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His lips parted to speak, but she rushed on. "Yet in those intense moments, you invite me into your soul, which is a huge wow factor. But I don't know if you want me to stay. And next week, next performance, next session, it will be someone else, another woman you take to the same level of ecstasy. Some part of me says to ignore it, to ride the same train, refuse to allow it to be more than that, but see, that's where I always fuck up. I can't settle. I want more, and I'm afraid you're not a 'more.'
"You're a drug masquerading as a 'more,' and I'll get addicted to it. Every man has a shoe drop factor, when you realize they're too good to be true. Your problem is you are too good to be true. I'll be in your soul watching other females go through like a revolving door. I'll wither and die there."
She closed her eyes, stepped back from him. "I'm a private person, a possessive person. When I decide I'm falling in love with someone, I don't want to share the house with anyone else. I'm not that friendly. Yet everything you're doing to me, it's so incredible, and so I wonder if I'm letting the decisions I've arrived at after so much careful thought derail the chance for something incredible, even if it is temporal. I'm not strong enough to handle my heart getting crushed, Des. I'm not. And everything about you says you're capable of crushing my heart. You're too much, too amazing, too...beyond anything I ever expected to be able to call mine, so I know it can't be right or real..."
She took a breath. "And all of this is why I shouldn't be doing a relationship with anyone, let alone you."
She'd finally run out of words before those fathomless brown eyes. This was the part where he could tell insane, babbling woman it was okay, they could just be friends. And that would be that. Or maybe she'd learn she hadn't done it in time and her heart would be crushed anyway.
"Thirty-five," he said. "Thirty-six in three months. That's how old I am."
She stared at him. He was somehow holding her hand, his thumb rubbing her palm, her rabbiting pulse. "No way," she said. "You're in your twenties."
"Thought you were getting a much younger man, did you?" His lips curved but there was no humor in his eyes. Her words had made an impact and she realized his touch was as much firm hold as caress. "I've always looked about ten years younger than I actually am. Arrested development. It was a bitch when I was seven. Must be why the kids in the class nicknamed me Fetus."
"Great. Like most men don't already have the advantage in aging; you got the extra helping."
"Most gifts like that come with strings attached." He tipped up her chin before she could pursue the faint bitterness she heard in his tone. She was too worked up anyhow. She realized she was shaking and so did he.
"Hey," he said, dropping his hands to run them up and down her arms in a soothing manner. "It's okay."
She shook her head. "I really liked what happened on stage that night. I wanted more of it. But I don't want to become whatever the term is for someone who's strung out on sub experiences. And I don't want to go down a road with someone whose interest in me... It's like the 'everyone is special' argument. If everyone is special, no one really is, according to the literal definition. I want to be special to someone. I want to see a look in their eyes that says I'm the person that makes their day better. I'm the one who lights up the room for them, even if it's just a sixty watt bulb. Actually, I prefer it that way. I don't want to be this grand explosion of light and passion that happens for one rope session or for a short, unforgettable relationship."
She curled her fingers in his shirt. "I want to be the person who will always keep the porch light on for the other person, and he knows that, he can count on it. I'll put a night light in the bedroom so he can find his way to me without stumbling in the dark."
She didn't want to blind her soulmate. She just wanted him to know he'd always be able to find her heart, because the light they shared would be soft, steady and strong, like love itself. And why was she telling this to Des, when she knew he wasn't willing to go that far with her? Was she using him like some kind of bizarre confessor?
"Take a breath," he said, drawing her attention from the whirl of her thoughts to his serious face. "You've been spun up over this for a while now."
"Yeah. Since...well, it's been building since the orchids, really. You have a really bizarre effect on me. I wasn't going to get involved with anyone ever again. That was the promise I made myself."
"That's a shitty promise," he observed. "Like promising to shut your hand in a car door once a week."
"Not if falling in love feels ten times worse than that. The car door would be preferable."
"Good point. I've never let myself fall in love. Never thought I could afford it. Turns out, we're not given much choice about that, are we?"
Her gaze flicked up to his face, not sure what he meant and not getting any further clues from his neutral expression, because he changed the topic. Somewhat.
"When I came in to meet with Harris this week, I watched you. Doing something right is in the details, and, more than that, in loving those details, the subtle ways they add to a scene. You have that. That's how you'll make the show come alive and become something memorable. It's not about pyrotechnics or the big flash. I like that about you." He stroked her hair over her shoulder, ran his thumb along her collarbone. The sleeveless knit tank she was wearing allowed him to slide his thumb beneath it, tease her bra strap.
"There's very little about you I don't like or find pretty terrific, except your absence. Seeing you here today was like a birthday three times over."
"See, you're doing it again," she accused. "Making me feel so special, like you--"
"Hey." He tightened his grip, commanding her full attention. "You are special to me, Julie. You're giving me a lot of good information, but you're not listening. Or rather, I think you are listening, but there's so much static from your past relationships, my message isn't getting through."
She wanted to get her back up at his impatient tone, but he wasn't done. "Sounds to me like you're saying you need a guy to court you, not just stumble into it. You don't want him leaving himself a clear path of retreat by never openly declaring his intentions."
"I guess that's asking too much of the average guy," she said bitterly, thinking he was mocking her.
"It is. There's nothing average about you, Julie. You should be demanding something exceptional. You want subtle but you also want sincerity. Courage."
He cradled her jaw so she had to meet his eyes. "Say it. Honestly, from the gut."
He was doing that Dom thing, drawing her into his gaze, holding open that door inside her soul that couldn't lie to him. That couldn't lie at all.
"Yes," she said quietly. "I'm done with anything less."
