“James,” he corrected her with a smile.
“James…” She tried it out in her mouth and found it felt good. “I don't understand.”
“What don't you understand?” He leaned back.
“Why were you so hard on me?” Maya found she could barely get the words out. She had spent months longing for, looking for, his approval. “I mean… it can't be that I write romance, which is what I thought it was, what it had to be… because now I know that you write it, too.”
James shook his head, frowning, but didn't interrupt her.
“It must… it must just be me, then?” She heard how small her voice was and tried to hide it behind the lip of her bottle. “Am I so awful?”
“No.” He sat up and reached across the table, grabbing her beer and setting it aside, grasping her hands in his. They were large and warm and everything Maya thought a man's hands should feel like. “Don't you get it?”
She was shaking her head, willing her tears not to fall.
“I discouraged you from writing romance…” He leaned in to capture her eyes with his and she felt her lower lip trembling. “Not because I think you're a bad writer, but because I think you're a good writer. You have an exceptional talent.”
The words made her feel warm, or maybe it was the alcohol working its way through her system. His hands, cupping hers, were a point of human contact that she hadn't allowed in for a long time. She found herself craving more.
“I don't want you to get stuck doing what I'm doing.” His eyes pleaded with her. “You have no idea what it's like, being stuck doing something you hate. And believe me, as fun as the fantasy is now, you will eventually grow to hate it.”
“Why do you think so?” She shook her head. She didn't understand people when they said things like this to her. The fantasy and the romance, they were something she lived for, something she craved. Real life had plenty of sad endings and ambiguous situations-in a romance, everyone finally lived happily ever after. For once.
James touched her cheek, brushing a stray hair away and tucking it behind her ear. “Because, you beautiful girl… there is a great deal of depth in you-that even you have yet to touch.” His eyes were following his fingers, down the soft skin of her cheek, over the line of her jaw. “A depth that most people in your life don't even see.”
Maya felt like she couldn't breathe. “You see that?”
“I do.” The hand still holding hers squeezed gently.
She opened her palm to him, like she had in his office. “You've touched it.”
“Have I?” He smiled at her, and for a moment, he was her teacher again with that same sarcastic little smile. “I've seen it perhaps, but touched it? No.” He shook his head.
Maya bit her lip, looking over at him, and asked, “Do you want to?”
His eyes flew up to hers, searching, that electric charge passing between them like a pulse. “Is that an offer?”
“Yes, it's most definitely an invitation…” Her palm pushed up against his, feeling faint at the tension of his hand pressing hers back down to the table top.
He nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I very much want that.”
“Then, let's go.”
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Chapter Three
She waited in his car while he went to check them in, feeling a little nervous, but also like she was on some sort of exciting adventure. It was a beautiful day, and James-James! She was still having a hard time thinking of him as James-owned a little British roadster convertible, so they drove all the way with the top down. Every time he reached down to shift gears, his hand brushed her leg and it thrilled her. Maya had freed her hair, letting it whip in the wind, and now she tried to tame it again while she was waiting. It was a tangled mess.
It had seemed so clear to her, in that little booth, what she wanted, what they both wanted, but now that she was looking at the row of log cabins by the lake, which by all rights should have been the picture-perfect romantic spot, she wasn't so sure. He came back out to the car, hopping in and starting it up. He drove around the cabins, toward the lake, and stopped near one of the rows not facing the street.
“We're in the one on the end,” he said. “Still have a nice view, though, huh?”
“Beautiful…” She listened to the ticking of the engine, the lapping of the water on the shoreline, the sound of the birds in the trees above them. His hand moved over hers as it rested on her denim-clad thigh and she looked at it, not him. His hands were soft and looked like they would be gentle and his nails were neat and squared off, as if they had been manicured.
“We don't have to,” he said and she smiled, still looking at his hand, so large it nearly swallowed hers.
“I want to,” she replied, finally looking up and meeting his eyes. She couldn't read his expression. “Don't you?”
“Yes.” He slid his hand up her bare arm. There wasn't much of a gap to bridge between them-the car was small and the two bucket seats were very close. She could feel his breath, and he smelled like the beer they had been drinking in the bar not half an hour ago.
She wouldn't remember later who leaned in first, but they kissed there for the first time, their mouths doing a slow, tentative exploration together. He broke the kiss and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her as if he were trying to figure something out.
“Here, you take the key.” He held it out to her. It was attached to an orange rectangular tab with the number 110 on it. “I'm going to put the top up and I'll meet you inside.”
She nodded, leaving her backpack and feeling free as she hurried to the little cabin on the end. The key slid into the lock with a delightful click, and she turned it and stepped inside. It was the typical New England rustic decor, with bears on the comforter and fake (at least, she thought they were fake) moose antlers over the bed. She shut the door and went to the bathroom, washing her face and straightening her hair the best she could.
She heard him come in, and she found herself hesitating to go back out, staring at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and her whole body was tingling, like a limb that had gone to sleep and was just waking up.
What was happening seemed so out of character for both of them-it seemed too fantastic to be real. Was she really sitting in her Ancient History class right now, looking out the window, chewing on a pen cap, and dreaming all of this? Part of her thought that must be the case. When she opened the door, he was standing by the open window, looking out at the lake. He smiled at her and held out a hand. She took it, still marveling at his touch, and joined him. The sun was brilliant on the water as it rippled toward shore.
“Look.” He pointed toward the mallards that were paddling toward the reeds. As she watched, she saw a mother duck leading her little downy ducklings all in a row for a swim out on the lake.
She watched them in wonder, all too aware of James’ body, his hip against her hip, his hand moving around her waist. “I wonder which one is going to grow up to be a swan?”
He smiled down at her, his attention shifting, his eyes falling to her mouth. “This one.” He tilted her chin up and kissed her. This wasn't like the tentative kiss in the car. This one was full of passion and an eager longing that matched her own. She whimpered against his lips, seeking his center with her tongue.
He breathed her in-she could feel the expanding of his chest as he pulled her in tight, his hands seeking the bare skin of her back under her t-shirt. The bed seemed miles away as they kissed and touched their way towards it, peeling off clothes and exploring each other as they went. His mouth seemed to want to devour her and she met him like a lifetime of pent-up breath until they were gasping, collapsed, his body pressing her to the floor still five feet short of the bed.
Her t-shirt was pulled up, his jacket off, shirt unbuttoned, and they were pressed belly to belly, but it made the thickness of her jeans too much-she couldn't feel the heat of him like she wanted. Her fingers fumbled with the snap and zipper, wiggling out, and the writhing of her under him as she exposed her panties and bare thighs brought a growl from his throat that sent a shiver through her.
