The Sun and the Moon (Giving You ... #1) Page 9

  He clasped my hand, and pulled me down the hall into my little vintage-tiled bathroom. With a flick, he turned on the bath, like he had done it a million times before at my house, which he clearly hadn’t. While the water filled up, he looked down at me and smiled. "Let's warm you up, and get you relaxed."

  That's a very good idea. After being so emotionally wrecked, there was no way that I was up for energetic sex—at least not right now. But I still wanted to touch him, to hold him, and have him hold me.

  Maybe this was intimacy, I thought.

  He held my hands, as I slipped into the bath, and then he took off his boxer shorts and stepped into the water behind me. I nestled into him, my back pressed against his awesome chest, his strong calves around mine, and his arms around my waist.

  Wow.

  This was a comfortable place to be. My very own personal Sun God, in my bathtub. Radiating warmth.

  As I leaned against him, he put his chin on my shoulder and teased my ear with his lips. I let out a deep sigh and felt myself start to relax.

  "Ryan," I said in a low voice.

  "Yeah," he muttered, biting my neck, little nibbles. Little amazing nibbles.

  They say that bravery is feeling the fear and doing it anyway. So I decided to be brave. "I want to tell you what happened to me."

  He continued to nibble my neck. "I'm listening."

  "But I don't want you to run away screaming."

  He released my torso, and turned me around by my shoulders, so that he could look me in the eyes, a serious expression on his face. "There is nothing that you could tell me that would make me not want you. I've had a crush on you for a decade. Whatever you tell me is not going to change that," he said with utter sincerity.

  Whoa. Okay, then.

  I had only told my story to Marie, Hugo, and my therapist. But everything that Ryan did made me feel like it was safe to trust him. This was vulnerability. I recognized it, and I was going to try it and see how it fit me. I knew that I could get hurt. It was a risk. But I had already been hurt before, and closing up really hadn't helped me. It was time to try something different. So I took a deep breath and started talking.

  "As you know, I was the prom queen and I dated the football quarterback in high school."

  "Jonathan Sanchez?" asked Ryan.

  Fuck. He knew who the asshole was. Of course he would. Soldiering on.

  "Yeah. He wasn't my first boyfriend. I dated others in high school, but I dated him my senior year and then followed him to Boston for college. The short story is that once we got there, we fought, we broke up, we dated others, but then we got back together. After a while, we were inseparable. It felt inevitable that we would be together forever."

  Ryan traced his hands up and down my arms, with light, soft strokes, while I talked.

  "Looking back on it now, with what I know now, it was a pairing of convenience. It wasn't love, although back then I thought it was. It wasn't. It was just like we were supposed to be together, and had been together for so long, and knew each other for so long, that we were just, together. Without questioning it.

  "It's not dramatic. I don't think he cheated on me. I don't think he had it in him. But now, looking back on it, he was so cold. I know now that he wasn’t a good lover. He wasn't engaged with me. He didn't question my Rules. We did it missionary position. He gave me orgasms with his fingers, which I thought was good sex. But I don't know if it was me keeping a part of myself from him, or him keeping a part from me, but neither one of us was truly open with the other. I knew that sex could be good. I knew what an orgasm felt like. But I didn't trust him. Not really."

  "He never pushed you on your rules?"

  "Never."

  He uttered something under his breath that sounded like, "He didn't deserve you."

  "So after we got back together in college, I continued at Harvard for law school, and he went to Boston University for medical school. We studied long hours, and barely saw each other. My parents approved of him. He's from a good Catholic home. My mom loved that. His parents are doctors. My dad's a doctor. They all knew each other for ages. It was all arranged. I was in love, or so I thought. So when he called me to ask me to marry him, I agreed."

  The hands on my arms stilled. "He asked you to marry him over the phone?"

  "Yeah. Romantic," I said sarcastically.

  "No," he said emphatically, "it's not. More like a business merger."

  "We had the perfect wedding. Three hundred people there. My parents announced it in the paper. They spent so much money on it, it was like a fairy tale. We had a gorgeous honeymoon in Bora Bora. It's totally cliché. Then we got back to California, bought a house, and went on with our lives. He opened up a medical practice in Los Angeles, and I worked for a mega firm in Century City. I worked all the time and I hated it. I knew that I had to put my time in, and make my way up the chain of command of the law firm. But I also knew that I wanted more. I wanted a child. I wanted a family.

  "He told me that he wanted a child too, but that he wanted to wait until we were more settled. I agreed, because I was fine with that. It seemed like we were on the same page. A few years later, he agreed to start trying, and within a few months, I was pregnant.

  "I was so excited. So happy. I was going to scale back my hours, and try to be both a lawyer and a mom. I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I was going to take every minute of maternity leave offered, and I was going to be a good mom.

  "Well, we got bad news after one of my doctor's appointments. My baby had Down’s syndrome. Not only that but she had other problems. Heart problems. She was unlikely to survive the pregnancy, and she was unlikely to live very long if she did survive the pregnancy. I was hoping against hope that she would live, and I was reading everything I could about Down’s syndrome, happy to have a child."

  He stilled. I ignored him and kept going, determined to get the story all out.

  "I wanted to keep her." I whispered. "He wanted to terminate the pregnancy."

  His arms tightened around me.

  "It was my baby. Our baby. A wanted baby. No way was I terminating the pregnancy. He didn't want the baby. He didn't want our baby."

  I fought back the tears that were welling up again.

  "He was a doctor. I couldn't believe he wanted to terminate his own daughter. We fought all the time. The stress was no good for my pregnancy. He couldn't stand to be around me. We couldn't stand the sight of each other."

  "If you want to stop, you can," said Ryan gently.

  "No," I said determinately, "I'm going to finish this. So, I have an asshole husband who doesn't love me, and doesn't agree with me. I have a fantasy dream life, destroyed. And I have a baby growing inside me who is going to have special needs, and isn’t likely to live very long. I filed for divorce in my sixth month of pregnancy, when it became clear … when it became clear that I deserved better. I left and moved up here to Santa Barbara. I continued my pregnancy by myself, with my best friend, Marie, coming with me to my appointments. He wanted nothing to do with me, and nothing to do with our child.

  "In the seventh, almost eighth month of pregnancy, I took a turn for the worse. I was admitted to the hospital on bed rest, with constant monitoring. I had to have an emergency C-section or both of us would die."

  Tears streamed down my face and I started to sob, again.

  "I still have nightmares about the emergency C-section. The gurney. The lights. Being rushed into the operating room. So they cut her out, and I didn't get to hold her. She was so tiny. She only weighed … ." I broke off. "She was so small. They whisked her away immediately. But then she was in the NICU and I could only touch her through the incubator. But she was suffering. The heart condition was too much for her. She lived six days.

  "The coffin was the smallest I have ever seen."

  I couldn't go any further. He wrapped me in a bear hug as I sobbed. "What was her name?" he asked quietly.

  "Sabrina Michelle Sanchez." After a bit, I stopped crying.
"There's more." I felt him nod. "I didn't recover from this. My postpartum depression got worse and worse until I was suicidal. I didn't really come close to doing it, but I had overwhelming thoughts of suicide. And those scared me so much. Marie, she saved me. She got me help." I turned around and looked at him. "So I'm a mess. My history is a mess."

  We stayed in the bath in silence for what felt like a long time.

  "Yeah. I can't fix that," he whispered. "Guys, we like to fix things. We like to make things better. We like to take action. This, this is part of you. It can't be fixed. But you need to know that I think that you’re the bravest and strongest woman I have ever met. And the most beautiful, inside and out."

  "You still want to be with me?"

  I said it as a joke, but I was really scared of what his answer would be.

  "Of course," he replied. "You want me to make love to you?"

  I stilled at his words. Not "fucking." "Making love." Now he was following my Rules. Or was he?

  I thought about it. Yeah. I did. I nodded.

  He helped me to stand up, then pulled me out of the cooling bath water. He wrapped a towel low around his hips, looking like an ad for shaving cream, and dried me off with a towel. Then he wrapped me up in one, with my arms pinned to my sides, like a swaddled baby.

  Then he crashed his lips into mine and kissed me, a passionate, wet, soulful, hungry kiss.

  He led me to my bedroom, where, holding my hands, and looking at me in the eyes, with the lights on, he made love to me, until we both surrendered.

  I felt clean and spare, like I had been filleted down to my bones, and was starting to rebuild my muscle with good things.

  You're Gonna Need a Dress

  I PUT MY COFFEE CUP down on the counter.

  "Ryan, how come you can come over to my house and make better coffee than me, using the exact same equipment and coffee beans as me?"

  "Magic, Hermione."

  I harrumphed in response. It was too early in the morning for me, although Ryan seemed to be a morning person. I suppose he had to be, working in a coffee shop.

  He picked up his keys, wallet, and phone to leave and put them in his pocket. Then he wrapped me in his arms in a crazy bear hug, enveloping me in his warmth, kissing my hair and inhaling me. I curled my arms around his narrow waist, and stuck my hands in the back pockets of his jeans, feeling the hard muscles of his fantastic ass.

  I didn't want him to leave. Not at all.

  "Come over to my house this week," he commanded, talking against the top of my head. "On Wednesday. I can't wait until the weekend. I want to have you in my bed. I want to break some more of your rules. I want to break the record for the number of orgasms you’ve had in one night."

  I automatically shivered in anticipation. What would it be like to have orgasms delivered by Ryan on his home turf? I took a moment to review my work schedule for the upcoming week in my head; Yes! I could spend the night on Wednesday. I was getting to the point where I wanted to spend every minute with him, because he was getting to be more than just a sexy surfer to me. Something much, much more. I needed to analyze that thought at a later point in time, too.

  But he was still bossy, and I needed to call him on that.

  "Are you asking me or telling me?" I shot back at him. Of course I was just messing with him; I was really curious about where he lived, and I was glad to be invited. Although I was fearful that it was some crummy bachelor pad, based on the cleanliness of his truck, and the way he did the dishes, I hoped that it would be tolerable.

  "A little of both," he said warmly, dimples appearing on his beautiful face. "Mostly telling."

  Dimples.

  I lost my train of thought.

  Focus.

  Then my train of thought got back on the rails. He was still telling me what to do. If I was truthful, I would admit that his bossiness made me wet. But I still had a backbone and a pathological need to push back.

  "You're a short boarder, right?" I had seen him at the beach with a short board.

  "Yeah," he answered, a little warily. "Why?"

  "You're this weird combination of confident bastard and mellow Zen. You competed in surfing, so you clearly wanted to win, but surfing is a mellow, natural, individual sport that doesn't require competition. It's like you're an Alpha male hippie."

  This brought out a chuckle. "You nailed me."

  "No," I argued, "I think you nailed me."

  He laughed. More dimples. Damn. In a low, husky voice, he murmured, "And I intend to do so every chance I can."

  When he talked to me like this, I couldn't handle it. It was like he was breaking me into dirty talk. I know there is dirtier talk than this, and I'm not sure why I resisted it, but I wanted to keep pushing back at him. I opened my eyes and looked at him. "So you're in charge here?"

  "Pretty much," he said, lazily trailing the tip of his tongue against my jaw.

  I was starting to forget why I was protesting. I continued, "You order me around—or at least you try to—but you are also really into allowing me to do what I want and letting me do what I need to do."

  "Yeah, that sounds about right," he agreed easily, now biting my ear with little nips and nibbles, and making me moan.

  "Well then. I'm glad we agree," I ended lamely.

  He looked me in the eyes and kissed me with an open-mouthed, full-blown, hot-as-hell kiss, then broke apart and commanded, "Wednesday."

  I let out my breath and nodded. He was just so bossy. The thing was, I liked it. Weird. Having him take charge felt hot, along with a strange feeling of relief and excitement, but it sure shot my feminist cred out the window.

  Fuck my feminist cred.

  Ryan went to the door and paused, looking at me. He looked at me with wide, green eyes and asked, "Another thing. What are you doing on Friday night?"

  I have to say that it was not a turn off for him to constantly ask me out. Unlike Hugo or even Jake, with Ryan, I wanted it.

  "I don't know. Why?" Now it was my turn to be wary.

  "Do you want to go with me to a business dinner? It's for a work charity. I have to go, my company sponsors it. I'm not sure you're into those types of things. I really want you to come, though."

  He had shifted gears from bossy Alpha male to imploring. He was just so cute. Plus, I was good with business dinners. I normally liked these type of things because I liked getting all dressed up.

  "Sure," I replied immediately.

  "You're gonna need a dress. I'm warning you, I'm gonna wear a tux. It's black tie."

  I was temporarily distracted by thoughts of Ryan in a tuxedo. Sunny, golden curls and handsome face, topping broad shoulders, in a suit jacket, leading to his bulging biceps, leading down his body, to his lean abs, in a white shirt, tucked into suit pants, which led to, yeah.

  Mental image impressed.

  That would do.

  Then he asked, "Do you want me to get you a dress?"

  I laughed. That was a strange question, and sort of sweet. "No, I can get myself a fancy dress, thanks."

  He took my hand, pulled me into the entire length of his hard body, kissed me again, taking his time and having his tongue do a Lewis and Clark exploration in my mouth. After he got me all bothered, he took off in his old truck. Men, I thought, exasperated. Just when he got me all, you know, he left.

  No.

  Just this man. This is the only man who gets me so keyed up. I skipped into my room, hyped from the kiss and from the anticipation of my upcoming week, and called Marie, ignoring the warmth pooling in my sex. Now it was time to shop.

  Monday morning at work, I talked with my mom. She was the kind of mom who went to church every morning to say the rosary. I love my mom; she's patient and kind. I knew that she cared for me and wanted the best for me. But she could be extremely meddlesome, and she was ultra-conservative and religious. I didn't mind these things in other people. I just wasn't conservative or religious. Still, after a lot of therapy sessions, I was realizing that I was undergoing s
omething called "individualization." I was starting to be my own person. It was a work in progress.

  I had hoped to cut her off at the pass and used the "I've been busy with work, Mom," standard line, which was also normally the truth. But no, not this time. She was on to something.

  "What's this I hear from Marie's mother?" she asked, beginning to press my buttons.

  Oh fuck.

  Because Marie and I have been friends since third grade, our mothers have also been friends since we were in the third grade. This meant that, of course, Marie told her mom that we had gone shopping and, of course, her mom told my mom that I had a date. I should have known that word would get out. Or, I should have sworn Marie to secrecy.

  Here was another thing about my mom: she was the original snob. Word got out that I was dating a guy I met in a coffee shop and she didn't like it. I mean, I was a snob too and the princess was the prodigy of the queen, but I was trying to change that, and change myself. This time I got angry. I needed to defend my man, if Ryan was indeed "my man."

  "Mom, it doesn't matter what his income level is, or what he does. He is the kindest man that I've ever met."

  We had more words and then I hung up the phone on her, still angry.

  Fuck.

  I would have to call her later and apologize. Christian told me that where you are from does not determine who you are. I still loved my mom, but I remembered that she was not me.

  On Wednesday morning, Jake stopped by my office, his hunky body taking up the whole doorway. "I need you to stay tonight and work on the evidentiary objections to the motion for summary judgment." This was the life of a lawyer. Guess I didn't get to check out Ryan's pad after all. At least not tonight. I called Ryan.

  "Sorry, I have to work late tonight. Rain check on seeing your place?"

  "No problem. I'll see you Friday. I'll pick you up at six."

  Friday evening, I showered slowly and carefully, shaving everything. After, I lubed up with lotion, used my perfect scent, and fussed over my hair, letting it be down and in waves. I put on heavier eye makeup than I usually did.

  I put on my dress. Marie and I had found a great satin dress, in a "sheen green" color from Crayola. Look it up. It was strapless, and the bodice folded over at the top, hugged my curves, with a matching belt at the waist, and then went straight down. Since my ass was not straight, I made the dress curvy. It was the kind of dress Ava Gardner would wear with gloves above her elbows, while dripping in diamonds. Since it was about sixty years too late to wear gloves, I didn't. Instead, I wore strappy, silver heels and earrings with three diamonds hanging in a row connected by platinum chains. They were the nicest ones I owned.