Yours: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (36 page)

He turns his face toward me, buries his nose in my hair. “God, Niall.” His voice shudders, shakes. “I fucking missed you. So goddamned bad.”
 

“You
left
.” I hate how angry I sound, even still. “You just…left. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

His voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear. “I couldn’t—if I’d hesitated, I wouldn’t have had the balls to go. I had to become a man worth loving, Niall. You’d have loved me as I was, but…I had to feel like a man worthy of your love.”

“So….what? You joined the Red Cross?”

“Not…exactly. ”

I sense that he’s withholding the truth. “Lock.” His eyes meet mine. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

He sighs. “A lot, I suppose. Does the name Beyond Thirty-One mean anything to you?”

I think for a moment. “I do remember hearing rumors of a new company donating a lot of money and supplies to relief efforts. From what I remember hearing, it’s a new non-profit, run by some jet-setting playboy.”
 

He fidgets, glances away. “I…that’s me.”
 

I frown. “What? What do you mean?”

“Beyond Thirty-One is my company.”

“But they were saying the guy who runs it is a millionaire or something. Like, stupid rich. There were a lot of rumors floating around about him, but I haven’t had time to look into it.”

He nods. “The rumors are mostly true. I come from a wealthy family. My grandfather made a fortune in both oil and real estate, and my dad expanded the family business quite a lot before he
died, and then my mom took over and streamlined it all and turned an already sizeable fortune into one several times larger. As the only heir, I was always supposed to take over, but I never cared. I was going to die, so why fucking bother, right? So, I prefer the distinction that my
family
is wealthy; I personally am not. I didn’t do a damn thing to earn a single penny of my inheritance.”
 

I nod. “I guess I understand the distinction.” A pause, a breath. “When you say your family is wealthy…?”

A casual shrug. “I’ve never really paid too much attention to the exact numbers. I think Mom is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of…several hundred million. Maybe more.”

I’m a little dizzy, suddenly. “And you personally?”

Another of those lazy shrugs that say it doesn’t really matter. “My shares put me at, I dunno…quite a few million.”
 

“And you were staying at fucking La Quinta?”

He laughs. “They allowed pets,” he says with a shrug.
 

I try to sort through my thoughts and feelings. “So you started Beyond Thirty-One?”
 

He nods, more willing to meet my eyes now. “After the tornado, I knew I wanted to help people. To do what you do, but…my way. I’ve never had the slightest interest in the family businesses, sitting in some office crunching numbers and analyzing contracts or whatever the fuck. That day in Oklahoma…it changed me.
You
changed me, and then the tornado, helping with the recovery…it
meant
something.
I
meant something. I did something
good
. Something for someone else. My whole life had always been about me, about making myself feel good, about forgetting that I was going to die sooner rather than later. I never did anything that had any value or significance. I got a taste of that in Oklahoma. I’m not a doctor. I’m not a skilled tradesman. I have no skills at all, really. What I do have is time and money. So that’s what I’m using.”
 

“So when you said you left to become a man worthy of my love…?”

“That’s not the only reason. Maybe it started out that way, to some degree. But I
love
doing this. It’s a mission. A purpose.”
 

“So…do you feel like a man worth my love, now?” I sound…I don’t even know. Desperate, and hopeful all at once.

“Yes.” He’s looking at me, those blue-green eyes searing and tender at once. “I’m not letting go, this time.”
 

“You better not.”
 

“You know it’s going to be weeks before we get any privacy, right?”
 

I sigh. “That crossed my mind, yes. I’ve waited this long, I can wait a little longer. Besides, there are a lot of people that need our help.”
 

“What if I can’t wait?”
 

“Then we’ll figure something out. You’re a creative guy, you’ll think of something, I’m sure.”

He’s fading, I can tell. I let him get some sleep. I bury my face against his chest. Feel his heart beating. Resting on his chest, I listen to his heartbeat and let myself miss Oliver for a few moments.

Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump.
   

That’s Oliver’s heart. Beating. Alive. A reminder. It hurts, even still, and I know it always will. But then Lock’s hand squeezes my waist, and I feel his breathing even out, and the heartbeat is steady, reassuring, and strong, and I don’t mind the pain so much.
 

Sometimes I think you need a little pain to remind you of the good things in life.
 

I spent so long avoiding everything because I couldn’t handle the pain. But when you face the impossible, when you let yourself feel the pain, when you let it pass through you, when you refuse to let pain and fear keep you prisoner, you discover that life is always worth living. You discover your own strength. You rediscover beauty.
 

Love is always a risk. Sometimes you lose, as I did. But I’d still not trade a single moment of my time with Oliver, not for anything, even if it meant experiencing the agony of losing him again. I had something amazing, and yes, I lost it. It hurt. It still hurts. It will always hurt. But the pain isn’t the only thing that exists in the world. There’s more. There’s beauty.

I don’t sleep right away, even with Lock snoring beneath me. I hold him; let myself be held by him. Feel that heartbeat, count the thrums, and I’m thankful for each one.

*
 
*
 
*

Lock and I barely see each other for the next month. He’s busy with the recovery efforts, and I’m busy with the endless stream of injured and sick. We find each other now and then; share a meal, a couple hours of conversation.
 

And honestly, as hard as it is, as much as we both want more, want privacy, this time spent simply getting to know each other feels…necessary. We learn each other. We find comfort in just being near each other. Sometimes we’ll share a kiss in the midnight hours, but we always stop before we get carried away. We both know a single touch is all it will take for either of us. Touch is a lit match in a room full of gunpowder. A single spark will set off an explosion we won’t be able to prevent. So we’re careful. Quiet, slow, brief kisses as we share a meal, sit under the Nepali stars and bright silver moon. Hold hands, walk between mounds of rubble and wreckage.

What a place for romance.

But that’s what this is: a bizarre courtship. Dating in the ruins of an earthquake-flattened city, in a far-flung corner of the Earth.
 

*
 
*
 
*

My MSF team has been reassigned to a malaria outbreak in South Sudan, but we’ve been given a week off, first. Lock needs to get back to California eventually, so we’re unsure what’s next for us.

He’ll head to wherever, and I’ll head somewhere else. When will we see each other? Is there a future for us, if we’re never able to be together?
 

I’m packing my things as I think about this.

I feel him, as I always do, before I see him.

He’s behind me, silent, watching. We haven’t spoken much about what our reassignments mean for any possibility of an “us”, because I don’t want to bring it up, and neither does he, and it’s easier to put it off as long as possible. But I’m supposed to be on a truck out of Basantpur later this afternoon, and he’s on a flight tomorrow, and we’re running out of time.
 

“Niall,” he says, his voice hesitant.
 

I keep packing, don’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“You have some time off, yeah?”
 

I nod. “Yeah. A week.”
 

“So…what if we spent that week together? Just you and me. I was thinking Madagascar. Not too far away, and it’s supposed to be a great place to visit.”
 

“And then what?”

“We’ll figure that out along the way. Niall, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you get away. I walked away once, to find myself. Well, I found myself, and now I’ve found you. I’m never letting go again. The details are things we can work out, together.”
 

His hands rise. One cups the back of my head, the other cradles my cheek. He tips my head back, and his lips find mine. Slant across my mouth, teasing a kiss. I fist my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer. I wrap my arms around his burly shoulders, cling to his neck. Leap up, curl my legs around his waist.
 

Delve my tongue into his mouth and taste him.

I begin to lose myself in his kiss.

But then a knock on my door interrupts us, and I slide off Lock, straighten my shirt, my hair. It’s Dominique. “Hi, um…hi.”
 

She grins. “It seems you and
Monsieur
Lachlan have resolved your differences.” Her eyes twinkle, but they betray a sharpness. “May I have a moment with Niall?” she says to Lock.

He nods. “I gotta go talk to Federico anyway.” A wink to me. “Save me a seat on the bus?”

When he’s gone, Dominique moves to sit cross-legged on my bed, toying with the zipper on my bag. “He is a fascinating man.”

I nod. “Yes, he is.”
 

She eyes me. “Is he good for you? After what happened, I worried for you, you know. I still do.”
 

I smile. “He’s good for me. I’m good. I wasn’t, for a long time. But I am, now, and that’s thanks in large part to him.”

Dominique stands, moves past me. “Well, that’s good then. Just don’t let your personal life interfere with your job.”

“Have I ever?”
 

“I must say it, to be clear. You know this.” She taps her watch face. “If you are coming with us, the truck to the airport leaves in two hours.”

Thank God I’m yours

We didn’t get the week in Madagascar. In fact, we don’t get any time off until three months later. I also never got back to the LA office, because there’s just so much to do out in the field. I’ve got the team at Beyond Thirty-One working closely with MSF, both for professional and personal reasons, and things are running smoothly.
 

So as soon as Dominique gives the word for Niall to have some time off, I’ve got us on the first plane out of here. I literally just bought tickets for the first commercial jet leaving town.

Turns out Johannesburg, South Africa is a damn nice city. I find us a hotel, based on the recommendation of my office manager back in Cali. My only request was a suite with a view, and something special.
 

We go up to our room. I tip the bellman and close the door.

Niall glances around at the room, which, admittedly, is pretty fucking nice.
 

“Damn, Lock. This place is…amazing. Like, wow.”
 

I shrug. “Yeah, it’s not exactly the La Quinta.”

A moment of humor, and then the tension of the moment takes over.
 

It’s a strange moment, finally being alone together. Two years have passed since I drove away from her in Ardmore, Oklahoma.
 

I’m a different person.

And she…is the same.

So beautiful she leaves me breathless.
 

Suddenly, I don’t even know where to start. We’re alone. In private. I’ve been dreaming about this for months. Long, lonely months. For
years,
in fact. There’s been no one else in that time, because there
is
no one else. Not in the whole world. I thought about it, but I couldn’t follow through. I kept hoping, somehow, someday, I’d find her, and I didn’t want anyone between us when that day finally arrived.

I’m glad for those years of abstinence, now.

Because the need is…a wild, hungry presence inside me, a nearly sentient being in and of itself, dwelling within me.

I stand and stare at her for long, tense moments.

Thick, curly brown hair tied back out of her face. Eyes brown with flecks and streaks of green, wide and bright and fixed on me. Tiny khaki shorts molded to her amazing ass. A forest-green spaghetti strap tank top, the shade of which makes her eyes appear more green than brown. She was wearing flip-flops, but she’s kicked them off. Had a purse on her shoulder, but she dropped it to the floor by our bags.

“Is it weird to be nervous?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I am too.”
 

“It’s not like we’ve never done this before.”
 

“Not like this we haven’t.”
 

I take a step closer to her. Another. She remains motionless, her gaze tilting up to mine as I get closer and closer with each step. Her breathing deepens, swelling her breasts in her shirt. Finally, I have her in my hands. Cup her waist. Slide a palm down over her hip. Up her side, around to her spine. Pull her closer to me. Flush. Body against body.

I want this to be perfect. But the ravening part of me wants to rip the clothes from her body, shove her down to all fours and bury myself in her. Take her hard and wild.
 

I have an image of Niall, naked, on her hands and knees, hair loose in a curly brown explosion, spine arched as she thrusts back into me.
 

Something of my thoughts must show on my face, because Niall sucks in a sharp breath. “Whatever it is, Lock, don’t just think it. Do it.”
 

I gently tug the elastic out of her hair, freeing it to blossom around her face. “How do you know what I was thinking?”

She frees the bottom button of my short-sleeve button-down shirt. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I know that look, so I can guess.”