“I guess, but I don’t want to feel like I’m a kept woman,” she said, even though she relished the idea of seeing him. He’d made a more-than-convincing argument that they should make a go of things.

He laughed hard. “No one ever in the whole wide world could keep you. I’m just going to be happy if I can spend a few hours with you.”

“You like the sex that much,” she said, playfully pushing her toes against his hard abs.

“You know I like the sex. I think the part that’s not getting through to you is how very much I like all the other parts. I like what’s in here,” he said, stretching across her to tap her forehead with his index finger, “And I like doing the things here,” he said, sweeping his thumb across her lips, “that involve talking.” He traveled down her chest, tracing a line between her breasts, and landing on her heart. “I also like the things I’m seeing in here.”

Her heart beat in double time, and it was such a foreign feeling for her, it had been so long since she’d felt for someone. It scared her, but felt wonderful at the same time too. But then, wasn’t that what liking someone felt like? A little bit like stepping off the diving board and taking the plunge. She grasped his hand, clutched it in hers, holding his against her chest. His eyes sparkled with a happiness, a genuine sort of joy, as if she’d just said yes to him. Which, she supposed, she had.

“So you’re gonna be my boyfriend?”

“Gorgeous, I’m not your boyfriend. I’m your lover. The only one.”

“Obviously. You are my only lover. No woman could ever have you and want or need another man.”

“Good. Now remember what I was saying about liking all the things we do?”

She nodded. “Yeah?”

He leaned across the bench, kissing her lips gently, then brushed them with his fingertips. The slightest kiss sent tingles through her. “I could do that and other things all night. But right now, I want you to use those lips to tell me more about you. You said your best friend is your sister. Besides your hair stylist, Gayle. Were you close to McKenna growing up or did you become best friends later?”

Her eyes widened. She was impressed that he remembered all the details, down to her hairdresser’s name. “We’ve always been close. We’re one year apart. Irish twins, as they say. We fought like sisters did, but most of the time, we were like this,” she said, twisting her index finger around her middle finger. “Read the same books, liked the same TV shows. We were both huge My So-Called Life junkies. The show was only on for one season, but we watched all the episodes over and over on cable, and recited the lines together, and we loved Jordan Catalano too from that show. So McKenna and I had this thing in high school when we started dating that we’d always check in on the other with a phone call.”

“Ah, the old friend emergency call,” he said, sketching air quotes.

“Yup,” she said, nodding proudly. “But our deal was if one of us was having a bad time and needed to be saved, that person would say I can’t believe Jordan’s arm is broken. And if we were having a good time and really liked a guy we’d say You’re watching My So-Called Life right now?”

“Ring, ring. McKenna’s calling. You better pick up.”

Julia mimed answering a phone. “Hey McKenna, how’s it going?” she said into her pretend phone. She paused as if listening. “Oh, I’m so glad Jordan’s arm isn’t broken.” She locked eyes with Clay, and he grinned as she continued her phone call. “What did you say? You’re watching My So-Called Life right now?” His grin widened, lighting up his whole gorgeous face. “That is the best show. Well, you have a good time, because I am having the best time.”

She hung up her imaginary phone and ran her fingers across his stubbled jaw, sandpaper rough with his more than five-o-clock shadow. “You, mister, are better than My So-Called Life,” she said, and was surprised by how easily the admission rolled off her tongue. This was precisely what she hadn’t wanted to happen this weekend. To feel. To want. To have strings start to attach themselves that would extend well beyond a weekend.

But here she was making plans, making commitments, telling him exactly how she felt.

What was she getting herself into? She needed to put on the brakes and deal with her debt first. But then Clay’s mouth was on her, kissing her hard and hungry again, consuming her with his lips that made her bones vibrate and her blood sing, and all thoughts of brakes and debts and troubles turned to rubble in her brain, because desire had slammed hard into her body.

He picked her up in his arms, carried her inside, up the steps and into his bed. This time there were no ties, no binds, no hard, rough hands, though she had loved all of that.

Now, he simply laid her on his bed and kissed her from head to toe, his lips melting her from the inside out. She trembled, both from the way he touched her and from her heart thundering with hope of what they could be. They could be so good for each other. He entered her, taking his time, making slow, sweet, luxurious love to her as she wrapped her arms and her legs around him, reveling in all the ways they came together.

Brunch sounded nice. Julia envisioned one of those lazy New York mornings. They’d make love, then shower, then wander around the Village, stumble into some fantastic four-table restaurant that had fabulous French toast or decadent omelets. Wait, no. She had a better idea. They’d go to a diner because diners in New York were the best ever and diners in San Francisco could suck it. At the booth, his hands would be all over her, touching her back, her waist, her legs. They’d return to his place, unable to stop touching, then smash into each other in the elevator and fall into his apartment already in a state of undress. Fevered and frenzied, he’d take her, one last time, the kind of urgent and desperate goodbye sex that would make them both miss each other terribly when she left for the airport an hour later, waving goodbye in her taxi, trying hard not to stare out the window the entire time as the cab drove away.

She stretched her arms over her head, enjoying that fantasy as morning sun streaked in the window, painting the bedroom in the early glow of dawn. Clay was a sound sleeper, and lay snoozing on his stomach, the covers hitting his hips. His gorgeous back, strong and muscled, was on display. She was tempted to reach out and touch him, trace lazy lines down his skin, but a light flashed on the nightstand.

Grabbing her phone, she headed into the bathroom and scrolled through her messages as she brushed her teeth.

First there was Kim saying they had a rocking Saturday night and raked in some serious money. Next, McKenna saying Chris’ TV show had hit an all-time high in ratings, and the network execs were talking to him about renewals. The note was followed by several exclamation points.

Then there was a message from Charlie.

Julia tensed as she opened it.

We have a big whale in town tonight. We’re moving up the game. Need to see you there by nine. There is a chance for you to get a lot closer if you can take him down.

She wrote back quickly. Can’t. I won’t be back til 11.

She set the phone down on the sink counter, finished brushing her teeth, and rinsed with a glass of water. Her phone buzzed again. Perhaps you mistook that for a request. It was not. I will see you at nine.

Anger slithered through her. Hot, black anger at Charlie, at Dillon, at all the ways she was indebted to those two. She clicked on the message and dialed Charlie’s number.

He answered on the second ring.

“I am not in town,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “I can’t be there.”

“Red, I have seen the airline schedules. I even checked for you. And there will be a ticket waiting for you on the 11 a.m. flight back. It gets you into town at two-thirty, so you will have plenty of time to make yourself beautiful and show off those lovely breasts to help distract our high roller.”