* * *

  “Tell me about Nashville,” I ask about twenty minutes later, when we’ve almost cleared our plates. I’ve been wanting to bring it up all week, but it didn’t seem to be a story she was eager to tell, nor did it seem like one that should be shared while putting together the place she’d be working for the next month. The place she wouldn’t be working if she had stayed in Tennessee.

  “I’m not even sure where to start.” She takes a sip of her coffee and sits back in her chair. “The short answer is, it’s been my dream for as long as I can remember and part of me can’t imagine not going back. It feels as if my life is on hold when I’m not there.”

  I’d had this stupid idea that if she liked working here, I could offer her something long term. If a permanent position was too much, I’d thought maybe she’d at least stay until May. I’d never thought about her heading out of town and back to Nashville before the summer started.

  “Why did you leave?”

  She shrugs and for the first time since I’ve known her, she looks defeated. “Sometimes it’s hard to chase your dreams, especially if you think you’ll never catch them.”

  “It’s hard to let them go, too. After having worked for them. Even when you know it’s the right thing to do.”

  Her head snaps up. Had she forgotten I knew something about lost dreams? Had she forgotten I was That Guy?

  “Do you ever regret it?” She asks.

  Usually when someone asks me that question, I give them silly half answers because what they really want to know is, do I ever regret not having all that money? But that’s not what Carsen wants to know. Her question is much deeper and more personal.

  “Baseball was all I knew for such a long time. I sacrificed so much for that game. Time. Energy. Relationships. I focused on one thing. Playing ball. Nothing else mattered. Nothing even came close.”

  If I close my eyes, sometimes I can see that cocky bastard. The one at the top of his game. The one everyone wanted. Until that day everything changed.

  "One of the players on our team was injured. Freak accident. Broke his spine. I’ll never forget watching as they carried him off the field and the thought kept repeating in my head. 'That could be me.'"

  Carsen is silent. Waiting.

  “I realized at that moment the only thing defining me was baseball. If I didn’t have baseball, I’d be nothing. And it was so easily taken away. For weeks I told myself it was fine. That it was a risk all pro athletes take.

  “But after that, everything about my life seemed shallow. Who was I? What would I leave behind when I died?”

  “Deep questions for someone in their thirties.”

  “I was also facing the possibility of an eight figure contract.”

  Her mouth drops open.

  Ten

  "Whoever named it necking was a poor judge of anatomy." —Groucho Marx

  There’s nothing I can think of to say to that. So I remain quiet. Or more to the point, there’s nothing else I can think of to say other than, “What the ever loving fuck, Tate?” However, I get the impression that ninety-nine percent of people he comes into contact with say that. I don’t want him to look at me the way he does those ninety-nine percent. I want to be part of the one percent.

  Taking a step back, I look past my initial response, because that’s what it is: mine, and instead, look at it the way Tate would. Not only that, but I look at with what I now know about Tate.

  He’s probably the most compassionate man I know. Who not only wants the world to be a better place, but works to make it that way. Sure, it’d be easier if he had ten million in his bank account, but look at everything he’s been able to do with what he has.

  Who can say if he continued to play baseball if he’d be able to do what he currently does, or even if he’d want to?

  When I take all that into account, I can see why he did what he did. Not only does it appear to be the best decision for him based on his character, it now seems to be the best decision period. Full stop.

  “You made the right choice,” I tell him, but even though he smiles when I say the words, it’s almost as if he’s waiting for me to continue. “What?” I ask because the longer we’re both silent, the more it becomes obvious he is waiting.

  “It was the best decision for me,” he says. “That’s what people always say when they say it was the best decision. They always add the 'for me' part.”

  “Bullshit.”

  His head snaps up. “What do you mean bullshit? What part is bullshit?”

  “The part where they say it was the best decision for you.” I push back from the table because I want him to know how important this next part is. Although based on the iron grip he has on the table, he knows I’m getting ready to say something he’s never heard.

  I take a step toward him. Then another. And another.

  Until I’m right in front of him. I place a hand on either side of him and lean in close so I’m all up in his face. “You did the right thing. Period. Anyone who says differently doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about.” There’s more I want to say, I know there is. At the moment, however, I can’t remember another word of what I want to say because his eyes hold me captive.

  The look he gives me is like a man who’s been lost in the desert looks at water. No one has ever looked at me with that expression before and it stuns me. He’s getting ready to ask me something and I really need to concentrate on what he says.

  * * *

  But he doesn’t ask me anything. He puts his arms around me and pulls me into his lap. My mouth opens in surprise as I fall on top of him. Before I can blink, his lips are on mine.

  It’s an unexpected kiss, but not unwanted in the least. I entwine my fingers in his hair and kiss him back.

  You know how you fantasize about how some guys kiss and they never live up to the fantasy? You’re left feeling a little let down but then you figure you’re actually kissing him so maybe it’s not that bad?

  Yeah.

  Kissing Tate is not like that at all. His kiss is more like what you want to fantasize about but you don't let yourself because you know it will never be that good. I’m here to tell you, not only can it be that good, it can actually be better.

  I’m sinking into him, allowing myself to get lost in the sensual delight that is kissing Tate, when he pulls back.

  “Carsen,” he pants. “We can’t.”

  “Because I’m your employee?” I tell myself I will not get off his lap, but it’s not an issue because he’s not trying to push me off. “It’s only for a month so it’s really not that big of a deal.”

  “It’s not because you’re my employee, although that’s another reason to stop.”

  “Then explain why you said we can't kiss.”

  He sighs and pulls back just enough to look in my eyes while he talks. “Because you and I will never work. We’re two people at two different places, heading in opposite directions, who just happened to cross paths for a short while.”

  I understand what he’s saying but I don’t want to. Or maybe it’s that I wish it wasn’t true. “Because…” I can’t bring myself to say it because it makes me feel so shallow.

  “Because you deserve your chance to shine. Because I’ve already had my place in the sun and I decided to walk away.”

  I hear what he’s saying, and he’s not making me feel like I’m wrong for wanting to go back to Nashville. But no matter the reason, he’s still saying we can’t do anything because we’re not heading to the same place. It shouldn’t matter. We’re two adults able to give consent and understand we’ll never be more than a hot affair.

  His reasons for making his decision are all around me. There’s no need for further explanations. I see them in every empty seat in this dining room. I hear the echo of their laughter whenever I step outside. But more than that, they're reflected in his eyes whenever he speaks about what he does for a living.

  He’s doing what he can to be an example to his campers and no matter how you slice it, sleeping with an employee is not on the list of appropriate behavior. It’s not even close.

  I nod my understanding. “I get you. Really, I do. But that doesn't mean I like it.”

  He gives me a sad smile. “If I could do anything I wanted, I’d spend the day with you. You’d be naked, and I’d keep you that way all day and all night.”

  I want it as well, but it’s clearly never going to happen. I climb down from his lap and clear the dishes. Wordlessly, he stands and helps.

  After cleaning the dishes and kitchen, we head to the fireplace room, although Tate teases me that its real name is The Gathering Place.

  I raise an eyebrow at that. “The Gathering Place? That makes it sound like it came from a Dr. Seuss book. Which is great. Everyone loves Dr. Seuss. But it’s not the vibe this place gives, you know?”

  I’m curled up on a soft rug in front of the fireplace while Tate sits at his desk working on something. It’s late morning and we should probably think about what we'll do for lunch. He hadn’t been lying when he said earlier in the week that the supplies in the pantry were getting low. Thank goodness the supplies and food are coming tomorrow.

  Tomorrow.

  One more piece of a day and one more night with him all to myself.

  “Hey,” I call to him when I need to get my mind on something other than the two of us being alone. “I thought we said today was a goof off and free from work day. What are you doing sitting at that desk?”

  He looks up. “Sorry. Old habits die hard.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” I move over on the rug, making a spot for him. I pat it. “Come over here and sit with me.”

  He gives me a look that suggests I just asked him to kick a puppy or something. I roll my eyes because I know what he’s worried about. “I promise to keep my hands to myself and I don’t bite unless provoked. So think of me as a grizzly bear or something and we’ll be fine.”

  It’s an out-and-out lie and we both know it, we’re just not going to say it out loud. We can both sit on this rug, but neither one of us will be fine. We’re playing with fire in front of the fire, which might actually be funny if it wasn’t for the fact that at that moment all I can think about is how Tate is getting up from his chair and walking over to me.

  He clenches his fists and stands for just a second before talking. “I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing because I’m not sure I remember anymore.”

  “If remembering means you’re not going to sit here with me, I don’t want you to remember.” I can’t say it any clearer than that. If he decides to sit down, he needs to know I’m not going to pull back this time. No way. My plan is take this as far as it’ll go and hopefully it’ll start with him taking me upstairs.

  But he seems content to stand there and for several minutes that’s what he does. I assume he’s trying to think of a way to tell me ‘no’ kindly so I won’t be a liability for him come Monday when the kids arrive. I do such a good job convincing myself, that when he sighs and sits down next to me, I’m speechless.

  “Did you not want me to sit down?” He asks when the silence grows uncomfortable.

  “That’s not what it is,” I tell him. “I wanted you to sit down, but I never thought you would.”

  “I meant what I said.” He reaches a hand up to sweep his knuckles across my cheekbone. “I’m going to stop fighting myself over how I feel for you. If you’re okay with what we do being just a fling, I can be too. Say the word and I’ll take you upstairs and make you mine for whatever time you’ll be here.”

  “Then what?” I ask, meaning when the kids arrive.

  “Then I do it again.”

  I give his arm a playful punch. “I meant when people start arriving. If one or both of us is always seen visiting the other after dark, we won’t be able to keep anything for secret very long.”

  “I’m fairly certain there’s going to be a major electrical problem in the guest house sometime during the next few hours that will necessitate your moving to the main house for the duration of your stay here.”

  That's not the response I expect. “I thought you were the only one who lived in this building?”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a guest room in case someone needs to stay here.”

  I’ve been all around the main building and I never remember seeing anything like a guest room. “On this floor or upstairs?”

  One corner of his mouth uplifts into a half smile. “This floor and thank goodness for that because I’m not bold enough yet to announce that you’re living on the same floor as me.”

  I think people will pretty much know what we’re up to as soon as they hear I’m living in the main building. Likewise, I’m pretty certain they won’t care a damn bit. I know I don’t care what they think of me personally, but then again I’m only here for a month and Tate has to live with them long after I leave.

  “Where at?” I ask. “I’m almost positive I’ve been over this entire floor and I’ve never seen anything that resembles a guest room.”

  “I'll show you later.” He stands, reaching for my hand to pull me up. “Right now I have a date with a thoroughly impressive woman and I don’t want to to be late.”

  I rise. “We can’t have that now can we?”

  I expect things to be awkward when we make it to his floor, but he doesn’t allow for any uncomfortable silence to set in. As soon as we make it into his bedroom, he turns toward me and takes me in his arms. His lips brush across mine, then travel up to nip at my earlobe.

  “You don’t know how many times this week I’ve fantasized about dragging you up here.”

  His words send shivers up my spine. “I know how many times I couldn't fall asleep or woke up in the middle of the night this week and thought about walking over here to see if you were awake as well.” I pull him closer and rest my hand on his ass.

  “Fuck,” he groans and slides his hands under my sweater.

  I smile against his skin and then whisper, “We'll get around to doing that, eventually.”

  This time he places his hand on my ass and rocks his lower body. He’s hard and I can get a taste of just how big he is when his motion brings his erection against me.

  “I think it’s about time we get around to that right now.” He emphasizes his point by drawing my shirt over my head.

  “And I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all week.”

  For the next few minutes we don’t talk. We’re too busy undressing each other. It’s crazy and unrestrained, and nothing like I’ve ever experienced.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says reverently when he’s stripped every bit of clothing off of me. It’s strange, but I don’t feel embarrassed or uncomfortable at all. It makes no sense to me, but it’s as if every moment of my life was pointing me to this man and this place.

  That can’t be the case, of course. My life is in Nashville, not a camp near Tallulah Falls, Georgia. But that’s okay. It’s good for now. I can have Nashville, but I’ll also have Tate.

  For a month, something inside me whispers and I force myself not to listen to it anymore.

  “You aren’t so bad yourself,” I reply with an appreciative look over his body. His years of being a professional athlete and all the manual labor he’s done since has sculpted his body to perfection. I could trace the lines of his six pack if I wanted to. I smile and decide I’ll think about doing that later.

  He lifts and carries me the few steps to his bed. We still don’t talk, we’re busy with our hands and mouths exploring and tasting each other. He’s a combination of contradictions: hard and gentle, rough and reverent, urgent and leisurely.

  He’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced and everything I never knew I wanted. As we come together, beneath the frenzied touches and our shared passion, I sense the sadness waiting. Because no matter how incredible tonight is or how much I’ll enjoy the next month, deep inside the truth is there.

  This is all I’ll ever have of him.

  Eleven

  "There are no good girls gone wrong - just bad girls found out." Mae West

  The ringing of a phone pulls me from my slumber. Surely to God it isn’t time to get up yet. I feel as if it’s been mere seconds since Carsen and I agreed on a quick nap before round four. I peek over her shoulder to the clock and I see I’m right.

  But the damn phone is still ringing.

  I have no idea where my phone ended up. It’s not on my nightstand. Carsen’s isn’t on her’s either, but she’d mentioned she didn’t get good service here with her provider, so that’s not too surprising. It also means it’s more than likely my phone that’s the nuisance.

  “Make it stop,” Carsen moans from my bed, pulling a pillow over her head.

  “I’m trying.” I’m on my hands and knees trying to find the damn thing. I’ve always loved how dark my bedroom is at night. Up in the mountains and away from any light pollution, makes my sleep environment perfect. Unfortunately, it’s not so good for finding things.

  I find a phone buried under a stack of discarded clothes. I snatch it off the floor and answer with an impolite, “What?”

  There’s a silence and I’m hoping whoever it is realizes what time it is and apologizes for being a bastard and waking me up.

  “Tate?” a rough voice asks.

  “Elliott, what are you doing calling….” My voice trials off and I pull the phone away in horror, realizing it’s Carsen’s. She hops down from the bed and trips.

  Because, you know, zero light pollution.

  “Are you okay?” I turn on the nearest lamp and hurry to her and make sure she’s not hurt.

  Elliott, meanwhile is still yammering loud enough for us both to hear even though he’s not on speaker and the phone isn’t anywhere near my ear.

  “Tate Maddox,” he yells. “You better have a damn good reason for answering my sister’s phone in the middle of the night. Carsen, get your ass on the phone. Right. Fucking. Now.”