Chapter Thirteen
Once they were at her condo, she and Julian stripped off their jackets and sweaters, and put the dinner stuff in the fridge. Iris stepped into his arms, marveling at how comfortable she felt doing this. Not that he didn’t still excite her in every way, but it was incredible that their relationship felt so natural.
Did she love Julian? She’d read about love in everything from academic texts to pulp fiction. The term could mean many different things. She felt love for her family and, to some degree, for her girlfriends. Her feelings for Julian were multifaceted: lust, admiration, an odd sense of being kindred spirits despite their differences, and a deep-in-her-soul caring.
If she turned off her brain and simply felt, every instinct told her this was her man, the one she had always believed would come into her life. Her brain said that was impossible—so how could being with him feel like destiny? Mindfulness told her not to agonize over it, but to relish the moment and lose herself in this kiss that went on and on.
A deep sense of certainty seeped through her. This, with Julian, was right. She’d deal with the future once it became the present. Now, she wanted to lose her virginity, to make love, with this man. She eased away from him, took his hand, and led him to her bedroom. After closing the door, she leaned back against it. “Now I have you where I want you,” she teased.
“Handily, it’s exactly where I want to be. Well, actually, over here would be better.” He pulled her toward the bed.
Standing, they worked the fastenings of each other’s clothes—shirt buttons, jeans snaps, zippers—doing it slowly, in an almost ceremonial way. Fabric rustled as, item by item, pieces of clothing fell to the floor, until they were both naked.
The room was comfortably warm and Iris had come to feel at ease being naked with him, so she didn’t pull back the covers. Instead, she lay on top of the duvet, sinking into its softness as if she were reclining on a cloud.
Despite his fair hair, Julian did not look like an angel. His body was lean, all muscle and sinew as he stood gazing down at her, an erection rising. The black notes and bars of the music tattoo twining around his arm sang of sorrow, not joy. The expression in his vivid blue eyes was a complicated blend that included affection, desire, need, and—again—wasn’t that sorrow? Julian’s unhealed wounds, whatever they might be, were an intrinsic part of him. She wished he would share that part with her, but doubted it would ever happen.
Would he share another gift? Reason told her that romance authors exaggerated when they wrote about intercourse in terms of bodies shattering, the earth moving, the sky bursting into dazzling fireworks. That wasn’t what she craved anyhow; it was the emotional intimacy. If she lost her virginity with him, he would always be part of her soul.
“Come lie with me,” she said, moving over and rolling onto her side, facing him.
He joined her, lying on his own side, and reached out to stroke her. She caught his hand, rose to her knees, and flipped him onto his back. Then she straddled him, one knee on either side of his hips. As she bent forward to kiss him, her hair streamed down around her face, getting in the way. “Such a nuisance,” she murmured, scooping it back with one hand.
“So lovely,” he said just before their lips met.
She lost herself in the bliss of their mouths mating slowly and sensually. Julian was like a drug in her blood, slowing some of her reactions, speeding others, making her hyperaware of every sensation. The moist fullness of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the lingering hint of chocolate. The pillowy smoothness of the cotton duvet under her knees, the firmness of his muscled legs, the tickle of curly hair against her breasts and inner thighs. And, most of all, the hard thrust of his erection against her belly.
She edged forward to rub against that firm shaft, and he groaned against her mouth.
Freeing the hair she’d scooped back, she let it fall in a curtain around their faces. She eased back, turning the kiss from a deep meeting of tongues and breath to tiny kisses that nipped across his lips and then over the hint of blond stubble on his chin. When he reached out for her, she said, “No, Julian. Lie back and let me.” She wanted to caress every inch of him, tease every erogenous zone, savor every reaction, and to make him hers.
In leisurely fashion she stroked, kissed, licked, tickled, sucked here and there, memorizing each breathy gasp, each moan, each surprised laugh. The jut of a hipbone proved to be ticklish, the inside of an elbow an erogenous zone. It awed her that he was so responsive to her, that she controlled his arousal. And her own, because turning him on was as much an aphrodisiac as when he teased and caressed her body.
When she finally made her way to his center, when her hair brushed his stomach and her lips surrounded his shaft, he moaned. “God, Iris, I can’t believe how good you make me feel.”
The last time they’d been together, she had brought him to climax with her hands and her mouth. But now she wanted more. She wanted everything. Sitting back on her heels, she gazed into his eyes. “Julian, make love to me. All the way.”
“What?” His body jerked under her. “No, Iris, I can’t do that.”
A possibility occurred to her, one she hadn’t thought of before. “Don’t you have a condom?” Didn’t sexy guys keep condoms in their wallets, or was that only in books?
“It’s not that. You’re a virgin, and the first time should be special.”
Didn’t he think their lovemaking would be special? He couldn’t really mean that. She must be misunderstanding. “I care about you, and I know you care about me. Yes, one day I hope, I believe, that I’ll find true love, a man to build a life with, but that’s in the future. Now, with you, I want this. I want you, my dear friend, to be the one. I want us to share this.”
He propped himself up on his elbows. “Jesus, Iris, that’s . . . I’m honored. By your trust in me and by your caring. Yes, I care for you, too. How could I not? You’re an incredible woman. But it wouldn’t be right, you and me doing this. I don’t . . .”
When he didn’t finish, she said, “You don’t want to?”
He groaned. “Yes. No. I mean, physically, yes, of course. But no, I don’t.” His wilting erection confirmed that. “You should wait for a man who deserves the gift. A man who loves you deeply and truly, who wants to share his life with you.”
Hurt and a little annoyed, she was starting to feel kind of ridiculous, naked and straddling him. “I didn’t know you were so old-fashioned. Sex isn’t that big a deal in this day and age.”
His brow creased. “Not usually. But sometimes maybe it should be.”
“There are different kinds of big deals.” How could she make him grasp this? “I’m a feminist, a modern woman. The fact that I’ve never had sex isn’t because I hold archaic views of sexuality, it’s that I’ve almost never dated. I’ve never even enjoyed kissing a man until you. Now, I feel so close to you, and I know we’re not going to share our lives, but why can’t we share this now? You’ve given me so much already, so why won’t you give me this one thing I want so much?” How pathetic was she, begging him to make love to her?
Julian squeezed his eyes shut as if he was in pain. “You know I have a dark side, Iris. Wounds that won’t heal. If you knew who I really am, you wouldn’t ask for this.”
Who he really was? Okay, that was it. He’d ruined what she had hoped would be one of the sweetest experiences of her life. She clambered off him and retreated under the covers. “What are you talking about?”
Shaking his head, he rose from the bed and bent to pick up his boxer briefs.
He wouldn’t tell her. Of course not. He might care for her, but he would only let her get so close, and then he slammed the door. It seemed, though, that he wasn’t so much rejecting her as putting up a defensive shield to protect himself. Out of fear? The fear that if she knew his secrets, she might reject him? He didn’t trust her to understand.
What if he was right? It was hard to imagine that Julian could have done something so awful she’d reject him. But she’d only known him a few weeks. His music conveyed pain, regrets, anger sometimes. What events had left those scars?
Feeling vulnerable, she tugged the duvet up to her neck. Looking away from him as he dressed, her gaze caught on the arrangement of photos on the wall beside her dresser. She’d put them together herself, some with pale green matte and dark purple frames, some with mauve matte and forest-green frames. Her gallery consisted of her grandparents as young teens at the internment camp; her dad and aunt in front of Dreamspinner on the day the bookstore opened; her parents on their wedding day; herself and her BFF Shelley with their university diplomas, an engagement ring sparkling on Shelley’s finger. She should add a photo of Eden and Miranda.
As for Julian . . . She’d snapped a few pictures of him with her phone, including a couple of selfies of the two of them on Windspinner. Would she add one to her display? That depended on what happened next, between them.
“I’m sorry, Iris.”
She turned her gaze on him. He’d finished dressing and was dragging his fingers through his tousled hair. “The last thing I want is to hurt you,” he said. “Please believe that I care about you and respect you. Can we go back to the way things were? Forget that this happened?”
Go back to how things were? With him fully dressed, halfway across the room, and her huddled in bed, her body throbbing with unfulfilled desire and her heart aching with the knowledge that there would always be a barrier between them?
She took a deep breath, calming herself, seeking balance, hunting for her inner truth. Her gaze sought the wall calendar with its message about sharing light and happiness. She had wanted to do that with Julian but now, because she’d asked for something he wasn’t prepared to give, they were both in pain.
“I’m sorry if I pushed,” she said slowly. “No, it’s never possible to go back.” Or to forget, but Julian, of all people, knew that. She remembered October’s calendar message, about sowing seeds and being patient. “But I hope we can go forward. As friends. I don’t want to lose your friendship.”
He walked toward the bed, stretching out both hands. “I don’t want that either.”
After securing the duvet under her armpits, she took his hands. “Then we’ll move forward.” She had no idea what that would be like, but all they could do was take one step at a time. “I’d like to take a quick shower before dressing to go over to my parents’.” Warm water and scented soap always soothed her when she was troubled. “Would you still like to go?”
Uncertainty clouded his eyes. “As long as it won’t be too awkward for you.”
“Of course not.” They’d have to stumble through those first new steps sometime anyhow. The polite, restrained atmosphere of her family home might not be a bad place to do it. “While I’m showering, why don’t you tune your guitar? Once I’m dressed, I’d love to hear the song about my grandparents. If you’re still willing to share it.”
“I’d be happy to.” He swallowed. “I only wish . . .” But then he shook his head and left the room, leaving her to wonder what he wished.
* * *
Julian gazed around the Yakimuras’ living room as he strummed the closing notes of his new song, “From Dust, a Rose.” Iris’s parents sat side by side on the couch, leaning forward, clasping hands. Tears sheened Ken’s dark brown eyes—a high compliment from that reserved man. Akemi smiled gently, nodding. Lily sat in an upholstered chair, her posture perfect, unmoving—but her lips were parted and her expression rapt.
Iris, who’d first heard the song that afternoon at her apartment, stood leaning against the doorway. She had asked him to play this song for her family after dinner—a dinner they’d all complimented him on—but she hadn’t sat down with them. She’d remained slightly removed, as she had for the past few hours.
When she’d offered him her virginity, he’d been stunned by her trust, her honesty, by the fact that she’d chosen him. He’d hurt her by turning her down, but what else could he do? She might profess to be a modern woman who didn’t think sex was such a big deal, but he wanted her to share her first time with a man who deserved that gift.
He hated that he’d hurt her, and he hated the distance between them. He’d only seen her drop that delicate, invisible shell of reserve once in the past hours: when she first listened to the song. She had cried as he’d sung a love story that was born out of adversity and flourished bravely despite the obstacles of racism, time, an ocean’s distance, and family pressures.
Now, as the echoes of the final notes faded in the Yakimuras’ living room, Akemi said, “It’s beautiful, Julian. You have a rare talent.”
“Thank you for telling this story,” Lily said quietly.
“My parents would be honored,” Ken said.
Only Iris was silent, but from her post by the doorway, she sent Julian a smile.
“I’m glad you like it,” he told them all. Inside his jeans pocket, his phone pulsed. “Sorry,” he said, drawing it out, “I need to check that it’s not Sonia. She’s alone with my dad.”
The display said it was his bandmate Roy, so he let it go to voice mail. A few moments later, Roy rang again. It was a signal between them: if something was important, they called twice. “I really am sorry,” Julian said. “This seems to be urgent.”
“No problem,” Akemi said. “Please, take it. We’ll tidy up the kitchen while you do.”
All the Yakimuras left the room, leaving Julian feeling like a rude guest. He accepted the call, saying, “Roy, this better be good.”
“Yeah, man, it is. Your dad’s still doing okay?”
Julian was in touch with his band members two or three times a week, so he didn’t hide his exasperation. “Yes. Did you call just to ask that?”
“No, to see if you could leave him and your stepmom for an overnighter. We got offered a gig in Victoria on December first.”
“This Saturday? That’s late notice.”
“You know Dak Spencer of Big Bad Blood? He broke his frigging wrist this afternoon.”
“Ouch. Poor bastard.” Dak was a drummer.
“The band manager called to see if Camille could fill in.”
“That’s fine with me, if she wants to.”
“She doesn’t. Says it’d be too difficult to learn their music, fit into their groove. So then the manager asked if we could fill in for the band. What do you say?”
“Maybe. I need to check with my family.”
“Big Bad Blood needs to know right away.”
Resigned, Julian said, “I’ll get back to you in a few minutes.”
He called his stepbrother, explained the situation, and said, “Forbes is improving, but if Sonia’s worried about not having a strong guy to assist during the night, could you sleep over?”
“Sure. The whole family could. We’ll all watch a movie in our pj’s, eat some popcorn. The boys and Ariana will love it.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“Nope. I owe you for putting your life on hold to help Mom and Forbes.”
“Not a problem.” As Julian ended the call, he remembered how he’d hated the thought of being stuck on Destiny Island for months. But, despite his angst over Jelinek, he was glad for the new closeness with his family and for his friendship with Iris.
He called Roy back, then he went to find the Yakimuras and apologize for his rudeness.
They were all in the kitchen, dealing with dishes and leftovers. Iris noticed him and came over, stepping out into the hall and asking, “Is everything okay?”
He filled her in, then asked, “Want to come? We could take the ferry Saturday morning. While the band practices in the afternoon, you could hang out and listen, or sightsee, shop.”
Her delicately arched brows drew together.
“Then we’d grab a bite with the band, and you could watch the show. And after—” He broke off when she shook her head.
“No, Julian. Thank you, but no.”
“Is it because you’re upset with me?”
She glanced toward the kitchen. “I’m not upset with you. A trip like that would be very difficult for me.”
But she knew Victoria; she’d gone to university there. And he would be with her. Was her shyness really that crippling, or was she keeping him at a distance? He wished he could make her understand that he hadn’t rejected her, he’d protected her. But in order to do that, he’d have to reveal his dark secrets—and then she’d be the one rejecting him.