He had his hand under her skirt, the underwear ripped away, and then he sheathed himself in her. When she snapped at him, caught between a snarl and a moan, he pulled out, turned and pushed her down over a dilapidated table, clearing a brace of old paint cans sitting on it with a sweep of his arm, sending them tumbling into the gra.s.s.

"If that's the way you want it," he muttered. She hissed a creative curse at him that insulted his manhood.

"Baby, you know that's not the truth," he said, slamming back into her, violently enough she cried out. "Yeah, there's no f.u.c.king problem in that department. Keep fighting me. You'll lose."

She did fight him, and he held her down, and they climaxed at almost the same moment, her strangling on her cries and him grunting with visceral satisfaction. Then things got quiet, and he settled over her, arm over her chest. Where she would have bitten him a moment ago, now her tear-stained mouth was pressed against his forearm, sticky with sweat and grit. His forehead rested between her shoulder blades, and his other arm was banded around her waist. As clarity returned, she registered that he was holding her so tightly she almost couldn't breathe. He was shaking as if he was going to come apart.

He wouldn't let her hold him, but he held onto her. She wondered if he was using her as an anchor, one that wouldn't tear loose, something that he could depend upon in the midst of the storm, not something that would surround and hold him. He was a rigger, after all. That was his job.

When she realized the heated slickness on her back were his tears, she went still as her heart cracked inside her. How could she bear to stay if she was going to lose him?

"I love you," he said against her flesh, and she closed her eyes.

That was why.

"Des, I could give you a kidney. We could check and see..."

"Oh, Christ. No." He pulled away from her so abruptly he left her cold and aching, though he courteously eased her skirt back down, smoothing his hands over her b.u.t.tocks. She heard him adjust his own clothes, then he turned and sat her on the table with one easy hoist, though his arms were tense and he averted his face, wiping at it self-consciously with the back of his arm. "Shut up and don't bring that up again."

"Why not?"

"Because that's not happening. You're not going to have an organ cut out of your body for a guy you've just met. We're not going to have that between us."

"So it's better for me to stand over your grave?"

"For me, yes." At her stricken look, he stepped closer, his abdomen brushing her knees. "This is why I've avoided relationships. Julie, I want to share my life with you, I want to love you, be in love with you, but my body, my choices, are mine. If I choose to die because I won't take someone else's d.a.m.n kidney, especially yours, that's my choice. If you can't be with me because of that choice, I get it." He swallowed, his expression taut, drained. "It sounds f.u.c.ked up, but it is what it is."

"Is it a control thing?" She didn't want to fight any more. Her stomach hurt, and her body vibrated from his violent possession that said so much about the emotions churning between them, but she needed to know. "You're my Dom, so you refuse to rely on me to keep you alive?"

"You make me feel alive, in a way I've never experienced. I'm ready to ride that ride as long as my body can handle it." He dropped to one knee before her and grasped both her hands. "But I won't let you give me a kidney. All I want from you is your love."

She swallowed over jagged gla.s.s. Taking the hem of her shirt, she lifted it, touched it to the tracks of tears he hadn't been able to brush away with his arm. His expression flickered, revealing raw pain, and a weariness that made her think he wanted to put his head down on her lap and let her hold him. She would have done it, but his expression shut down and hid that need away. He closed his hand around her wrist to stop her cosseting and the moment was lost.

"You want my love on your own terms, where you don't end up feeling like you owe me." She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her.

"No. I just don't want that to have anything to do with why we're together."

"It doesn't work that way," she said. "You don't set terms when it comes to love. It's all or nothing, do whatever you need to do to be together, to love one another. It's messy, and ugly, and angry and beautiful and perfect, all rolled up in this messy ball like spaghetti. That's the way it's supposed to work."

He blinked. "I never thought of love like pasta."

She wanted to snarl at him, because he was trying to make a joke, but she was too messed up right now, br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with the need to scream, to cry, to punch him. She jerked her hands away and shoved off the table. "You're right, I need to get out of here. But you don't get to say we're done. You're not going to break my heart because you're too stubborn to let someone help you."

He caught her by the shoulders before she could move past him and gave her a sharp shake. "And how is being less than who I am going to help?"

"I don't know," she shouted. "But I can't figure out how you being dead is going to make things any better. Can you?"

At his tight look, she bolted, hurrying up the path back toward his house. Yeah, she'd go, because she needed to get away from him and think some. It wasn't until she was in his place, packing her overnight bag, that she remembered he'd driven her here. Well, f.u.c.k that. She'd call a cab if she had to do so.

Then she heard his truck starting. Moving to the window, she saw the vehicle trundling up the gravel drive. What the h.e.l.l?

A knock on the door resolved that question. When she opened it, Betty stood there with a pained smile on her lined face. "He said since I ruined your morning, the least I could do is give you a ride back to your place. He figured you weren't interested in riding with him."

"I think the reverse is true. But he's being an a.s.shole. You didn't ruin my morning. Maybe I can get the answers from you he won't give to me." At Betty's hesitant look, Julie shot her a dubious look. "Really? You're going to resort to being tightlipped now? I'm here, I'm interested, and I want to help. "

Betty's green eyes sparked with grim humor. "I think I'm starting to like you."

"Well, don't make any hasty decisions. I'm in a really b.i.t.c.hy mood."

"That's why I know we'll get along."

By the time Betty dropped her off at the theater, Julie had rethought wanting to be told the things she was told. Desmond had fought this battle all his life, struggling against myriad complications that had stacked the odds against him, over and over. He and his body had overcome those challenges each time, often with great personal cost. His erratic health history had interfered not only with relationships, but with college and career choices. It had impacted unexpected things, like getting business loans approved, and less unexpected things, like medical costs and insurance coverage.

It made her understand better the brick wall of dark emotion she'd hit, the frustration that had made so much of what he said initially seem insensible. He was fighting with himself now, and she hadn't know which questions to ask or the things to say to help him untangle it. She'd been too focused on her own personal cost. So first she had to deal with that, right?

She tried working, but she couldn't. She told Harris in a voice she knew was suspiciously choked up that she had to go out for a while, and she wasn't sure when she'd be back. She got in her car and drove without clear purpose, but she wasn't surprised to see where she ended up.

She walked into the empty church, relieved to find it unlocked and her the only person in the nave. She had no idea what denomination it was. The white clapboard structure had beds of petunias and pansies on the outside, so it had felt welcoming.

As she walked down the main aisle, she soaked in the hushed, calming energy, and studied the blocks of color on the stained gla.s.s windows. She wondered why so many churches used stained gla.s.s, what the history was behind that. She'd have to look it up.

Her gaze went to the plain wooden cross mounted over an altar up front. More fresh flowers were gathered at its base. As she slipped into a pew, the simple beauty of it caused tears to well up in her eyes. That, and Betty's words.

Renal failure... He seems mostly fine, but that's the way kidney failure can be... Several months at most before he has to start dialysis... Prognosis for the effectiveness of dialysis differs from person to person... Att.i.tude is everything... He refuses a kidney...

She was weeping, and she hated being weepy. She much preferred to be angry.

"I finally have someone who loves me the way I always dreamed about being loved, and You want to take him away. What did I ever do to You that You hate me so much?"

Her voice echoed through the chamber. Normally she spoke in a low voice in a church, like everyone else. But she wanted to be heard. She demanded to be heard. She glared at the cross. Everything here was supposed to be soothing and comforting, but it all felt like a mockery. She'd debated religion in countless coffee shops with lofty cynicism and academic boredom, but when it came to facing the foxhole, she was like anyone else. She was a child blindly seeking comfort... Or a lost adult realizing all the wishful thinking for an attentive, loving Divine Force was just that.

No. No. It wasn't wishful thinking. Rainbows and flowers, summer storms that electrified the sky, lizards that could look exactly like the plants on which they were resting. All the complexity of the human anatomy and musicals like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Camelot and Man of La Mancha. Those things didn't come out of a void.

She had a great life, she knew she did. She shouldn't feel this way. But it didn't matter. She was going to have it out with Him, Her, It, and she'd do it on Their home turf.

"What kind of s.a.d.i.s.tic a.s.shole are You?" she demanded. "Sure, Julie, you can have the prince, but just not for long? What is your f.u.c.king problem? And why would You do this to Des? This great guy who's just...he's so wonderful..."

"Miss?"

She turned to see a middle-aged black man with a kind face. He wore jeans and an Oxford shirt in a pale lavender color, but he had that air that told her he was one of the pastors here, lack of robes or collar notwithstanding.

"This is between Him and me," she snapped. "It's a private conversation. Did anyone ask you to b.u.t.t in?"

The minister eyed her. "A conversation conducted at the top of your admirably strong lungs?"

She blinked, realizing the echoes of her last syllables were still vibrating off the walls. She had been yelling. "Oh. Sorry." She wasn't. Her fists were clenched and her throat was tight, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "It's okay. I'm okay. I'm sorry. I just need to sit here for a while. Um, can I still sit here?"

"Would you like someone to sit with you?" he asked.

It was such a compa.s.sionate offer, the tears spilled out, but she shook her head. "I think I just have to think it through. I promise I won't scream anymore."

"Well, it's just you, Him, and me." The minister nodded. "If you need to shout a bit, I'll leave you to it. Just don't resort to violence. My office is around the corner there." He pointed. "I'm Jerry. If you need a human counterpoint, come find me."

"Okay. Thanks. I mean it. Really."

He gave her a searching look. "Sometimes, after you get it all out, just sitting here quietly helps. It's been my experience that He offers His best solutions when someone is actually listening."

Jerry retreated on quiet footsteps down the aisle. Julie moved to one of the pews and sank down in it, contemplating the altar again, the bright flowers. She knew Jerry's advice was sound, but right now, she felt like she was going to shatter. If she kept thinking about this, she might just resort to breaking things. She should leave. But something about the quiet of the place made her want to stay. She typed in the name of the church, the street it was on, and two more words.

Please come.

Then she set the phone aside and tried not to think. Her hands were shaking and her heart was pounding, so she focused on calming down, not on trying to make sense of it. She needed to get a grip before she could make sense of what defied comprehension.

He was quick, she'd give him that. She wondered if he'd showed up at the theater after she left to help out Harris as he'd promised, which meant he hadn't been far from here. She had her eyes closed, but she knew his scent, that combination of hair and body products that enhanced every powerful, s.e.xy inch of him. But right now, he wasn't some absurdly handsome man. He was just her friend.

Marcus slid in to the pew, his arm along the edge behind her, pressing against her shoulders. He didn't say anything, waiting her out.

"Do you believe in any of this?" she asked, her voice hoa.r.s.e from a strain she couldn't define.

"More than I used to."

"Because of Thomas." She didn't need him to confirm the obvious. "What if Thomas got sick and died? Would you still believe? Or would you believe but be really p.i.s.sed? Sign a deal with the devil to bring it all crashing down on everyone else, because you were hurting so badly you wanted everyone else to suffer, too?"

"Probably," he said truthfully. "Though I might take a minute to at least try to look at it the way Thomas would. That I'd had the opportunity to love someone the way he and I love one another, and too many people never find that."

"Yeah. It's hard to understand that scarcity." She bit her lip. "I've met very few people who don't deserve to have love in their life, or who wouldn't be better people if they did. So why is it so hard to find and keep?"

Marcus sighed and twirled a lock of her hair around two of his fingers. "Because we're human, which means we're innately self-destructive morons who refuse to attain the level of enlightenment needed to maximize the miracle of someone just as messed up as ourselves wanting to love us."

She met his serious green eyes. "Oh my G.o.d, who put together that string of bulls.h.i.t?"

"You did. When you were drunk on your thirty-fifth birthday."

"Great. A drunk single woman with a degree in drama queen and too d.a.m.n much higher education."

He touched her face. "What's going on, Julie?"

"He's sick, Marcus. Seriously sick."

She gave him the highlights she'd gotten from Betty, along with the things she'd learned since meeting Des. "Now he's mad at himself and feeling guilty for dragging me into all this. He told me at the beginning, mostly, but I don't think he expected it to suddenly get this bad, this quick. So he pushed me away, told me to get lost."

Marcus raised a silken brow. "I hope you told him to f.u.c.k off, you'll leave when you're d.a.m.n good and ready."

"Sort of. He left before I could dig the shrapnel out of my chest and get that far." She drew endless circles on the blue denim stretched on Marcus's thigh.

"You have that uber-Dom, large and in charge thing happening. He's different, but the right kind of different for me. He's the quiet fire that's always going to keep the home fires burning. That's what I always wanted..." A hint of a painful smile touched her lips. "Well, with some of that dangerous bad boy thrown in, just enough to make it all fun. He has that, too. I hope you'll stick around long enough to see him do a rope session. It's something else."

Marcus nodded agreeably, though he remained quiet. Just listening.

"I told him I would give him a kidney, and..." She stopped as Marcus winced. "Yeah, that's the same reaction he had. What the f.u.c.k?"

"Because he's a man. Because he's a Dom. Because he's in love with you, Julie. Despite how much ground you've covered, you're still just starting on this road together. You say he drew hard lines about his health from the beginning, which means he didn't want it to interfere with the falling in love part. Now this has come along and your first, very well meaning offer to help is to have an organ cut out of your body for him."

"Yeah, I get it. It's pride."

"Don't get a tone." He shook his head. "Pride isn't the surface emotion a lot of people think it is. It can be, but in this case, I think it's connecting to a lot of deeper issues. Control of his own life, his perception of himself, and how others perceive him."

"I love him, Marcus. I know we're just on the front end of it, but I do. I don't doubt it at all, and I think he doesn't, either. Which is maybe why he's acting like this. If we'd just been playing at falling in love, he could convince himself I could just walk away and he could too and he could die without hurting anyone..." She stopped, her voice breaking, and Marcus's arm moved fully around her shoulders, drawing her close so he could kiss the top of her head.

"I know you love him. I can see it. You were glowing like a lamp when you introduced him to us. It was in your voice, in the way you touched his arm. And you're right, it's not one-sided. He was measuring us up the same way we were measuring him, making sure we were the good friends you thought we were."

"So Billie was right. Dinner was a s.e.xist testosterone exchange, the 'Let's all make sure the mindless female knows what's best for her.' How charming." She poked him.

Marcus pursed his lips. "We are what we are. I expect Des knows just how intelligent you are, just as we do. Yet when it comes to someone we love, we respond to any threat, not with rational thought or the right words, but with our hearts."

"Yeah." She thought of the kidney offer and winced now, too. "What do I do to make this right?"

"You didn't do anything wrong." Marcus said it firmly, tipping up her chin and giving it a tap of reproof. "Go see him after you've calmed down, and he's had some time to do the same, and talk it out, figure out how to go forward. That simple. No blame on either side."

"No matter how pigheaded and stupid he's being."

Marcus snorted. "Yeah. I'd probably dial that back."

"He's the Dom I've always wanted and didn't know I did," she said softly, looking at her hands in her lap. She gave Marcus a glance from beneath her lashes. "Don't get me wrong, I still wouldn't kick you out of bed or anything."

"My feelings are bruised, but I'll recover. As long as you feel the same about Thomas."

"Absolutely. I'd take him down in a heartbeat and eat him with a spoon."

She fended him off when he tried to tug her hair, but that was a distraction. He pinched her side, hard.

"Ow. Meanie." She smacked his arm, but then he captured her hand and tangled it with his, resting the knot of their fingers on his knee. Sobering, she dropped her head on his shoulder. "What if I lose him? I don't need a man to feel safe, but Marcus, he makes me feel so safe and loved. He's so strong and warm. He's this force all around me when he ties me up, when he talks to me a certain way, looks at me a certain way... I know I probably sound stupid."

"Not at all. As a Dom and a man, he'd get a fierce joy out of hearing you say it, so you should say it to him sometime."

"But how could I survive losing that?"

"The way you survive anything with that indomitable personality of yours. Your superpower, Julie, is your ability to overcome any storm to find the sunshine again and share it with others." He sighed. "And failing that, Thomas and I will make the sacrifice, convert to bis.e.xualism and you can become our s.e.x slave."

"That's good to know. I'm going to cry for a little bit now and then I'll be okay."

"All right." Marcus folded his arms around her and held her closer as the sobs surged up. "I'm right here, baby. I'll hold you until you're okay. But from here forward, this is Des's job, so he better get his f.u.c.king act together."

Chapter Eighteen.