Page 90 of Fierce

An Unexpected Visitor

I shot the bolt on the door of the cubicle, hung up my purse, put both hands flat against the door, and leaned my forehead against the cool metal.

Stupid.

I knew Hemi had that soft side hidden beneath the disciplined exterior. The way he was with Karen, and even the way he was with me. As fierce and demanding as he was when we made love—when he was holding me afterwards, I could feel all the emotion he couldn’t express. At least I’d thought I could. The gentle touch of his hand stroking down my back, a kiss on my forehead. Surely that meant something.

How would I know what it meant, though? For all I knew, it meant he’d had good sex, and that he was relaxed, and maybe even a little grateful for it. If I started wishing for something more—that was when I’d start asking to be hurt.

I’d told Hemi I didn’t want pain. Well, a woman who didn’t want pain shouldn’t lie down and ask for it. From now on, I vowed, I’d keep it light. If something more developed between us, fine. If not...I’d call it good sex and be grateful myself. Yeah, that was what I’d do. Well, I’d try.

And then I sat down and realized pretty quickly that that wasn’t going to be in the program, and why I’d only felt like having soup for lunch. The ache in my lower belly wasn’t from those Chinese dumplings after all, and the wetness I’d felt while Hemi’d been talking to me, smiling at me, sharing with me hadn’t been arousal.

Oh, great.

When Hope came out again to join me, I braced myself.

“Ready,” she said, and that light was gone. If her open, pretty face could ever look pinched and tight, it was looking that way now.

I considered apologizing, then gave it up. We’d cleared the air, and that was always a good thing. “We’ll walk back to the hotel,” I said as I held the door for her. “Got a car there.”

“Fine.” She hitched her purse up over her shoulder. But I need to stop at a convenience store along the way. I’m afraid your weekend isn’t going to go exactly the way you’d planned. The sexy part of it’s over.”

“Oh?” If my voice was cold, it was because I felt that way. She was withholding sex because I hadn’t told her what she’d wanted to hear? I hadn’t thought that of Hope. If she’d been anything, she’d been honest. But then, that just showed how foolish I’d been to let down my guard the way I had. “I’ve never told you I’d...share my feelings, or whatever it is you wanted. But I’m not going to push it. I’m not interested in an unwilling partner. Or in bargaining for sex.”

She huddled a little more deeply into her coat against the wind. “You’re right. You never told me you’d share. But no. The point is, I got an IUD when I got back from Paris. For birth control.”

“I’m aware of what an IUD is.”

“Yeah. Well. They told me it might make my periods irregular and heavy for a while, and voila. Real life messes with your carefully planned arrangements once again. I’m sure there was a form for this, too, but I didn’t sign it, so...” She sighed and put a hand to her lower belly, rubbed a little. “I’m rambling. I feel pretty crappy all the way around, and you’re mad, and I’m embarrassed. And if you want to just skip the rest of this and go back to New York...well, you made it clear what our deal was, and I’m not going to do my part of it. So there you go.”

I was taken aback, I couldn’t deny it. This didn’t happen, I guessed because the women I spent time with scheduled their dates with me around it. And I’d never heard Hope sound like this. Stroppy, yes. Defeated, never. And I couldn’t stand it.

“No,” I said. “Of course I don’t want to go back, unless you do.” I tried to think of what else to say, and I couldn’t.

“I don’t,” she said. “I probably should, but I don’t. Could we just...pretend for a while? That it’s all right?”

Something happened to my throat at that. Some...some blockage, and I had to look away and take a moment.

What was I doing with this girl? I should let her go, should break it off, and I knew I wasn’t going to. That I was too selfish for that, even though there was nothing in it but pain for her. Exactly what she’d said she didn’t want.

“Yeh,” I said, then had to clear my throat. “Yeh. But I don’t have to pretend to like you, you know. I do like you. I know that’s not enough, but it’s what I’ve got. So if you still want to see it, let’s go look at this bridge.”

And there he was, back to being sweet again. Waiting for me to get myself fixed up, then driving me over the Golden Gate Bridge and telling me stories about its construction as if he wanted to be here, as if he were enjoying himself.

“Eleven men died building this,” he told me. “And then there were the ones who didn’t. The ‘Halfway to Hell’ club. They put a safety net underneath, and a couple dozen more fell into that and lived to tell the tale. Something to think about, eh.”

“How do you know?” I asked. “When you aren’t even American? How do you know this? You knew the language of flowers, too. Do you have a photographic memory or something? I’ve wondered ever since that day.”

He glanced quickly at me before turning his attention back to the narrow roadway as the suspension cables flashed past. “Because I looked it up beforehand. Wanted to impress you, maybe.”

“Really?” It shouldn’t have warmed me. It should have seemed calculated, and maybe it was. But it was effort, wasn’t it?

“Yeh,” he said, concentrating on the road. “Thought you might like to know, so I checked.”

Yes. It was effort. “So if it’s the Golden Gate,” I said, filing that away for later, trying not to let it get to me, “why is it red?”

“Golden Gate’s the strait. The gateway to the bay. Not the color. What d’you reckon? Think it’d look better gold?”

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