“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now, Zo.” I clamp my teeth together and stave off the tears I can’t afford and that won’t stop once they start. “You’re my best friend. Nothing will change that.”

He grins, even though his eyes are already drooping from the meds that make his nausea and pain bearable.

“It’s probably good you stopped me,” he slurs. “I would have fallen asleep at second base.”

Our fight passes as quickly as it came. We’ve never been able to remain angry with one another for any amount of time. At least that hasn’t changed.

I tiptoe out of the bedroom and close the door behind me. I can get some work done now. Maali is supposed to call in the next hour or so to discuss a few things I’ve left in her more-than-capable hands. When the phone rings, I assume it’s her and don’t even check the screen.

“Hello.” There’s silence on the other end for a beat or two. I’m ready to pull the phone away and check the caller when he speaks.

“Hey, Ban.”

My poor unsuspecting heart is unprepared for his voice. How it releases a fall of feathers in my belly and takes my breath hostage.

“Jared?” My voice sounds high and thin.

“Yeah.” He hesitates before going on. “Is it okay that I called?”

God, yes.

“Sure.” I bite my lip and search for my cool, my collected, but it’s nowhere to be found. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“I’m in town.”

“Here?” I point to the floor. “In Palo Alto?”

“Yeah. I’d like to see you. Maybe we could meet?”

My hopes, my excitement sink. Fuck my life.

“I can’t leave the house right now,” I say quietly. “Zo had a rough couple of days, and the nurse isn’t coming ’til tomorrow.”

“Of course,” he says too quickly, like he expected me to shut him down. “I get it. Maybe next time.”

“Oh.” My mind clamors for something to keep him on the phone a few minutes longer. “So you . . . you have business here? An appointment or something?”

It’s quiet for too long, and for a second I think I’ve lost him.

“Jared?” I ask again. “You have business here?”

“Just you. I came to see you.”

There’s something so raw in his voice, and it’s like he ripped a page from my heart and is reading it. That the same loneliness I ache with so does he. That maybe he dreams about me, too, and wakes up wishing for our island villa. For the sea breeze. Every night my skin relives his touch and my lips reminisce about his kisses.

“Zo’s sleeping,” I say softly, hopefully. “You could come over for a few minutes if you like?”

“I have some sponsor contracts for the golf tournament I could say I was dropping off since I was in town,” he says. “But are you sure?”

I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t have sex. I don’t have an office. I don’t have a life right now.

The hollow sound of my own words throb in my ears. I’m closer than I’ve ever been to breaking. I’m cracking inside, and I’m so afraid of what will come out. Of what I can’t hold. I need something.

I need him.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

36

Jared

She must have been watching for me because the door to the townhouse swings open before I can ring the bell.

“I didn’t want to wake Zo,” she says by way of explanation.

We stare at one another, absorbing any changes the last two months have wrought. She’s not pulled together. Not the boss I’m used to seeing with her suits and stilettos, but she’s still Banner. I’ve seen several incarnations of this woman, but there is this steadfast strength to her, this obstinate light that refuses to dim. It’s still easily detected under a messy bun, slightly stained tank top, and yoga pants. She’s still my badass girl.

A gust of Northern California wind whips stray strands of dark hair across her face, and she shivers, crosses her arms against the cool breeze.

“Come on in.” She steps back and I follow her into a living room outfitted with a large sectional, low tables, throw rugs, and a mammoth mounted television.

“We have it month-to-month,” she says, licking her pretty lips and looking around the room. “It came furnished.”

“Oh yeah?” Don’t give a shit.

“Yeah.” She nods, rubs at the back of her neck and points a thumb over her shoulder. “It’s ideal because there’s an office down here and a bedroom. The stairs would be hard for Zo some days. I sleep in the office down here so I’m close if he needs anything.”

A shadow passes over her face, and I wonder what he has needed at night to cause that look. This separation has been hard on me, but I wonder, not for the first time, how hard this has all been for her. And I suspect it’s worse than I imagined.

“So I work out of one of the upstairs bedrooms,” she continues, her voice thinned with nerves. “It works. And I—”

“This isn’t what I came for,” I interrupt. “This banal thing you’re doing. This small talk. All this conversation. It’s not what I came for.”

She blinks at me, her skin free of makeup, my freckles dusting her nose.

“It’s not?” She slides her hands to where back pockets would be, only to grimace when she realizes she’s wearing yoga pants. “Um, okay. What-what, then?”

I scope the layout of the room, spot a door leading to what might be a kitchen. I grab her hand and drag her in that direction. The door swings open and closed behind us. A pantry door is cracked enough to show a few shelves of food. I head there, still gripping her hand tightly in mine.

As soon as the pantry door shuts, I’m pressing her into a shelf, one hand at her ass, the other at her neck, holding her steady so I can get inside. I’m literally trembling like an untried boy, like an addict tasting his demon-drug. I’ll take Banner any way I can get her. Snorted, smoked, shot in my veins. I want her with marrow-level hunger, the kind you have to dig inside your bones to satisfy. I suck her tongue too hard. I grip her waist too tightly. Every part of me fears this won’t last. Knows it can’t. And this kiss is not enough. These clothes are in my way. I growl, frustrated to finally have what I want and not be able to get it down fast enough. I shove her tank top up and push my hand under her bra, squeezing her breast, pinching her nipple, reminding her body how this works. How we feel together. I drag the yoga pants and her panties down over the delicious curve of her ass.

Skin. I need it.

I sink to my knees, turn her around, and bite one firm globe, spread her cheeks and swipe my tongue along the puckered ridge.

“Jared,” she gasps, bangs her forehead to the shelf. “Jesus.”

I follow the line of her ass with my fingers until I reach her pussy, wet and empty. Waiting. My mouth waters when I stroke her clit, when it grows plump and slick under my attention. Her muffled moans spur me on. She spreads her legs, silently begging me to penetrate. One finger. Two fingers. Three fingers pushing in, caressing her pussy walls while she humps my hand.

“Oh, God,” she cries out. “We have to stop.”

“No.” I want to take her with him just yards away.

“Jared, please.” Tears fill her voice. “I don’t want to do this again. I can’t lie to him. I can’t hurt him. Not now.”

Her words trail off, break.

“Please.”

My fingers go still inside of her, and with his usual bad timing, August’s voice speaks in my head.

The things you love about her—the good, the compassion, the sense of right and wrong–will all be deconstructed and set aside for you.

And I can’t do it. As much as the animal inside of me wants to fuck her right under his nose, wants to punish Zo for keeping her from me, I can’t to do it. Because to do it to him is to do it to her, and I can’t.

I rest my forehead against the bare curve of her ass and release a heavy sigh. Resignation. Deprivation. With one last kiss on her butt, my fingers slip out of her. She leans against the shelf, looking down at me with wet eyes, with spiky lashes.

“Thank you,” she whispers, brushing away her tears.

I nod, but unable to resist one more sensual act of defiance, I shove three fingers, shiny and wet and pussy-scented, into my mouth and lick every drop of her from them, holding her eyes with mine the whole time until she closes hers, shuddering and biting her lip.

“I miss your pussy,” I say abruptly.

Her eyes pop open and a startled laugh floats past her kiss-swollen lips.

“You’re not supposed to say that,” she chides, adjusting her clothes, reluctant affection in her eyes.

I tug on her hand and bring her down to the pantry floor with me. I scoot until my back is against a wall and she’s seated between my bent knees, her head resting on my shoulder.

“You’re supposed to say romantic things,” she continues, glancing up and grinning at me. “Not I miss your pussy.”

“What kinds of romantic things should I say?” I lift the fine hairs curling at her temple. “Should I say that I think about you all the time?”

She goes still against me, long lashes lowered and painting shadows under her eyes.

“That would be a good start,” she says.

“Or that I actually watched An Affair To Remember because it made me think of our night at the drive-in?” I confess. “That I dream about us waking up together? Or that every time I see a sunset, I think of that orange dress you wore the night we had dinner on the island?”

Wide, espresso-colored eyes find mine over her shoulder, and her smile grows.

Our stare holds until the moment smolders and the air grows smoky with lust and need and something much too tender for me to keep dismissing or misnaming it.

She tips back and presses a kiss to my lips, and it’s so sweet, so pure, when she pulls back, I palm her head and hold her there for a few seconds longer. Not to deepen it or to ask for more, but to record it. To save the feel of her lips on mine just this way.