We’d driven about ten minutes before I gave up trying to determine whether I was ecstatic to be with Gilbert again or experiencing a sense of dread knowing what it would be like after. If that brief time with him at the gym and at my house had so royally fucked with my brain and celibacy, spending the night with him, in his bed, and waking up with him, was surely going to be calamitous. Ultimately it didn’t matter. I was doing this. We were doing this. And if the consequences later were going to be as bad as I predicted, I needed to enjoy the hours we had together, otherwise it was pointless. Besides, I was overanalyzing, as I always did. I was thinking of this as a brief relationship. One that had a time limit. It wasn’t. This was a hookup. Sure, a more intense hookup with someone who affected me in ways only one other person ever had. Truth be told, Gilbert affected me more than Levi ever had. God, no wonder I was terrified.

And, again, fuck it. I needed to be in the moment. Make sure whatever the price was going to be would be worth it. I cleared my throat and glanced at Gilbert, though I had no idea what to say.

He turned from the road for a second and cocked an eyebrow. “You okay? You’ve looked on the verge of a stroke ever since we got in the car.”

I forced a laugh. “Yeah, I’m good. Just—” How did I explain any of this without looking insane or scaring him away? “—didn’t see this happening. My brain is trying to catch up.”

Gilbert nodded. “Know what you mean.”

And that was part of it. As hard-edged as Gilbert seemed, and for as much as he played the sexed-up playboy, he kept confirming that he felt as strange as I did. Maybe if I believed it was all in my head, I could then let it go and treat him as nothing more than a ready, talented cock. But that wasn’t the case. These feelings obviously weren’t one-sided.

He drummed the steering wheel with his thumbs. “You mind if I turn on the radio? Maybe music will help ease us a bit.”

Yep, feeling the same as me. “Good idea.”

“You mind country music?”

My laugh was real this time. “I’m from the South. I’m good with country music, though I never would’ve have pegged you for a fan. Despite that straw hat you like to wear.”

“I’m not.” He flipped on the radio. Fiddles and steel guitars blared through the speakers. He winced and turned it down. “Sorry.”

“Sure sounds like you’re a fan, unless you’re into torturing yourself when you drive by using music you hate to murder your eardrums.”

He shrugged. “My therapist would probably say that is exactly something I would do. But not in this case. I’m designing some jewelry for a country music singer, and I find it helps to immerse myself in my clients’ worlds as much as I can when I’m in the designing stages. Once we’ve settled on a design, then I can go back to normal. Thank God.” He flashed a grin. “I designed a necklace for another country singer in December, and I think Andrew had his hopes up that I’d be converted. I wasn’t. Now it seems I’ve broken into the ranks of the country music elite, much different from my pop clients. Well, not really. But while I’m not the biggest fan of pop music, the more I listen to country, the less I like it.” Another grin. “But keep that between you and me. If they hear me bashing the genre, they might look for someone else to make their jewelry. And they have just as much money to spend as any pop star.”

Both of those revelations threw me off, neither matching the picture of Gilbert I’d built in my mind. He was in therapy? And he was a jewelry designer? The second topic seemed safer, considering the emotional high-wire I was already on. “I never pictured you as a jewelry designer.”

He cocked a brow again. “You imagined what I do, huh? What did you figure?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “For a minute I pictured you as a truck driver, with the hat and the plaid shirts. That or cowboy of some sort. But I discarded those pretty quickly. You and your clothes are way too fancy for either of them. So I figured you were in oil or something. Plenty of money but still needing to fit in with the good old boys club. Of course, there was always the option of you being a male model, but—” I stopped talking abruptly, suddenly aware I’d revealed just how much I’d thought about him over the past months.

If the realization threw Gilbert off, he didn’t let on. “Those all sound horrible. And the only modeling I might enjoy would be the porn kind. That’s gotta be fun, right?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Now that you know I design jewelry, has your view of me changed? Still wanna get fucked by a guy with such a nelly career?” There was a touch of defiance in his tone, of challenge.

“I’m glad, actually. An artist is much more my speed than a… I mean, I respect artists. Not that truck drivers or farmers are bad or anything. I just….” Fuck.

He chuckled. “You overwhelm yourself a lot, don’t you?”

I sighed. “Obviously.”

“It’s kinda charming.”

It was the first compliment he’d given that wasn’t about my body, about my talented ass, or a precursor to fucking me. I chose to ignore that it was about my lack of smoothness and just held on to the idea he found me charming. I didn’t want him to look too closely, though. That type of charm would quickly be revealed to be nothing more than the result of an insecure mess. I turned the spotlight back on him, and not just to avoid stumbling over myself. “You must be doing something right if you’re designing for stars and famous people.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I do all right. I’m a really good designer. Not the best, but good.” There wasn’t any false humility in his tone, nor arrogance. He was just stating facts. “What I’m the best at is throwing caution to the wind and going for it. If you can convince one of the people in the in-crowd you’re the shit, the rest will fall in line. If you’ve got an ounce of talent and a shitload of perseverance and chutzpah, that’s really all it takes.”

That explained why he looked like he had money. “Well, I can’t imagine talking to all those famous people. I’d probably—holy shit!” At the moment, we rounded a corner and the view changed. The snowcapped mountains were still off in the distance, though closer now, but the sky full of stars reflected off the black smoothness of Lake Tahoe, surrounded by silhouettes of pine trees.

“Pretty gorgeous, right?”

That description didn’t even begin to cover it. “Yeah. I can see why you live here.” I fell silent, captured by the beauty.

A softer song came on the radio, more acoustic guitar, less twang of fiddles. Gilbert turned it up slightly.

Another few minutes and the wild, majestic scenery gave way to a little town. Nothing more than a strip of shops. Cute. Touristy. Almost like…. “Kinda reminds me of Lavender Shores. Just smaller.”

Gilbert stiffened. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. My mother says I traded one Lavender Shores for another. My father—” He gave a mirthless laugh. “—says I traded Lavender Shores for its tackier, smaller cousin.” He drummed his thumbs again, though not in time with the music. “It doesn’t matter. I’m never in town, and whatever else it may be, it’s not Lavender Shores, so that’s all I care about.”

I nearly asked why he seemed to hate the place I loved so much, but figured that wouldn’t help the evening go as we’d hoped. Hell, judging from the distance in his voice, it might cause him to turn the car around and take me back to the spa.

The song changed, turning into something loud and crass. Gilbert didn’t lower the volume, probably glad to terminate the conversation. We hadn’t touched during the entire drive over. Doing so would’ve been strange. It was a hookup—sex. We weren’t doing the whole “holding hands while you drive” thing. But between the music and the change in the tone of the conversation, I suddenly felt cut off from him, more than before. Some insane part of me wanted to reach over and take his hand. Form a link between us again, maybe soothe some of the tension that seemed to rise within him.

That wasn’t my place, so I kept my hands to myself.

In little more than a blink of the eye, we were past the town, and it faded in the distance, giving way to wild scenery once more. We drove on a winding road that followed the curves of the lake. For several minutes we disappeared into the trees, and then the lake emerged once more, though this time, below us. I hadn’t felt us gaining elevation, but as we pulled up to a log cabin, the change was obvious. It was perched on a rocky cliff that overlooked Lake Tahoe and the mountains. The mountains were huge around us, which made sense, considering we were now in them.

Gilbert parked in the driveway and shut off the engine. “Home sweet home.” Before I could respond, he got out of the car. As I stepped out, he retrieved my bag from the trunk and carried it toward the cabin. He didn’t seem irritated with me, just distant.

I shut the door and followed him. A few feet away and the car beeped and locks clicked behind me. Like his job, Gilbert’s cabin wasn’t what I’d pictured for him either. Especially now, considering his career. It was tiny, and though it was pretty and well made, it was just a cabin. Like a grown-up version of Lincoln Logs. I loved it, but it wasn’t at all what I’d thought might suit him. Just another reminder that I had no idea who Gilbert Bryant was. A thought that shouldn’t be a surprise nor cause a twinge of disappointment.

Gilbert offered a smile as he unlocked the door and then stood aside. I stepped in, followed by Gilbert, who flicked on the lights and closed the door behind us.

I managed not to make a sound, though I’d nearly gasped. The inside, though still cabinish, sort of, fit my version of Gilbert. Huge wooden beams glistened in the vaulted ceiling, but the walls were smooth and painted a rich blue-gray. The furniture, though a mix of wood and metal, was sleek and modern. And expensive. The space was gorgeous, out of a magazine. But it didn’t look overly comfortable or homey. Which made sense based on what I’d gotten from Gilbert so far. I pushed up my glasses and allowed myself to look around, which was little more than a slow spin. Though it had high ceilings, the place was small and completely open-concept, with the exception of two doorways into darkened rooms to the right, which probably led to the bedroom and bathroom. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks. I had an interior designer do it, though Andrew keeps telling me I should let him redo it all.” He shrugged. “But living in the cabin of Goldilocks and the Three Bears isn’t really my thing.”

“I can see that.” I reached for my bag. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be having you carry my things.”

He handed it over. “It’s okay.” He looked nervous, which was an odd look on him. “The bathroom and bedroom are over there.” He gestured with his chin to the darkened rooms. “Make yourself at home. I’m gonna pour a glass of scotch. Would you like one?”

I’d never had scotch but doubted it mattered if I’d like it or not. Obviously the drink was more about nerves than anything else. “Sure. That sounds great. Thank you.”

“Awesome. I’ll make it a double. For both of us.”

Yep, for sure nerves.

As he crossed the room toward the kitchen, I headed off in the opposite direction. The first room was the bedroom. I turned on the light and set my bag inside the doorway. The bedroom matched the rest of the house—modern, clean, not overly comfortable. But it managed to fit a king-sized bed within its narrow walls. While the bed looked comfy enough, it made the room seem crowded; though, if Gilbert lived like I figured he did, a king-sized bed was probably a necessity. The bathroom, like the rest, was a marbled temple to modern luxury, though it made sense there. Gilbert and I had rinsed off in the outdoor shower at the spa. I’d nearly suggested showering in my room but had been afraid we’d end up fucking and he’d just leave after. Maybe that had been a mistake. It seemed like Gilbert was regretting bringing me here. Maybe I was regretting coming.

I could ask him to take me back. Or get a cab. If there were cabs on the mountain, which I doubted.

The thought brought a wave of relief, which was promptly smothered by the next wave of regret.

I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to be here, be with him. I’d originally wanted to have him fuck me again, enjoy his body like I had before, relive the experience of sex with Gilbert—as it was hands down better than any I’d had before—but as I looked at my reflection in his mirror, I had to admit, I also simply wanted to be with Gilbert. To understand the man a little better. Maybe soothe away some of the hurt that seemed so near the surface. Though I wasn’t even sure hurt was the right word. Maybe he wasn’t hurting; maybe he was just angry. I wanted to soothe that too. And holy fuck, obviously my penchant for wanting to fix the broken-little-bird type of man was alive and well. Even though I knew how dangerous that inclination was.

The shower called to me. Ten minutes under the hot spray would take away my doubts, maybe have Gilbert join me and clear away both our doubts. Using his shower without his permission seemed a little much, though. Still, I needed something. I found a washcloth and waited for the water in the sink to warm up. It would be better than nothing.

When I exited the bathroom, I felt refreshed but still hesitant. I’d almost been tempted to stay in there and hide. Gilbert was waiting for me on the couch. He was halfway through his tumbler and held out a full glass toward me. I crossed the room and took it, tilted it to my lips, and downed the entire thing in one gulp. It burned and took a considerable effort not to cough.

Gilbert guffawed. “Well, all right, then. That’s how tonight’s going.” He followed my example and drained his glass. He grinned over at me, some of the flirting back, but not entirely. “One more? Maybe not a double this time? I realize I made things a little heavy back there. Lavender Shores tends to do that to me. But scotch can help.”

After the first drink, I’d decided I wasn’t a fan of scotch, though I was proud of myself for keeping my reaction neutral. I was certain the stuff was expensive, and it wouldn’t do to scrunch up my face in disgust. Doubtlessly it hadn’t been meant to be treated like a shot. “You bet. I’m feeling a little bit nervous myself.”

He lifted the glass out of my hands and nodded, like me being nervous wasn’t exactly news. “Well, then, scotch it is. I’m sure another few minutes and those nerves will fade. If not, I bet they’ll drop away with every bit of clothing you remove.” Gilbert winked and then turned toward the kitchen. He paused halfway and looked back at me. “Now that I think about it, why don’t you go ahead and start that process. I think the third shot of scotch should be a naked one, don’t you?”

I froze, suddenly self-conscious. Of my nerves, of my too-pale skin, of my stupid glasses.

Gilbert plopped the tumblers on a side table close by and yanked off his shirt, then dropped it to the floor. “There. I’ll get us started.” He pulled off his belt and dropped it as well, then retrieved the glasses and turned back toward the kitchen.

I’d seen him shirtless little more than half an hour before, and he’d been stunning, of course, but it was different in the hot springs. Everyone had been halfway naked; it was just what you did. But here, in the middle of his living room, as he prepared to get us completely buzzed and ready to fuck, seeing his hairy chest and abs, then his muscled back as he walked away, was a completely different sort of experience. An erotic one that made my erection surge to life, shoved away all thoughts of how complicated things with Gilbert already felt, and did a decent job of soothing my insecurities. His smooth back glistened in the room’s soft lighting. He had a blue-and-purple heart tattoo on his right shoulder. I hadn’t noticed it before. A heart tattoo. One more thing I never would’ve guessed about him. Somehow it added to the wounded bird image that continued to grow.

Maybe Gilbert needed the scotch to get ready, but this was my drug of choice. Watching him move around his home half dressed. Sex had a way of making the entire world disappear. Suffocating every hurt and fear, at least for a little while. Of making me vanish. All the jumbling past that made up Walden Thompson. Sex I could do. And do well.

I kept my gaze on Gilbert as I stripped. By the time I had my shirt and pants off, the tumblers were refilled and he looked at me again. Though he was behind the counter, he made a show of removing his jeans. He picked up the glasses but stayed where he was. “Take off your underwear, Walden. Let me see that big, uncut cock of yours.”

God yes. Just the way he spoke to me, the rumble in his voice. The desire in his eyes. It washed away what was left of my insecurity. I didn’t question his authenticity or his attraction. I stepped out of my underwear and stood tall, loving his gaze traveling over my body.

“Fuck yeah, man. That’s what I wanted to see.”

I gripped my erection, giving it a couple of strokes, but paused when he stepped out from behind the counter. I’d forgotten just how fucking hot he really was. Strong, hairy thighs, tight calves, and that thick, cut cock that bobbed enticingly as he walked toward me.

He held out the drink. “Here you go, stud. I know you like to bottom, but you’re gonna need this.”

I nearly groaned in desire, but held it back. Instead I took the drink and lifted it between us.

He clinked his glass on mine. “To fucking like nothing else matters.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

We downed our drinks, and then he motioned toward the bedroom. “Come on.”