you.” “Okay…hey, do you want to ride Whiskey or Tate tonight?” He made a face. “Tate’s an asshole. He threw me repeatedly in high school. Put me on Whiskey. Damn, I haven’t ridden in years.” I smiled. “I know.” “How are you really doing, Mia?” I blinked. “I thought I was looking better…maybe not.” “You don’t know how badly I want to go beat the shit out of Drake right now.” I burst out laughing. “He’s back to being Drake to you, huh?” “I can’t believe he broke up with you when you have fucking cancer.” “I don’t have fucking cancer anymore and he didn’t break up with me.” Heath glowered. “No. Stop it, okay? Adam is your friend, too. I don’t want you to take sides. There are no sides to take.” Heath folded his arms and shoved his shoulder up against the barn. “You two didn’t break up?” “You’re nosey,” I retorted. “I’m pissed. If you two don’t make it, then there’s no hope for the rest of us.” I dropped the soft brush into the plastic tote and grabbed Snowball’s saddle and pad from the tack room—Heath insisted on carrying it over for me even though I was sure I could do it myself. He rested them on Snowball’s back and I adjusted the pad, stooping to grab the girth to begin cinching it up. “I think I’ll put Kat on my boy Snowball here.” “Mia—” “Heath, you of all people know the most about what we are dealing with. What we are going through. The losses we’ve had to face. I can’t wave a magic wand and wish it away. We have shit to work through.” “Then why aren’t you down there going to counseling with him? A good couples’ counselor—” “That’s not Adam’s style. He’s going to find his own way to deal with his shit. And I’m finding a way to deal with mine.” “That’s the problem. You aren’t dealing with it together.” “Hmm. Maybe it’s not time for us to do that yet. Maybe in order to be a healthy couple, we need to be healthy individuals first.” I said the words and this time I believed them, though I’d doubted their wisdom when Adam had said them to me. He was silent so I went to the stall where Whiskey was poking his head out, eyeing me expectantly. I scratched his head under his forelock. “Who’s my good boy?” I slipped a halter over his head and pulled him out of his stall. “You’re going to be a good boy for Heath, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, or Heath’s going to kick your ass. Ask your buddy Tate,” Heath said. He turned back to me. “This was his idea, wasn’t it? For you to separate, to come back here.” I didn’t answer, bending over to use the hoof pick to clean out Whiskey’s hooves. “That’s what I thought.” I straightened and blew out a breath. “I’m not going to judge him for how he’s dealing with this. He needs time alone. I’m going to give it to him. I’d be a hypocrite to judge him when I didn’t exactly handle things the best way possible between us last time.” Heath looked away. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You are only human.” He sighed. “This relationship shit is so hard. Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it.” I grabbed the currycomb to give Whiskey a quick once-over on his dusty coat. “Things okay with you and Connor?” “Better than with you and Adam,” he replied. “That’s not saying much.” “Can I go talk to him, at least?” My hand froze. Heath was one of precious few people who knew all that Adam and I had endured. Maybe it would help him to have a sympathetic ear…if, indeed, Heath’s ear was sympathetic. “He’ll think I sent you to talk to him.” “You just said yourself that he’s my friend, too. And who else is he going to talk to about the—about everything.” I swallowed, focusing on the dust I was stirring up on the surface of Whiskey’s coat. “You can say it, you know. You don’t have to spare my feelings.” Heath sighed. “This is reminding me way too much of that shit that happened to you in high school, and that thought is making me physically ill.” My brush froze midstroke, but I didn’t look at Heath. I knew exactly what he was referring to—that night that Zack, my high school boyfriend, had gotten drunk and assaulted me. “You blamed yourself for that shit, too, or have you forgotten?” I flung the brush into the tote and both horses jerked their heads up, startled. I quieted them by reassuring them and stroking their necks. Heath came up to stand beside me and took the arm that I was using to stroke Whiskey’s neck. “Don’t be pissed at me, Mia. But I’m calling you on this bullshit. What happened to you—getting cancer, getting pregnant, losing the baby—was no more your fault than that bullshit in high school was. It happened to you. Don’t punish yourself for it.” Tears started to sting my throat and I blinked, gently pulling out of his hold. I cleared my throat furiously, blinked again and looked away. “Does he blame you? Is that what all this is about?” I waved him off. “Put the boxing gloves away, Sugar Ray. He doesn’t blame me. He says he can’t deal with how much I’m blaming myself.” Heath folded his brawny arms across his chest. “Well, that makes two of us. I can’t deal with it, either. I see it in your eyes all the time. I saw what that innocent comment from Alex did to you.” I curled in on myself, putting my forehead in my hands. Tears were threatening again. I turned and tilted away from him, but he grabbed me, pulled me close and hugged me. “Shh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” His arms were comforting, but they weren’t the arms I wanted around me. *** “So, to repeat your words back to you—you believe that if you let him see your scars, that will cause

him to stop loving you?” Dr. Marbrow said, leaning forward. I shifted against the sleek couch in her office, the leather squeaking underneath my fidgeting. “It sounds ridiculous coming out of your mouth but makes perfect sense in here,” I said, pointing to my head. She tilted her head, a smile hinting at her lips. “That voice in there may be the most illogical thing you’ll ever hear, but it will always sound right to you. It’s human nature. We give that voice a lot of power. Thus, sometimes the solution is to change that voice, change what it is saying to us.” I shook inside. “I don’t want to. I mean…that voice is making me miserable inside, but I don’t want to let it go.” “Of course not.” She leaned back and crossed her legs. “How else would you torment yourself if that voice was gone?” Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. I fiddled with my hands in my lap, staring at them. The backs of my legs were sweating and, since I was wearing shorts, sticking to the leather couch. I had no reply to that. I had been tormenting myself. Because everything in me believed that I deserved it. Dr. Marbrow noted something on the legal pad in front of her and then watched me before determining that I wasn’t going to answer her. She tucked a long strand of blond hair behind her ear and began in a quiet voice, “Will the scars on your chest truly cause him to leave?” I shook my head slowly. “But you do fear you’ll lose him.” If I hadn’t already. I closed my eyes and nodded. “What will make him leave, do you think?” I inhaled sharply through my nose and exhaled shakily. “It’s what the scars represent…” My voice faded and I cleared my throat, placing a hand over my heart. “The scars in here. The ones that make me feel so ugly on the inside.” She nodded. “That’s the definition of love, you know. That the person is with you and stays by your side in spite of the ugliness—and that you do the same. He’s not perfect, either, as I’m sure you are well aware.” I shook my head. “I did terrible things to him.” “Such as…?” She raised her brow. My breath faltered. “I left him. I was angry—I—I didn’t know how to deal with how he was acting. So I didn’t tell him about the cancer—I thought I was protecting him, but it was just easier that way. Easier for me to stay inside myself, to not have to rely on anyone.” “But you can’t be sick and not rely on those closest to you. You had to accept help.” I rubbed my temples. “The craziest part is that I had to force myself—even at my sickest. I have all these people around me who love me, who want to help me, and yet I refuse to let them. And because of that…” “You made some bad choices. So did he.” I put my face in my hands. “But it’s all my fault.” “You see what you are doing there, don’t you? You won’t even let people in on their share of the blame. It’s rather narcissistic when you think about it, to assume that all that has happened to you was caused by your actions alone. But that’s human nature, too. Because in taking blame for something, we are deluding ourselves that we have some control over the chaotic events in our lives we just can’t control.” “I haven’t had control—” My words cut off in a sob. “It’s no wonder that Heath compared your reaction to this to what happened to you in high school. That was another instance where you had no control over what was happening to your body. Now this, the cancer, the chemo, the pregnancy, the abortion…” My breath left me and I sat back, dazed. “I had a choice. I ended it.”

“Was it really a choice, though? You did what you had to do to survive.” I shook. “I don’t think our relationship can withstand something like this.” There was a long pause while she just looked at me, obviously expecting me to go on. I took a deep breath. “I don’t understand how he could love me anymore,” I said in a tiny voice. “He loves you because he doesn’t blame you.” “He said he’s afraid to touch me.” She nodded. “Sounds like he’s indulging in his share of the blame game, too. And your job is going to be to help him understand that—once you get over your own guilt.” I looked at her through a shaky, tear-stained smile. “Can I put you in my pocket and keep you with me for a while?” She smiled. “What you can do is bring him up to meet me some day. If he’s okay with that.” *** Days later, out in the paddock, I had my own sort of epiphany as I watched Rusty with her three-monthold colt, Silver. I studied them together. Trotting around, side by side. Sometimes he’d dart out in front of her, head high and proud of his independence but always casting an eye back at his mama. And Rusty never let him get too far, sometimes scolding him with a light nip or flick of her tail. My throat tightened as I watched them and I let myself feel what I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in months—the mourning, the loss, what could have been. The tears came and I didn’t stop them. Not this time. I couldn’t shove those feelings away any longer. I wrote in my journal every day. I poured out every thought, every emotion. More often than not, I wrote in it more than once a day, going back to it when a stray thought flitted through my mind. It felt freeing to let out everything that I’d been keeping inside. I also Skyped with my friends. Jenna and Alex filled me in on the goings-on from the South Coast. Heath called me every few days to check up on me and I had a chance to videoconference with Kat. “So we all went out for pizza the other night…” “Really? Did you have fun?” “Hmm. Well, it was a big group. Most of us had fun. Jenna and William were at each other’s throats again about some obscure game I’d never even heard of before. Those two just need to fuck and get it over with. And then Heath and Adam wandered off somewhere for an hour.” I tensed at the mention of Adam and she noticed. “Oh—yeah, sorry I forgot to tell you that. Heath and I twisted his arm to come out with us. We had to go get him at his office and force him under threat of exposing game secrets to the world.” “You didn’t! You held the secret quest hostage?” Her smile grew devious. “I know how to get what I want. He wasn’t budging so I threatened.” I paused for a minute, looked away from the screen and fiddled with some things on my desk. “How is he?” She knew I wasn’t asking about Heath. She nodded. “He’s fine. He’s his typical grim, intense self.” I laughed. “He’s not always that way.” She gave me a weird look. “Fallen has been intense for as long as I’ve known him. I just never knew why until now. But now that I know his real self, it’s understandable. He’s just that type of guy.” She threw me a mischievous look. “It’s a good thing he’s so pretty to make up for it.” I rolled my eyes and then laughed, quickly changing the subject. She groused about my lack of playing time, and I didn’t want to tell her that the thought of playing the game right now was a little too painful. Between all that was—or wasn’t—going on between Adam and me and the increasing conflict I was feeling over blogging on the subject of the secret quest, I felt torn about DE. I missed it, but I knew I

needed a break from it as well. Every day, I hiked to my special spot up on the valley rim near my mom’s house. I would arrive just at sunset, when the early summer evenings were painted in oranges and deep, deep purple. Where the heat of the sunbaked rocks seeped through my clothing, where the dry smells of white desert sage and the sound of cricket chirps assailed my senses. I took this time to close my eyes, to think, to breathe in the ways that Dr. Marbrow had showed me. I focused on color and light and tried to think about all that I had to be thankful for. I’d seen a lot of heartache in my short twenty-three years of life, but the things I’d done, the places I’d been, the people I’d known. The love I’d felt… All those had made the pain worth it. And just a little bit more each day, I began to realize that. On one of my last nights in Anza, I was outside at night, enjoying the darkness and the primal beauty of the dome of stars above my head. There were few night lights up here and no light pollution, unlike down on the coast around the big cities. Like every other evening, I found my eyes wandering up toward the constellation Draco while fingering the ever-present compass around my neck. It’s always there, he’d said, no matter what time of night, no matter what season. I was now familiar with the main points in this long, snakelike configuration of stars. My eyes traced the outline of it in the sky. True north. What was that? How could I find the direction? I thought of the figurines William had made for me, particularly the Guide, who was like a compass, to show me the way in troubled times. If these weren’t troubled times, I didn’t know what were. I stared long and hard at those stars, fixed right between the Big and Little Dippers. And after a long stretch of nothing but the quiet sounds of night in my ears, a streak of fire appeared from nowhere and cut its way directly across Draco. Wish on a falling star. It had been noted in that now-dubious bucket list that I’d wanted to wish on a falling star. Growing up here, I’d seen a lot of them, but had never had a wish that I’d wanted so much I’d wish it on a meteor. But tonight I did. I closed my eyes and pictured my arms around Adam, his arms around me. I wished us together. I wished us happy. I wished us strong enough to fight our way through our own messed-up emotions and doubtful thoughts to be together again. Each beat of my heart thrummed through my chest and it hurt. I swallowed and instead of suppressing the tears, I let them flow down my cheeks. There was no one here to reprimand me, no one here for me to reprimand. There was no reason to keep the tears at bay. It felt good to let them out. But they weren’t just tears of sadness or loss, tears of loneliness; they were also tears of gratitude. I silently thanked the Universe for all that I had to be thankful for: my health, my future, the fact that I had known true love. It didn’t matter what the future held, because those short moments of love that I’d experienced had taught me that, thorns and all, life was worth it. And that for me, happiness was a choice. That night, my face wet, my eyes sore, my heart full, I made that choice. *** I maintained the blog, but my heart wasn’t in it anymore. I’d already resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to continue it. With Adam and me together, the blog was going to come between us eventually. Either I’d solve the quest and feel obligated to pass those clues on to the readership, or Draco Multimedia would implement some game change that would irk me and I’d need to rant about it. Or—and my stomach dropped to contemplate that possibility—Adam and I would have broken up and it would hurt too much to continue playing Dragon Epoch. Whatever the reason, the possibility of beginning medical school in a few short months dictated that I was going to have different priorities on my time. So I spent days drafting long emails—one to Johns

Hopkins University’s Dean of the College of Medicine, some to other schools, some to my key readers and contacts in the blog world and to the original company that had made an offer on my blog. Because I had a plan. About a week before the wedding, we drove down to Orange County to pick up Mom’s dress for the final fitting. The wedding was not going to be a gala affair. The bride and groom had invited family only and they’d chosen to tie the knot at one of their favorite places, the beach at Crystal Cove State Park. But I had other errands to run while we were there. I borrowed the car from my mom and told her I’d be back in a few hours after dropping her at Peter’s. Mom assumed it meant I didn’t want to chance running into Adam there. I figured that was as good an excuse as any. But I had other business to attend to. There was a week left, and as my mom’s giddiness grew, there were feelings bubbling inside me, too. I couldn’t wait to see Adam again. It had been over two months. I wondered how his journey had gone. Had he made any interesting self-discoveries? Had he found he couldn’t live without me, or did he think it best we walked away while our souls were still intact? I had no idea. And the waiting was starting to kill me. I had my bags packed two full days before the wedding. The happy couple and their children and close friends would gather for dinner the night before the wedding day. For hours before that, I paced, chose and then discarded no less than five different outfits. Could not sit still more than five minutes to the point where my ever-patient mother had ordered me out of the room to go for a walk. Because in just a few minutes, I’d see Adam again. And sometime in the next twenty-four hours, I’d know if there was hope for us to move forward together—or if that hope was lost forever.

Chapter Forty Adam I dreamt about her every night she was gone. Since I’d loaded her bags up in the Tesla and watched her pull away, my thoughts had never been far from her. She’d texted me a few hours later when she arrived at her mom’s house and that was it. Radio silence. It was better that way. This would be my forty days of trial in the desert. A long stretch of time without her where I figured out what the hell was going on in my own brain. Since that horrible couple days where I’d found out about the pregnancy and her cancer, I’d barely had time to think about anything else but the one prime imperative—her survival. I spent long days working, of course. It was always my primary method of coping. I spent my nights in solitude—running along the beach at Newport, mostly. Or just spending long periods sitting on the sandy beach, watching the relentless tide come in, the thunder of the waves sounding over and over again—a rhythm so ancient and primal—until it meshed with the beating of my heart. My mind was always working, always trying to find ways around the problems that cropped up. I was, by nature, a problemsolver. So to spend long periods just losing myself in the beat of the waves on the shore with no thought to anything else was like meditation. Because oftentimes the quiet mind could see and hear things the busy mind could not. I also spent far more time sleeping than I had in months. There were months and weeks of pure exhaustion to recover from. When she’d needed me to be there for her, I hadn’t let myself rest. With her gone, that pressure was removed. And with the sleep and rest came rejuvenation. Taking care of myself physically was key to recovering my mental health. And eventually I found myself in circumstances where I could seek help from others—in some of the unlikeliest places of all. One night, about a month after Emilia had left, I was at work after hours. Someone knocked at the door to my office and since my secretary had already gone home, I called to the person to come in. The door opened and Katya’s red head poked around it. “Well, hello there, boss!” I sat back with a grin. “Well, well. If it isn’t my newest playtester.” She strutted inside, pumping a fist. “Best job ever, by the way. You are my new favorite person.” “Glad you like it,” I said, reaching back to rub my aching neck. “Yes. So I know you don’t fraternize with your employees and all that, but we’re going out for pizza tonight and I’m kidnapping you and bringing you along.” “I’d like to but I have a ton of shit to get done.” Her brows rose and she folded her arms across her chest, sinking into the chair across from me. “Listen up, dude. I’m the fun police and you’re about to get arrested for the serious lack of fun in your life right now.” I chuckled but didn’t say a word. She narrowed her eyes at me. “I even brought some muscle, should you foolishly refuse this opportunity to rehabilitate.” She raised two fingers to her lips and let out a loud, sharp-pitched whistle. Heath came through the door. “Well, there goes the neighborhood,” I said. “So do you come along with us peacefully or am I going to have to twist your arm?” Heath said, cracking his knuckles. “Hmm. You are making this such a tempting offer of ‘fun,’” I drawled. “I have a whole army out there, including your cousin, so you better come along with us peacefully.” “Yeah, don’t make me beat the shit out of you again,” Heath said. “Again? That would imply a first time.” Perhaps he was obliquely referring to the cheap shot he’d gotten in when he’d been as overcome by his shock about Emilia’s condition as I had. We shared a long

look. “Maybe you’ve been thinking those wet dreams are reality again?” Instead of looking angry, Heath only grinned. “Pizza and video games, dude. Relive your adolescence.” “Some of us never left it in order to relive it,” Kat quipped, shooting out of her chair. “Come on. Grab your keys, let’s go. I call shotgun in your car, boss.” With a sigh of surrender, I got up, packed up my stuff in my computer bag and left with them. The pizza was terrible, but the company great. We were joined by Connor, Alex, Jenna and my cousin, Liam. And sometimes people wandered off with their hands full of tokens to play games, then wandered back for some more beer and gross pizza. I’d set my mind to stay an hour and then find an excuse to wander home. Because as fun as they were to hang with, their presence only emphasized the lack of her. And that lack was like a giant, painful hole right now. I finished up my one and only glass of beer and was about to stand up when I felt a hand slap my shoulder. I looked over. Heath grinned. “Can I have some more tokens, Dad?” I raised a brow at him. “You don’t get any more allowance ‘til next week.” I stood up. “I think I’m gonna get going.” “I’ll walk you out,” Heath said, popping up and giving me no say in the matter. Okay, it was obvious he wanted to talk. I knew that he’d been up in Anza visiting Emilia the weekend before. I’d resolved not to ask him about her, no matter how badly I wanted to. I said goodbye to the rest of the group, who all seemed disappointed I was leaving so soon, but once they realized Heath was going out the door with me, none of them said much—as if they all knew we had things to talk about. As torn as I felt about talking to him, I couldn’t see a way to avoid it. It was quiet out in the parking lot of the strip mall where the pizza joint was. As it was ten o’clock on a weeknight in the somewhat sleepy city of Orange, it was peaceful. I clicked my car unlocked and turned, leaning up against the door to face Heath. “That was shit pizza,” I said by way of breaking the weird awkwardness between us. “The games are good. What place do you know of around here that still has a working version of Tempest, Galaga and Asteroids?” I shrugged, then glanced out over the street where the occasional car sped by. “With a day’s warning, I could have all of those set up in my arcade room at home.” “Or you could just program your own.” “I got my own game to work on.” “How’s everything, anyway?” “With the game? Great. We’re getting ready to unveil the preview of the new expansion at E3 next week. And then there’s Comic-Con in July.” “Great.” He nodded, looking down at his feet and then shifting uncomfortably again. “And—and personally? You okay?” I was silent, unsure exactly what I wanted to share with Heath. We’d been friends for a long time, but lately there had been tension between us, mostly over the way I’d handled things in my relationship with Emilia, whom he’d claimed over and over was as good as a sister to him. “I’ll live,” I said. Heath nodded. “There’s something I wanted to say to you…and I know things have been tense between us since Mia got sick…” I folded my arms across my chest, leaned back against my car and nodded. “Right,” I said in a neutral tone of voice. “Adam, I said some shit that I really regret now. I blamed you for what happened and I shouldn’t have done that.” I shrugged. “You weren’t wrong.” His eyes narrowed. “Yes. Yes, I was wrong. I want you to understand where my head was at during all

that. She…” He hesitated and then took a deep breath. “She was falling apart. You two had just broken up and then she found out about the cancer and she swore me to secrecy. I blame myself every day for keeping a secret I had no right to keep.” My jaw tightened and then I relaxed it enough to speak. “You were being loyal. You were doing what she wanted.” He shook his head. “She wasn’t rational. I shouldn’t have agreed. But I did and I blame myself for that.” “There’s too many of us assuming blame for things that we shouldn’t be.” He studied me, scratching the side of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah…so about that. I’m just saying—that day I took a swing at you and those weeks afterward when I wasn’t very kind…I was wrong. I was stressed out beyond words and worried out of my mind about her. And you were an easy target to focus all of that on.” “Well, like I said before, thanks for being there for her when she needed someone.” I shifted, trying to power through this very uncomfortable conversation. He looked away and then, when I turned as if I would open my car door to move this along, he put a hand on my shoulder. “Adam, don’t give up on her.” My shoulders sagged. “It’s not a matter of giving up on her.” “Man, I know what you are thinking. I know you can’t take what she’s doing to herself. She just needs the time to heal from all of this. It’s been a shitty year for both of you. But from her point of view, she had to make a gut-wrenching choice and we both know she made the best choice. But I don’t think she’s realized that yet.” I shook my head. “She’s in hell and it’s not a hell of her own making. I put her in that situation—” Heath’s hand slipped off my shoulder and he nodded. “Hmm. Somehow I knew that was at the bottom of all this. That she wasn’t the only one wrapped up in her own irrationality. Given her emotional state these last few months, I’d expect that of her. But from you, I thought I’d get much more logical reasoning.” “What’s more logical than she had to end a pregnancy that I caused in the first place?” “Shit happens. You aren’t the first guy who got his girlfriend pregnant. It’s not like you invented that. Thank God I’ll never have to face that problem. Gay guys have plenty of issues of their own. But for God’s sake, man up and realize that shit happens. It happened and it might happen again. Or it might not. You never know with life. But it’s not like you set out to do that to her. Any more than she set out to have it happen to her.” I took a pained breath and let it out. He was right, of course, but I wasn’t ready to admit that. Heath spoke again. “I talked to her the other night.” “She’s okay?” I asked between clenched teeth. “She’s hopeful. She’s still very hopeful about the two of you. But she’s worried about you.” I sighed. “I’m not so hopeful. That’s why she’s worried.” “Well, you’ve got some questions to ask yourself, then. You need to figure out whether or not you’re willing to go forward without her. Because that’s what it’s going to be. You either do what’s necessary to have her in your life or you back away, declare it too hard and not worth it and live without her.” “Thinking like a programmer. How very black and white of you…” “Adam, you’re a problem-solver. You have a problem. You need to figure out a way to solve it. Put that genius brain to work.” “I am. I have been.” “Well, whatever the resolution you come to, I hope it’s the one that makes you happy.” Happy. What was that? An elusive state of mind? A destination? Or a decision? Days went by and I pondered over that. I occupied myself with some odd things that had nothing to do with work. I was struggling to find a way to communicate with her while we were on radio silence from

each other. I had an alert set up that would let me know if she were to log in to the game. She never did. I wasn’t surprised. Either she was avoiding it or she was working hard at the task of finding herself. It was on the way back from the last day of the E3 convention in Los Angeles, in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 110 freeway, that Jordan, finding me his captive audience for the hour or hours it would take, laid into me. He looked up after having fiddled with his phone for the first fifteen minutes. “Goddamn. We should just pull off and go sit somewhere for a few hours until this blows over. This traffic sucks shit.” “Whether we sit at a bar for hours or just power through the traffic isn’t going to make a difference in how soon we get home.” “We should have ordered a car and driver so at least we could do some work while sitting in this crap. Or maybe even knock back a beer.” I shrugged. Jordan readjusted his sunglasses and set down the phone. It was a warm day. We’d both shed our business attire and the top was down, a cool breeze blowing in from the coast as we motored along at five miles per hour. “So I gotta ask how Mia’s doing…I haven’t seen her around much.” “She’s up at her mom’s for a while.” He jerked his head to glance at me. “‘A while’ sounds like a long time.” I didn’t reply, checked my mirror and changed lanes. “You guys okay?” “Not really.” “What the fuck do you mean ‘not really’ and why am I only hearing about this now?” I darted him a quizzical look before jerking my eyes back to the road. “I didn’t realize that I owe you a ‘state of the relationship’ address.” “Damn right you do. After I gave up my trip to Paris for you guys—” “I thought you did that for her.” “I did. But that means you don’t fucking dump your sick girlfriend. What the hell is wrong with you?” I white-knuckled the steering wheel. “I didn’t dump her and she’s not sick anymore, so calm the fuck down. Jeez, what the hell happened to you? Someone cut off your balls or something?” He flipped me the bird. “Don’t be an ass, Adam. What’s going on? You need to talk to someone.” “It’s complicated.” “It usually is.” I let out a long breath and then changed lanes again. Not such a great idea. Some jerk-off honked at me and Jordan sent the driver his middle finger. “Jesus, you’re gonna start a road rage incident. Put that thing away.” “So how is it more complicated than any other relationship out there?” “We have…issues.” “What issues do you have with Mia?” “Oh, so you like her all of a sudden, huh?” He shrugged. “I think she’s a nice girl.” “She is a nice girl.” A nice girl with a lot of problems. “So what’s the deal? Is there, like, someone else? Did you fuck around on her? Don’t tell me it was Carisa, because—” “I didn’t cheat on her.” “Well?” “We’re taking a little time off from each other. We have some shit to deal with.” “And you’re not going to tell me what it is.”

“I would, if I thought you’d take it seriously and not be an ass about it.” He pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt. “Do I look like I’m going to stab you in the back?” I swallowed. “No.” “Lay it on me. What happened?” “I don’t trust her.” “She fucked around on you?” “God, nobody fucked around on anybody. Let me just get it out, okay?” He held up a hand as if to stave off my irritation. “Okay, okay.” “We broke up because—well, because of stupid shit, really. But while we were broken up, she found out about the cancer and didn’t tell me.” “Okay.” “And then in Vegas—” “Yeah, yeah. I know all about what happened with you and her in Vegas.” “I have no idea how you know that and it’s kind of creepy. However, what you don’t know is that she got pregnant.” There was a long silence from the other side of the car. I focused on the traffic and when I finally glanced over at him, he looked pale. He reached into his pocket, grabbed his sunglasses and stuck them back on his face. “I think I can guess what happened since she has just gone through chemo and is obviously no longer pregnant. That’s, uh…that’s some heavy shit.” I didn’t answer. The silence lasted for a few more miles—which took almost a half hour in this damn traffic. Finally, Jordan cleared his throat. “So you said you don’t trust her. This must mean you blame her for it…and if that’s—” “I don’t blame her. But yeah, I don’t trust her. It’s more…general. I don’t trust that she’s not going to shred me again. That she believes in this enough to—” He laughed—laughed—at me. “Damn, Adam, that’s such a pussy thing to say.” I clenched my jaw, gripped the steering wheel and ran my mind over the last few things I’d just said. “Adam’s afwaid he’s gonna get huwt. Poow widdle Adam.” “Do you need me to let you out here? I think you can thumb a ride home with a serial killer or something,” I ground out. “I don’t mean to be a dick but—” “Too late—” “You need to sac up, dude. Whenever you put yourself in a serious relationship, you run the risk of getting hurt. It’s how it works.” “But usually you trust the other person not to do it.” He shrugged. “Yeah. And what makes you think she will? Because of last time? You mean when she was scared out of her mind with a life-or-death diagnosis right after breaking up with her boyfriend? You really think that’s a time to judge how someone’s going to act under more normal circumstances?” I swallowed, suddenly feeling like a dick myself. “Here’s the deal…and you can consider the source and shitcan this advice if you want, but here’s Uncle Jordan’s take on things. It doesn’t matter who the person is, when you make a commitment like being in a relationship, you are always going to open yourself up to be shredded. It’s the nature of the beast.” I turned and looked at him but didn’t reply, adjusting my sunglasses. The traffic was starting to loosen up and we’d made it up to about twenty miles per hour with not a brake light in sight. “She hurt you before. I get it. You hurt her, too, right?”

I nodded. “I’m your money guy so I’m going to put this in terms that are familiar to me. You need to look at this like a cost versus value decision. Is the risk you take of getting hurt worth the benefit of what you get from having her in your life? If yes, then stay with her, be with her and try to make it work. If no, then end it.” “I guess that’s what I have to figure out.” “Yeah. But for what it’s worth, I thought you two were good together, for all that it irritated me.” The rest of our trip devolved into bouts of silence or small talk and I was relieved. Jordan’s words were abrasive but not unwelcome. I wasn’t above admitting that sometimes I needed to be called on my shit. And I was sick of licking my wounds in silence. So to get over the bouts of loneliness—especially on the weekends—I went over to my uncle’s house for Sunday dinner. They all knew about Emilia being up in Anza with Kim, of course, so no one asked after her—not even Britt’s kids, so I had to give props to their mom for schooling them beforehand on that. After dinner, we sat on the couch, one boy on either side of me while we played Mario Kart on the console. They thought it was hilarious to play teams and gang up on me. After my second victory—this one by the skin of my teeth—they gave up. I put a hand on each of their heads as they tried to wrestle me down. They lost at that game, too. I loved those kids—even when DJ was trying unsuccessfully to shove his fingers up my nose. Given the state I was in lately, I sat back and quietly watched them get involved in game of checkers. I let myself think about the fact that at this time, I might have been an expectant father in other circumstances. I’d never given myself the chance to even consider that possibility. The situation had been so dire. My every thought and goal had been toward Emilia’s survival. And when she’d been around, I’d never let myself go there, even after we knew she was healthy. Was it fair, now, to regret what I might never have after urging her to do what she did? When I gave them their hugs goodbye, I couldn’t ignore that little pinch that reminded me of my own loss. And that date—that date that Emilia had recited in the doctor’s office on that bleak morning: August 18. The due date. I hung around after Britt and the kids left. Liam had already taken off and I think Peter could tell that I wanted to talk because he went to the fridge without saying a word, pulled out two beers, opened them and sat next to me on a stool at the kitchen counter. We sipped in awkward silence for the first few minutes before I cleared my throat. “How go the wedding plans?” He smiled. “Great, for me. I don’t have to do anything. Britt’s handling stuff on this end and Kim and Mia are doing the other stuff from theirs. I just have to show up with a wedding gift and a ring.” “Sounds like a great deal to me.” Peter cast a sidelong glance at me as he sipped again. “You doing okay?” I put the beer down, resting my elbows on the counter. “Kinda.” “So…I know things are delicate right now with you two. Kim and I are a little worried.” I knew what that meant. They were a lot worried. In a lot of ways, their future happiness as a married couple was dependent upon how well Emilia and I could manage our relationship. Things could get messy for them very quickly if the two of us couldn’t get along, considering how close our family relationships were now. “That makes a lot of worried people, then,” I said. “I’ve also been worried about you. I know in cases like these, the person with the medical problems gets most of the attention—and rightly so. But sometimes it’s hard to be the silent partner who has to keep it all together for the sick one.” I shrugged. “I didn’t mind that. It’s one of the rare times she actually accepted any help from anyone.” And I cut myself off after that sentence, punctuating it with a long pull of beer because I hated the acid tone of my voice when it came out. It was getting harder and harder to hide the bitterness.

But he’d heard it and, like the sharp man that I knew he was, zeroed in on it like I was a witness he was cross-examining in court. “That’s the other difficulty…to deal with and stockpile the rightful resentment you’ve felt all these months. And you can’t express the anger when the person you are angry with is so sick.” I cleared my throat. It felt tight with my own shame. I looked straight ahead, my hand opening and closing on the table in front of me. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself for feeling that way. You’re human. Your feelings were hurt pretty badly. You have a right to those feelings whether she’s sick or not.” “How were you and Kim able to figure it all out so quickly?” I said finally, mostly to take the heat off of me a little, but also because I was genuinely curious. He laughed. “Quickly? She’s forty-three and I’m almost a decade older than her. I wish I’d found her when I was your age. But life doesn’t work that way. I’m just glad I found her now.” He shrugged. “And when I knew she was the one for me—well, I wasn’t about to waste any more time being alone.” I nodded. His words ran through my mind over and over again during the drive home and the rest of the evening. That night, I refused to go in my office and drown out my thoughts with work when I seemed to have come upon something valuable to think about. Instead, when I hit the top of the stairs, I went into her room—that private sanctuary that I’d made for her. I sat on her window seat and watched the lights on the dark water, my throat tight, my head aching and heavy with thoughts. Glancing over, I saw a well-worn blue bandana on the night table. Picking it up and not knowing why, I brought it to my face, smelling it. Smelling her. The scent washed over me and I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by feelings that I’d been steadily attempting to block out. The feel of her slight body pressing against mine for a hug, for reassurance, tucking her head under my chin. The way I’d lie next to her, my hand on her back to make sure she was still breathing. The shine in her beautiful golden-brown eyes when she was being particularly witty or funny. The pout of her luscious lips right before I kissed them. The sound of her heartbeat when I laid my head on her chest. The taste of her tears when I comforted her. These feelings gripped me, held me hostage in this one point in time, assailing me with every memory from the moment I’d logged in to Dragon Epoch and first met her online as FallenOne to the last time I’d seen her, slowly, sadly tucking herself behind the wheel of my car and driving away. My eyes stung with unshed tears and I actually wept into that damn bandana. I missed her. I needed her. But I was still unsure of her. And I had no idea if I ever could be. *** The night before Peter and Kim’s wedding, we met at a nearby restaurant to share a quiet dinner as a family. I knew I’d see Emilia there for the first time in eight weeks, and I was both excited and nervous to see her. I had no idea what she had gone through during her time away. I only knew how difficult my own journey had been. I hoped that we could sit down and talk calmly like adults. I hoped that we could find our way through this in a way that left us both able to face the future. I met Peter out in the parking lot. My cousin had already gone inside but Peter, catching sight of me, stopped and hung back. I walked up with my gift in hand. “Hey! How’s the happy groom-to-be?” Peter clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Nervous as hell.” “Ah. What’s there to be nervous about? You’ve found yourself an amazing woman.” He grinned and nodded. “It’s not her I’m nervous about. It’s living up to deserving her that makes me think twice. It’s a tall order.” I hesitated, smiled and congratulated him, a sudden inexplicable knot of emotion in my throat. Why had

that simple statement of anxiety choked me up? I followed my uncle in and glanced over his shoulder at the party that was already partially seated at the table in the private room they had rented to us. When we arrived, everyone stood up. My eyes were sifting through the group of people—Britt, Rik and their kids, Heath, Liam—when a hand grasped my arm and I turned. “Adam,” Kim said, smiling up at me, and then taking me in a tight hug. I hugged her back. “Congratulations to the lovely bride.” “Thank you. And…there’s someone here who I think you might like to see?” I smiled to cover the nervous jitters inside, pulling back from the hug. “I think you’re absolutely right.” Kim gave me an encouraging smile. “She just went to the bathroom. She’ll be right back.” I let out a tight breath and turned around to watch the entryway. She was standing there, frozen in her spot, staring at me. I stood still, taking her in. She wore dark colors, black jeans and a dark grey shirt. But nothing on her head because it was covered with a thick layer of her own hair. It was short, but it looked almost as if she’d cut it that way. Her natural eyebrows, although thinner, were back. And her skin…it glowed with healthy color. She took a hesitant step toward me, a shy smile on her mouth. I stepped toward her at the same time she stepped toward me and we met in the middle. “Hey,” she said, and she leaned forward as if to hug me, but when I didn’t reach out to hug her, she swayed back, a question in her eyes. “Hey,” I said, throwing a glance at the table and the eight pairs of eyes all fixed on us. Emilia’s gaze followed mine and she laughed. “Wow, it’s like we are a reality show or something.” With her thus distracted, I leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek before turning to sit at the table. Without a word, she sat across from me. We spent most of that meal engaged in a full table conversation about the upcoming nuptials, teasing the bride and groom, discussing various memories. Kim told some stories from Emilia’s childhood and I found out some new things about her. My cousins got revenge on me for some of the things I’d said by sharing some embarrassing facts about me. We laughed. It was fun. But Emilia and I never had a chance to talk like I’m sure we were both hoping to. When it was time to get up and leave, it was after ten o’clock and there were things to do in the morning. Emilia had to help her mom. I stood beside her in front of the restaurant and people filed past us, giving us a wide berth to afford privacy. Emilia looked up at me a little nervously. “I hope you’re doing okay. But I hope it wasn’t too okay without me.” “I’m okay. But not too okay. And you?” “Somewhat okay,” she said with a short nod. Then she came forward and, pulling herself up on her tiptoes, slipped her arms around my shoulders and kissed me on the cheek. “I missed you like crazy,” she whispered before pulling back. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out what looked like a gift, wrapped in tissue paper. “Open this when you get home tonight, please?” I reached into my pocket and pulled out something I had for her. “You brought your laptop with you?” At her nod, I placed the flash drive in her hand. “Use this when you get back to your room tonight.” She looked down at it, frowning, and then nodded. I leaned down and kissed her, this time on the mouth, but it was short, sweet. “Good night.” Emilia stepped back and slowly made it to the car, looking down at her hand and then back at me before stumbling. I went to my car and immediately tore the tissue off her gift. Holding it up to the dim light in the parking lot, I saw that it was a journal with a beautiful gold-embossed cover made to resemble an illuminated book from the middle ages.

I flipped it open, astonished to see that every page was covered with her writing. She’d written an entry in it every day, like a journal, except at the top of each day she’d started out her entry Dear Adam… I laid the book down on the passenger seat, started the car and headed home. I had the distinct feeling that I wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight.

Chapter Forty-One Mia The hotel room in which we were staying for the wedding was only a few blocks away from the beach, and I was sharing a room with my mom. When we got back and she came out of the bathroom ready for bed, she paused. I’d set up at the desk with my laptop open and my headset plugged in. I was just about to put Adam’s flash drive in the USB port. Mom watched me and I froze. “You going to be up playing a game tonight?” I swallowed and held up the flash drive. “Will it bother you? I don’t know what this is. Adam gave it to me and asked me to plug it in and look at it tonight.” Her brows rose. “Ah, okay. And, um, how were things with him tonight?” I looked down and shrugged. It had been cold, distant and awkward. I pretty much figured everyone present could detect that. Mom sank onto the bed and folded her arms across her chest, watching me. “You need time. And so does he.” I blinked. “That’s what these past couple months were all about. Giving us time.” Mom nodded. “You two have been through more than your share of sadness, together and apart.” I fiddled with the edge of the desk for a moment, avoiding her gaze. It was a delicate situation, to address things like this to a person who was about to begin a new life with the person she loved. “Who’s to say that the sadness is over with?” I said. “You never know, do you? Life is so uncertain. You’ve learned that lesson this year. There’s never the perfect time to choose to be with the one you love. It’s a commitment that you’ll be there in the good times and the bad. That you’ll hold each other’s hand and do it together.” I nodded. “Thanks, Mom. And I want you to know that I’m really happy for you.” No matter how weird it made things with Adam and me. Step-relatives or not. Yeah, it was bizarre, but we were grown-ups and we’d learn to deal with it. I was hopeful, anyway. Mom went to bed, turning off the lights, and I put on my headset and plugged the flash drive into the correct port. The screen on my laptop went black and then lights began to form, arcs and lines and spirals of every color swirling and merging together to spell my name. And before I knew it, I was being logged in to Dragon Epoch automatically. But it was unlike anything I’d ever played before. I was standing on the shore of a beautiful lake, a sunlit mountainscape forming a jagged backdrop. The graphics were new and gorgeous. This was an unreleased part of the game, and I surmised that it would be part of the new expansion that hadn’t yet been revealed to players. But as I used the controls to move my character around, words started to appear. The interface of the game normally did not behave like this, so I deduced that somehow Adam had written a hack of his own game, taking the graphics that had already been produced and putting together a private experience for me alone, taken from bits and pieces of Dragon Epoch. My eyes flew to the words on the screen, snatching up every one as if it were food and I a starving woman dying for sustenance. I know of no better way to communicate with you right now than through this medium of 0s and 1s that is my second nature. In this environment we met, interacted, and, without even knowing it, fell in love. And like this beautiful place where you are now standing, that love was new, fresh, pristine. An unfamiliar country for both of us. And we were reluctant explorers. Until we lost our way…

And now the beautiful mountainscape around me began to fade, the screen darkening slowly but steadily until this idyllic landscape became consumed in a dark, murky fog and I couldn’t see anything. Except for those words…they kept coming, even across the darkness. Everything changed the moment we began to make mistakes, the moment we separated, and each mistake we made caused the previous one to look like nothing in comparison. I accept full responsibility for all the wrongs I did. I am tormented by the way I screwed up then, but I did it because this is the place where you left me, Emilia. Completely, utterly in the dark. I took a deep breath, continuing to read, bracing myself for more raw honesty. I had the heavy feeling that this wouldn’t be easy to read. “You are in a maze of twisty little passages, all alike.” I blinked, remembering the famous quote from one of the earliest computer role-playing games, written and played by thousands long before I was even born—Zork. The iconic quote accompanied a huge walled maze that stretched out in front of me as far as the eye could see in every direction. I recognized the place from a zone in Dragon Epoch—an impossibly infuriating zone, which featured a constantly shifting maze full of riddles and puzzles that needed to be solved. In that zone, there were no monsters to fight and defeat. The enemy was the mind itself. The words formed again, scrolling across my screen, each sentence appearing when I took another turn down the impossible maze. My gut twisted with frustration when those turns led to the inevitable deadends. Every turn I took, every choice I made was the wrong one. All I knew was that I wanted you back. I had to have you back, but everything I did pushed you further away. It was as disorienting as this trip through the impossible maze. I finally judged that I needed to stop moving, because no matter where I turned, the maze became more and more bewildering, closing in on me and making me dizzy. Can you find your way out? What if the person you loved most in the world was at the end of the maze and you had no idea which way to turn? Yes, I was angry, resentful. Even after I found out everything. And because you were sick, that anger got buried deep inside and turned into guilt. You were sick and I had no right to be angry with you. I sat back, sucking in a sob. I didn’t like where this was leading. I put my face in my hands and read through cracked fingers, as if watching a horror movie alone in an empty house on a dark night. The maze faded away and instead, a vapor-like vision formed in front of me. It was hard to see through the haze, but there were clouds. And the words formed again. That guilt became excuses. I know you wanted us to go back to the way things had been. I know you were as clueless about how to do that as I was. So my anger and resentment and guilt came out

as excuses—excuses to keep you at a distance. The vision of puffy white clouds solidified and words formed across them. “I’m tired.” Then they darkened into storm clouds, accompanied by the words, “I’m worried about her.” Then rain started to pour down in torrents. “We need to go slow, wait until she is healthy.” Then lightning struck, over and over again, blinding me. “I’m so angry at her, and I hate myself for it because she is sick.” And then, the visions cleared and I stood in a graveyard. I recognized this place—a point of respawn —one of the first of many graveyards in DE, where your ghost goes after you are killed in the game. And the words, the most heart-wrenching of all: “What if she dies?” But these were illusions I used to hide the real issue. The one I never even realized I had. The most difficult to discover and the most painful to endure… Suddenly, I was back in the original, beautiful mountainscape, standing on the banks of a rushing river that flowed past my feet. I toggled my view screen to look up in the sky. New words formed. I wanted to be the man to protect you and comfort you…instead I was the man who had harmed you… I buried my face in my hands, my vision blurring with tears, my throat stinging with them. But words were scrolling on the screen again and I quickly blinked, afraid that I would miss them, not sure how to see them again if I didn’t capture them now. I know you wanted a different answer from me that day, when you asked me about how I felt about the baby. I couldn’t give it to you then. I still can’t give it to you. The only thing I could think about was the risk to you. I do feel guilty about the lack of feelings because I know it’s something you really wanted. And I could only think of you. But when I think about how close you came to choosing the baby’s life over your own, the fear of that moment chokes me. Because it was completely out of my control and I was utterly at your mercy. I hate, more than anything, to feel helpless, but in that moment, I was. What would have happened if you had chosen to have the baby—and then you’d died? Could I have been anything but a resentful and bitter parent to that child? I know you suffered, physically, emotionally. I know that for you it was a terrible, traumatic decision. But I’ll never be anything but glad you made the choice you did—and that makes me feel guilty, too. And it makes me question and have doubts about our future. Because I wonder…will we ever be able to have joy that isn’t weighted down with loss and guilt and tears? I toggled my mouse button to pause the playback of the game. Sitting back, I stared at that last bit of text, unable to breathe. Was Adam breaking up with me for good? I put a hand over my mouth to muffle the sobs but found I couldn’t. Mom rolled over in her bed and without looking up, she muttered, “Everything okay?” I cleared my throat. “Yeah…sorry. I’m just fine. I’m, um, I’m going to do the rest of this in the bathroom. I don’t want to keep you up.” But she was quickly falling back asleep and I was trying to curb the wild hiccupping of my stomach. I

scooped up my laptop and slunk into the bathroom, where I sank down onto the floor and let the tears out —finally. I bent, reached out and grabbed a massive wad of toilet paper from its holder on the wall, burying my face in it to muffle the sobs now unwilling to stay at the pit of my stomach. I felt like I was coming undone. My world was falling apart. I didn’t know how much more of this I could take. After Adam’s bare and frank admission of his internal misery, his feelings of guilt. His helplessness. What could I say or do that could ever repair that? I stared at the laptop again, as if it were a wild animal about to jump up and bite me. Knives stabbed at my throat, the backs of my eyes. I wiped my snotty face and took a deep breath. I’d come this far on his wild ride. I might as well see where it led me—where it led us. …And I know that it’s important to you to have a child someday. If that’s still true when the time comes, then we will find a way. But I was honest when I said that you are enough for me. When I found you, I found what I had been looking for without even knowing it. Because my life without you…? And the river, the mountains, the trees, the deep blue sky all faded and I was now in the middle of a barren, gray desert. The landscape was dotted with cactus plants, and sand stretched as far as the eye could see. A lone, arid wind howled through the bushes, blowing tumbleweeds under a blazing, relentless sun. I could almost feel the waves of heat rising off the sand. It would be emptier, more desolate than this place. I need you. I’ve always needed you. But that means nothing if you won’t let me in. The air rushed out of me with a rattle and a hiss, as if I’d been punched in the stomach. I was shaking, but I wasn’t cold. My mouth was dry, but I wasn’t scared. And I couldn’t look away. Because the desert was fading again and now I was inside a jail cell, a dark prison. Jagged, rough stone walls rose above me in every direction, with only one wall of bars on one side. I used the controls to turn myself around, this way and that. Only on the third try did I notice a small figure in the corner. I recognized her immediately from the latest portion of the secret quest that we had worked on for months. This was the lost Elvish princess from Dragon Epoch, the one who was the object of the secret quest. She was thin, half-starved, dressed in rags, her face full of sorrow. Four magical bonds held her down, one on each of her arms and legs. She looked up at me with pleading eyes full of misery. The cell dissolved and I was now in a room with two doors. Two choices. Which one will you choose? If we are going to be together, we both have to pick the same one, make the same choice. We have to decide, in spite of all that has gone on between us in the past, in spite of how hard it gets, that our love is tougher than any of the obstacles that have almost impeded it. Everything faded to black and there was nothing but an old-style green cursor, blinking against the black background with just one symbol at the prompt. A question mark. I typed, wondering where it would lead. Would it send him a text or some other type of alert? Would it trigger some other crazy effect in this strange little game he had led me through?

With a deep breath, I tapped out the words. I choose us. Forever. My computer was at the desktop screen again. I waited, not really knowing where my message had gone or if I’d get a response. I thought through the strange, fantastic journey I’d just experienced, particularly moved by that image of the princess, pinned down by her bonds, looking up at me with misery in her brilliant green eyes. She was just like me—in a prison of her own making. My eyes were half-closed in reverie when suddenly they flew open and I sat up straight with shock at that realization. The princess was just like me! “Four bonds. Four allies,” I muttered to myself, furiously typing commands into my computer. My heart was racing. Before I’d left for Anza, we’d been stuck at what I was certain was the final step of the secret quest for weeks. I punched in the commands to log in to the game and it came to the login screen, flashing the fancy intro graphics and video. In a frenzy, I hit the escape button to skip all that and selected my character from the screen. The last time I’d logged in to the game with my friends, we’d made it to just outside the jail cell. We could see the princess inside, and I’d wondered at the time why she had four bonds holding her down while still locked inside a cell. *Eloisa has entered the world of Yondareth My character was in the same location as when I’d last logged out, standing at the bars of the jail cell. In the past, our group had tried breaking into the cell with the help of the allies we’d gathered, but every time we’d done that, huge swarms of trolls had come into the room, overwhelming us in seconds. After countless tries at this, we’d deduced that the way to help the princess did not involve breaking down the doorway. But after that, we’d been completely stuck. In the meantime, I’d left for Anza and sworn off the game for a while. I moved Eloisa forward to speak to the princess once again to see if I’d remembered her words correctly from the last time I’d spoken to her. She always said the same thing and only that one thing when she was hailed. *Eloisa says, “Hail, Princess Alloreah’ala.” *Princess Alloreah’ala says, “I am bound by despair.” Four bonds. Four allies. Despair. The allies had to help the princess free herself. Somehow I had to convince them to do it. After we had discovered that Sergeant GriffonShield had been waiting for us to ask him for help and he’d told us to gather his allies, we’d gathered the four closest allies to the princess and brought them with us. I approached the princess’s trusted maidservant, Maiden Liliannl’a. *Eloisa says, “Hail, Maiden Liliannl’a.” *Maiden Liliannl’a says, “What must I do?” *Eloisa says, “Use your love to free the princess from despair.” *Maiden Liliannl’a says, “I will try.”

Then, I watched as the maidservant approached her princess, curtsied and said, “My dearest princess. I love you and I wish to use my love to set you free.” I held my breath, waiting for something to happen. Suddenly, the bond holding down her right foot glowed golden and vanished. Holy. Shit. The breath rushed out of me. I almost hollered in victory until I remembered that it was three in the morning and Mom was asleep on the other side of the wall. I sucked in a quick breath, feeling giddy with excitement. I hoped that my group wouldn’t hate me for doing this without them, but I couldn’t wake them up at this hour. I hoped they’d understand why I had to have this finished before I saw Adam again. I approached the three other allies, all in turn. First the bodyguard, who did the exact same thing the Maiden had done and freed her other leg. Then, the princess’s best friend. She freed the princess’s left arm. The last one I approached was the princess’s lost love—General SylvenWood, the broken-down man from the very first quest given in the game. He was the non-player character who I had figured out last year was the one who triggered the secret quest. When I asked him to do the same thing, to use his love to free the princess from despair, he turned to me with sad eyes. *General SylvenWood says, “Alas, Eloisa, we once had a great love. But I made some terrible mistakes and so did she. Our love was not enough to save us from the heartache that life put in our path. We separated and the great evil used this separation to spirit my love away from me. Since she left, I am a broken man, a prisoner of my own despair.” *Eloisa says, “Your love will set her free.” *General SylvenWood hangs his head and sighs. *General SylvenWood says, “I will try.” The General approached the cell and, in similar words, professed his love. But instead of the bond glowing and breaking immediately, the princess looked up at him and said, “SylvenWood, my one true love. I thought you had abandoned me. All these years, I’d never forgotten you. But I thought you had forgotten me.” The general held his hands forward, as if pleading with her. “My one true love. I’ve suffered every day that you’ve been away from me. I never abandoned you. I just had no idea how to help you. I love you with all my heart.” Suddenly, the last bond dissipated and the princess weakly stood. With each movement, she appeared stronger, more powerful, until she made her way to the cell door and, with her own powerful magic, sent it flying open. The allies gathered around her, cheering, hugging and kissing her. But as if remembering by happenstance, the princess turned and approached me. *Princess Alloreah’ala says, “Hail, Eloisa.” *Eloisa curtsies. *Princess Alloreah’ala says, “Thank you for gathering my allies. Thank you for finding my true love. You will be rewarded for your kindness. And you will find that your one true love is waiting for you to find him, too, Emilia.” With a gasp, I fell back against the door of the bathroom, stunned. Had he written this all for me?



Chapter Forty-Two Adam It was almost midnight when I fell back against the pillow of my bed and opened Emilia’s journal to read what she had written to me. I had to admit, I was both curious and a little scared of what I’d see. And I also wondered if, at this very moment, she was reading the messages I’d left for her… Dear Adam, This evening, I am furious with you. I won’t lie. I write this with a hand that’s shaking with rage and tears of anger in my eyes. Because today you sent me away. You gave up. And let me tell you that makes me so pissed off at you right now. Was this just your way of getting back at me for what I did to you last year? Because I’ve been in a hell of my own making and you didn’t need to create a new one for me… I leaned forward, tensing. This didn’t look good. I flipped through a few pages idly, hoping the entire thing wasn’t full of the same hurt and anger. I didn’t know how I could bring myself to read that. With no small fear, I flipped back to that first page and forced myself to read every word she had written. Wasn’t this what I’d wanted—what we’d both wanted? Open, honest communication? I grabbed my reading glasses off the nightstand because I felt a headache coming on, and I’d taken to using the damn things in the hopes that they’d ward off the headaches. But I had a feeling that the real pain that would come from reading these pages wouldn’t be in my head. …How can I not feel guilty for what I did? Every breath I take, every day that I live comes from the lifetime that I stole from the person our child would have been. And I had no choice but to do it. My choice was robbed from me. I closed my eyes and rubbed them through the lids with my thumb and forefinger. With a shaky breath, I willed myself to keep reading. …Tonight, as I was undressing for bed, I took time to examine the scars and tattoo marks on my body. I studied them as if looking at them for the first time, through your eyes. They repulse me, but not for vain reasons. Not just for the permanent mark of imperfection, but because of what they represent. It’s not just the scar on my flesh but a reminder of the way I wounded us. And like the one on my body, I’m reminded that that wound will never go away. I did this. I broke us… …Part of me fears—no, scratch that—most of me fears that one day, when it becomes important to you, when you realize that I may not be able to give you a child, I’ll lose you. Dear Adam, You once told me to put the burden on your shoulders. But it never occurred to me that you had taken all that on—and more. And in so doing, it had become an impossibly heavy load. How can one couple—even with all the love in the world—survive such a thing? We are broken, it’s true, and not all that’s broken can be fixed… Dear Adam, Today I had a long talk with Heath in the barn. He wanted to know what was going on with you and

me. And, really, since I’d dragged him into this, kicking and screaming, I felt I owed him an explanation. So there I was, trying to explain, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. I had no explanation. We did things wrong. We made mistakes. Big mistakes. I did. And you did. We did this. And I lie here tonight wondering if we can ever get past this. Do you want to? …And then I started to think about that goddamn bucket list and that night I forced you to sit down and write it when you were worried out of your mind about me. But you did—you wrote down everything I asked you to write down. I don’t remember a thing about that, but I can’t stop thinking about how unfair that was… …And as I sit here making this new list, the thing that overwhelms me is the desire to do it all with you. Because if it’s not with you, then it’s not worth doing. What do you think? Anything to add? My New Bucket List ● Find something to laugh at, every day ● Remember all the things I’m thankful for every day ● Remember all the people I love ● Remember all the people who love me ● Know in my heart that I can’t do this alone. Dear Adam, Tonight I’m missing you so badly that I almost called you on the phone, even if it meant just listening to your voicemail message. God, it hurts so bad that I ache with it. I just need to hear your voice. I just want to feel your arms around me. So tight. Tight, tight hugs. …When I first met you, you intimidated the hell out of me. I didn’t know what to make of you, but you fascinated me anyway. You saw things. You knew things. You noticed and you cared. And I couldn’t stop thinking about you, wanting to know more. Everything was so thrilling and new then. The rush of fresh, new love. It was like a drug that I was addicted to. …But that doesn’t hold a candle to what I feel now. I still think about you. Every day. I wonder what you are doing. I wonder if you have kicked all your blankets off your side of the bed again and woken up cold. I wonder if you are so absorbed in work that you forgot to eat dinner again. I worry that your headaches might be coming back or that you fell asleep with your face on your laptop again. I look up at the moon every night—and the stars. And I wonder if you are looking up at them, too. Dear Adam, In less than two days, I’ll be looking into your eyes again and I write this with a shaky hand, wondering what I’ll see there—will those beautiful dark eyes be windows, or mirrors, or doors locked and shut tight to me? I’m scared. I looked up at the sky tonight and I saw a shooting star cross over the constellation of Draco. That’s a sign, right? A good sign? I made a wish, but of course I can’t tell you what it is. But that wish is my hope. All my hope wrapped up in that one little instant of burning meteorite. It reminded me of this quote: “The skies are painted with unnumbered sparks. They are all fire and every one doth shine.” –Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 1

(Don’t be too impressed. I had to Google that…) Those sparks are like my hope right now. Unnumbered. All fire. And I pray that you still have hope, too. I read for hours, unable to put it down, and when I finished, I flipped back through the pages—back through her sketch recreating the shooting star through the constellation of Draco. Back through collages, articles printed out and glued into the pages, her list of quotes from our favorite movies and TV shows. Back to her new bucket list. And then back to the last few lines of the last entry, written just hours before she’d wrapped up the journal and handed it to me. …And so I have forgiven myself for what I once believed was unforgivable, but I give myself permission to be sad about that loss sometimes… I closed my eyes and slept. And for the first time, I didn’t dream of her. Or at least I didn’t remember it if I did. She was no longer a ghost, a phantom of guilt that tormented my conscience. She was flesh and blood and real. And she was my future. In the morning, when I woke up and checked my phone, I found a text message waiting for me…a special alert I’d set up from inside the game. Four simple words and I knew who they were from. I choose us. Forever. *** Just before sunset by the peaceful rocks overlooking the tide pools at historical Crystal Cove Beach, my Uncle Peter married Emilia’s mom, Kim. They held hands and said informal vows to each other, but the ceremony only lasted minutes. We quickly congratulated them and sent them off to spend their first evening alone as a married couple. But all through that ceremony, I could hardly concentrate on my uncle’s happy turn of events because I couldn’t take my eyes off the beautiful woman standing at the bride’s shoulder. The wind ruffled her short, dark hair. Her skin glowed, radiant in the golden sunlight. She wouldn’t stop smiling, and in that laceedged white sundress, she looked like an angel. But she wasn’t a mere angel. Vibrant, full of life and strength from all that she’d overcome. She was a goddess. And I do believe that she was just as unfocused on the wedding as I was, because she held the bride’s tiny bouquet, smelled it often and stole glances at me like a shy schoolgirl in the back of class. I’m sure she was just as overjoyed about her mom’s happiness as I was for Peter’s, but it was hard to concentrate on them when we’d had no chance whatsoever to talk. The two of us. Alone. And we had so many important things to say.

Chapter Forty-Three Mia I lingered on the rocks after that short, humble ceremony. The family had spent time together on the beach and they were now following the happy couple back to the parking lot. But, having hugged, kissed and congratulated my mom already, I stayed behind and stooped, looking into the tidal pools at the anemones and hermit crabs, relishing a little quiet time to myself and hoping that Adam would wander back to talk to me. I didn’t have to hope it because I soon became aware that he’d never moved more than a few feet from me. He stood nearby, his hands in his pockets, looking out over the ocean and hovering near me like a sentry. I glanced up at him, squinting against the dying sun. “Hey.” He pulled his eyes away and looked at me, smiling. “Hey, cousin.” I made a face. “Do not ever call me that again. That is beyond gross.” He chuckled, taking a few steps toward me until he was standing beside me. I stood and climbed on top of the group of rocks next to us. “Someone said they saw a pod of whales swimming around out there earlier. I’ve been looking and looking and haven’t seen anything.” He stepped up on the rock beside me, his eyes scanning out over the ocean. We were silent and though I was still looking for those whales, every inch of my body was aware of how close his body was to me. Just inches away, but it felt like miles. Like every cell in mine was calling out to every cell in his. My throat was tight and I forced myself to swallow. “There!” I said, throwing out my hand wildly to indicate where I’d seen the spout from a blowhole. In my excitement, I’d thrown myself off-balance. He reached out to grab my shoulders, steadying me. His hands felt like heavy weights on me. Grounding me, electrifying me. I hadn’t felt his touch in so, so long and now his warm hands were on my bare shoulders. I shook slightly with excitement, with suppressed energy. I’d slept very little last night, winding through the puzzles of the game—solving the quest he’d rewritten for me. It had been like traveling through a twisting maze and finding his unguarded heart at the center. In spite of all this running through my mind, I kept my eyes on the spot where I’d seen the spout and another one went up just after that. But he didn’t look up at that one when I pointed it out. Instead, he kept his eyes on me. I could feel the weight of them, as heavy as his hands. And now his thumbs moved across my skin and my mouth went dry and I barely contained the whimper in my throat. His head dipped and his mouth alighted on the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Heat shot through me and I did moan a little then, responding immediately. He didn’t pull his mouth away, just joined that delicious touch with his tongue, trailing along the back of my neck and shoulder, his hands cupping my shoulders a little bit tighter. My eyes shut tightly and my left hand went to his hair, twining my fingers in it, pressing his head against me. I never wanted him to pull away. My skin was tingling, sensitive, almost so much so that everything was near painful. Every time his lips moved across my skin, I had to fight to keep from jumping. I turned my head and he pulled his mouth away. We stared into each other’s eyes for long moments. His hands slipped from my shoulders to my waist and then tightened his hold, encircling his arms around me. I fell against him with a sigh and his mouth landed on mine. I opened my mouth to him but didn’t wait for his tongue to enter. Instead, I pressed mine forward, exploring him. He sucked in a breath, probably surprised by my boldness. I turned in his arms and pressed my chest against his, fixing my hands around his neck. The kiss deepened and I was caught up, swirling as everything turned—like we were the axis of a world all our own and it revolved around us. They say love makes the world go round, and that tiny world we had formed went around us and at our

center, at that axis—love. My heart pressed against his. The world dimmed as the sun sank below the horizon, but neither of us seemed aware. The ocean continued to pound its endless rhythm, but it was nothing compared to our hearts thumping against each other. When he pulled his mouth away, that dreamlike reality we’d formed around us continued. He pressed his forehead to mine and we stared into each other’s eyes. My hands were on his cheeks, my thumbs caressing his exquisite jaw. He was even more beautiful in the violet light of dusk than he was in daylight, if that were possible. “Emilia,” he whispered, his eyes closing, and then he tucked me under his chin as he pulled me closer to him. “I missed you.” Missing him seemed such a weak way to say what I’d been doing for the past two months. Existing without him had made me feel lacking, incomplete, a whole huge part of me gone. “I missed you, too—the way an ionized atom misses its last electron,” I said with a laugh on my lips. “You are such a nerd,” he laughed, kissing my nose. “But that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Two atoms, sharing a covalent bond, melded together, forming a molecule—something better than each of the parts separately. And I couldn’t help but think that that was like us. Separate, we were special, unique people; together, we formed something rare and precious and greater than our separate selves. “So, I might have checked at the reservation desk early this morning and rented one of the cottages for the night…if you feel like spending the night here at the beach,” he said. I pulled my head away and glanced back at the line of cottages all along the shore. They were historic landmarks, these cottages, all here since the Depression era and inhabited by beach dwellers until the previous decade, when the state had retaken the homes, refitted them, and rented them out nightly to the public. I nodded enthusiastically. Spend the night in one of these adorable cottages with Adam? Yes, please. “Your bag is in your car?” “Yeah. I was going to go back to the hotel tonight if—if you didn’t want me to stay over with you.” He frowned for a minute, looking at me like I was crazy, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a key on a big keychain. “I rented the white one on the end.” He pointed. “Give me the keys to the car and I’ll go get your stuff.” We traded keys and he kissed me again before heading up the hill to the parking lot.

Chapter Forty-Four Adam I jogged up that hill as quickly as I could once I left the sand. The parking lot was a ways away, but I hoped that would give Emilia some time to settle in at the cottage while I grabbed her stuff. I was still pretty high from holding her on the beach, kissing her, feeling her body fall against me. She felt more solid now…stronger. More like her old self but with essential changes that only made her more beautiful, mature, amazing. Or maybe she’d just always been that way and my time away from her had made me appreciate those things in her even more. When I hit the parking lot, I saw that some of the wedding guests were still hanging out. The bride and groom had gone, but Heath stood at his car, leaning up against it and talking to Connor. When he saw me, he immediately straightened, glancing behind me. He’d been waiting to see if Emilia was okay. “Hey, man,” I said when he got closer. “She’s okay? Where’s she at?” I smiled. “She’s okay. She’s coming home with me.” Heath grinned. “Good. That’s great to hear.” I slapped my hand on his shoulder. “I know we’ve both been a pain in your ass for the last few months. But thanks for being a great friend.” Heath looked a little taken aback. “No sweat, man.” “Here. I want you to have something.” I reached into my pocket and held out my hand, pressing the keys into his. He opened his hand, not understanding at first. These were the spare keys to the Porsche. “Uh. Dude, you must be high,” he said with a laugh and then looked up into my face and saw that I was dead serious. “For real?” His jaw dropped. “Yeah. Drop it by my service guy whenever you need it taken care of. I’ll cover it. But you better take good care of it or I’ll kick your ass.” He held his hand out to me. “Adam, I can’t take this. That car is your most prized possession.” I shook my head. “I love the car, not gonna lie. But you took good care of her when I couldn’t…and I love her a whole hell of a lot more than that car. Thank you.” Heath paused for a moment, a confused frown transforming slowly into a goofy grin. “Well, then. You better take good care of her. Or I’ll kick your ass.” I laughed. “I have no doubt about that.” Giving Connor a wave, I walked over to the Tesla that Emilia had been using for the last few months and opened it up to get her things before turning and walking back down the hill.

Chapter Forty-Five Mia I trudged across the sand and let myself into the cottage. It wasn’t the luxury accommodations we’d had in Paris, but the quaintness of the place—and its stellar location—was not lost on me. I took a minute to explore my simple surroundings. There was a bedroom with a double bed and a loft up above. The kitchen had a microwave and a fridge and one big old wood-burning stove that no longer functioned and had been apparently included for ambiance. The floors were simple beam wood. And the décor was beach-themed, complete with a painting incorporating bits of shimmering beach glass. When Adam returned from the hike to the parking lot and back, my bag slung over his muscular arm, I was lying on the bed, paging through the picture book that had been sitting on the coffee table. It recounted a complete history of the Crystal Cove area from prehistoric times until the present. “Did you know that they used one of these cottages for a Japanese language school during the 1920s?” He dumped my bag on the small bench at the end of the bed and watched me, smiling. “Really? Fascinating.” But I could tell what fascinated him was not the information I was giving him but what he saw on the bed before him. I smiled knowingly. His eyes had that unmistakable glow in them—that smolder. Swallowing, I batted my eyelashes at him. I tapped on the cover of the book. “I can read you some more of this, if you like.” He smiled, that dimple forming at the side of his mouth again. He was so good-looking it stole my breath. He reached up and loosened his tie without taking his eyes off of me. I had already kicked off my shoes, but I closed the book and set it on the floor beside the bed. I leaned back and patted the bed beside me as he was unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt. “As you wish,” he said with a laugh, coming around to lie beside me. We reached for each other at the same time, our noses colliding in our haste to kiss each other again. We both leaned back, laughing. I rubbed my nose. “Och. It’s just a flesh wound,” I quoted from one of our favorites, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. “She turned me into a newt,” he said in his best imitation of John Cleese, the actor from that same movie. “A newt?” He smiled. “I got better.” I laughed. “Come here, you hot geek god, you.” He kissed me and pulled back. “Mmm. Yep, you really are a witch. And you’ve completely beguiled me. Toad curse and all.” “Did you turn into a toad while I was gone?” “I was as miserable as a toad without you.” I stared for a moment and then started laughing so hard I snorted. “That is so completely non-sexy.” “Unlike that snort. That snort right there is utterly sexy.” I stuck my tongue out at him and he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me up against him. I put my hand on his chest, splayed out my fingers across the solid muscle. “Speaking of utterly sexy…” I said, and my hand flew up and quickly unbuttoned half the buttons. “Oops. Your shirt fell open.” He leaned down and captured my lips with his, his mouth sealing over mine with more insistence, more hunger than before. My heartbeat was a footrace inside my chest, galloping in turns and stumbling in others. “Oops,” he murmured in between urgent follow-ups. “My mouth fell on yours.” “Wow, we are so clumsy,” I breathed against his lips. He continued to kiss me, pressing my head back against the pillow. His hand cupped my jaw before his

finger traced its way back to my ear and then down along the side of my throat. He drew the chain of my necklace aside, the compass flopping on the bed beside my neck. His touch was scalding hot and ice cold at the same time. I sucked in a breath. His finger trailed across my collarbone and landed on the top button of my dress. Slowly, our mouths separated and he stared into my eyes. My breath faltered as he slipped the button through the buttonhole. I was at once mesmerized by his touch and utterly afraid for him to see what was underneath. And he clearly knew that. Pulling back and propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t stop. His finger slid down slowly across my skin to the second button. Before I could react or protest, that one slipped open as well. But he wasn’t looking at what he was doing. Instead, his eyes were fixed on mine. In minutes, the dress was unbuttoned past my waist. Adam pressed his finger against the notch at the base of my neck and slowly trailed it down across my chest, over my bra, between my breasts and down my stomach, until it landed at my navel. There, he traced a circle around it and a fire ignited in my belly, my body burning for his. A long breath of air hissed between my teeth as I concentrated on that one, simple touch. His hand came up again to my shoulder. And in spite of the burning arousal, cold fear gripped my throat as he slowly slipped the strap of my sundress—and my bra—off of my shoulder. My breathing froze and I put my hand over his, stopping him before he brought the straps low enough to expose my scars. He froze and our gazes held for endless minutes. I was sure he could see the fear, the uncertainty in mine. I saw the determined passion in his. Slowly, gently, he slipped his hand out from under mine, took my wrist and pulled my hand away from where I had stopped him. I didn’t resist as he brought my hand down to my side, slipping it under my hips and pinning it there so I wouldn’t be tempted to use it again to stop him. My heartbeat was icy in my throat as his hand returned to what it had been doing. His other hand, as a precaution, gripped my free hand inside of it. All I could do was stare into those dark eyes, my breath coming faster as he succeeded in slipping the straps over my left arm. He pulled that side of my bra down and I was completely exposed to him. Hot shame bathed my face, but Adam hadn’t looked there. He was still studying my face, holding my eyes with his dark ones. Then he shifted so that his leg pinned mine down, and with another tug on the other half of my bra, I was naked from the waist up. He lowered his eyes and looked at me, and part of me wanted to curl up and die. Despite having gained back a bit of the weight I’d lost during chemo, I was still too thin. My breasts, as a result, were smaller than before, and the left one was still maimed and ugly, the angry red scars jagging over the skin, black dots tattooed across it. Slowly, as if afraid I might bolt even though I was held down, he raised his hand and with a butterfly-light touch, he traced his fingers over the raised scar. I shivered under him. He shushed me, looking into my eyes again though I avoided his gaze. “Emilia. Look at me.” And I did. I saw sincerity and admiration in his eyes. “You are beautiful. And these,” he said, tracing the scars again with more pressure than before, “are your strength.” I blinked, my eyes stinging. I wanted him to touch me again. And he did. My breath shivered in my chest. He palmed my scarred breast, running a progressively firmer touch over it until my nipple puckered to a point, erect and begging for his attention. He lowered his mouth and kissed it ever so lightly. I gasped and arched my back to meet him. He kissed it again, a light peck. And again, a little harder. Then his mouth opened and his tongue tasted, ever so slightly. And again, his tongue ran over and around my nipple until I was burning and writhing underneath him, unable to get enough of the feel of his mouth. He suckled and pulled, tasting and tugging until a small sob escaped the back of my throat. The first time his teeth touched my nipple, I jumped as if jolted with electricity. My hand, which had been wedged underneath me, pulled free and came up to weave my fingers in his thick hair, holding him to my attentionstarved breast.

He turned and, while thumbing my once-injured breast, put his mouth to the task of similarly treating my healthy one. Time stretched—maybe a half hour or more, I wasn’t keeping track—and he did nothing but lavish my chest with his careful, passionate attention. I was stunned to realize how close I was to climax just from what he was doing to my breasts. He noticed, too. His hand slipped from my breast, across my stomach and into my underwear. His mouth was still doing indescribably wonderful things to my breast as his fingers found the swollen bundle of nerves and rubbed against it in gentle circles. I closed my eyes and arched to him, my entire being inflamed with his touch. I was so close… He removed his head from my breast and pulled back. He pulled my hands out of his hair with his one free hand. “Touch them,” he whispered, those glowing eyes holding mine captive. I hesitated and he stopped rubbing against my clitoris. I almost whimpered with the loss. “I want to watch you touch them. I want you to know what I already know—how hot, how beautiful your body is.” I trembled under him as I slowly put my own fingertips to my erect nipples, tugging at them lightly, crying out as his hand started moving across my sex again. “You are so beautiful,” he repeated over and over again as he watched me finger my own nipples. I closed my eyes tightly and gasped as he brought me to the edge, slowed and stopped again. I almost screamed in frustration. “Open your eyes.” And I did. Our eyes locked and his weren’t mirrors, or doors, but corridors, leading deep inside. I gasped and he kissed my lips as he circled his hand over my sex. I pinched my own nipples and then arched my back as everything tightened inside of me. He watched as he took me up and over the edge. I screamed his name and he gasped against my mouth, his lips pulling gently at mine. It had been a long time since I’d had an orgasm that pleasurable, that intense. My eyes rolled back as I continued to convulse with pleasure, continued to raggedly call his name. His hands tightened on me and I felt as if those ripples of ecstasy would go on forever. I came down from that, my body burning and trembling with the intensity of my climax, but he didn’t stop. “I’m going to make you come again,” he uttered fiercely, his mouth now against my neck. But I pulled myself away from him, trying to close my legs. “I want you inside me when I come again.” I thought he might object to that, but he didn’t. He pulled his hand out of my underwear and quickly pulled my dress, bra and underwear off of me. I was no longer self-conscious about being naked in front of him and was anxious to see him naked, too. I unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and pulled off his undershirt while he unzipped his trousers. Soon, he was only in his tented boxer briefs. Before pulling them off, he reached into the pocket of his discarded pants and extracted a foil-wrapped condom. He pulled off his underwear and rolled me onto my back. I could tell by the strained rigidity of his handsome features that he wasn’t playing around anymore. I swallowed as he slowly parted my legs, settling between them before rearing up to slide the condom on with one hand. I sat up on my elbows and watched him, though it only took seconds. He was well practiced at it, it seemed. I hoped he wouldn’t cut this short, like the other times. Would we stop now? Would that same fear come back? I held my breath as if somehow breathing would break the spell of the moment. My eyes met his ferocious gaze and he lay back down against me, pushing me gently off my elbows so I was flat underneath him. His body hovered over mine, burning me with his heat. His erection pressed against me as he kissed me again—his tongue and lips and teeth claiming my mouth, forcing it open under him and owning every inch of it. There was hardly time for a breath before he was nudging his cock against me, pushing his way inside.

He gave a more insistent push of his hips until our pelvises rested flush against each other. I gasped at the familiar, wonderful feeling of him filling me up. I took a deep breath and he pulled his mouth away from mine to look into my eyes, his breath heavy, his eyes drunk with desire. “I almost forgot how fucking good you feel,” he muttered hoarsely. Pressing his damp forehead against mine, he twitched his hips, sliding out of me before pushing home again. I moaned. “I never forgot how fucking good you feel,” I murmured. “I’ve wanted you inside of me every day for months.” He gasped but he never broke the rhythm. I wondered, briefly, if sex with the condom wouldn’t feel as pleasurable for him as it had before, but my mind did not linger on that long because it was more than clear that he was enjoying himself. Soon he was reared up on his arms, my long legs draped over his shoulders, his eyes half-closed, on his own way to ecstasy as he pushed relentlessly inside of me and then pulled out again in a sharp, short rhythm. He stopped again, pulling me up against him and leaning back so that we were both sitting up. He laid my thighs over his and we faced each other. He entered me again with a hoarse groan. As we moved against each other, his strong arms pinned my chest against his and he kissed my face—my forehead, my temples, my cheeks, everywhere. Then his mouth was on my mouth, his tongue darting in and out with the same timed, relentless rhythm of our bodies moving against each other. And my whole existence, for those moments, became Adam. Adam’s smell, Adam’s sweat mingling with mine, Adam’s hot breath on my skin, Adam’s body moving against me, Adam’s hands gripping me, Adam’s tongue in my mouth. Adam’s cock sliding inside of me, claiming me. Yes. I was forever his. His breathing grew more ragged as, his hands fixed to my hips, he dragged my pelvis over his, faster and faster until once again I was coming, my world shattering around me, my whole body convulsing. I threw my head back, shouting in ecstasy, but he didn’t stop, sliding me over him again and again. With one last deep push, he stiffened against me, holding me still. And I felt his orgasm pulse through me as if I was coming again. He shuddered and he pressed his forehead to mine. Holding his breath we froze in time— one body, one soul. With a gasp, he fell back against the mattress, staring up at me with sated eyes. In that moment, our bodies still joined, my hands splayed across his cut, damp chest, I felt powerful, feminine, sexy. The most desired woman in the world. Adam had done that. And soon the tears were up and over their usual careful barriers, spilling out from my lower lids and down my cheeks. He frowned, his dark brows furrowing. He reached up, tracing a thumb down the path of my tears. “What’s wrong, sweet Mia?” I shook my head, unable to speak. I leaned down and kissed his cheek, his neck, laid my cheek against his shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just happy. So, so happy.” His arms tightened around me and we lay like that, saying nothing, just enjoying each other, our naked bodies pressed to each other. I wished we could just spend the rest of our lives like this. Never feeling anything but this protective bubble of love around us to keep life’s sadness and hurt at bay. “This feels so good. I could lay like this for a week,” he murmured, his words paralleling my thoughts. “I could be your blanket,” I said. “That sounds perfect. I could be yours sometimes, too.” “Mmm. Do you think that people will bring us food if we call them and tell them to?” He brushed his fingers along my damp back, tracing my spine. He turned his head and put his nose in my hair, inhaling. “You are one amazing, intoxicating woman, Emilia Strong.” “You are one heart-stoppingly wonderful man, Adam Drake. And you keep me up all night, either with mind-blowing sex or your damn game.” “What?” he said, sounding surprised.

“After I went through your program on the flash drive, I figured out how to solve the quest.” His hand on my back stilled. “You solved it?” I looked up at him and he was smiling. “Yes…the princess was bound by her own despair, and her allies had to use their love to help her set herself free. And then the princess gave me some advice. She told me to go out and find my true love because he was waiting for me.” Adam laced his fingers around mine. “Well, the princess was right, then, wasn’t she? Your true love has been waiting for you all his life. And he sure is glad you’ve finally made it.” I sobered for a minute, then angled my head to look up into his face. “Adam…are we going to be okay? I mean, it’s been months and we couldn’t talk to each other and I know we’ve learned a lot about ourselves, but…what about us as a couple?” His hand tightened around mine. “Well, we have learned a lot in the past couple months, but I think the biggest thing I’ve learned, anyway, is that this is a work in progress—that we keep working on it and we don’t let things build up and fester. That we can’t be afraid to talk about it.” “And we don’t give up—even when things look impossible.” He let out a long breath. “Well, this certainly felt impossible not too long ago. And I’m sure it won’t be easy. But it sure as hell is worth it.” We dressed and had a late dinner at the Beachcomber restaurant, set right in the inlet amongst the cottages and illuminated with tiny white lights. We were like new lovebirds, holding hands over the table while we talked about trivial stuff. Adam filled me in on the goings-on among our mutual friends while I’d been up in Anza. He did most of the talking. I listened, nodded and kept my new little exciting secret to myself for a few minutes longer. After coffee, I mentioned that I’d like to go for a moonlit walk along the beach, and I thought I’d have to be more persuasive but he actually brightened. After paying the check, we walked out to where the waves were breaking against the shore, where the sand was packed tighter now that the tide was low and an almost full silvery moon hung overhead, casting an otherworldly glow over the sand and water. When we got as far as the tide pools—not far from the spot where our relatives had married each other earlier that day—he turned to me. “We still have a lot to talk about, you know. I didn’t want to be the downer to bring all that up, but…” I stopped, nodding. “I know. I agree.” He pulled me into a hug and I kissed his cheek. “But first I have something to ask you.” “Sure. Go ahead,” he said. “Well, it has to do with respawns.” “Huh?” I cleared my throat. “A do-over. My do-over.” He still clearly did not understand. “Umm.” Gathering my courage, I swallowed my fear, took both of his hands inside mine and sank down on the sand in front of him. He laughed for a moment, not understanding, and then his laughter died out when I looked up into his eyes and, squeezing his hands, I asked, “Adam Drake…I love you more than anything. Let me be by your side until the very end, whenever that may be. Will you make me your wife?” He froze, his features sobering. I held my breath. I couldn’t tell what was going on in his mind. And I guess that was what this question was all about. I trembled, cold fear seizing me, frightened beyond all thought that his answer would be “no”.

Chapter Forty-Six Adam Emilia had pressed something into my hand. I tore my eyes away from hers to open it and look inside. In the dim moonlight, it shone like a tiny star itself and, without getting a really close look at it, I knew exactly what it was. I’d tried to slip a ring like this on her finger last fall. My jaw tightened. “Stand up, Emilia.” She didn’t say anything, but her eyes skittered away from mine, her features clouding. I tugged on her arms, and with a frown she slowly got to her feet, squaring her shoulders. We stood face to face, and I stared into her beautiful brown eyes. She was biting her lip, convinced that I’d rejected her. “Why are you doing this? Why are you thinking of marriage now?” Her brows drew together. “Because I know what I want and I don’t want to wait, and if I’ve learned anything this year it’s that I’m not going to defer my own happiness.” I nodded, relieved that she wasn’t doing this out of a sense of obligation to make things up to me for last year. I took the ring out of the palm of my hand, took her left hand in mine and then dropped to my knee. She gasped and I had to hold on to her hand or she would have pulled it away in shock. “No, keep it there,” I said. Finding the correct finger, I slipped the ring on, pushing it past her knuckle. It was a perfect fit. It was, indeed, the exact same ring that I’d bought for her. She’d told me she’d sold it, but here it was, shining at me from the fourth finger on her left hand. “Emilia Kimberly Strong, will you do me the honor of allowing me to become your husband?” She stood absolutely still, and I realized I’d been too scared to look into her face as I asked it. And, God, wouldn’t it be extra humiliating to have done this twice and get the same silence for an answer both times? I raised my eyes to hers and saw that she was crying, shining tears trailing down her cheeks. She sank onto the sand before me and we were now at eye level. I wiped her tears away with my hand and she smiled, watching me. “I’ve never been more sure of anything before—ever. I love you. One thing I’ve learned in this last year is that this life can really be tough. It can throw such utter shit at a person. It can take you for an utter fool. And I’ve tried to be strong, but the thing I’ve learned above all else is that I can’t do this alone. And I can’t do it with anyone else but you…please.” But I only laughed at her. “I asked you, silly. But I’ll take that as a ‘yes’?” She laughed and pressed her forehead to mine. “Yes. That’s a big, big yes.” I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, holding her tight against me. Her heart thrummed against my chest and her arms locked around my neck. A surge of love washed over me and though she had instigated this, I was completely certain that she was my future. I wanted this amazing, strong, beautiful woman beside me for the rest of my life. When our lips parted, I took her left hand in mine again, turning it over I looked at the ring. “I thought you said you sold it off to pay for your medical bills.” She nodded. “I pawned it. Fortunately, it was still at the shop last week when I bought it back.” I raised my brows and looked at her. “This is probably an indelicate question, but—” She straightened. “I sold the blog, Adam. That’s how I got the money.” I frowned, unable to find the words. I was more irked about her selling the blog than about her having sold the ring in the first place. She laid a hand on my cheek. “Please don’t be mad. It’s something I had to do. I put a lot of myself into that blog and Girl Geek will always be a part of me…but there was a point where I wouldn’t have been able to continue a lot of the features. You and I being together meant that there would have been some serious conflict of interest on what I wrote about. I would have had to change the angle of what I was

doing anyway, so…I saw selling the blog as a way of making that final, ultimate commitment to growing up and leaving my old life behind.” “I would never have asked for you to do that.” She nodded. “I know. I asked it of myself. It’s something I needed to do. Plus, with medical school, I wasn’t going to have the time I used to before.” That was the other big question hanging between us, so I was glad she’d brought it up. “So you’ve come to a decision about medical school?” Relief washed over me. “I’m so glad you are going to go. My realtor found some wonderful properties in Maryland—” I cut myself off at her shaking head. “I sent Hopkins my polite rejection.” I pulled away from her and sat back on my legs. “What?” “I’m not going to Maryland.” “But—” “I’m staying here. I’m going to go to UC Irvine.” My mouth hung open. She gave me a look of concern. “Adam, are you okay? I’m kind of worried.” I shook my head. “I don’t understand. UCI wasn’t even on your top-five list.” She sat down in the sand next to me. “You’re right. It wasn’t. Until I started going there every week for my chemo. Until I met the staff and some of the teaching doctors and was so impressed by how they interacted with their patients. How they concentrated on our comfort, our emotional health and putting us at ease. To be honest, I’m not even sure about specializing in oncology anymore. I don’t know if I still have the guts for it. But if I do, I want to be taught by those doctors.” I looked at her, still not quite able to wrap my mind around it. “Are you sure?” She smiled and nodded. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. I had a lot of time up there in the desert to think.” I shook my head. “You are absolutely sure? Because I don’t want you to regret it.” She looked up into the sky, fingering the compass around her neck. “So here’s the deal… This last year has been, um, challenging, and I tried to do a stupid thing and power through it by myself because that’s what I’d always done my entire life. For me, it was easier to do that than to get my heart broken by relying on other people who wouldn’t come through. It was an idiotic way of thinking. You and I had started something special, but I was very much still in that old mindset.” She looked down from the sky and found my gaze. I leaned back on my arms, watching her. “So I’ve learned that very hard lesson. At any moment, your life can change for the worse or for the better. And when that happens, you need your allies. My people are here. Mom, my friends…and you. Even if I moved there with you, I wouldn’t have everyone else. And I need everyone.” She leaned forward and laid her cold hand on my cheek. “Some more than others, of course. But I need Alex and Jenna and Kat and William and Britt. Mom and Peter and Connor. And, of course, Heath.” “Hmmm.” I shook my head. “I was afraid you were going to mention the big ugly guy.” She laughed and then leaned forward, looping her hands around my neck. “I need all of you. And I don’t want to leave for that long. Being sick…having been through all that happened to us. It taught me a lot. It taught me what is really important. So it’s better that that slot at JHU goes to someone who really, really wants it. As for me, I still want to be a doctor, and I think I’m going to be learning from some brilliant doctors at Irvine.” I reached out and pulled her onto my lap. She came willingly and clasped my neck, pressing her head onto my shoulder. “Adam…” “Yes?” “I just…I want to say that even though I have no idea what’s in store for us in the future, or if we are even finished with going through these rough bits in life—I just want to say that whatever happens, the

good or the bad, I’m so incredibly lucky to be sharing those days and nights with you.” I closed my eyes, turned and kissed her face. Her lips found mine and we shared a passionate kiss— one with enough fire in it to stoke the flames for more. I ordered my libido to calm the hell down because I wasn’t going to wear her out tonight. She was still recovering, probably still weak, and we had to go easy for her sake. Before I knew it, though, she had pulled me down in the sand on top of her, reaching under my shirt to touch my chest. “So about that old bucket list…” she said. “Sex in public?” I said in a faux-shocked voice. “The beach is public. And look—I brought some of my own.” She pulled out a condom—the wrapping of a brand I didn’t recognize. I squinted at it in the dim light. “You can’t read it but trust me, I conducted some research into the product testing these things have to go through, and this brand has by far the best record for breakage.” I laughed. Then I stood up, and when she tried to pull me down again, I swung her into my arms. “Come on—I’m going to make sweet, slow love to my fiancée in the privacy of my own cottage, thank you very much. Where there’s no danger of sand getting involved.” She laughed all the way back to the front door. But when I put her down, sliding her slowly down over my hard body, she wasn’t laughing anymore.

Chapter Forty-Seven Jordan Six Weeks Later It wasn’t easy getting my ass out of bed the first day back to work after Comic-Con and goddamn, what a week it had been—parties, women and, oh yeah, the panels. I think I managed to squeeze in some serious business in the cracks between all the fun. It’s good to be young, single and rich. But even I had to go to work, and after a week of living as if I didn’t have a care in the world, my first day back at Draco had me dragging ass. Good thing I spent most of it alone in my office, sipping my favorite hangover remedy and pushing paperwork around—even if done virtually on my laptop. I really didn’t have much to complain about, in all honesty. I had a kickass job at a growing company that had made me a crapton of money at a young age. I may not actually have been a rock star, but I was glad to live like one. The parties, the women, the dream beach house. And the open, spacious corner office that had its own view of the indoor atrium. I had a nice office. I wasn’t going to complain about that, even on a day when I was feeling like death warmed over, laying my head on the desk for much of the morning and wondering if I could wander out a little early for the day to catch up on my sleep. Just before lunch, I was finally feeling the first hunger pangs when our jackass publicity manager, Weston, poked his head into my office—without knocking, of course. “Fawkes—need you in Adam’s office, asap.” He said it like a word instead of pronouncing all the letters, like that made him cool. He was a pencil neck and his habit of only calling me by my last name irritated the fuck out of me. He seemed to know it, too. “Okay, Preston,” I said, hiding the smirk as I deliberately messed up his name. He rolled his eyes and spun from the doorway, leaving it ajar as he headed to the CEO’s office. A few minutes later—long enough to make it known that I didn’t jump and follow his orders whenever he snapped his damn fingers—I sauntered over to Adam’s office, where our illustrious CEO was pacing in front of the wall of windows behind his desk, his hands shoved into his pants pockets. He’d been on edge for the last few months. While he’d been tending to a sick girlfriend, he’d also been working on the secret project with me—a project that stood to make us all a lot more money and push him up into billionaire range if everything went down as we’d planned it. And, of course, he’d just gotten engaged. If nothing else could stress a man out, I’m sure the thought of marriage would. Poor fool. I stifled a yawn and sank into the chair facing Adam’s desk. I was now hungry as hell. Checking my watch—12:30—I tried not to think about the lunch that was arriving any minute now via my luscious new intern assistant. “So what’s so important it couldn’t wait until after lunch?” I asked as Adam settled in the chair next to me. Weston flipped open his laptop that was sitting on the desk facing us. “A negative PR situation—and before you open it and start going on about how this doesn’t concern you—it does.” He held out a hand to stave off my protest. I closed my mouth and shrugged. “It concerns all of us because of the plan to take the company public.” I sat up at that. He had my full attention now. Anything that threatened my pet project needed to be stamped out immediately. I scratched my chin. “Okay, so what is it, then?” Weston leaned forward to toggle the video player on. “It’s from Comic-Con. The video has gone viral over the weekend.”

A video? Dude had his panties in a twist about a damn video? What the hell? I had a corporation to run. What could possibly be in a video to threaten our bid to go public? Weston was clearly smoking something—probably the good stuff. I eyed him for a minute until the video started streaming. Then, I was distracted by the distinctive sounds of hot sex. My eyes jerked to the laptop screen. A girl, her back to the camera and wearing no pants. A strange tramp-stamp tattoo with a skull and crossbones was clearly visible at the small of her back. She straddled a guy sitting on a chair. His hands gripped her hips so tightly that her skin under his fingers was white. She gyrated on top of him and both of them were moaning and breathing hard. I shifted in my seat, loosening my tie. It was more than just an ordinary sex tape, though, because both participants were in full cosplay from head to toe—except, of course, for the girl’s tight little bare ass. They were unrecognizable in masks, but their cosplay was clearly intended to depict characters from Dragon Epoch. The captured princess, Alloreah’ala, and Falco, a famous bounty hunter that the elf king had hired to go and find her, to no avail. The princess even had sparkly purple shackles hanging from her wrists and ankles. Christ Almighty. I was distracted by a hiss of breath at my right shoulder. Adam leaned forward, his face flushed. That vein that stuck out on his forehead when he was pissed was currently dancing the Lambada between his dark eyebrows. With a jerky motion, he pounded on the pause button. “That shit is viral?” he choked out. Weston nodded, casting a cautious glance at the boss. “It’s all over the place—Facebook, Reddit, Youtube, porn sites—you name it.” Adam jerked out of his seat, raking a hand through his hair. I crossed my legs and then uncrossed them, unable to get comfortable. I settled for lacing my hands together and staring at them fixedly. “C’mon, man,” I finally said after clearing my throat. “It’s not a big deal. It’s a couple of idiots goofing around… probably drunk off their asses.” “Employees,” Adam muttered, flushing even darker red. “My employees fucking on camera, dressed up as characters from what is supposed to be a fucking family game!” Oh. Shit. I needed to calm him the fuck down. I held out my hand. “You don’t know for sure that—” But Adam cut me off, jerking a long finger at the frozen screen, indicating something in the foreground —what looked like a Draco employee badge, the kind we all wore. I had one clipped to the pocket of my dress shirt. Fucking hell. “The name is obscured,” Weston said, leaning in next to Adam to get a better look at what was unmistakably the logo of Draco Multimedia. “What’s that thing blocking it out?” “The chick’s lace thong,” I said drily. Adam’s hand closed into a fist that landed on the desk next to the laptop with a loud thump. “Goddamn it!” he hissed. “I leave fucking Comic-Con a day early to spend some time with my fiancée and all hell breaks loose.” He turned his narrowed eyes on me and I swallowed nervously. “You’re not—” “You need to find out who the fuck that was and make sure they are looking for another job before the week is out. This company cannot stand more negative publicity after last year’s lawsuit and settlement. This needs to be nipped in the bud or we can kiss our plan to go public goodbye.” I held up a placating hand. “Adam, calm down. The ranting is not going to do your blood pressure any good. I’ve got this, all right? I’ll handle everything. It’s not going to affect our project. I promise.” He clenched his jaw. “I’m counting on you for that…” I swallowed, sent him a confident smile I definitely didn’t feel and nodded reassuringly. I was counting on me for that, too. Because three things had to happen. Number one, nothing could threaten our pet

project. Number two, I needed to find out just how and why that video had been posted on social media. And number three, Adam could never find out that the dude in the video was me. The bestselling Gaming The System series continues in For The Win, Jordan and April’s story, available now. (click to purchase)

Epilogue Mia Five Years Later When I got home from my late shift at the hospital, he was in bed, sleeping. I was only a little disappointed as I sat on the end of our bed and watched him. I hadn’t seen him for almost two weeks and he’d flown home while I was working. But it was one a.m. and I was sure he was exhausted and still on European time. I wanted to wake him up and kiss him all over to welcome him home. But how could I, when he looked so peacefully asleep? And still so damn gorgeous. Thirty-two and he was even better looking than he’d been in his twenties. I almost let loose a girlish sigh. God, I’d missed him. I rubbed the stiff muscles at the back of my neck. I had a million things to do—the most important of which was to get out of my scrubs and get to bed, but I didn’t want to… not yet. “Are you just going to sit there and stare at me like a creeper or are you going to come over here and kiss me?” he muttered, cracking an eyelid open in the dim light. I should have known… “Did I wake you up?” I stood up, coming around to his side of the bed. “No. I’ve been lying here waiting for you to get home. You took your sweet time about it, too.” I shrugged. “Sorry. Had a couple emergencies to handle.” He rolled onto his back and hooked an arm around my waist. “Hmm. You have another ‘emergency’ to handle right here, Doctor.” His hand slid up my back and he pulled me down to kiss him. It didn’t take much effort on his part because I was more than willing to suck on that delicious mouth. His hands came up to twine through my hair, his wedding ring glinting in the low light. Soon he was pulling my long hair out of the elastic band I’d used to pull it back into a ponytail. My mouth moved hungrily on his, tasting every inch, every corner. I got out bits of the normal chitchat in between frenzied kisses, which also involved him pulling my scrubs off of me. “How was London?” “I missed you,” he said by way of answer. His hands came up to unsnap my bra. “I missed you too.” My shirt was yanked over my head, my bra following it in seconds. I ran my hands over his bare chest and down under the sheets, noticing that he’d saved me the trouble of undressing him by going to bed naked. “Awfully presumptuous of you, isn’t it?” I snarked as I ran my mouth over the ridges of his yummy chest, tasting every valley. He let out a long, slow groan. “Foreknowledge,” he muttered, pulling my head up to his again so he could claim me with his mouth. Then his lips traveled down my jaw, against my neck, evoking delicious, dizzying sensations there. “I knew you’d be jumping my bones the minute you got home.” “So sure of yourself…” I said, sucking my breath as his mouth blazed a trail from my neck, across my collarbone and chest to fasten on my nipple while he caressed its twin with his free hand. I arched my back, gasping with pleasure. “No…it was actually you that I’m sure of.” When I thought he’d roll us over, I pulled away, laughing and climbing on top of him, ready to prove him right. “This cowgirl is ready to ride. Better saddle up!” I bent over, grabbed a condom out of the nightstand drawer and deftly tore the package open with my teeth, slipping it on him one easy motion. He laughed that breathy laugh he always did when he was turned on. “You don’t waste any time, do you?” “Not when I have a hot piece of manmeat between my legs.”

“I feel so objectified.” Grinning, he gripped my hips and slid inside me. We both groaned in unison. It had been a long day, a long shift. I should have been ready to collapse, but instead I was exhilarated, my blood singing through my veins in a rush of frenzy and thrill, just by being in this man’s arms again. “You love it,” I breathed. “Damn right I do.” I rode him slowly, relishing the feel of him inside me, his hands cupping my breasts, his fingers tracing over the tattoo that now covered my scar—stars forming the serpentine shape of the constellation Draco. Then with growing urgency, I moved quickly, sliding my hips over his, pushing us both closer to climax. He hooked a hand around the back of my neck, pulling my mouth down to his and we moved against each other, like the cloudy sky skimming over jagged mountains—he solid, hard and me fluid and shifting over him. Our mouths locked in a long, passionate kiss. I came like that, with his thumbs gliding over my nipples, our bodies fastened together. I pushed against him and felt my world shattering around me, releasing in ecstatic waves. In moments, Adam had rolled us over, now moving on top of me to finish, driving into me with hard, fast strokes before stilling while I caressed his back, his shoulders. He let out a long, slow breath and then bent to gently pepper my face with kisses. After he rolled off, I lay back against my pillow, feeling as refreshed as if I’d awoken from a full night’s sleep. With a dreamy sigh, I watched as he got up from the bed, went into the bathroom and then came back, settling beside me. “Okay, now we can talk…” he said with a grin. I rolled onto my side and hooked my arm around him. “For now…” He laughed and kissed me. “So tell me everything I missed.” “I got my results for my five year scan today,” I said. “Everything’s good.” His arms tightened around me and he breathed into my hair. “Of course it is.” His voice was light, relaxed, but I knew how tense he got every year when I went in for my scans. And now that we’d hit the five-year mark, the chance of recurrence had dropped dramatically. Thank goodness for that… We talked some more—he telling me about his trip to London and the latest goings on with the company, me recounting things that had happened at work, the latest from our friends and family members. Adam held me for a long time, his hands moving over my body as if he’d never touched me before. As usual, his touch lingered over my lumpectomy scar, now just a thin white line all but hidden under subsequent reconstructive surgery and my tattoo. Then a hand slid softly across my belly to another, newer scar that ran just above the pubic bone, parallel to it, before slipping lower. I smiled. I was ready for round two… And suddenly a shrill cry pierced the air and we froze. Adam stiffened against me and I reached over to turn down the monitor on the nightstand. He moved to sit up, but I stopped him. “Don’t go…most of the time she rolls right over and goes back to sleep.” He pulled away and gave me a look as if to ask, are you kidding me? And promptly slid out of bed and into his closet to pull on his pajama bottoms. Sighing, I sat up as he left the room. I reached over and turned off the monitor, got up and grabbed my own nightshirt and pulled it on. So much for round two. That was a rare gift, these days, anyway. A minute later, he was back in the room with the other love of his life in his arms, planting kisses on her teary cheeks. She had a chubby fist in her mouth. Her dark hair, the same color as his, all frizzed in a curly aura around her angelic face. “Hey baby girl,” I said, holding out my hands for her but she turned her head away, tucking in under Adam’s chin. Typical. “Ah so now that Daddy’s home, my name is mud again.” Adam sat down on the bed, lying back and settling our daughter on his hard chest. I grabbed a pacifier

from the nightstand and held it to her mouth. She took it and in less than two seconds flat, her long, dark lashes lay against her soft cheeks. “You spoil her,” I whispered. “Daddy’s prerogative,” he answered, giving me a smile and taking my hand in his while he kissed the top of her head. My heart skipped a beat like it always did when I watched them together. Even now, as little as she was, I knew a special relationship when I saw it. “I haven’t seen her in two weeks, either. And she got bigger.” I smiled lazily, squeezing his hand. “Babies do that.” I didn’t have to ask him to know that he was glad, now, that we’d decided to try to have a child in spite of the risk, the warning by my physicians that the hormones from the pregnancy might cause the cancer to recur. It had taken a while to persuade him. He’d wanted nothing to do with anything that might put me at risk again. But eventually he’d figured out how important it was to me. So in the end, he’d conceded with the firm declaration that there would only be one. And because he’d been a nervous wreck during the entire pregnancy, I’d vowed never to put him through that again. If we decided to have more children, they would come to us another way. And we’d love them every bit as much. I was so entirely grateful for all that I had. Him… and her…and our wonderful life together. I reached out and, with my finger, traced the tattoo on his chest, spelling out his sister’s—and now our daughter’s—name in beautiful jade script. And the other name, the newer tattoo right below it, “closest to my heart,” he’d explained when he’d come home, surprising me with it. Emilia. Because I was Dr. Strong, MD to some, Mia to everyone else. But I was—and would always be—his Emilia. The bestselling Gaming The System series continues in For The Win, Jordan and April’s story, available now.(Click to purchase.)

Author’s Note Due to the subject matter of this novel, I felt it might be helpful to include a note about the research I conducted in order to portray Mia’s illness and treatment with as much realism as possible. I did not want this to be a book about cancer, but rather, a book about how a young couple, already challenged with overcoming their own foibles, must find the strength to overcome those struggles, both external and internal, through their love for each other. Nevertheless, I felt it was very important to not downplay the seriousness of Mia’s cancer, the chemotherapy, and, above all, the difficult decision to terminate her pregnancy in order to seek life-saving treatment. There were many resources that I consulted to learn more about breast cancer. Most heart-rending of these were the actual blogs and memoirs of cancer survivors and of those who, in the end, did not survive. Some of my sources include: Haily Peterson’s youtube vlog chronicling her treatment and survival Geralyn Lucas, author of the memoir Why I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy Jessica of Cancer, Baby blog (archived after her passing) Sylvia Soo of Cancer Fabulous (cancerfabulous.com) Jennifer Smith of Living Legendary blog and author of What You Might Not Know Jill Brzezinski-Conley of Breast Friends (Facebook) and subject of the documentary, The Light that Shines, A Story for All. I urge you to seek out these sources if this subject interests you. Thank you, Brenna Aubrey

Afterword Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed Played the Adam and Mia trilogy. The Gaming The System series continues in For The Win (click to purchase), which stars Jordan and April. An excerpt of For The Win follows. Please consider leaving a review of Played at the site where you purchased it. I welcome all honest reviews. While you are at it, why not sign up for my Newsletter? Subscribers will be the first to receive news about For The Win and any other Gaming The System projects.. I invite you to share your thoughts and reactions. Click here to leave a review on Amazon. Reviews are the best way for other readers to discover new books and I’d appreciate your help in letting others know your thoughts on the Played boxset.. Post about Played on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, or Pintrest Join the Newsletter and learn about upcoming releases from Brenna Aubrey. You will only receive notifications of new titles available and when her books go on sale. You may also occasionally receive teasers, excerpts and extras from upcoming books. Did you know you can lend this book? Please consider lending it to a friend or colleague. Follow Brenna on Twitter at @BrennaAubrey Find Brenna on Facebook at BrennaAubreyAuthor On the web www.BrennaAubrey.net The Gaming The System series At Any Price (Adam and Mia part 1) (this book) At Any Turn (Adam and Mia part 2) (this book) At Any Moment (Adam and Mia part 3) (this book) For The Win (Jordan and April) (click to purchase) For The One (William and Jenna) coming soon Worth Any Cost (Adam and Mia) 2016 For The Taking (Katya & ?) 2016 Details forthcoming on her website and in her newsletter.

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Chapter 1 April “April, wake up now. Your butt is on the Internet.” Sid’s panicked voice cut through layers of fuzzy sleep to reach me. I groaned and buried my head under my pillow. Yesterday, I’d asked my roommate to make sure I got out of bed on time this morning using any tactic necessary, short of ice cubes. I had no idea she’d resort to nonsense phrases. “Sid, go away.” Her hand was on my shoulder, shaking me. “No, seriously, you need to see this.” “Don’t touch me,” I mumbled. “I can sleep five more minutes.” “No, you can’t. April, there is a sex video from Comic-Con and I’m pretty sure you’re in it.” I sat up, blinking, my vision blurry. “What the what?” I’d gotten next to no sleep over the weekend, and with all the overstimulation, drinking and debauchery, I was flat as a pancake this morning, exhausted. And I had to start my new position at Draco Multimedia today. My eyes narrowed, cutting to my roommate. I’d accuse her of playing a joke, but Sid would never get so elaborate. Nor would she ever frivolously use the S-E-X word. “Okay, back off and speak slowly. It’s before coffee o’clock.” Sid sighed, obviously frustrated with my grogginess. “I was on Tumblr following the tag for ComicCon, and this video of people having sex kept popping up. I kept closing it right away because—icky— who wants to see that? But one time I got a closer look at the girl dressed up in what looked like my elf costume—the one you borrowed.” Her voice was shrill like she was excited or panicked. Almost as effective as ice cubes for waking me up. I swung a foot out of bed, still half asleep as her words rushed over me like a flash flood. There was this sick sensation in the pit of my stomach, and I had a feeling it had nothing to do with my rough weekend. “Please tell me you’re joking.” With wide gestures, Sid stalked over to her computer screen and angled it so that I could see. She pointed at the frozen figures. A woman, her back to the camera and naked from the waist down, was straddling a guy who sat on a chair. She had a distinctive tattoo at the small of her back, a hideous skull and snake motif. Suddenly, my insides froze. My tattoo. My fit of rebellion from years ago now staring back at me from the screen, mocking me. “So is that not you?” I gulped. “Uh.” “Holy Spock on a cracker! Apes, it’s everywhere. There are hundreds of reblogs on it. It’s on Twitter, Facebook, all over.” I jumped out of bed, comforter and sheets falling on the floor and twisting around my legs, almost tripping me. “Nooooooo!” Sid would be the last person I’d ever show this video to. She was pure as the driven snow. I was almost one hundred percent sure she was a virgin, and the girl sang—sang—while cleaning the house like Cinder-fucking-ella. And I bet when I wasn’t looking she got little animals to push her broom for her, too. Unlike Sid, I had had sex before, though I was no expert at it. And the one time I’d ever done anything

on the wild side to prove I could be a bad girl—like anonymously hooking up and making a video of it— somehow it ended up everywhere. What the hell was up with that? My body came alive with panic and fear, adrenaline coursing through my veins and nausea twisting my gut. This couldn’t be happening! Not today! Not any day, but definitely not today. Without my asking her to, Sid clicked on the play button and I was treated to an unobstructed view of the hottest sex I’d ever had in my short twenty-two years. I stood rooted to the floor as I watched the entire thing play out. I’d been drunk, but not so drunk I hadn’t realized what I was doing. My judgment suffered greatly when I drank, as evidenced by this crazy sex tape and the aforementioned tattoo. With tears prickling my eyes, I vowed I was never going to have another drop…ever. Because next time, with this progression, the world would probably cave in on itself if I drank. Or maybe just my world. I put the heels of my hands to my temples, my fingers threading into my hair. “Earth to April…did someone revenge-porn you or something? What’s going on?” I took in a shaky breath, unable to believe what was happening. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. This is a nightmare.” “Did you have sex at Comic-Con, April?” I turned and gave her the best “duh” look I could muster. Her mouth formed an ‘o’ and her brows rose. She sniffed with disapproval and adjusted the heavy black frames of her glasses. “Uh, who was it?” Crap, my answer was only going to make things worse. My mind grasped for purchase on anything I could possibly think of. “Uh…um.” Think fast. Come up with something, damn it! “It was…he—” “You don’t know, do you?” Oh God, I was the worst “bad girl” ever. I swallowed bile as I waved a wild hand at the computer. “Delete that!” She was the geeky one, after all. She spent hours in front of the computer. She’d know how to make it go away. Sid frowned. “I can’t.” Now the sickness inside was bubbling up. Sid wouldn’t lie about this to teach me a lesson. “What… why? Why the fuck can’t you?” “Because, potty mouth, it’s not my account. It was uploaded by someone else and tagged #ComicCon. I’ve been following the tag since, um—you know, unlike you, the undeserving non-geek—I didn’t get a chance to go. And that’s a good thing, because it seems like a den of iniquity!” Uploaded by someone else? How in the hell had that happened? Had I accidentally uploaded it to the cloud? What the hell was “the cloud” anyway, and how did it work? Had someone hacked me like those poor actresses who’d had their naked pictures spread across the Internet? I was going to vomit. Projectile puke everywhere. “Did I…did I upload that from my phone?” “So it’s your video? April! Why would you video yourself having sex with some random guy? And how could you not know who he was?” “He was dressed up as that bounty hunter guy from the game—” “Falco.” “Yeah—whatever. Anyway, he had that armor on, and the helmet. And…and…” My stomach churned. “Oh hell, I’m going to barf.” “Too much alcohol, April!” Sid shouted after me as I bee-lined it to the toilet. Vague memories filtered in. It was the last night of Comic-Con, a mere two days ago. Even in my drunken haze, I remembered that the sex had been incredible. Heated breathing, sweating through my elf costume, the feel of skilled hands sliding under my clothes, squeezing my hips so tightly they’d been sore the day after. He’d only spoken in whispers and that had made it all the hotter.

That steamy encounter, along with the alcohol, had helped me forget for a while. Before that night, I’d been miserable the entire time because of the awful news I’d received the day before. I blinked stinging eyes and pushed it out of my mind. Damn it. I gripped my belly, waiting, but nothing came up. Instead, my guts were cramping into tighter knots. It was my first day working as an assistant in the CFO’s office, and I had to start under these circumstances? What if people at work had seen the video? What if those who knew my costume figured out it was me? The questions swirled in my mind, making me dizzy. How would I even be able to concentrate today? I stumbled to the sink to splash cold water on my face, and icy droplets soaked my temples, running down my neck and into my nightie. Then I confronted myself in the mirror, examining the blotches on my pale skin, complete with new dark circles under my blue eyes. Above the eyes, there were perfectly arched eyebrows, thanks to my makeover before the Con. I combed through my dark brown hair. I looked like hell. Felt worse. How had I gotten into this mess? Oh yeah, I’d gotten drunk to drown out the humiliation and had let that affect what little good judgment I had—yet again. Alcohol and April clearly did not mix and were a dangerous combo. They led to ugly tattoos and anonymous sex with a helmeted man who had a ridiculously large penis and the hardest abs I’d ever felt against my body. I’d been at Comic-Con because of my job, and he’d been some Dragon Epoch-loving nerd that I’d picked up because that’s what nice, boring, docile little April would never do. She’d never go find some random dude in a costume and fuck his brains out. But drunk April was no nice girl. I was like Dr. Jekyll and Miss Hyde when it came to booze, apparently. Ten minutes later, after jumping in the shower and toweling off, I went back into our bedroom. Sid was still at her computer, gaping open-mouthed at the monitor. “Umm,” she mumbled when I stopped next to her. She was watching the goddamn thing again. “Shut it off. That’s just getting creepy with you looking at it over and over.” “This isn’t the video—this is a gif that someone made from the video.” I knelt in closer, staring at the animated gif of my pelvis gyrating over the guy’s muscular legs as he dug his fingers into my hips—on repeat. A flash of heat went through me as I recalled how amazing he’d felt. My remembered pleasure evaporated the second oscillating letters appeared above us, reading, “Cosplay geeks mating in the wild.” Shit…this was getting worse and worse. I straightened. “Close that goddamn thing or I’m going to put a Trojan virus on your computer!” Sid gave me a pitying look as I turned and headed to my closet. “It’s a Trojan or a virus—not both.” “Whatever. Now please tell me you have some ideas about how to get that thing off the Internet.” “How on earth would I do that?” I froze, my hand on my smartest business skirt and matching crop sweater. “You mean, you can’t?” “April, the thing has gone viral. There are memes, gifs. It’s all over social media. Were you not listening? It’s everywhere. There’s no way I can get it off.” I sank to my bed, still wrapped in my towel. My stomach took a nosedive toward my ankles. I rubbed my forehead, trying to stave off a stress headache. “Shit.” Sid swiveled her desk chair around to face me. She was petite and cute as a mouse, with olive skin, dark hair and eyes like polished onyx framed by dark glasses that overpowered her face. She folded her arms across her modest chest and raised a thick, dark brow at me. “You know, it really isn’t that bad. No one could possibly know it’s you. You’re dressed up as Princess Alloreah’la from Dragon Epoch—purple wig, pointy ears, thick glitter makeup on. I doubt even the guy you…um…you know…even knows who you are. And he has a helmet on, and you both have most of your clothes on—except for your butt. So the odds of people knowing who it is are slim.”

“Well…thank God for that. But still…” With my leg, I scooted aside a stack of economic theory books—my latest passion—laid the outfit on my bed and went to my dresser. Doubtful my friends who knew about the cheesy tat were the type to follow the #ComicCon tag on social media. I may have been “bookish” and “boring,” but I wasn’t a video game geek. And I usually kept the damn tattoo covered up. I was biding my time until I got the courage to get the hideous thing lasered off. Biggest mistake of my life… Okay, maybe second biggest mistake of my life. I sighed. “So…how long does it take stuff like this to blow over?” I asked, bending over to grab a fresh pair of panties and a bra. I held the panties up—dark blue lace—and decided against them, shoving them back into the drawer and pulling out a thong. This skirt showed every single panty line. So weird that my mind was grasping, beyond the panic, to find some sort of normalcy, nitpicking every item I chose to wear. But I knew I had to try to shove this cosplay humiliation behind me somehow and hope against hope that this would soon fade away. Scarlett O’Hara always said, “Tomorrow is another day,” but for me, “tomorrow” was going to start in about thirty minutes. I had to get my shit together, or at least act like it was together. Being moved up to work with an officer of the company was a huge honor for an intern. I needed his recommendation to get into business school, and I wasn’t about to blow it. Not now. I’d worked too hard for too long. “No. More. Alcohol. Ever,” I intoned to myself as I sat on my bed and pulled on my clothes. Sid snorted from where she sat behind her computer. “I’ve heard that one before.” I stuck my tongue out at her, though she couldn’t see because her back was to me. “Who knows what STD you picked up on this escapade?” I grimaced at her. “He had a condom on, idiot.” “Oh, well then. I guess that makes it all okay.” “Sid, please,” I begged, pulling on my boots. She spun around again on her chair, hands on her hips and affecting that motherly tone that she liked to use. “April…walk me through this, please, because I’m really confused. Doing something like this is so not you. Did aliens abduct your brain? Because, ya know, Comic-Con would totally be the place for that.” I blew out a breath and leaned back against the wall. “My mom called me while I was there.” Her face fell. “Oh, criminy. And what did the Wicked Witch of the West Coast want?” I clenched my jaw, fighting off the renewed feeling of hurt. “She was calling me from Las Vegas, actually. She got married. Again.” Sid’s eyes widened. “Oh, holy poop. For the fourth time? You barely had a chance to meet the last husband before it was over…” Then she seemed to remember one key detail—thank God, because I had no desire to spell it out for her. “Oh no…please don’t tell me… she didn’t—” “She and Gunnar are now man and wife,” I choked out. “Isn’t that just sweet?” Sid’s face reflected pure pity. It would have made me utterly furious to be on the receiving end of that look from anyone but her. Yeah, I was that loser. The one whose ex-boyfriend married my mother—that same mother who didn’t have the wherewithal to figure out that it might hurt my feelings, nor would she care if she did realize it. The term “mother” could only be applied to her in the most scientific of ways, in that she carried me for nine months and then gave birth to me. Jennifer Alden probably hadn’t had two thoughts together in the same day about me from that point on. “I’m sorry, Apes. He’s such a—such a—” “Cock smooch?” “Bad person! I hate him. And your mom sucks too.” I raised my brow. My sweet Sid was very pissed to have used such vulgar language. Or maybe it had

been my bad influence. April Weiss, the worst “bad girl” ever was now corrupting the purest, sweetest person I’d ever known… I blinked, suddenly overwhelmed again, my eyes stinging. Her head tilted. “Oh, Apes. Please don’t cry. Ugh…if I were the violent type, she’d be in trouble. I’ve always hated the way she uses you. Like when she takes you on shopping sprees and pressures you to pick up the bill. She’s so gross.” I forced myself to swallow the unshed tears and started stuffing essentials into my new Kate Spade bag —my laptop, phone, wallet and, of course, my e-reader for break time. Sid watched me with concerned eyes. I could feel the weight of her gaze. When I straightened, my eyes met hers. She spoke with soft, sympathetic tones. “So after she called you…you went to the bar, got wasted and picked up Falco the Bounty Hunter?” “Not…exactly.” She raised a brow, wordlessly encouraging me to continue with the whole sordid story. I figured I’d better let it out now. Like ripping off a bandage—get the pain out all at once. I sighed in surrender. “I was at the bar downing one vodka gimlet after another, and the other interns wanted to know what was wrong.” “The ‘other interns’…meaning Queen Meangirl?” We shared a look. Sid had met Cari once and they had not gotten along. It was understandable. Cari was an acquired taste. And many didn’t acquire it. Sid continued, “She is a mean girl. I don’t know why you hang out with her.” “I’ve told you, it’s for survival purposes. She’s the type of person I’d rather have on my side instead of against me. Besides…I think some of that is just her own issues. I feel sorry for her because her twin brother was killed. It’s so horrible.” Sid nodded. “Nobody deserves that, I agree. But sometimes I don’t understand why you put up with her behavior.” I looked away, heat rising to my cheeks. A good half of the time, I wasn’t proud of how I’d behaved when I was with Cari. I’d done things that I wish I hadn’t done. Things I’d like to make up for. This was one of those times. “Anyway, with all the alcohol in me, I spilled to Cari why I was upset, and she was consoling me and even said Gunnar didn’t deserve me. Then she said I was a bit too goody-goody and that’s why I couldn’t hang onto a man.” “That was not consolation, that was a taunt. And I’m guessing that in your drunken stupor you thought it would be a good idea to go out and prove to the world that you aren’t a goody-goody?” Her accurate assessment of the situation showed how well she knew me. Though we’d attended different schools, we’d been friends throughout our high school years and had roomed together the entire four years at college, as well. Sid had been a bit of a loner at her high school. She’d had a small group of friends, but they were picked on often. I, on the other hand, was a social chameleon who’d had a knack for appearing to fit in without actually fitting in. I’d adopted it at an early age—a child who never fit in anywhere needed that special tool in her kit in order to survive. But it turned out that fitting in often meant not being true to myself. “Yeah, she irked me. And yes, it was probably on purpose, but I was feeling low anyway and there was this hot guy at the end of the bar in a full costume and helmet.” “How could you tell he was hot?” I rubbed my forehead. “He could have had a gorilla face under the helmet, I don’t know. But his body was pretty smokin’. He was tall and solid.” “Did you talk much?” I shrugged, trying to shove aside the panic and reason through the events of that night. I experienced again the cold thrill of sitting and talking with him, planning out what would happen next—anonymous

sex, so unlike me, so dangerous. I’d rebelled against Cari’s words because they’d so closely echoed my mother’s words six months before. I hope my relationship with Gunnar isn’t weird for you…we’re just having fun. If anyone knows how to show a guy a good time, it’s your MILF-mama. More bile burned my throat at the humiliating memory of her words over the phone, of the tears I’d held in until she’d hung up. “A little. We talked over drinks. I got silly and giggly, and then I invited him back to my room.” “Why?” I rolled my eyes. “To play charades. Why do you think?” “April…” I grimaced. “I hadn’t had sex in a long time. A woman has her needs. Please don’t get judgy or I won’t tell you what happened.” “Well, I think from your starring role, I can see plain as day what happened. What I don’t get is why you recorded it.” Sighing, I gathered my dirty clothes off the floor and tossed them into my hamper. “Because somewhere in my drunken stupor, I was all horny and hot for this guy’s bod. And…I was excited, you know? I’d never ever done something like that before. So I thought, what could possibly make this encounter even more exciting? And it just popped into my head. I set my phone down and hit record. Then I attacked him where he was sitting in the chair.” “You recorded the entire thing? Because the video is only five minutes long, and even I know that...well, that it must have gone on longer than that.” “He said something about wanting to lay me down on the bed. I got up and turned the phone off.” “And how the heck do you have no idea who it was? He never took his helmet off?” “He was going to take it off, but I told him not to. I didn’t want to know who he was. It was more exciting that way. Then…when we moved to the bed, he laid me facedown, turned off the lights and took off the helmet. I didn’t look or try to figure it out. That’s the whole point of anonymous sex.” Her eyes bugged. “Uh. If you say so. Was it…more exciting that way?” Heat rose to my face at the memory of the weight of him, his hands and mouth at the small of my back, the feel of him pushing inside me. “It was.” “Do you think he knew who you were?” God, I hoped not. He’d be one more person to deal with over this viral video catastrophe. But there was no way… “I was wearing the purple wig, and my face was all made up with that glitter paint you gave me. I’m pretty sure he’d never be able to pick me out of a crowd.” “And he knows you recorded it, right?” My stomach dropped and I stared at her, reluctant to admit it. “Uhhh...” Her face fell. “Criminy, April. You made a sex tape and didn’t tell the guy you were doing it?” I put my head in my hands, mostly to avoid her scrutiny. “I told you my judgment was crap. But I swear to God it wasn’t meant for anyone to watch. It was just a flight of fancy, like buying a cheesy souvenir after an awesome vacation. I planned on deleting it later.” Her lips pursed like a disapproving grandma. “Too late for that.” I straightened and looked at her. “Any thoughts about damage control?” “The mean girls saw you hook up with Falco, didn’t they?” I blinked, blearily remembering walking by the booth where they were sitting. I was holding hands with Falco and waving to them. “Yeah…if they see the video, they’ll know it’s me. But I think they’ll cover for me.” They were my friends…at least on the surface, they were. I could count on them to keep my identity secret, couldn’t I?

Sid left her chair and sank down next to me on the bed, slinging an arm around my shoulders. I looked at her, my throat feeling prickly. What the hell was I going to do? “You’ve got to stop letting her get to you like this.” I knew she meant my mom and not Cari. “And Gunnar—” “Gunnar can suck it. I hope I never see him again.” “But you probably have to now. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Chanukah—or do you do that one with your dad?” Given the choice, I’d do them all on my own. I stared into my lap, feeling utterly alone. Her arm tightened around my shoulders. “Gunnar is nothing to you—just brief, ancient history. You only dated him for like, what? A few months?” “A year.” I’d met him at the end of my sophomore year and we’d dated through my junior year. My sorority and his fraternity were closely linked and people thought we were a cute couple… She made a cutting gesture with her hand. “Okay, whatever. You weren’t even all that into him.” “Did I—did I ever tell you what he told me when I broke up with him? That I was a boring little bookworm and too vanilla in bed. Asshole.” She took a deep breath and let it go, likely grasping for something to comfort me with. “He was probably covering for his own insecurities. Your mother is the worst culprit in this. She should have realized—” “She has no sense of anyone else’s feelings but her own. Even if I had said something, which I didn’t, she would fool herself into thinking that I’m totally and completely cool with her newest marriage.” And I knew that if I had said something, she would have called me selfish for intruding on her happiness. “I’m such a coward,” I groaned. “You’re a peacekeeper, April. A child of divorced parents. It’s common, given your family situation. You never wanted to rock the boat because you felt like their love was conditional.” “My mom’s ‘love’ is completely conditional. Dad’s just…never there. Thank God I have a friend like you.” My mouth tightened and I leaned my head on her shoulder. “You’re the bestest. I love you.” “Love you too, chicken butt.” “Stop calling me that.” “Never.” I brushed some lint off my skirt. I had to get up, get some makeup on and get going, but I was feeling really unmotivated at the moment. Sid screwed up her mouth as if she’d eaten a salted lemon. “So…this makes Gunnar your step-dad now.” That bad taste in my mouth was back. Our girlfriend moment was over. “Shut the fuck up, Sid.” She shuddered. I leaned forward and put my face in my hands, my elbows resting on my knees. “God… I need to get my head in the game. I have to start this new position at Draco today.” “That starts today? Oh, suck an elf! I just remembered that. Could the timing be any worse?” “Not really,” I mumbled into my hands. Working with the CFO was my dream position. A good evaluation from him could help me into any school I wanted to attend. Harvard…Stanford…or my first choice, UCLA. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to think about anything else but this…” “Why don’t you concentrate on how jealous I am that you get to work at the place that makes my very favorite video game.” Sid was a gamer to the core, and had not stopped talking for days when I’d arranged for her to have a tour of the campus a few months ago. She played Dragon Epoch constantly and filled me in on the goings-on of the game even though I’d never really done much beyond dip my toe into the gaming environment. My interests lay elsewhere. “You can keep your joysticks, Sid. I’ve got my books.” Sid laughed. “Silly. Dragon Epoch isn’t played with a joystick!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I gotta get going. Please, if you can find a way to deal with this…?” “I have no idea how it could have gotten uploaded unless you synced it to the cloud and someone hacked you.” I sighed, wondering if I’d pressed the share button the one time I’d played it back for myself. Now that it was out, it was spreading like wildfire. My gut clenched with nausea again. Ugh. Uggity ugh. I guess it no longer mattered how it had happened because the why it had happened was due completely to my own stupidity. Aside from the abstention of alcohol, I’d add getting a “dumb” phone to the list of things I had to do in order to atone. No more videos. No cameras. And no social media. Not anymore. I stood and went into the bathroom to finish my makeup. *** I pulled into the parking lot at Draco Multimedia Entertainment a good forty-five minutes early. The best way to show enthusiasm for the new job was to show up early, smiling and eager to get to work. And the harder I worked today, the more I’d be able to force the negative, panicked thoughts from this morning’s events to the back of my head. They nagged at me, swarming around my brain like gnats at dusk, and no matter how much I tried to swat them away, they came right back to aggravate me even more. I’d been working at Draco for the past six months as an unpaid intern but had recently been given the opportunity for advancement—probably due to my hard work in marketing. And this position was primo. Rumor had it that the company would be listing for its initial public offering (IPO) soon, so I’d get to see a big part of the process from inside the office of the financial officer. Adding that accomplishment to my résumé would have the business schools bowing down and begging for me to attend. Draco was situated in a unique castle-shaped glass structure lined with mirrored windows from the ground up. I liked the design, as it reflected the company’s mission—to provide a complete fantasy environment as the backdrop for its game. Inside was bright and airy with tall ceilings and an open-space floor plan divided by department. After entering the foyer, decorated with elaborate displays from the games Draco produced, I walked through my old division. Only a handful of the marketing people were there at this hour. There was no one I really knew, and most especially not the other interns, who usually slid in the front door a few minutes before the start of business. I shook my head at the thought. They’d all been very good-natured but visibly envious of my new appointment. It felt good to be the subject of their admiration. Usually it was me trying so hard to fit in that I went along with whatever the herd did. Especially Cari, the self-appointed leader of the group. Fortunately, she was nice to me, likely because my daddy was richer than hers. Not that I really cared about that. I would have preferred a less-rich dad who’d spent more time with me and didn’t foist me off on my narcissistic mother. But people like Cari cared about that sort of thing, so I’d had an in. The trick was all in the appearance of belonging, because I was never “in” anywhere. Social chameleon, always changing to blend into the scenery. That was me. But chameleons had a major flaw— they didn’t stand out. And in business, particularly in this new position, I would have to do exactly that. Make a name for myself so I could receive that coveted recommendation. I pushed through the double doors that led to the wide atrium in front of the offices for the company executives. It, too, was quiet except for another intern assistant—the nerdy guy who worked for the CEO of the company, ultra-beautiful boy wonder, Adam Drake. Adam, like my new boss and most of the other officers of the company, was young, driven and mega successful from the start. At my age, he was already heading his own start-up company, which, within four years would become a multimillion-dollar business well on its way to going public. Hearing about his accomplishments often made me feel like a slacker.

“Hey, Charlie,” I said, stopping at his desk. “Uh, actually it’s Charles,” he corrected, straightening his black hipster glasses on his nose. “Oh, I’m sorry. I think I’ve been calling you the wrong name for months.” He shrugged, sliding a slow gaze over my chest. I folded my arms to cover my breasts. The thought of being exposed in the video for all to see was still shaking me to my core. Every time it threatened to jump to the forefront, I had to put my head down and concentrate on the now. It was almost impossible to do. Charles finally remembered where my eyes were. “It happens. But I figured since you’re going to be working up here for a while, best to set you straight now.” I glanced in the direction of the CFO’s office. “Is, um, Mr. Fawkes in yet?” Jordan Fawkes, my new boss, was even younger than Adam and had partnered with him to create the company. It was strange that I’d be more intimidated by them than if they were older, perhaps because their wild success served as a reminder of my own inadequacies. Charles smiled condescendingly. “First off, none of the officers go by anything but their first names. It’s all casual here. And business casual dress,” he said with a pointed look at my smart skirt and sweater set. I shifted where I stood and pushed my long hair back from my shoulder. “It’s the first day. There’s no such thing as making too good an impression,” I said, murmuring one of my ever-present aphorisms. I pinned quotes and truisms from my books all over bulletin boards and on sticky notes stuck to my computer monitor and bathroom mirror. They helped. They were like guideposts. My books were the mentors I’d never had in my parents. “Anyway, Jordan usually gets here early, but since it’s the Monday after Comic-Con, you’d be doing yourself a favor to avoid him before noon. He’ll probably send you out to get his lunch for him. I have his standing Subway order.” I tried not to scowl. Of course I said nothing, because in situations like this, I knew it was better to never show irritation or any other negative emotion. Grin and bear it. But lunch errands? I wasn’t aiming to be a diner waitress. I needed good, solid business experience to write about in my admission essay. And I’d heard that Jordan Fawkes was a shrewd and savvy businessman. Word on the street was that the company owed as much of its success to him as it did to the CEO’s ingenuity at programming and virtual innovation. Nevertheless, I was eager to please, and if I had to start with Charles and his condescending attitude to get by, then so be it. My new boss couldn’t possibly be worse than this little jerk. “So should I do something? Maybe go in and straighten up his office or—” “Dude—do not touch his desk or his stuff unless he asks. Just…wait over there.” He pointed to a waiting area with a comfortable-looking arrangement of deeply padded chairs meant for visitors and clientele while they waited to meet with the bigwigs. “You report to Susan, his paid assistant, and she isn’t in yet.” I looked back at him. “Can’t I do something for you?” He raised his brows. “Yeah, as a matter of fact…” I leaned in, anxious to get to work and impress my new co-worker. “I take my latte with skim milk and two sugars. And don’t go to our café. They suck. There’s a Starbucks down the street. Extra hot, mmkay?” I straightened, resisted shooting him a glare, and with a bit of resignation in my slumped shoulders, turned around to carry out his orders. There was a pecking order here, and clearly Charlie-boy considered himself above me. I returned twenty minutes later with his coffee and one for myself. This time, when I walked through the front, the marketing department was populated, and some of the interns I’d worked with waved and smiled. Cari raced toward me, her massive mane of blond hair trailing after her. She was wearing a provocative outfit—plaid, pleated mini-skirt that hit well above mid-thigh paired with a tight white blouse and knee socks. She’d referred to this outfit as her take on the “naughty school girl.” Professional

it was not. She took in my sweater set with a nod of approval. “You’re looking very grown-up today for your new position! How are you doing? Want me to help you carry that?” I smiled, a little uneasy as I remembered Sid’s comments about her this morning. “I’m good, thanks.” She threw a curious glance at me out of the corner of her eyes as she pushed the double doors open. “So, um, nervous? Everything going okay?” I hesitated a moment and returned her look, slowing my pace. “Why do you keep asking?” She grimaced. “I, um…well, I was going through my timeline this morning on Facebook…” My hand carrying Charlie-boy’s ultra-hot scalding with the fire of a thousand suns coffee shook and a bit of it spilled out the top, burning the back of my hand. “Shit,” I said, but didn’t know whether it was because of the pain or the fact that Cari knew it was me in the video. “Um. I don’t want to talk about it,” I muttered. “I, uh…why is it on the Internet?” “I don’t know. I must have pushed a button to upload it to the cloud or something. I have no fucking idea. And did I mention I don’t want to talk about it?” I turned and started back to the atrium and Charlie’s desk, anxious to get this blistering cup of simmering lava out of my hand. “So, what are you going to do?” “I’m not sure there’s much I can do,” I said bitterly. But maybe there was… If I got Cari on my side, her loyalty would prevent anyone else from talking about it. So as much as her behavior of late had been distasteful, I was going to have to be her bestest buddy ever. Cari was fast becoming one big gnat I couldn’t bat away. I’d have to sweet talk and kiss up to this gnat, in fact. “Can I, uh, ask you to cover for me with the others?” Cari smiled. “Ingrid was the other one with us at the bar, and she was so drunk she doesn’t even remember that was you. I won’t say a word. I know you must be stressed out. I’ll do whatever I can to help. Let’s get together for lunch, okay?” The feeling of relief came as a rush—I was almost giddy with it. Thank God I had Cari on my side for this. “That sounds great,” I said. I didn’t fully trust her—had never fully trusted her. But she had no reason to rat me out, and she was smart enough to know it could backfire on her to do it. I’d find a way to keep the loyalty I’d won in her. Time for the chameleon to change her colors again. Cari quickly peeled away from me before I entered the atrium, where I all but slapped that cup of white-hot neutronium on Mr. Hipster’s desk. I shook my hand out the minute it was free. “Mmm, piping hot. The same way your new boss likes it,” Charlie chimed. “He’s here, by the way, and the first thing he grunted at me was a demand to get him a venti triple espresso, no cream, no sugar.” I froze. He had to be fucking kidding me. But there was no cheeky smile incoming. Charlie jerked a thumb toward Jordan’s office. “Better hop to it, girlfriend. He’s hungover from partying all week at Comic-Con and not in the best of moods.” Shit. Shit. Shit. This was already proving to be a fantabulous day. Goddamn it. I spun and walked back out the door, taking a long pull from my now tepid cup of coffee. Fantabulous and long-ass day. Seriously, how could it get worse?



Chapter 2 Jordan It was well into lunch hour, but I’d lost my appetite. Instead of eating, I paced beside the back wall of my office, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the greenery and that weird, giant, marble, sphereshaped fountain in our inner atrium garden. While I’d been called into an impromptu meeting, my new intern had left lunch on my worktable, complete with a little message scrawled on a sticky note, punctuated with a smiley face. I’d promptly crumpled it into a ball and hurled it across the room. No one was fucking smiling in this room, nor in the offices next to me. I strode to my desk and opened up my laptop to watch the incriminating video again. I’d been so shocked when Weston, our PR guy, had shown it to us fifteen minutes ago, I’d hardly had a chance to take note of any telling details. Nor had I been aware of exactly how viral it had gone. And sure enough, all it took was a Google search of “Comic-Con Cosplay Sex” that showed as the first hundred hits. On every social media platform imaginable. Holy fuck. I hit play and sat back, taking in the background and foreground of the non-descript hotel room— standard furniture and few personal belongings. Forcing myself to ignore the passionate couple in the middle of the screen, I scoured for any detail that my boss might be able to take note of and use to figure out our identities. He’d already spotted my employee badge in the corner of the frame with the name blocked out. Thank God for that, because my ass was on the line here. Adam would crap bricks if he knew it was me. He was already pitching fits about it to begin with, and now I was in the unenviable position of lying to my best friend to save my own miserable skin. Helpless rage burned again. But hearing the sounds the girl was making on the video was also starting to turn me on, and hot anger soon mingled with lust. I couldn’t sit here and listen to those delicious noises and not get turned on. It immediately brought to mind the feel of her skin under my hands, the way her body had felt against mine. I clenched my jaw, trying to get a hold of myself. I studied her tight little ass again and that weird tattoo. April Weiss, one the hottest in our latest crop of silly college interns, now was the bane of my existence. What the hell had I been thinking? I hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. I’d been drunk and enjoying my anonymity at the bar. No one had known who I was in the armor and helmet, and while I’d been getting a perfect buzz on, that delectable intern in her skintight leggings and halter top had plopped down next to me, assuming I didn’t know who she was. And I’d tapped that. Because hell, why not? Except she was an intern at my company, and the interns, my boss had warned, were strictly off-limits. But as we sat drinking at the bar, she’d told me that she’d fantasized about having anonymous sex. And I was a guy who had fulfilled a few fantasies in his lifetime. I was giving and selfless like that. Well, okay, not entirely. I had to admit that I’d wanted a taste of her since the minute I’d laid eyes on her last fall. But because she was out of bounds, I’d restrained myself. In my drunken state, I’d rationalized that if she never knew, I could get her out of my system and we’d both move on, no harm done. Only now it was safe to say that harm had been done. I didn’t know what to make of the video’s existence. I could only assume she had made it. But why? And why not tell me she was doing it?

I’d been into what was going on and pleasantly buzzed, but I would have liked to think I’d notice something like that. Unless this was some kind of sting operation. Unless she’d known exactly who I was and wanted something to hold over my head… I shook my head, trying to figure out what to do, my mind racing. Should I fire her immediately? Should I get a private investigator on it? What about legal takedown notices? Since it was a video of me, I could do that, but I risked exposing myself. Not gonna happen. My fist closed in frustration, pounding on the desk. All hell was about to break loose because of this damn video. I needed a plan and I needed it fast. As if hearing my thoughts, Adam, my best friend and boss, busted through the door without knocking, clicking it closed behind him. I slammed my laptop shut with a grimace, suppressing a streak of guilt. Now Adam only looked a hundred degrees of pissed off, instead of a thousand. His face had returned to a normal shade rather than the deep red he was sporting earlier. He moved toward my desk and sat on it, leaning back with his ankles crossed and arms folded over his chest. I avoided his eyes, massaging the stiff muscles at the back of my neck. “Five minutes isn’t enough time for me to figure out how I’m going to handle this, you know,” I said. He clenched his teeth and looked away, appearing every bit as frustrated as I felt. “Just tell me how bad this is—for real. You’ve been working with the investment bankers through all of this IPO stuff. What is this going to do to our bid?” I bit down the first—and most honest—response that flashed inside my brain. It’s going to fucking tank it. Investment bankers and their army of underwriters were a skittish, superstitious bunch. The minute they got wind of a sex tape involving Draco employees going viral, they were going to pull out faster than an eighteen-year-old during sex with his underage girlfriend. I cleared my throat and formed a more careful answer. “I don’t know. We need to come up with a plan for damage control. They don’t like scandal, especially sex scandals.” I took a breath and then released it. The manure I was going to have to spread in order to smooth things over with Adam was about to get thick. “We need to find out who the guilty party is immediately. My next phone call will be to that Internet security firm I use—” I held up a hand and tried to stifle the panic. “Whoa, pardner. I told you I’d handle it, and I will. Just leave it to me, okay? I’ll take care of it all. But…we also have to be careful about throwing accusations around before we have any solid proof. We don’t want to be guilty of sexual harassment. Might be time to contact our lawyer, too.” Adam scowled. “Jesus Christ. Between last year’s murder-suicide case and this one, I’m going to have to start bankrolling him.” I blinked, surprised that, in my panic, I hadn’t looked at this in context with last year’s events. A devoted player of our game had, in a fit of rage, driven over to his girlfriend’s house because she had meddled with his in-game progress. He’d pulled out a gun and shot her and then himself. The parents had blamed his actions on his addiction to Dragon Epoch, using the media to tell anyone who would listen. And, of course, they’d filed a lawsuit. These events, along with others, much deeper and more personal, had shaken Adam to the core. And now this, which was my doing. What kind of shitty friend was I to add to his load? “That might be a good idea, actually. You might just want to see what you can do about employing Joseph full-time,” I said. He shook his head. “At least it’s not too late for us to pull out of this deal. We could wait ‘til all the shit blows over…hold out for a better time. We’ve filed the S1 form with the government, but companies back out of an IPO all the time.”

Over my dead body would we be pulling out of this. Every muscle in my body tensed. I rocketed out of my chair and stalked to the window to stare out at that goddamn fountain. Long, deep breaths. In with the good—out with the bad. I’d been working on this project for years, keeping meticulous books and documenting everything the company had done since its inception. This had been my goal since the beginning, and it had taken me at least a year of begging and cajoling Adam to go along with it. Lord knew the last thing a control freak CEO wanted to do was to slice off a portion of his corporate pie and hand that power over to a board of directors. For the longest time, he’d wanted no part of it, even though the day we’d open on the stock exchange he’d become a billionaire. But then he’d fixated on a new pet project—one he needed the liquidity in order to develop. And I’d seen that as my chance to swoop in and win him over. Finally. Finally, he’d agreed. Trust Adam to be motivated by his own ingenious imagination rather than fattening his bank account. It was an admirable trait, but one that I didn’t share with him. Which explained why we worked together well. I had to play this carefully. The bankers weren’t the only ones who were skittish. I glanced at Adam. “Can I ask you to give me some time to come up with a plan? I’ve been meeting with these bankers on a regular basis for months. I’ve been schmoozing, wining, dining, and charming the hell out of the lot of them. I don’t think that things are that dire.” Adam raised his brows at me and his dark stare never wavered. Yeah, he’d known me a long time. We’d been good friends since our freshman year at college. He knew when I was full of shit, and today I was full to overflowing with it. “You’ve got two weeks and I’m yanking everything if it doesn’t look good.” I almost howled in frustration. “How about a month? There’re a lot of bankers…some of them are not located nearby.” He continued to stare at me, and I knew what his next words were going to be before he even said them. “Two weeks, Jordan. And then I’m pulling the plug.” Fucking hell. Adam straightened, unfolding his arms. I clenched my jaw so tight my head ached. Without another word, the boss turned and left the room, firmly shutting the door. I picked up the legal pad on my desk and flung it in the direction where he’d left. It slapped against the closed door then slid to the ground. Goddamn this. It got worse and worse with each minute. It had started as your ordinary shit hangover Monday and devolved into this crap situation. I was now an anonymous Internet star featured in a sex tape that had gone viral and was about to tank my company’s biggest project since it had been founded. All because I’d gotten shitfaced and then, in my stupor, decided it would be a great idea to bang the hot intern in the elf costume. I was never drinking again, damn it all. Glaring at the door that Adam had shut, I jumped at a sudden knock. That meant it wasn’t Adam returning to dump any more ultimatums on me. “Come in,” I growled. Tentatively, the door cracked open, and then, inch by inch, it slowly widened. A dark head poked in. And there she was, the author of this miserable situation—Miss April Weiss. Her silky dark hair hung over her shoulders as she gave me a timid look. This morning I’d been staring at her ass, remembering how hot it had been to do her that night, drunk or not. Remembering those deepthroated husky moans in my ear and the feel of her—shit. I didn’t know whether I should be turned on or pissed off. Right now, it felt like both. Because she had recorded it and uploaded that shit to the Internet. Those dark blue eyes met mine, a question in them. “Hey, Jordan. Just checking to see that I got your lunch order right. Charles said you do Subway on Mondays.” Her gaze flicked to the untouched meal and the door widened. Now she was in the office, wearing that

form-fitting skirt and that thin, tight sweater that clung to her lush breasts. My fist tightened at my side. Two weeks ago, I’d fucked a cover model—eight times in a three-day span. This girl was nothing special, hot hookup or not. I looked away and swallowed. “I wasn’t hungry,” I growled. I was so goddamn pissed off I couldn’t even look at her. She almost tripped on the legal pad that I’d thrown at the door. Her dark eyebrows pinched in a frown as she scooped up the pad and moved to the table, her shoulders slumped slightly—as if somehow my rejection of the goddamn sandwich reflected upon her performance of her new job. My eyes went back to her face again, drawn like magnets. She was beautiful—fresh, glowing skin, shiny hair and those blue eyes. Perfect features. Christ, the lady in HR in charge of assigning interns must have been smoking crack when she put this one in my office. Like throwing chum in a shark tank. I’d known she would be my assistant and that it was risky to do anything, but the moment she’d said “anonymous,” it had been too tempting to turn down. Anonymous, yeah, but broadcast to billions. I studied her serene features, attempting to find evidence of a cold-hearted conspirator underneath. Slowly, April started tucking the food back into the bag. “I’ll clear this out and put it in the fridge in the break room for later.” I blew out a breath, stood and stormed out of the room without another glance at her. I headed straight for Adam’s office. Maggie, his assistant, tried to wave me off, but I barreled right past her and entered. Weston, the publicity guy, was there, showing him something on his tablet. Adam was poring over it. Weston looked up, clearly offended that I’d interrupted his private time with the boss. He was not my biggest fan and the feeling was mutual. Tough shit. I needed some private time of my own. Adam must have seen that in my face immediately, because he straightened and handed the tablet back to the now dejected-looking Weston. “We can go over the rest later. Thanks, man,” Adam dismissed him. Weston glared at me until he passed by my shoulder and I shrugged. When the door shut, I began by clearing my throat. “Two weeks isn’t long enough—” “Well—” he began to cut me off before I held up my hand to stop him. “But…if you insist, then please, for the love of God, send me some real help and yank the intern? My assistant is pregnant and sick all the time, and I can’t babysit an intern. We are a multi-million, possibly billion-dollar corporation. We can afford to hire me a professional to get through this—” “I’ll get you whoever you need, but the intern needs to stay there for now.” That brought me up short. Shit. I had to get rid of this girl, but I couldn’t raise any suspicion that it was anything more than her being a waste of my time. “I’m going to be too busy to teach her anything.” Adam looked away as if already bored with the conversation, which irked me, and had I not been semi-panicked, I would have said something. “I owe her dad a lot, okay? He hired me at Sony Online. She wants to get into business school and having experience working in your office will be a golden opportunity for her. I have good reasons. Trust me on this, okay?” I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him. Typical. Adam had his own mysterious reasons for doing what he did and only occasionally shared those reasons with lesser beings—even his goddamn friend and business partner. I gritted my teeth. “I’m not here to entertain spoiled little rich girls. Besides…you never even knew her name. You just called her Snow White. Now suddenly she’s your old boss’s daughter?” Adam shrugged. “She looks like Snow White… Look, David Weiss, her dad, emailed me last year, asked if his daughter could intern here. I said sure and referred her to human resources. I had no idea until last winter, when I saw him at the Congressional hearing in D.C., that Snow White was his daughter. Which is kind of funny because Weiss means ‘white’ in German.”

“Yeah—hilarious—now about getting rid of her—” He tensed. “I’m not going to do that. I know this situation has us all stressed out. I’ll hire whoever you need, okay? Just let her…I don’t know…shadow you, make you coffee, work under you for a while.” Oh, that was rich. Work under me…right. There were several things I could think of that I would like her to do under me, but work wasn’t one of them. I studied him for a moment, taking in the way he gripped the edge of his desk. It was sometimes hard to read Adam, but I knew him well enough to know he was tense. It would be better not to push it. “Fine, but I don’t have to be nice to her.” Adam shrugged. “You’re a rat bastard. Everyone knows that.” I flipped him the bird, and for the first time since seeing the goddamn video, he actually cracked a smile. Meanwhile, my mind was racing, trying to figure out how to worm my way out of this mess. But another part of my brain wondered if this might not be a good thing. If April worked in my office, I could keep an eye on her, figure out her purpose in taking the video. If I had sway over her with a business school recommendation, then I had some leverage to keep her from using it for blackmail. At least I hoped. And that hope was the cold, sick ball of lead in the pit of my stomach. I took a deep breath and let it out. “Fine, whatever. I promise you I’m going to handle this, but you have to have a little faith in me.” His jaw tightened and he nodded. “I do. I will. Just…talk to the bankers. Get the lay of the land and find out if they are going to throw us under a bus or not.” My arms stiffened with resolve. “No one’s throwing us under a bus. Over my dead body, anyway.” He raised a black eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound promising.” “Yeah, that was a shitty choice of metaphors.” Adam checked his watch. “I’ve got a meeting with programming right now. But I need you to meet me over at R&D later—the new prototype equipment arrived. We’re testing it out and doing a little demo.” “Ain’t nobody got time for that,” I quipped. “I’ve got fires to put out here.” “Well, since you are going to be talking to the bankers, and this is the stuff we are trying to raise the capital to buy and develop, it would be good for you to see it in action.” That was something that might actually be useful to my cause. “That’s a really good idea. I should get some pictures, maybe a little video. We could add it to the beauty contest.” Adam frowned at me. “I don’t speak ‘business.’” Ours was a partnership of Adam’s brilliant mind and imagination and my know-how with business. But I was as fascinated with the prospects of our new advancement as he was. It might not have been my sole motivator like it was his, but things like this still excited me—when I didn’t have the weight of the world on my shoulders. “It’s just what we call the phase where we show off the company to the underwriters, try to convince them why our corporation is a great investment. Now would be a really good time to wow them and get their minds off of, ah…other things.” “Okay, see you over there at four. Bring Snow White.” Oh, for Chrissake. Was I really stuck with this girl? He followed me out of the office, and I turned and went into mine while he headed to his meeting. The minute I rounded the doorway, I stopped in my tracks. Snow White—uh, my new intern—was bent over, her round, delectable ass in the air, dragging a heavy box stuffed with files across the floor. After taking a split second to admire the view—complete with yellow thong peeking up over the edge of her skirt—I noticed that her short-cropped sweater had ridden up, revealing the tramp stamp tattoo. I’d traced that tattoo with my tongue. It had tasted delicious, that very distinctive tramp stamp. A very memorable—incriminating—one. I slammed the door shut so loud the entire wall shook. The girl almost jumped out of her skin,

stumbling on her high-heeled boots and staring at me, her beautiful blue eyes widened in shock. “Uh. Oh, I’m sorry, Jordan. I just noticed this file box on the floor over there and it looked really messy, so I figured I’d—Oh, but now I remember that Charles said I probably shouldn’t touch your stuff.” My eyes narrowed. What kind of game was she playing? Was she flashing that tattoo at me on purpose —trying to taunt me with it and the dirt she had on me? A small ball of rage flared up in my chest. I spoke between my clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea what’s going on in these offices today, Miss Weiss? Why the officers seem in an uproar? Have you picked up on any of that?” She frowned, her hands clasping each other nervously. “Um…people have said there’s something weird going on, but no one knows what it is.” “Well, thank God for that. But you know what? I’m going to tell you what it is, and you aren’t going to breathe a word to any of your little intern friends, got it? Because there’s a viral video out there on the Internet right now featuring people dressed up like characters from Dragon Epoch, and at least one of the participants is an employee of this company.” She froze, going white as a sheet. Truly living up to her nickname now. To say it didn’t feel good to see her terrified half out of her mind would be a lie. As pissed off as I was at this moment, I wanted to scare the shit out of her. She wasn’t messing around at the sorority anymore. I could play hardball, and I wouldn’t be swayed by a pretty face. “You wouldn’t…know anything about that, would you, Miss Weiss?” She glanced at me and then away, starting to shake and appearing as if she might faint. I walked toward her slowly, but she didn’t look at me. Her eyes shifted to the floor and her head bent forward, her long, dark hair falling forward to curtain her face. I circled her like a predator. She visibly swallowed, utterly petrified. Good. “I—” she began shakily. “Shh. Say nothing. You are going to do everything I say and you are going to do it yesterday. The first thing to remember is that the dress code in this office is business casual, and it would be in your best interest to make sure that tattoo of yours stays covered up. Got it?” She jumped, her head snapping up. “Y-yes. Yes.” “And the other participant in the video…?” I breathed. I was standing behind her now, speaking over her shoulder. It was as intimidating as hell, I was sure. But I did it mostly so she wouldn’t see my face. I had to be certain that she didn’t know it was me. April was silent for a moment—a tense moment—while I waited behind her, feeling the warmth of her body close to mine, smelling the scent rising off her hair, her pale neck. She smelled sweet, like honey. It drifted to my nose and I remembered—again—burying my face in that soft hair, that neck. Even looking down at it now, I was fascinated by the white skin, the delicate lacing of blue veins underneath, the tiny dark freckle just below the hairline. My entire body was reacting to her. Christ almighty. “I—I have no idea. He was…some guy at Comic-Con.” Her voice was shaky, nervous. The relief that washed over me in that moment almost floored me. Thank God. At least there was that. I still had to mop up this mess, but at least it wasn’t my ass on the line. “I should fire you right this second,” I growled. She faced me. “Please. I don’t know how it happened. I just—” “Shh—” I held up a finger to her mouth. Her lips were dark pink, full, soft. How amazing they had felt wrapped around my— Goddamn it. I took a step back. “I want that box of files organized, indexed and out of this office with a full description of every slip of paper in them before you leave today. Got it?” She blinked. “Uh, yeah. Yes. Sure.” “Then do it. Now.”

With a jump, she turned back to the box, about to bend over again. “Get a damn cart to wheel it out of here. Christ.” She walked out of the office on shaky legs without even looking at me. I rubbed the back of my neck, determined to be gone when she got back. She was too quick for me though and re-entered a minute later, pushing the cart dejectedly across the office to the box. I growled again. “You need to meet me in Research and Development at four. Other than that, you are working on this until it’s done and you don’t go home until then.” Without missing a beat, she nodded. “Yes. Yes, sir. I’m—” “Save it. Just get it done.” I turned and stormed out, heading for the cafeteria to grab some shitty food to eat while she cleared out of my office. (Click to purchase).



Acknowledgements At Any Price I am very grateful to a multitude of friends and family without whom this book would never have come into being: To Tessa Dare, Kate McKinley, Sabrina Darby , Leanna S., Courtney Milan, Carey Baldwin, Martha Trachtenberg, and Sarah Hansen. Still more thank yous go out to Courtney Miller-Callihan, Tammy Falkner, H.M. Ward, Monica Murphy, Leigh Lavalle, Marie Hall, Abby Zidle, members of the OCC-RWA chapter of Romance Writers of America, the Romance Divas, and the NAAU Facebook group. Lastly but most importantly, a huge thank you to my family. Thank you, Mom for always encouraging me to develop my talent and never give up on my dreams. To my siblings, just 'cause. To my wonderful husband, who sacrifices daily for the sake of my art. And to my two little guys who understand (mostly) that when Mommy's upstairs with the door closed, they should tread lightly. xoxox



Acknowledgements At Any Turn To the many people who had a part in the production of this book, I am truly grateful: Kate Mckinley, Sabrina Darby, Courtney Milan, Leigh Lavalle, Minx Malone, Marquita Valentine, Anna Nicole Ureta, Kat Sommers, Tessa Dare, Sarah Lindsey, Beth Yarnall, and Carey Baldwin. Thanks are due, as well, to the “pros”: Eliza Dee, Martha Trachtenberg, and Sarah Hansen. Thank you to some really awesome authors for your encouragement: H.M. Ward, Hugh Howey, Liliana Hart, Debra Holland and the other Indie Voice authors. Also huge thanks go out to all the readers and bloggers who loved, read and reviewed At Any Price. I so appreciate each and every one of you. All my gratitude to my family. Love to my mom whose support is constant and heartening. Thank you, also to my husband. I love being your business partner, just like being your partner in everything else. And especially to my sweet kiddos. Love you forever xoxo.



Acknowledgements At Any Moment I owe many thanks to those who helped this book come into being: Sabrina Darby, Courtney Milan, Kate Mckinley, Minx Malone, Tessa Dare, Natasha Boyd, Leigh Lavalle, and Carey Baldwin. A big thank you to my production team: Eliza Dee, S. G. Thomas, and Sarah Hansen. Thank you to my amazing fellow authors for your support: Bella Andre, Roxie Rivera, Mimi Strong, Maya Rodale, Marquita Valentine, Elena Dillon, Debra Holland, Michelle Pickett, S.M. Butler, Viv Daniels, . Shout-outs to the NAAU peeps, the Awesome Authors, the LOL ladies, the SPRT guys and gals and the Romance Divas. Many thanks to all the readers and bloggers who have loved, read, reviewed and talked about the Gaming the System books. Adam and Mia are every bit as much yours are they are mine. <3 All my gratitude to my family. Thank you to my husband, sometimes affectionately referred to as “the publisher.” Hugs and kisses to my sweet little guys, heroes to some lucky future heroines. Love always xoxox.

At Any Price Copyright ©2013 by Brenna Aubrey All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental Cover Art: ©Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations 20150831 ISBN 978-1-940951-01-0 Silver Griffon Associates P.O. Box 7383 Orange, CA 92863 www.BrennaAubrey.net Brenna Aubrey’s Newsletter

At Any Turn Copyright ©2014 by Brenna Aubrey All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Cover Art: ©Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations 20150831 ISBN 978-1-940951-03-4 Silver Griffon Associates P.O. Box 7383 Orange, CA 92863 www.BrennaAubrey.net Brenna Aubrey’s Newsletter

At Any Moment Copyright ©2014 by Brenna Aubrey All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Cover Art: ©Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations Professionally edited by Eliza Dee, Clio Editing. 20150826 ISBN 978-1-940951-06-5 Silver Griffon Associates P.O. Box 7383 Orange, CA 92863 www.BrennaAubrey.net Brenna Aubrey’s Newsletter

Table of Contents At Any Price The Manifesto 1. I’d refreshed the web page at least twenty times… 2. I passed through the next week like an automaton… 3. I Googled him the minute I got home… 4. As the next few days rolled on… 5. To Save a Distressed Damsel… 6. We left Amsterdam the next day after a late brunch… 7. The week dragged on and I muddled through hospital shifts… 8. Adam appeared at my door at exactly eleven… 9. Monday night was group study night… 10. I woke up fairly early—around seven… 11. After work the next day, I met Heath at his place. 12. We slept in almost until noon and had a quick brunch… 13. The Perks of Being a Hot Chick… 14. St. Lucia was even more beautiful the next day… 15. I shouldn’t have worried about the plane ride home… 16. When the going gets tough, the tough go running home… 17. It took me an hour to recover from the shock of seeing him… 18. After breakfast—during which, mercifully, we did not speak… Bonus Content At Any Turn The First Quest 1. Five weeks of torture. Two miles until it ended. 2. After we returned home from the national park… 3. For the next seventy-two hours I slept very little… 4. The following Friday night I took Emilia out to dinner… 5. I only slept a few hours, starting awake after a disturbing dream… 6. She came to the office the next morning. 7. Text me when you get home, please, so we can talk. 8. The next morning, Sunday, I woke up with… 9. I left work early on Tuesday because she hadn’t come in… 10. The next day, Wednesday, I was at work again… 11. The next Saturday brought more paintball practice… 12. The next day, Saturday, I had an appointment… 13. The next day was Sunday and I had very little to do… 14. DracoCon was in less than two short weeks… 15. The next day after breakfast, I was about to grab my phone… 16. I woke up that morning to an economy-sized headache… 17. When the bus dropped us off at the complex… 18. We both opted to stay away for Thanksgiving… 19. Two days after Christmas, I was back at work. 20. I spent half the night wondering what to do. At Any Moment

The Do Over 1. This was the ongoing story of how I completely and utterly fucked up my life. 2. I watched Emilia closely as the doctor delivered her prognosis numbers. 3. I slowly got out of the car, my muscles stiff with annoyance. 4. After yet another long and sleepless night... 5. We spent New Year’s Eve in Adam’s audiovisual room... 6. Emilia spent the rest of New Year’s Day in her room at Heath’s... 7. My body felt like it was breaking in half and my heart along with it. 8. Emilia had her minor surgical procedures done... 9. “Not All Secrets Stay That Way Forever” 10. I leaned back against the couch and listened to her sleep. 11. “You need to do it, Mia.” 12. I stood frozen for a moment while Emilia heaved... 13. “Meta-gaming or the Lives our Characters Lead, Without Us” 14. Over the next few days all she seemed to do was sleep... 15. “Take that you green-faced fucktard!” 16. It was two a.m. and I’d drifted off to sleep again... 17. “Online Friendship: Is It the Real Deal?” 18. After brushing my teeth and changing into my pajamas... 19. I was sure that Adam thought I couldn’t handle a little... 20. I knew she had questions that I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—answer. 21. Something was wrong. I knew it the moment... 22. Thank God I checked on her regularly after a new round. 23. “I can help you with one of those, you know,” 24. I spent about a half hour with Jordan signing paperwork... 25. Two weeks later, the night before Adam’s twenty-seventh birthday... 26. We slept in the bed together and I know she was expecting more. 27. The hotel was breathtaking, and from the moment we entered... 28. I was enjoying this immensely. 29. Project Seduction was about to cash in. 30. I folded her in my arms, held her tightly... 31. The night before we were to fly home... 32. Two days after we returned home, Emilia went in for her scan. 33. I was doing this for Adam. He wanted me there. 34. “Do you want to talk?” I whispered. 35. I undid the towel from his waist... 36. I watched as her face clouded, like a storm suddenly sweeping overland. 37. I waited in the weighted tension between us for him to respond. 38. I was up all night. I didn’t even try to sleep. 39. Full circle. That’s what this was. 40. I dreamt about her every night she was gone. 41. The hotel room in which we were staying for the wedding... 42. It was almost midnight when I fell back against the pillow... 43. I lingered on the rocks after that short, humble ceremony. 44. I jogged up that hill as quickly as I could once I left the sand. 45. I trudged across the sand and let myself into the cottage. 46. Emilia had pressed something into my hand.

47. Six Weeks Later. Epilogue Author’s Note Afterword For The Win excerpt Acknowledgements Copyright