Falling for Fate (31 page)

By him.

Because, ultimately, that’s what was keeping his dick hard even after he’d come to the point of almost blacking out.
He’d
been the one to give her that. Not anyone else. Ever.

He’d been the one to drain every ounce of ecstasy from her now thoroughly exhausted body.

Lying there with her collapsed on his chest, he could practically see Keaton’s face laughing his ass off at him.

You are so fucked, dude.

He was. He knew he was. What he’d told her hadn’t been an empty promise—it was completely true. It wouldn’t matter how much time passed—Dean would never be able to tell this woman no. And that terrified the ever-loving fuck out of him.

It was just a fact that now existed in his universe—one he had no place for.

He let his hand run its course though her hair, kissed her on the top of the head, and then did what he had to in order to make sure she didn’t get confused. Sure, she’d said that she wasn’t looking for more than this, but women always said that. They were always willing to say whatever it took so that he’d show them a good time. But Dean had learned from experience that, when the good time ended, they were always waiting, waiting to be told that they were the exception to his rules—that they were the one who was different. While he didn’t expect that from the woman who’d run from him before and tried to avoid him eighty different ways, he now had a completely different fear.

That he was about to get a lethal dose of his own medicine.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to extend their sexual excursions beyond this weekend—because he’d certainly take more if she was willing to give it. But he didn’t believe he could give her more than this, more than mind-blowing orgasms. He didn’t do relationships and had no intentions of ending up locked into something long term that he’d only fail at. Maxwell men didn’t do failure, a fact his father had reminded him of all his life. They played it safe, took only calculated risks, and they succeeded at every venture. Period.

So once he was certain Fate was asleep, he executed a much-practiced five-point maneuver to escape from beneath her. The couch wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but it was a safe zone, and waking up on it would ensure that he didn’t wake up not wanting to let go of the woman in his bed.

T
he smell of bacon wafted through the beach house, rousing Dean from a turbulent sleep. Leather stuck to the side of his face as he attempted to sit up. Stretching and standing, he saw Fate in the kitchen. Her back was to him, but from what he could see, she was wearing only his white button-down from yesterday. His mouth watered at both the scent of the food she was cooking—food he hadn’t realized was even there—and the sight of her bare legs beneath his shirt.

“Morning,” he said, walking over and retrieving a carton of orange juice from the counter. “Sleep okay?” He couldn’t hear her answer over the clink of the glasses in the cabinet. “Sorry, babe. What was that?”

Fate slid several slices of bacon onto a paper towel that sat atop a blue china plate. “I said ‘Mmhm,’” she repeated.

“Glad someone did.” He sipped his juiced and leaned against the counter. “I was tossing and turning. Figured it best not to disturb you.”

He’d barely had time to feel bad about the half-truth when she turned narrowed eyes on him.

“I see. Well thank you for being so considerate. I’m a little restless when I sleep near the ocean myself, so I wouldn’t have minded. Tonight, I can take the couch.”

Dean burned his fingertips reaching for a piece of bacon. He might’ve imagined it, but from his view of her side profile, it looked like she’d smiled.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my guest.” No way in hell was he letting her sleep on the couch. That thing had gotten up close and personal with him all night long.

“Then perhaps I’ll sleep in a guest room.” She paused to pour herself a glass of orange juice that he hoped wasn’t expired. “There’s bacon if you want the rest. You didn’t have any eggs.” With that, she took her glass and plate of bacon and a slice of whole-wheat toast she’d buttered onto the deck without giving him a backward glance.

The impulse to follow her outside to apologize for being an asshole was almost as strong as the one he’d felt to chase after her that very first night. But this was where he had to draw the line. There were certain necessary behaviors he had to maintain to keep from sending mixed signals. No sleeping together involving actual sleep. No dates. No cuddling beyond what was polite post coitus. And no dramatic apologies over maintaining said behaviors.

Sitting at the bar drinking coffee he’d made using the French press his housekeeper had given him for Christmas, Dean watched Fate watching the ocean.

Her back was ramrod straight, her gaze remaining steady on the rolling waves as she barely nibbled at her food.

Dean had rules. Guidelines he’d set and adhered to for years. But when two long, bare, shapely legs lifted and propped on top of the chair across from her, he decided it was perhaps time for some amendments.

“I
didn’t know how you took your coffee, and we’re out of half-and-half, so I brought the milk and sugar.”

Fate glanced up and squinted into the glare of the sun. A shirtless Dean clad in only navy-blue drawstring pajama pants was distracting enough. The sun blinding her was almost a blessing.

“Thank you. I tend to only drink coffee on work mornings.”

Dean lowered himself onto the chair next to the one her feet rested in. “I see. Well, now I know.”

“Now you do. And for the record, I like my coffee sweetened and over ice. Never been a fan of scorching-hot coffee blazing a trail down my esophagus.”

Moving the unwanted cup aside, Dean folded his hands on the glass of the table and leaned forward. “Speaking of things I don’t know, can I ask you something?”

Fate tried not to imagine what he might be about to ask, but it was hard to keep the flurry of possible questions at bay. There was a lot he didn’t know.

She nodded and waited for the pop quiz she was grossly underprepared for to begin.

“Why did you agree to come here? I mean, I get that it was probably easier than turning me down because I am persistent son of a bitch. But aside from that, is there anything you’re expecting out of this weekend that I should be aware of?”

Fate sat up in her chair, letting her feet fall to the cool wood of the deck. “I think we already covered the part about my not looking for a commitment, Dean. If that’s why you left last night, it wasn’t necessary.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t. It was more like I wasn’t sure how our little agreement would look the morning after and I didn’t know how you’d feel about it in the light of day. It was just easier to sleep on the couch.”

In a way, she got what he was saying. She chuckled softly. “Isn’t it funny how sleeping with someone,
actually
sleeping, can be more intimate than sex?”

“I wouldn’t know. Technically, I’ve never
slept
with anyone.”

She wanted to be surprised. Mostly, all she felt was a slight twinge of loneliness. She’d never
slept
an entire night with anyone, but she’d been able to convince Trevor to take a few naps with her in college. After that, he’d made it clear that, if they spent the night together, it would be for more than sleeping.

“Not a big spooner, huh?”

Dean scoffed. “Not really. At least not that I know of.”

“Because spending the night implies you want more and you always keep the lines of communication clear?” This was bullshit, but she wasn’t in the mood to call him out on it and risk ruining their weekend when it was already half over as it was.

The way he’d held her, reassured her, was still a vibrant memory in her mind.

“I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Please. More like ‘I’ll lie here until you lose consciousness. Then I’m out. Enjoy waking up alone.’

“Something like that,” he said evenly.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve answered all of my questions with questions. What’s one more?”

He was astute. She’d give him that. Fate chose her words carefully. “You’ve explained why you wanted me here, but I guess I still don’t completely understand. What’s the difference between me and the woman whose face you had no trouble slamming the door in yesterday?”

Fate was determined not to repeat her past mistakes. The idea of being the woman whose face Dean closed the door in while a new conquest stood on the other side of the door with him made her feel restless.

Dean’s eyebrows rose then lowered on an exhalation. “To be honest with you, I can’t answer that in a way that doesn’t make me sound like a complete asshole. Because there isn’t a solid foundational reason for the way I am. All I can tell you is that, up until now, sex has been something I did with the exact same amount of consideration I use to take a piss. If I felt the need, I did it. No attachments and no particular plans for repeat encounters. I’m attractive and successful. Much like a spoiled kid in a candy store, I see what I want and I reach for it. When I’m done, I’m done. The difference between Brynn and you is that I’m not done with you yet.”

“Thank God you’re pretty. Because yeah, that does make you sound like a complete asshole.”

And that
, Fate thought to herself,
is why we should stick to sex and quit with the talking.
Not done
yet
, he’d said. So would he be done soon? Did an alarm go off when she was all used up? Her palm tingled and alerted her brain that it was completely up for slapping him if the conversation remained on this path.

Dean shrugged. “I’m just trying to be honest, sweetheart.”

His voice faltered on the last two words and Fate detected a slight aversion in his gaze. Was he really being honest or trying to convince one or both of them that this is who he was? She’d seen other sides to him—considerate sides, protective sides, even thoughtful and unselfish sides. So why hide all of that with the asshole shield?

A weekend wasn’t nearly long enough to figure it out.

“I feel like you’re trying to tell me something in code. If that’s the case, I have to tell you, I’m still a little sleepy and my brain is drunk on listening to the ocean. Whatever it is you want to say, perhaps you should try spelling it out for me.”

The amusing and slightly ironic part was that—if he was who he said he was—he was the exact type of guy who’d convinced her to stay a virgin until marriage. But that night on the beach and the attentive lover he’d been last night spoke to the case her mind had already made that he wasn’t the type of man he was attempting to portray.

Dean took a long swallow of his coffee and cleared his throat. When he set the cup down on the table, it was with more force than necessary. His steely eyes drilled directly into hers when he finally continued.

“I don’t mean to be vague. In fact, I’d like to be as clear as possible. No matter what happens in that bedroom, on this deck, in the sand, ocean, pool, or on the kitchen counter for that matter, I am who I am, Fate. And that’s a guy who doesn’t commit and doesn’t cuddle and sure as fuck doesn’t spoon. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d happily fuck you any day of the week from now until doomsday, but my career comes first and that’s just the way it has to be right now.”