"I'll take care of your dialysis tonight," she said. "You'll feel better tomorrow."

He was unable to refuse. He pushed down that familiar demon of helplessness, of being far less of a man than Julie deserved. Thomas helped Betty get him into the house, his arm strong and sure around Des's waist, Des's hand gripping his broad shoulder. His cousin. This was his cousin.

No, still not going there. But as he glanced at Thomas, at the serious brown eyes and straight nose, he wondered if they shared any common features.

"Thanks," Des said. "Thanks to you both. Sorry about this."

"Nothing to be sorry about."

"Well, I wouldn't say that." Marcus had rolled in the case with the dialysis equipment and was at the foot of the bed. He gave Des a humorous look. "I did tell you that Elaine Wilder was your aunt. The horror of that is enough to put anyone on his a.s.s."

"My mother is going to put something up your a.s.s."

"She says worse about me all the time. Your mother has a gutter mouth these days."

"From your influence."

As the two men bantered back and forth, Des was aware of Betty hooking him up, her mouth thin and eyes worried, but when she caught him looking, she stroked a hand along his face, a maternal caress.

"Just rest, Des," she said quietly. "I'll handle this tonight."

He drifted off. When he woke, a few hours from dawn, Marcus and Thomas had gone. Betty was asleep on his couch. She'd removed the dialysis hook ups when it finished cycling, shut everything down and prepped it for the next treatment. He would have done that. He usually did that, usually did all of it himself.

But as Marcus said, family cared about you when you needed it. He spent the next couple hours staring into the darkness, thinking about how he'd find the courage to fight for family and love for the first time in his life... And fight for his life, one more time.

Des came into the theater. The audience area was dark, but with the stage lit, he didn't have trouble finding Julie's silhouette. She was watching the ongoing rehearsal, leaning against the seat in front of her. Lila and Harris were handling most of what was going on, but she'd watch and give her opinions. She would enhance without taking over, provide direction where the path was murky. He'd watched her do it during the prep work for Consent, offering suggestions to Harris, to the tech people. She had a grasp of the whole picture invaluable for making the resulting production the best possible offering.

She wasn't always nice about it. She could be a b.i.t.c.h when needed, stepping in when someone was going the wrong direction and needed a firmer hand. She knew her ultimate responsibility was to owners, investors and, most importantly, the audience. Turning out quality, art, was her focus. Not control or power. She understood that beauty happened with the placement of rocks at the right spots in the stream. She directed and altered the flow, so sunlight could sparkle in a different pattern upon it, or so a tree's roots wouldn't be eroded by the water creeping up the banks. Yet she retained her appreciation of water as water, maintaining the integrity of what it was.

He loved taking all that pa.s.sion and submissive response and doing the same with his rope. Shaping, driving her to a churning peak, seeing the many different ways she would overflow, respond to his will. Yet he was always dipping into the same deep immutable pool, the soul of who she was.

He'd been a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Marcus was right. She'd forgive him, because that was part of who she was, too. But he had no intention of taking that generosity for granted or abusing it too often. And not just because Marcus would cut his kidney out with a dull edged knife if he didn't.

Des slid down into a seat four rows behind her, wanting to take time to savor the way she was when she thought no one was watching. The slight movements of her shoulders and head were like an alert, smooth-feathered bird.

She picked up a notebook, scribbling in it, and set it back down, leaning forward to fold her arms on the chair in front of her, showing her sharpened attention for the next scene.

Onstage, the hero walked across it as the heroine stared at him. Master Horn and Cherry Blossom were good choices for these roles, a handsome couple, but not so pretty that they didn't look real, or glamor over the strength of the Dom/sub dynamic happening between them. Des had watched them in a club environment, and they could be mesmerizing.

From the conversation back and forth between Lila and the director, Des knew the setting of this scene was supposed to be a colorful marketplace in the islands, with a small cl.u.s.ter of extras shopping around the hero and heroine. As they approached one another, the movements of the others would slow, all people on stage except them frozen.

Harris spoke. "Lights will dim and our center stage characters will be spotlighted, as if time has stopped."

Master Horn slid a large hand over Cherry's shoulder, wrapping his fingers in her streaked blond hair to tilt her head back. Their eyes locked. "I'm going to take you home now. Tie you up so you can't move. Then I'm going to whip you. Your a.s.s, your back, your thighs. I'll press myself up against all those marks and, when I'm b.a.l.l.s deep in you and start thrusting, that pain will become pleasure. You'll beg for more. Because surrender is tearing yourself open, taking pain and asking for more. Nothing is sweeter or more terrible than cracking open your soul and giving it to someone you trust. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Then get on your knees to me here. In front of all of them. Now."

She sank down, his hand still in her hair. She pressed her lips to his thigh and stayed motionless, cuing the end of the scene.

The performance would be powerful because it would be real. The flogging scene would happen, and her excited reaction would be genuine. Des had read that part of the script, because it preceded a rope tying scene Julie wanted him to check out, both for his insights on its safety and improvements to make it more dramatic. Horn wasn't a rope guy, so he welcomed the expertise.

This show would likely generate more controversy than the first. Consent had been an amalgamation of talents the audience could mostly absorb with pleased fascination but the detachment of viewing a circus, a fantasy come to life. This script dealt with issues and emotions everyone experienced, kinky or vanilla. It would be impossible to stay detached and not see the connections between this power exchange in the BDSM world and the give and take in every relationship.

Julie leaned back in her chair. Des wanted to move into the row behind her, take down her hair, stroke his fingers through it, put his teeth against her throat and cup her beautiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

He had the right to do all of that as her Master, her lover, her Dom. But the man had some bridges to mend first. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, press his face against the side of hers and hold on to that still, precious moment as long as he could before the world ruined it. That had been the root of his problem, hadn't it? He wanted that perfection, nothing about his health and his life destroying it.

During those early dawn hours, he'd realized that he was going to have to accept a new definition of perfection. It was going to sometimes be messy, heartbreaking, tedious, frustrating... It was going to be everything that sharing a life with someone was and meant, like Julie had said. Glorious heaven and h.e.l.l, and many other places in between.

"I missed you," she said abruptly, not turning around. "Jerk."

Of course she knew he was here. He almost smiled. Rising, he came down the aisle and moved into the row behind her, sitting down so he could cross his arms on the seatback next to her and look at her profile. She kept her eyes on the stage, though currently the actors were discussing some kind of issue with Lila, their words indiscernible as Julie and Des's conversation would be to them. Two different plays in progress.

"I missed you, too. So much it hurt."

"Good." She set her chin and he almost smiled again, except it was blocked by the ache in his chest. He trailed his knuckles down her face, then spread his fingers out, settling them over her throat. The way she responded to that, not softening yet not drawing away, sent a hard jolt of longing into heart, stomach, groin.

He felt the jump of her pulse, that awe-inspiring reaction. Initially, he'd wondered if her response to him was just a first sub experience thing. It could be, but the offering of her love wasn't a first-time experience. Either he was too selfish and fearful to let her go, or he trusted what they both seemed to feel around one another. Trust was always a harder and bigger leap for a Dom than a sub. But he'd better find the b.a.l.l.s for it or she'd kick them into his throat. Yeah, she might let him cut her loose, but only if he was hobbling.

He did smile now. Leaning in, he spoke against her delicate ear. "I'm going to do the kidney transplant, Julie. I'm going to try really hard to make it work and last, so I can be with you. Unless you've decided I'm too much of a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, in which case I'll skip the whole surgery thing and just die. Not that you should feel any pressure to be with me because of that."

A quiver went through her, the initial reaction to the news, along with all the emotional debris that went with it, but he was proud of his girl, how quickly she rallied. She masked all that to give him an indifferent sidelong glance.

"How long before I have to decide one way or another? I'd prefer to be mad at you for another month or so, if you can put off dying until then."

"Oh, well, it's imminent. Any minute now, so you'll have to decide this second."

"I'm calling Betty to verify that. I'm suspicious of your motives."

"You should be," he said and tilted her head back. He rose to get the best angle at her gorgeous lips. She was resistant at first, all those tumultuous emotions coming to the forefront in the bite of her nails through his shirt, the stiffness of her body, the punch she tried to land in his midriff. He caught that, prying open her fingers and shifting his grip to her wrist to hold her while he kissed her like the desperate man he was. When her nails dug in for a different reason, her captured hand curling over his, her lips softening, he groaned into her mouth.

He destroyed her hair by tunneling his fingers in it, and kissed her even deeper. He could have dragged her over the seat, taken her then and there, but the shadows weren't deep enough and the distraction of those on stage wouldn't be prolonged enough. Plus, while the male need to steep himself in s.e.x to heal the wounds of the past couple days was strong, she needed something different first.

Stepping over the seat, he sat down next to her and wrapped her up in his arms, pulling her onto his lap to get as much of himself around her lush, trembling body that he could. "I'm sorry I was such an a.s.shole. I'm sorry for wanting you to be with me through all this. I'm sorry for every moment I'm going to be a jerk about this stuff. I'm going to have to learn how to stop being a f.u.c.king island fortress about it. It just feels like such a lousy gift to share with the woman I love."

"Men are so dumb," she said against his chest. "You couldn't give me a better gift than that."

"Women are bizarre." He felt her lips curve against him. He didn't want to ruin the moment, but he knew this was part of what he'd just promised. Full disclosure.

Taking a breath, he eased her back. "There's more to it. And I want you to understand something. If you don't want me to do this, I won't. I'll get on the donor list and wait for another." Even if a genetic match was likely the only chance he had. "And I can do dialysis for a while." Even though Betty said he wasn't responding as well to it as she'd hoped. "Okay?"

None of those caveats mattered. He would watch her reaction closely and, even if she tried to hide it, he wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize her relationship with the best friends she had if... Well, if he ended up meeting all expectations for a shortened life span.

"You remember that my best chance is a genetic match, which is different from most people who need a kidney, because most the time they don't need to be as specific as other organs."

"Because you're special," she said.

"Because I'm a f.u.c.king health disaster," he corrected, though he stroked a hand down her face for her staunch loyalty.

"Turns out, Thomas may be my cousin. Actually, apparently is my cousin."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"He thought I looked familiar, and..." He gave her the details as her gaze stayed fastened to his face. He could practically see the thoughts whirling behind her eyes, digesting the impossible the way he had.

"I thought he was staring at you so funny that night we had dinner. Oh my G.o.d. And Thomas, he didn't even hesitate..."

Her eyes filled, confirming what he knew. She was blessed in friends. He spoke gruffly, not ready to show how much it had moved him, particularly yesterday. Marcus might be the Dom in that relationship, but it was Thomas who'd been immovable on taking Des home, not taking Des's no for an answer.

"Thomas said Elaine, his mom"-Des's aunt, something he was still trying to wrap his mind around-"could tell me more, when and if I'm ready."

"Des. Wow." She put her hand over his, and he gave her time to let it sink in, so she could marshal whatever questions she'd have. "I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, but what are the chances? You meet me, and Thomas, one of my closest friends..."

"Yeah, Marcus pointed out the same thing when he told me about it. Fate, destiny, all that good stuff."

"Did he call you?"

"He came out to the job site. He and Thomas both." He was prepared for her to be upset that they hadn't talked to her first, but he saw it hit her with another blinked-back round of tears.

"They didn't want me to know in case you said no. Those idiots." But love saturated the insult, and her hand was tight around Des's. Then her eyes brightened and she touched his face.

"You have to admit it's a d.a.m.n good sign from the universe. Kind of hard to say no to it."

"Tell me about it." He gave her a crooked smile. "I'm new to all this, Julie. Betty, my doctors...I'm not saying I got to where I am all by myself without help. That'd be the height of ego. But I'm not used to the level of emotional support, the sharing that comes with family, a woman who wants to be with me through all of it. I don't know how not to view it as..."

"Interference? Someone trying to run your life, tell you what to do, control things? Yeah, welcome to family culture shock." She dimpled. "I have faith in you. You'll get used to it. You might even move from tolerance to actually liking it, after a few decades. It grows on you, like an affectionate fungus."

He chuckled, but sat silently for a time, gathering his thoughts. Her fingertips glided back and forth across his chest, her eyes on him. She didn't speak, waiting him out, giving him time.

"I'm sure about Thomas's feelings, but how do you think Marcus really feels about it?" Because he knew exactly how he'd feel if Julie had decided to donate her kidney to someone.

"He'll be worried as h.e.l.l and masking it," Julie said bluntly. "Thomas is what makes him human, and whole. But if Thomas can help, that's what he's going to do, and he'll do a good job all on his own making Marcus okay with it, don't worry. Marcus is a different kind of Dom from you. You have it as this simmering undercurrent delicious to feel, like being surrounded by a coc.o.o.n of vibrating energy, even when I'm not with you. You turn it up when it's time to let it out to play. Whereas Marcus..."

"It's usually at a nine, even at low level. Yeah, I picked up on that. Doms do take each other's measure. Have you ever watched the two of them have a scene?"

"Oh G.o.d, no." Her expression was comical. "I imagine it, which gets me stirred up, but I think they'd be horribly uncomfortable with me watching. Their favorite dungeon in New York is men only. Marcus will go to co-ed. He says he doesn't really give a s.h.i.t about gay men's hang ups about doing scenes in co-ed clubs, but I think it's still a comfort zone thing for Thomas. I get it."

"Would it turn you on to watch them, if you could do it without embarra.s.sment on either side?"

She snorted. "It would turn on anything with a pulse. I take it we're done talking about life and death decisions for a while?"

"We are." He squeezed her hand. "I haven't seen you in four days. I have bigger issues."

"I'm not fooled. You're trying to distract me with s.e.x so I'll forgive you for the cone of silence."

"I would never try something that devious and underhanded. Besides, you already forgave me. You're a saint that way, forgiving the inevitable shortcomings of those around you."

"Mm-hm." She did a credible imitation of Billie Dee-Lite and earned a smile from him as he recognized it.

"Not bad."

"Well, it still needs work. But I think you actually have to be a formidable black woman to pull off the intonation. That 'who do you think you're fooling' and 'boy, I will so kick your a.s.s' combo.

"Or a formidable black drag queen."

"Exactly." She paused to trace his cheek and jaw. "I know it can't always be perfect for us," she said seriously, "and I know you have to be your own person. I know I can be a steam roller when I'm worried and want to take care of someone I love. So we're going to hurt each other again. I'm not nave. I just need you to understand that when you pull away and close down, it leaves me all alone with years of built up insecurity about guys who walk away from me emotionally and physically."

"I know." He closed his hand over hers. "I'm sorry, Julie."

She glanced down at where his hand tangled with her other one in her lap. "I try to manage that s.h.i.t on my own, but one of the things I like about you is how open you seem to be to me and my feelings. So I'll work on being better on my end if you could add one thing to that Billy Joel song."

She watched him figure it out, and he loved the pleasure in her eyes when he did. "The part that says when he's deep inside himself, not to be too concerned, because he doesn't really need anything while he's gone?"

"Yeah. If you could just send me a hug or two when you're in that place, stick your head out now and again, that would be great."

He met her eyes. "Even if I'm deep in my head, I still need you, Julie. That's how I knew when I fell in love with you. For the first time in my life I need someone so much I can't turn it off and convince myself otherwise."

She slid her arms around his neck, holding him close and turning her head to his mouth, offering him a marvelously predictable hot, toe-curling kiss. He quickly took over, fist in her hair and in the back of her shirt, finding bare flesh beneath it and telegraphing his desire. They'd need to find somewhere private really soon.

"Good answer," she said against his lips.

Chapter Twenty.

Marcus leaned against the wall, watching the nurse flutter around his lover, doing her job while blushing and smiling at Thomas's uncalculated charm. His s.e.xy, slow smile, the way he called all women ma'am, how he tried to accommodate her while she was trying to do the pre-surgery prep, were all part of what Marcus found appealing about him.

Yet there were far, far deeper and broader things that bound the two of them together. During the time Thomas had left him to care for his family, during the struggle to reconcile their own needs with that, Marcus's gut had ached for everything they could be to one another, a chance they'd had for far too brief a period.

Now past the worst of those challenges, the two of them were married and Thomas's art career was in full swing. Yet Marcus felt like he'd experienced only the tip of the iceberg of how deep their bonds went. He loved his farm boy more every day, a condition only exacerbated by Thomas feeling the same way.

His initial reaction to Thomas's decision to give his cousin a kidney had been no, no and oh h.e.l.l no. He was the selfish one. He knew that and didn't apologize for it. But he'd learned it didn't matter who he was to Thomas as Master or husband, friend or lover, there was an inviolate area of choice that belonged to Thomas alone. It was an essential part of who he was, and as much a part of what Marcus loved about him as anything else. G.o.dd.a.m.n it.

Marcus knew he was a p.r.i.c.k for wishing he hadn't visited Des to give him the option, persuading him toward this. But f.u.c.k, he loved Julie, and Thomas had asked him to do it.

"You're good at convincing people to do things they think they'd never do," his pet had said, his brown eyes knowing and understanding Marcus's dilemma, but trapping his conscience in a corner on it regardless. He'd make Thomas pay for that later in a variety of ways. There would be a later. He wasn't going to be a drama queen about this. Thomas would never let him live it down.

Almost no one who donated a kidney died during the surgery. Very few had any complications afterward, and Thomas was strong and healthy as a draft horse, especially now that they'd gotten on top of that ulcer he'd developed some time ago.

As the nurse took her leave, Thomas's doe-brown eyes came back to him. "You look like a glowering statue over there," he observed. "Or a stick of dynamite about to go off. Not sure which."