The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [32]
“You’re so lousy at accepting compliments,” he said. “Is this yet another thing that makes you uncomfortable?”
“Probably. But I’ll remind you again, it’s you that makes me uncomfortable.”
“I know. I so enjoy it.”
She laughed again. “Jesus…”
Max’s warm, rough hand enveloped hers. A breath stuck in Fallon’s throat and she sobered by a degree, but didn’t pull away. His broad thumb stroked hers with an alarming familiarity. All the signs and buildings along the road seemed sharper, the late-summer chill in the air more acute.
“You know,” Max said, “I’m not even attracted to beautiful things or people. Not usually. That I find you so attractive is worrisome to me.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
His hand squeezed hers tighter. “I want to go to bed with you.”
For once, Fallon could think of nothing snide to say. She let her hand go limp, the tiniest protest. The sign for the cottage property appeared in the distance.
“I won’t ask you to,” Max continued. “Because I do not want to want this. And because you told me never to kiss you again.”
She considered revoking this ban but held her tongue.
“And because we are equals in this, I am realizing. We’re both in this situation seeking to profit from it. I don’t understand what is in it for you, and I won’t ask anymore. But you are doing what I ask, like you said, so I will do the same.”
“Thanks.”
He gave her hand a last squeeze and let it go. They walked in silence, turning down the long dirt drive and walking all the way to end, to the little red cottage closest to the water. Fallon was the only renter, now that the tourist season was over.
She fished in her jeans for her key, unlocking the door and reaching around to flip the sickly porch light on above them.
“Thanks for walking me back,” she said lamely, looking down at their shoes, the toes nearly touching.
His voice was very near her temple. “You’re welcome.” He sounded somber. He sounded as though he wanted to say more.
Fallon stood still, anticipating. No words came but Max raised a hand, cautious, and she let him run it over her neck, fingertips tangling in her hair. The contact prickled like static. He held her head the way he might while kissing her but his lips stayed safely above her ear.
“Good night,” Fallon said.
He let her pull away and tucked his offending hand into his jacket pocket. His smile was sheepish as she slipped inside the screen door. She met his eyes as it shut.
“Walk safe,” she said.
“Fais de beaux rêves.”
“No clue what that means. But I’ll see you tomorrow.” She closed the interior door softly on him.
After a couple glasses of water, insurance against a hangover, Fallon tucked herself into bed. She pictured Max again, the shapes and shadows of him as he’d walked back up toward the main road, the width of his shoulders and the lilt of his hips as he moved between the streetlights. She’d watched him from the dark bedroom until he was out of sight. He hadn’t looked back.
When she eventually slept, Fallon dreamed of him again. Explicit dreams that didn’t belong to her, or not to any version of herself with whom she was acquainted.
In the dreams she was greedy and demanding. In them Max was obedient, blazing hot, his body urgent and needy but submissive to her wishes. She remembered them with perfect clarity when she woke and found a hunk of the bedspread strangled in her fist. His earlier offer to have his wrists bound for her as she explored him—in her dreams she acted on it. In her dreams she wanted things that left her cold in practice, or had.
She peeled herself from the bed and showered. She couldn’t shake the vision. Max on his back, hands tied, all his powerful muscles straining as she leaned close to taste him…
Fallon turned the hot tap off completely until the water came out so icy she clambered from the tub in retreat. Better. Slightly better.
“Good morning.”
When Fallon arrived at ten o’clock, she was different. Max sensed it. There was a rigidity to her that was troubling, though unsurprising. When she disrobed, it was the doctor’s office all over again, and Max’s clay studies