We take our time, building toward our pleasure. When it finally comes, when we cry out and cling to each other, I feel lighter somehow. Afterward we lie next to each other, not touching, until he rolls over and slides the fabric off of my eyes. I blink in the dim light of the room, and when my vision refocuses, I find Calder leaning over me, his gaze dark with some emotion I can’t name. My heart leaps into my throat.
The tears have stopped, but a couple still linger on my cheeks. Calder brushes one away with his thumb and then leans forward to kiss each of my eyelids. When he lies back down, he pulls me into his arms. I rest my head on his chest and focus on the rise and fall of his breath.
I would do anything for this man, I think. Anything to make him happy.
My stomach twists at the made some poor financial decisionsto10realization.
Anything? I ask myself. Even if it means jeopardizing the Center?
But I’ve already made that choice, haven’t I? I might have told Asher Julian everything I knew about Calder and his family and probably gotten a whole lot more attention for the Center. But I didn’t.
An article is just an article, and the Center will survive without it, but I know that someday soon I’ll have to confess the truth about my relationship with Calder to my dad. Once, I was merely hoping to protect my privacy, to give this thing with Calder a chance to find its feet before I started blabbing about it. But this whole business with Asher and the article has changed things. It’s no longer just a secret; I lied. And I have no doubt that under these circumstances, Dad will see it as nothing less than a betrayal. From his point of view, I’ve chosen a man over the well-being of the Center. And not just any man—the one my dad still holds responsible for everything.
I run my fingers through the dusting of hair on Calder’s chest. There’s no point in worrying about it now. I’ve already made my decision, and it won’t be long before I have to face the consequences of that choice, but I can do nothing about it today.
I shake the last thoughts of my dad and the article and the Center from my head and snuggle up next to Calder, determined to find an escape, for now, in the circle of his arms.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We spend the rest of the day and much of the night making love.
The following morning, he tells me he’d like to go back to his apartment to grab a few things. When he rushed over on Friday night, he hadn’t anticipated staying all weekend.
“Come with me,” he says. “We’ll grab some food.”
The food is only a pretense, I know. I can see it in his eyes. He’s afraid, like me, that the minute we step back into the real world, everything will come crashing down around us. The minute we part, we’ll start thinking about all of the things that might push us apart again.n empty, superficial y">I shake my head.
I agree to go with him, of course. I’m not ready for the spell to be broken just yet.
I sense that something’s off the minute we reach Calder’s building. Calder does too, judging by the way he glances around the parking lot. He grabs my hand as we step out of the car, but the gesture feels more protective than affectionate.
We’re halfway to the building when I see the man with the camera. He was waiting behind a car, but he rushes forward as we pass.
“Mr. Cunningham!” he says, snapping pictures even as he runs after us.
There are others, too. They come at us from all angles.
“Calder! Just a few questions!”
“Can you comment on the allegations against your father?”
“How much did you know about your family’s activities?”
Calder’s hand tightens on mine. They’re blocking the way to the stairs, closing us in with every step.
Someone shoves a digital recorder beneath my face.
“Who are you? How did you meet Calder?”
Suddenly they’re all clamoring at me.
“Are you two dating?”
“What do you think of his father’s behavior?”
“Did he hide his family’s situation from you?”
Calder tugs me back against him.
“Leave her out of this,” he says. “Leave us the hell alone.”
His words don’t faze them.
Calder still has my hand, and he turns an amazing time tonight somethingpa and pulls me back across the parking lot. We break into a run, but by the time we reach his car, many of the photographers and reporters have made it to their own vehicles.
“They’re going to try and follow us,” Calder mutters.
He’s right. Even as he jets out of the space, they’re in pursuit.
“Forgive me,” he says, right before he slams the car into gear.
We squeal out of the lot. Calder drives like a maniac, racing down the streets and taking corners so quickly I fall against him more than once. I turn and watch out of the back window, keeping my eye on the cars that weave through the traffic after us. A few of the vehicles actually manage to keep pace for some distance, but Calder loses them one by one. Still, we’re halfway out of the city before the last one gets caught at a red light and we make our grand escape.
“That’s it,” I tell him. “We’ve lost them all.”
He doesn’t say anything. He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard that the veins are popping out on the backs of his hands.
I look out the window at the buildings rushing past. We’re heading in the opposite direction of my apartment.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Away.”
There’s a wild look in his eyes again, and though I want to comfort him, I suspect that anything I say will fall on deaf ears.
They’ve found his apartment. They’ve seen his car. There will be no privacy for him around here anymore, not until all of this has blown over. And who knows how long that will take?
We reach the city limits, but Calder keeps going. I don’t say anything. Wherever he wants to go, I’ll stay by his side. Dad needs me at work tomorrow, but I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I don’t want to look back.
It’s strange, the freedom I feel when I allow myself to let everything else go. I glance over at him, at his tense shoulders and his hardened jaw, and I wonder what he would say if I asked him to drive me to the ends of the earth. making up for lost time.to10
We ride in silence for some time. We’re heading north, up the highway. The suburbs around us thin and eventually disappear, making way for fields and brush and the occasional gas station, fast food joint, or kitschy shop promising “homemade” jam and fresh pecans. I’ve driven out this way before.