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I reach up and touch the ends of my hair. It tends to curl when it gets wet.
“Brown,” I tell him. “Dark brown.”
“I thought so.”
I manage a wry smile. “I know I need to touch up my roots.”
But he shakes his head. “I can tell because of your eyes.”
I look down at my feet. “Plenty of blondes have brown eyes.”
“Not that dark.” He puts a finger beneath my chin and lifts my face. It’s probably just an effect of the fluorescent patio lights, but his blue eyes look brighter than usual.
“Why do you dye it?” he asks. He smiles before adding, “Not that I don’t love blondes.”
“Maybe I wanted something different,” I say. “Or maybe I like the blond better. A girl’s allowed to be adventurous with her hair.”
“Of course she is.” His smile softens a little. “I was just curious.”
This is it, I realize. This is the moment to tell him the truth about who I am. Even if it changes the way he’s looking at me right now. Even if it alters things between us forever. I want to give up the lie. I want him to know the truth. But his eyes have gone a little sad, and before I can speak, he reaches out to touch my hair again.
“My mom used to dye her hair blond,” he says. “Back when I was a kid. I assumed that was her natural color until I was ten and she lost her job. She couldn’t afford the upkeep.” He gives a single shake of his head. “For months while it was growing out, she refused to leave the apartment without a hat. At least until it was long enough that she was able to chop the rest of it off. I remember helping her do the back. She cried.”
My heart is aching. “Was her hair the same color as yours?”
He nods. “Very close. Mine’s darker, and hers had a lot more red in it. There’s a lot of Irish blood on that side of the family.” He reaches up and runs his fingers absently through his hair. Wet like this, it just looks dark. I can’t see any of the auburn shades, any of the coppery sheen.
“When… when she was going through chemo,” he says, speaking softly now, “she laughed about it. She said she couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been. Back when she was a blonde, she thought her hair was the main thing that made her beautiful. Men used to talk about it all the time. When she cut it off, she said it felt like she was letting herself go and giving up on ever finding love.”
I reach out and touch his chest, and he closes his hand around mine.
“It was only when she lost all of her hair that she said she realized how ridiculous that was. If someone chooses to love you or not based on something as stupid as hair, then that’s not really love, is it?”
“And she had you,” I say. “It’s obvious you loved her whether she had hair or not.”
He nods once, somberly. “In the end, she said that was more than she ever needed. But she deserved so much more than that.” He looks out across the pool. “My—the man who fathered me, he broke her heart. She dated on and off throughout my life, but I think she lost a part of herself to him.”
“How did… I mean, did you ever meet him?”
“Not for a long time.” Ward’s eyes have darkened, and the corners of his mouth are hard. “That bastard left her when she was pregnant. Refused to acknowledge that he was responsible. That’s when my mom found out that he was married. And had been, the entire time he’d been seeing her.”
“That’s awful.” It makes perfect sense now, his very heated opinion of cheaters. I thought that maybe some woman had broken his heart, but it’s clear from the emotion in his eyes right now that his hatred is on behalf of his mother.
“It’s one thing to sleep with someone else,” he says. “But to abandon a woman after you’ve gotten her pregnant makes you the lowest of the low.” He shakes his head. “I’m not even sure why I’m telling you all of this.”
Now he’s the one shaking, and I can feel the muscles of his chest contracting under my hand. This is the anger he doesn’t know what to do with. This is his deepest pain.
I reach up and pull his face down to mine. For a moment, his mouth is hard and unyielding, but then suddenly something seems to awaken inside of him. His lips go to war with mine, and his tongue forces its way into my mouth. I welcome the attack. I cling harder to him, and our towels fall to the ground. Once again we’re naked and pressed against each other.
An ache is already building between my legs. I spread my thighs slightly, and I’m rewarded with a groan from Ward. He splays his hands against my back. Every muscle in his body is tense, and I want to help him find release. I suck his bottom lip into my mouth, teasing him before pulling myself out of his grip.
I don’t go far. I twist around so that I’m facing the back of the bar, and I lean forward, propping my elbows on the marble countertop and offering myself to him. Then I glance back over my shoulder. Ward’s back is still rigid with tension, but he’s looking down at me with a desire that makes my very core clench. His eyes flick up to mine, and a bolt of arousal shoots through me.
He’s behind me now, his hand sliding down between my legs. His finger slips easily inside of me, but I still gasp at the intrusion. Slowly, he caresses me. His other hand grips my hip. And then he leans forward, and the hand slides from my hip up across my belly, and finally to my breast. He gently twists my nipple as the fingers of his other hand continue their slow strokes in and out of me.
This new position also presses his hard length right against my bare skin. I moan, and he dips his head to plant a kiss on my back, right at the base of my neck.
“I need you,” I whisper.
He stills above me.
“Not like this,” he says. Suddenly, he’s pulling away.
“Not like what?” The bottom drops out of my stomach. I’m naked, ready to give myself to him, and he doesn’t want me?
But he’s reaching out, drawing me into a standing position again. His hands land on my waist and he slowly turns me around. When we’re face-to-face once more, the tension of a moment ago is gone from his eyes. Instead he’s looking at me with something like tenderness.
“I want to be able to look at you,” he says softly, touching my cheek. “I want to see your face.” He brushes his thumb across my lips. “Is that all right?”
I nod.
He leads me over to one of the long padded chaise lounges. The rain has picked up, dancing against the patio roof overhead, and though I don’t feel a chill, I find myself shivering again. Slowly, Ward and I lower ourselves down onto the cushions, me on my back and him leaning over me.
