I sense that something is wrong the minute Calder picks me up for our date.
He arrives at three o’clock on the dot, and in his jeans and fitted charcoal sweater he looks so sexy that I’m tempted to drag him into my apartment and jump him right there. He gives me a devilish smile and kisses me, but the minute I slip my hands beneath his shirt, he pulls away and teasingly shakes his head.
“A little eager, aren’t we?” he says, his eyes gleaming. That’s when I see it: a flash of something across his expression. It’s gone before I can give it a name—regret? Sorrow? Guilt?—but whatever it is, I know that there’s something, some worry, still lingering in his mind.
He doesn’t want me to know. He smiles and touches me and pretends that nothing’s wrong, and for the moment, I let him.
He takes me to a local park.
“It’s nothing fancy,” he says. “But my father used to bring my sister and me here when we were younger. I always thought it was beautiful.” He sounds almost apologetic, and I realize, with sudden clarity, that he is—after all, this is a man who’s used to giving women expensive gifts and taking them out to five star restaurants. Places like Ventine’s. He’s used to dating starlets and supermodels, not normal girls like me who are perfectly content to stroll hand-in-hand through a park.
“It’s perfect,” I say, looping my arm through his.
He smiles down at me, his uncertainty replaced immediately by his usual wicked smile. The shadows are still there, hidden in the depths of his eyes, but if he wishes to ignore them for the afternoon then I will too.
He leads me along a path through the trees, down toward the pond—which everyone around here calls the “lake”—and away from the crowds on the main green. The air is chilly, but in that lovely mid-autumn kind of way—though I’m glad to have worn a scarf and thick tights with my dress. I lean against his warmth, and he slides his arm around my waist.
It’s strange.
Strange to be a normal couple walking through a normal park. I mean, this is the guy who once had sex with me up against the wall of a dungeon. Well—cellar, if we’re getting technical about it. My time on his estate was intensely erotic, and this feels so ordinary by comparison.
I glance up at him. The afternoon sun makes his skin glow and brings out the bluish undertones in his dark hair. There’s a muscle working in his jaw, but when he senses me staring, he looks down and smiles.
“How was your week?” he asks. “Discover any burgeoning Van Goghs in one of your classes?”
I remember the subtle shift in his mood the last couple of times I talked about the Center. I know he’s only trying to be polite.
“I don’t want to talk about work,” I tell him. I want to pull him away from the dark places in his mind. I want to remind him of the wild, passionate couple we were, back on his estate.
I stop on the path and look out across the lake.
“See that dock?” I say, pointing to the small, wooden structure protruding into the water from the far shore. “I’ll race you to it. Loser has to make the other one dinner.”
His eyes darken at the challenge. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Afraid I’ll win?” I tease. “Because you should be.”
Before he has the chance to respond, I turn and sprint down the path.
“Cheater!” he calls after me, but it’s not long before I hear his footsteps in pursuit.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I race through the trees. There are only a handful of people in this section of the park, and they glance up at me in confusion as I run by. Calder is right on my heels. His footsteps grow louder, closer, and then he’s near enough that I can hear his ragged breathing.
Once, he’s close enough to reach out and grab the back of my dress. I stumble and almost fall, and by the time I recover he’s pulled ahead.
“Who’s the cheater now?” I yell after him.
A passing jogger looks at me sharply, but I curse under my breath and start running again.
Calder has a good lead on me now, but I’m not about to let him win, not this time. Up ahead, a small creek enters the lake, and our path curves away from the lakeshore to a small bridge slightly upstream. Calder follows the path, but I head straight for the creek. I run through the brush, leap over the water, and manage to regain the path some paces ahead of Calder.
We’re close. I can see the end of the dock through the trees ahead. Calder is just behind me, and though I hear him reach for me, I manage to twist out of his reach before he’s able to pull the same trick on me twice.
But I underestimate him. Just as we break through the trees and hit the shore, he lunges, catching me around the waist. We both land on the sand, twisting and tumbling over each other.
I’m so close. Calder tries to hold me down, but I manage to free my arm. I reach out, grappling for the dock, and I’m rewarded when my fingers hit nearest wooden post.
“I win!” I gasp as I cease struggling.
Calder seizes the opportunity to pin me to the sand beneath him.
“You owe me dinner,” I say, gazing up at him.
“Is that so?” He’s breathing heavily and his hair is a mess—like we’ve been taking part in a very different sort of physical exertion.
“You lost.” I enjoy those words more than I should. “Even though you tried to cheat.”
“I’m the cheater? You’re the one who had a massive head start.”
I laugh. “And we never said tackling was allowed, either.”
He gives a self-satisfied smile. “I don’t believe for a minute that you didn’t enjoy that part.”
He’s right, of course. I reach up and pull his face down to mine. Warmth sweeps through me as our lips meet, and I revel in the feeling of his weight on top of me.
I raise my hips slightly, and he groans against my mouth before pulling away.
“We should stop before this gets out of hand,” he says.
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. We’re right out in the open.
“Maybe we should sneak off into the trees somewhere,” I say. The thought of letting Calder make love to me in some secluded corner of the park sends a rush of blood between my legs.
“No,” he says, shaking his head and sitting up. “We decided we’d wait to have sex.”
Oh.
“If I recall correctly,” I say, “you decided we’d wait to have sex. I’m perfectly fine with the idea.” I reach up and run a hand sensually down his chest. I feel his muscles contract even through his sweater.
But he clasps my hand and pulls it away.
“Trust me, Lily. It’s better this way.” He reaches down and brushes a bit of sand from my cheek. “I just don’t want us to rush into anything before we’re ready.”
Before we’re ready. I’m ready. But that doesn’t mean he is.
That realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Calder’s not ready for this. For us. I don’t know what to say, what to think. After everything we’ve been through together, I thought we were both “all in” emotionally.
He’s watching me closely. I don’t know what he sees in my face, but he leans down and kisses me delicately on the forehead, then once on either eyelid.
“How about that dinner?” he says softly.
I nod, and he helps me up. As soon as we’re standing, he grabs me and pulls me against him, burying his face in my hair.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Thank you for being patient.”
“Of course,” I whisper, reaching up and holding him.
His grip tightens. “Lily…”
The emotion in his voice startles me. Something is seriously wrong. He suddenly seems so lost, so vulnerable, and I tighten my arms around him.
“I’m here,” I say. “I’m always here.”
His mouth is at my ear. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
I close my eyes. “But I know what you do to me.”
I wait for him to say something else, but he falls silent. Still, he refuses to let me go. His shoulders are rigid beneath my hands, his muscles tight. It breaks my heart to see him like this, but I don’t know what to do. He won’t speak to me about his family problems, and he won’t let me comfort or distract him in the best way I know how.
We stay like that for some time, until my stomach starts to audibly rumble.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go eat.”
We turn and head back up the path through the trees. I’m not sure whether I feel better or worse after our last conversation, but I force myself to focus on the small, beautiful things around us: the birds singing in the trees, the breeze sweeping through the branches overhead, the dead leaves crunching beneath our feet. Calder takes my hand and twines his fingers through mine. His grip is steady, secure. Our fingers don’t believe that anything is wrong, and I trust the language of our bodies more than I trust the insecurities running around in my head.
We’re nearly back to the green when Calder suddenly flinches, turns, as if he’s spotted something startling out of the corner of his eye. I follow his gaze, but I only see trees and, in the distance, some children playing.
“What is it?” I ask.
His hand tightens on mine, but he shakes his head.
“It’s nothing. Come on.”
We continue down the path, but the tension doesn’t leave his body. Something’s wrong. He keeps glancing around, but I don’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary.
And then, all at once, it’s clear: ahead of us, where the path enters the green again, there’s a crowd of people waiting for us.
Well, not people. Reporters.
They come at us all at once, like a cloud of mosquitoes, digital recorders and microphones outstretched, cameramen trailing behind.
“Mr. Cunningham!” they cry. “Mr. Cunningham!”
Their questions come like an assault, one missile after another.
“Did you know about your father’s financial troubles?”
“Have you lost everything?”
“What happened to the three million dollars your family promised the Red Cross?”
“Did your father have a gambling problem?”
Calder keeps his head down and his arm tight around me as we try to move through them, but they’re everywhere. All around us.
“We need to run,” he whispers in my ear.
And then, without any further warning, he takes off, dragging me by the hand behind him. We race across the grass, back through the trees, down toward the lake.
It’s not until we reach the edge of the water that Calder pauses, and only then do I turn and look behind us to see if anyone dared to follow. And indeed—some way back, but clear as day in her bright aqua pantsuit—at least one of the reporters is coming after us. For all I know the rest could be close behind her.
We’re too far from the car, which means our only chance is to hide out somewhere for a while until they give up and go away.
“Under here,” Calder says.
There’s a rowboat lying upside down on the bank. It was clearly abandoned some time ago—the wood is gray and weathered and spotted with pale green lichen—and I wouldn’t dare test it on the water, but it’s long enough for both of us. Calder has bent and lifted it up by the side.
“Are you serious?” I say, but even I know that our options are limited. I duck under the boat, and Calder follows, then lowers the boat over our heads.
It’s a little tighter under here than I expected. The only way Calder and I can both fit is if we’re basically on top of each other, and we wiggle around for a minute until I end up beneath him. He holds his weight over me, and his mouth is by my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
“This is cozy,” I murmur.
“Indeed.” He sounds distracted, and I realize he’s straining to listen for the approach of the reporters.
I knew this would happen—feared it, prayed it wouldn’t—but it was inevitable that the Cunninghams’ secrets would come out, that those scheming, bottom-feeding tabloid reporters would catch wind of it eventually. Our culture thrives on this, on watching the privileged fall apart, and we applaud when they tumble down to earth with the rest of us.
The worst part is there’s nothing I can do to help him. Things are going to get even worse for him now that this has exploded, and there’s nothing I can say to make it better.
“Ignore them.” It’s a feeble attempt, but it’s better than nothing. “We’ll stay here until they go away.”
I can’t see his face. His cheek is pressed against mine.
“It might be hours,” he says finally.
“I don’t have any other plans today.”
He chuckles at that, though it’s a humorless sound. I feel the vibrations through my chest, and my nipples harden against my bra.
Of course my body would betray me at a time like this.
I bring my hands up, skimming them across his side and up across his back. He’s stiff, tense, and I begin moving my fingers in slow circles, gently massaging the muscles. Calder starts to relax beneath my touch. He lets out a sigh, stirring my hair.
“Lily…”
It doesn’t sound like a protest, so I continue to rub his back. He shifts, lowering a little more of his weight onto me, and my heartbeat quickens in my chest. I slide my hands down the length of his torso and tug at the hem of his sweater.
“Lily.” This time there’s no ignoring his tone.
I’m all innocence, even as I slip my fingers beneath his shirt. “What?”
“Stop teasing me.”
I’d rather him be annoyed at me than worrying about the swarm of journalists outside.
“Are you not tempted at all?” I whisper, arching my back to press my body against his.
He sucks in a breath before catching me by the waist and pushing me firmly against the ground again.
“Temptation has nothing to do with it.”
“No?” I slip my hands beneath his sweater once more and dig my nails into the bare flesh of his back. A tremor courses through him.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says, his voice low and throaty. “We’ve played this little game before, tried to see who could make the other break first. If I recall correctly, you lost that time, too.”
“That is up for debate.” I turn my head and capture his earlobe in my lips, sucking it between my teeth.
His whole body tenses, and I’m delighted to feel the pressure of his arousal against my thigh. I know it’s taking all of his willpower to remain in control. If I just—
“Where the hell did they go?”
The sharp voice snaps me out of my sexual haze. It’s coming from above us—from just outside the boat.
“Maybe they want along that path over there? Around the lake?” This second voice sounds frustrated, but mostly just bored.
“If they went that way, we’d be able to see them through the trees.” That’s the first speaker again, and by now I’m pretty sure that it’s the reporter in the aqua pantsuit.
“Maybe we should go back and wait by the car?” The second speaker—her cameraman?—sounds less enthused by this situation every second.
Good. The sooner they get bored and leave, the better.
“We’re not leaving until I get something,” the reporter insists. “I want that first interview.”
Oh God, could she be any more of an obnoxious, go-getting leech? If Calder weren’t pinning me down, I’d go out there and kick her ass for being such a stereotype.
“What do you want us to do?” whines the cameraman.
“I’ll go this way, and you go the opposite direction. If you spot them, call me. Immediately.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Leaves crunch as the reporter stalks away. A handful of seconds later, she lets out a curse—I gleefully imagine she’s tripped over something in her aqua heels—but, eventually, all sound of her disappears. She’s moved on.
I wish I could say the same for the cameraman. I listen intently for the sound of his retreat, but he doesn’t seem in any hurry to go searching for us. Instead, he lets out a heavy sigh, and the wood above our heads creaks as a great weight settles upon it.
Crap. He’s sitting on the boat.
The absurdity of our situation hits me all at once, and the laugh begins to bubble up in my throat before I can stop it. I clamp my lips together, biting down on my tongue to keep from giving us away, but my body still shakes with the effort and air rushes in and out of my nose as I choke back the sound.
Calder notices. He claps a hand over my mouth, then leans down and whispers so quietly in my ear that I can barely hear him.
“So you think this is funny, do you? Think this is a game?”
I try to shake my head, but the pressure of his hand across my lips makes it difficult to move.
“Have you forgotten who you’re playing against?” he murmurs.
He leans down and catches my earlobe between his teeth, copying my attack from a moment ago. Goose bumps race across my scalp, and I suck in a ragged half breath through his fingers. His other hand is down by my waist, holding me still beneath him, and he grinds against me.
“You like that?” he breathes. “You want me to fuck you right here, with that man right above us?”
As if on cue, the wood creaks above our heads. The cameraman must have shifted his weight. Part of me is terrified that he’ll hear, that he’ll know—but another part thrills at the pure depravity of our current situation.
Calder seems to be enjoying himself, too. His mouth burns a trail down my neck, nipping and sucking and teasing until the surface of my skin is dangerously sensitive. His fingers dig into my hip, and he grinds against me another time.
Fuck, I want him. I need him. I try to raise my hips to meet his, but he presses me back down.
“I can smell it on you,” he murmurs. “I bet you’re sopping wet right now.”
His hands are at my skirt now, tugging it up. I’m wearing tights underneath, but he doesn’t bother to pull them off. Instead he just slips his fingers between my legs. I’m sure I’ve soaked them through by now. I hear Calder’s breath hitch when his touch meets the damp fabric.
“I’m not going to give it to you,” he whispers. “I’m not going to have sex with you. I’m going to bring you right to the edge and leave you there, and then maybe you’ll understand how serious I am.”
Even though I can feel his erection pressing against my thigh, I know he’s telling the truth. He’s done this before—toyed with me, brought me to the very brink of pleasure and then stopped—but I don’t have the strength to push him away now. My body has come alive at his touch, and right now, in this moment, there are no shadows or insecurities—just us.
The man above us coughs, and we both go still. Maybe not “just us,” then.
Still, that little reminder of the cameraman’s presence does little to deter Calder. Before long, he’s pressing his fingers against me through my tights once more. It takes everything in me to hold back my moan, and it’s a surprise when Calder suddenly removes his hand from my lips—until he grabs my scarf. He shoves the fabric into my mouth, properly stifling any sounds I might make. Then he moves his hand to my shoulder, holding me down.
Meanwhile, his mouth has started to blaze a trail across my collarbone and down over my chest. He brushes his nose against my breast, nuzzling and teasing until my nipple stiffens once more against my bra. It doesn’t matter that my clothes are still in the way. Calder takes my nipple in his teeth through the fabric, and I just about lose it. I grab his hair, twisting and tugging at the dark strands as he sucks on my breast through my dress. The sensation sends flashing lights across my vision.
I’m worried now. Worried because I’m having a harder time controlling my breathing, even around the scarf. Worried because I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to fight down the sounds of pleasure building in my throat. Is Calder crazy? If he doesn’t stop, we’re going to get caught.
But his fingers are still working furiously against me. I’m getting closer, and I try to tug Calder’s head away from my breast, try to stop this madness before it becomes unbearable. Calder refuses to obey my silent commands. Instead, he bites down on my nipple through my dress.
My legs flail, and he tries to keep me still, but it’s too late. My foot hits the side of the boat with a thwunk.
We both freeze.
For a moment, nothing happens, and I’m ready to let out a breath of relief when the wood creaks above us. The cameraman is getting up.
Oh shit.
I’m still scrambling to get my dress back down around my hips when the boat lifts. The sunlight is blinding, and I squint even as I struggle to pull the scarf out of my mouth. The cameraman stares down at us, a cigarette dangling out of his gaping mouth.
And then he falls over.
It takes me a moment to realize it’s because Calder has kicked his legs out from under him. He grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet, and then we’re off running. We’re halfway to the car before we run into the other reporters and paparazzi, but we’ve got a good head start. We pass them before they even realize who we are, and by the time they actually start to chase us, we’re at the parking lot. I’m gasping for breath by the time we slide into Calder’s car, and he pulls out of the space so quickly that he nearly gives me whiplash.
I turn and stare out the back windshield as he tears away. Several of the reporters stare after us, while a couple of the photographers snap photos of our retreating car. Our victory, such as it is, doesn’t feel like much of a victory after all. We might have escaped today, but this isn’t the end.
My hands shake as I attempt to smooth and straighten my clothes, but I’m not sure whether it’s because of our narrow escape or the lingering effects of my encounter with Calder beneath the boat.
I glance over at Calder. He’s looking straight ahead, but his jaw is set and I can tell he’s thinking hard. I can’t even begin to guess how his life will change now that the whole world knows his secret.
The worst part is that I sense, with some certainty, that it will change things between us, too, and I don’t know how to stop it.