Nine

Back when we loved each other. That was what Lily’d been thinking. So far, they’d beaten around the bush and avoided the fundamental questions.

She summoned courage and pushed herself to her feet, curling her bare toes into the short nap of the area rug with its nutmeg, taupe, and cream geometric pattern. Facing her husband from six feet away, she said, “Dax, do you still want to be married to me? Do you still l-love me?” Her voice quavered and pain lanced her heart. What if he said no? Yet their marriage had foundered so badly, perhaps the only sensible thing to do was cut their losses.

His storm-cloud eyes darkened and for what seemed like forever, he didn’t say anything. Finally, voice grating, he said, “I don’t know.”

Lily realized she’d been holding her breath. Now she released it. He didn’t know if he loved her. It hurt, yet she also felt relief. He wasn’t calling it quits. Indecision meant there might be hope for them.

“Do you?” It sounded like he forced the words out.

She studied his face, the face she had loved for so long. “I don’t know either, Dax. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, but I’m so confused. I do know I don’t want the kind of relationship we’ve had for the last year or two.”

“Agreed.” He gazed at her solemnly for long, silent moments. Then he rose and held out his hand. “Let’s have dinner, drink some wine, and talk.”

She gazed at him, not taking his hand. “Just a minute. We need to agree on what we’re trying to achieve.”

“Achieve?” He drew his hand back.

“I don’t mean just now, at dinner. You’re home until New Year’s. What’s our goal for that time period? I don’t think it’s to save our marriage, because neither of us is sure we want that.” Her heart gave a painful throb, but she forced herself to go on. “So is our goal to find out how we feel about each other, and about our marriage?” Would they mark the new year by deciding to get a divorce? It was a horrible thought, but nothing could be worse than the past months.

“That sounds right.” He swallowed. “We’re in this together, Lily.” Again, he held out his hand.

“Together.” There was a mountain in front of them, but they’d taken the first steps and were at long last moving forward. She grasped his hand. Holding Dax’s hand had always been one of her favorite things in the world, her small, slim, often cool fingers linking with his big, strong, always warm ones. It made her feel as if she belonged somewhere, with someone.

Hand in hand, they went to the kitchen and worked quietly, bumping into each other in the small space. Lily heated up the spicy chicken and potatoes while Dax dished out bean salad and opened a bottle of malbec. When she rinsed her hands, she said, “The tap’s stopped dripping.”

“Needed a new washer.”

“I know.” Did he think she was a ditz? “I would have done it, but I hadn’t had a chance.”

“Lily, you don’t have to do everything yourself. I saw the problem; I fixed it.”

Had she sounded defensive? “Thank you, Dax.”

She set the small dining table and he poured wine. How rare this had become, having dinner together. If only it could be a relaxed, even romantic evening, but that wasn’t in the cards. They both tasted the food. The spicy flavors burst on Lily’s tongue, a pleasant contrast to this cold winter day.

“Aldonza’s a great cook,” Dax said.

“She is. And a generous woman.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Anxiety fluttered through Lily, making it hard to breathe, much less eat. She put down her fork and toyed with her wineglass. “Why is this so hard? After fifteen years, we should be able to talk about something that’s so important.”

His lips kinked up ruefully. “It’s easier to talk about things that don’t matter.”

She nodded at the wisdom of that. “Where do we start?”

He broke open a Portuguese bun and buttered it, but didn’t lift it to his mouth. “This probably isn’t the right place, but I’m curious. Why did you pick Skookumchuck for your safe word?”

“In the bath, the scent of lavender brought back memories. Remember Mrs. B’s garden?”

A smile flashed. “Deer-resistant plants.”

She smiled back. “Such a gentle, kind woman, but it was all-out war when it came to the deer.” For a moment, she enjoyed the simple pleasure of smiling with her husband over a shared memory. “Anyhow, I was thinking about camp, and the evening we met.”

“When I saw you, I barely recognized you. The flawless princess from high school, in rumpled shorts and a stained camp T-shirt, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.”

“Hardly flawless.”

“Seemed that way to me.” He dragged a chunk of bun through the sauce from the chicken.

“Maybe compared to you,” she teased. “The guy who got suspended for corrupting two cheerleaders with beer, pot, and sex under the bleachers.” More relaxed now, she began to eat again, enjoying the bite of peppers in the piri piri, the subtle yeastiness of the bun, the tanginess of the green beans.

“Those girls weren’t exactly innocent.”

“No, and I’m sure they were dying to get it on with the school bad boy, just like every other girl.”

“Except you, who never gave me a second glance.”

“Like you ever glanced at me either.”

“Why waste time gazing in the store window at something you’ll never be able to afford?”

“Or gazing across the fence at the sexy bad boy surrounded by a crowd of far prettier, sexier girls?”

He shook his head. “Not prettier or sexier. Never, Lily.”

The unexpected compliment brought a quick rush of moisture to her eyes. To hide her reaction, she dipped her head and busied herself buttering a crusty bun until she’d regained control. “It was a real attraction of opposites. And yet, it was real. Wasn’t it, Dax?”

“Seemed that way to me.”

“You made me feel . . .” She trailed off, remembering skinny-dipping at midnight, making love in a starlit meadow filled with daisies. “Alive and uninhibited. Sexy, even though I was so inexperienced.” Long talks as they held hands beside a beach fire. “Grown up, like I could plan my own future and follow through. Listened to, like my opinions and my desires mattered.”

He swallowed. “You made me feel like I mattered. You made me want to be a better person, a person who deserved to be with you.”

“Deserved to be with me?” Was he serious? “Like I was such a prize.” She hated to think about the prissy girl she’d been before meeting Dax. “That summer sure changed me.” It gave her more confidence, more of a sense of who she was, or might become, as a woman. “Talk about the cliché uptight virgin.”

“You were a little naïve.” A sparkle danced in his gray eyes.

“Inhibited, insecure. I was a science student, planning on being a doctor, so I knew the anatomical and physiological facts, but the real thing’s very different.” Her lips curved. “Good thing I had an excellent teacher.”

“Oh hell, Lily, I wasn’t that great. Yeah, I was far from a virgin, but I was an eighteen-year-old boy. Finesse wasn’t my strong suit.”

No, bad boys weren’t supposed to have finesse. “Passion, though . . .”

“Oh, yeah. There was passion. But in the beginning, you didn’t even climax half the time.”

She shook her head. “Lots of women don’t, especially when they’re still learning about their sexuality. Even when I didn’t, it felt wonderful to be naked with you, to explore each other’s bodies. You helped me learn what worked for me.” And for years it had worked beautifully.

If there was any hope for the two of them, she had to be honest. “The past year or two, I climax but it feels like”—she bit her lip—“we’re going through the motions.”

“The passion is gone.” He stated it as a fact, with no inflection.

Tears threatened to surface, but she forced them back. “The passion, the trust. We’ve lost so much. The love . . .” She had to swallow before she could go on. “We had it all, Dax. I loved how we were together.”

“Me too. If we could get that back . . .”

Yes, if they could get that back, then surely they’d find a route forward, one that included children. “Things need to change, but I’m not sure how we do that.”

Dax refilled their wineglasses. “Last night was a change.”

Her sex throbbed at the memory. “That’s for sure.”

“Neither of us was going through the motions.”

A laugh spluttered out. “No. It was . . . new, almost like that first summer.”

“There was passion, Lily.”

“Yes. Somehow, last night, you made me stop thinking, stop worrying, and just . . . experience. Though I’m embarrassed about being turned on by some of the things you did.”

“We’ve always been pretty, uh, conservative in bed. I thought, well . . .”

“What?”

“That you wouldn’t be into kinky stuff.”

“Dax, I’m really not a prissy princess.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean, uh . . .”

“Did you want to try other things? Were you bored with our sex life?” Why hadn’t it occurred to her that a guy like Dax wouldn’t be satisfied with a conventional sex life?

“I thought our sex life was great, until we lost the passion.” He picked up his wineglass, took a sip, and then said, with a wicked grin, “As for kinky stuff, hell, I’m a guy. Sure, I think about that stuff.”

“What kind of things appeal to you?” she asked, curious but almost afraid what he might say.

“I dunno.”

“Of course you do.” She narrowed her eyes. “May I remind you, I’m a doctor and I volunteer in the Downtown Eastside? I doubt you’ll come up with anything I’ve never heard of.”

“Aw hell, I’m gonna disappoint you, my ideas are so tame.” Another sexy grin.

“Try me.”

“Okay, tying you up and seeing you spread out like that, just for me, was pretty cool. A blindfold might be fun. Games, role play. Going out with you to some nice restaurant, you wearing a dress and no panties, and me playing with you under the tablecloth and making you come.”

Imagining that scenario, her eyes widened and the heat of arousal thrummed in her blood and pulsed between her legs. She took a hurried gulp of wine.

“Some toys,” he went on. “Not the heavy BDSM stuff like spreader bars and ball gags and butt plugs, but—”

“You know about those things?” she broke in. She was only aware of them because of her job. To think that her husband spent time thinking about ball gags and butt plugs . . . That definitely did not turn her on.

“I’m a guy,” he said again. “Plus, that book of yours is enlightening.”

“You’re not making me want to read it. But I need to get through the first part before tomorrow’s book club.” Everyone had to read a third of the book, no more than that, before each Monday meeting, so they could have a meaningful discussion.

“Those things don’t turn you on?”

She shook her head vigorously.

“Any of the other stuff I mentioned?”

Knowing her cheeks were pink, she said, “Maybe.”

“Cool.”

The very male comment made her chuckle. “You’re saying I shouldn’t be embarrassed, I should embrace my, uh . . .”

“Down-and-dirty side?” he filled in. “Wouldn’t hear me object. Hell, Lily, there shouldn’t be anything wrong or embarrassing in sex if it’s what both partners want.”

“And consent to, with full information and from equal positions of power.”

“Yeah, of course.”

She knew he meant it. Dax didn’t have a sexist bone in his body. She’d been pleasantly surprised, that first summer, when she discovered that fact about her bad-boy lover. “We learned a lot about each other at Camp Skookumchuck.”

“Camp’s for learning and exploring,” he joked. Then he said reflectively, “Hmm. That summer was about exploring, discovery, passion. Right?”

“And falling in love.”

He nodded. “Last night, we explored different things and that rekindled our passion.”

“True.”

“So maybe we could do more of it. See where it takes us.”

Lily liked having a clear, logical course of action. But there was no formula for finding out if two people wanted to save their marriage. Counseling worked for some couples, but she was a private person, and she couldn’t imagine tough-guy Dax spilling intimate secrets to a stranger.

She stared across the table at her husband. Did she still love him? Sometimes she thought yes, but then wondered if it was just history, habit, maybe insecurity. Other times she thought no, and then questioned whether she was only erecting defenses to guard against a broken heart.

If they did love each other, could they change their marriage into one that they were both happy to recommit to? Was the mountain in front of them climbable, or impassable? To find out, they had to pick a path to start down. He’d just proposed one.

Their jobs and lifestyles were a huge issue, but she couldn’t see an easy solution. Fifteen years ago, passion had developed into a deep emotional connection, a commitment to share their lives. Perhaps there was a strange logic, now, to choosing their sex life as the path to follow in rebuilding their love. If that worked, surely they’d have the motivation to figure out the rest of their lives.

“All right,” she said slowly. “Let’s explore. Where do we start?” The question made her nervous, so she rose abruptly. “Let’s deal with the leftovers and the dishes and then . . .” And then, what?

Dax cocked an eyebrow. After a long moment, he said, “Get one of the scarves I tied you up with and wait for me in the living room.” His voice had the same commanding tone as last night.

Would he tie her up again? But with only a single scarf? Excitement pulsed through her, along with nerves. “What are you going to do?”

He stood and came around the table. His big, strong fingers stroked short hair away from one cheek, traced the rim of her ear, gently tugged on her earring. Then he gripped her chin firmly. “That’s for me to know. The moment you want me to stop, you know the word to say.”

It was too soon. They should discuss what games they were both okay with. He shouldn’t just take charge this way.

Except, wasn’t that what had excited her last night? Trusting Dax to control what they did, to control her pleasure? Giving up the need to always think, plan, be responsible for every damn thing?

“Do you accept my rules?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes, master.”

Seriously? And yet, she supposed this was what she’d opted in to. “Yes, master.”

“Very good. Now get that scarf and bring it to the living room.”