Climbing carefully against the craggy rocks, Jillian nestled herself against the rough-hewn steps. Nature’s steps. That was what she liked best about the Oregon coast, it was made by nature, not designed by a landscape architect. It was this view, the scenery from outside the bungalow, that made her decide to stay there.

She liked it best in places like this. Rocky cliffs that descended to the sea. Caves hidden in the sea wall where she knew sea lions would hide. There was no sand here, no beach really. Just an angry place where the sea met the rocks, where rocks stood tall in their opposition of the waves.

Jillian never bothered to explain her fascination with the sea to anyone in New York anymore. The Atlantic with its sandy beaches and seas smooth enough for sailboats and swimming was not what she meant. Tension melted from her shoulders as she watched boats bobbing in the distance. So small they couldn’t even be used as a child’s bath toy.

Fishing boats, not pleasure yachts. Rough men with gnarled hands plucking the livelihood of their families from the ocean depths. Rules and regulations made on another coast getting in their way.

Salt so deep in the air it stung her lungs when she breathed deep. Yet she did it again, and again. Inhaling with the fierce melody of the surf crashing against the rocks below. She hadn’t sat on a cliff like this and just watched since the night her father died. The night she knew she either had to run, or jump.

His words still lived in the depths of her mind, his deathbed confession. His green eyes wild with pain and hope. Hope that she would escape the traps he stepped in, that she would find a way to break the binds a small town could imprison you with.

“There’s a boy, Jilly. He doesn’t know. He has a father, but if he ever needs anything, you have to promise.”

“Of course, Daddy. Of course.” He’d been delirious for two days, the pain making him scream, cry and pass out at intervals. He didn’t have any idea what he was saying. But Jillian was left to listen to it, alone, while her mother went off to work and her sisters hid behind their responsibilities.

“In my desk. There’s a blue file. His birth certificate, Terry’s phone number. Call her when I’m gone. Tell her if Josh ever needs anything, that you’ll be there.”

Josh. Her heart stopped dead. Josh. He wasn’t delirious at all. When her heart started again the beat was slow, steady. She knew this already somewhere inside. That there was a life he kept from them all. A happiness he forged somewhere else.

“She married last year. Moved to Idaho. But you’ll make sure? Please, baby. There’s no one else I can ask, no one who knows.”

“Of course, Daddy.” The words came automatically, stifling the questions. His eyes closed, differently than usual. Calm, no longer pinched at the sides.

“In the file there is a letter. If Terry ever tells him, I wanted to be able to explain.” The eloquence of his voice had returned, the phrasing and diction she remembered. Lately every word was tense with pain, stretched, torn from him. Jillian took his hand, the skin so thin and smooth she wondered if he’d even have fingerprints anymore. She wanted to scream, to demand, to berate, but instead she counted the seconds between each labored breath.

His whole married life had been a lie. The family-man pediatrician had a child with another woman. Jillian had come home to hold his hand, graduating a term early, knowing this was the last time they’d have together. She and her champion. He’d told her not to come, before, when he was still managing the pain. Told her to live her dreams, not let anything stand in the way. Because when your dreams die, you die a little too.

In one mind-spinning moment, she knew what he meant when he spoke the words that day. He’d let his dreams die. With Terry, whom she assumed was Josh’s mother. Did they have a great love or a simple affair? He said Josh had a father—did the man know?

He gasped, sucking the air straight from her lungs and clenching her hand. She knew without counting that it was his last. He was gone, but he’d killed himself moments before in her mind. He was not who she thought he was, someone whose clone she wanted for herself. This home was not real, an illusion too easily shattered.

Breath hissed from his mouth, a haunting whistle hovering in the room. Her eyes watered, but it wasn’t crying, really. Tears falling, her heart breaking, but she didn’t cry for him. No matter what he’d done, what he’d destroyed, no one deserved that kind of pain, and it was better he was out of it.

The digital alarm clock by the bed beeped, reminding her another dose of pain medication was due. Jillian released his hand and silenced the clock. Her mother would be home in half an hour. She took a deep breath, death invading her lungs. Her eyes burned, but still there was work to be done, a promise to be kept.

She went to her father’s office, the room next to the bedroom they’d altered to serve as his sickroom. Inside she went straight to the desk, straight to the bright blue folder as if she’d known it was there all along. She didn’t touch anything else, just took the folder to the closet where her backpack was and slid it inside.

There was too much to do to bother with it now. A list of numbers to be dialed, people to inform. Her mother had it meticulously planned, from the medical examiner to the funeral home, all in simple step-by-step instructions. If she got to it, she could have it done before anyone made her actually feel what had happened.

Calls made, questions answered, Jillian sat at the kitchen table when her mother came through the back door. They didn’t speak, just exchanged a knowing look that shattered Jillian’s heart. She’d have to remember to thank her mother someday, for not making her say the words.

Her mother kissed her forehead lightly, opening the floodgates of tears she’d managed to hold back. Jillian wanted desperately for someone to hold her, to tell her it could all be put together again. But she didn’t have that kind of mother.

Alone in the kitchen, she squelched the emotions, bit back the tears, grabbed her backpack and the keys from the counter and hopped in her mother’s car. She didn’t stop until she hit the trailhead for the hiking trail along the cliffs dropping to the sea below.

Her mother would scream about the dent in the fender, but Jillian didn’t care. She’d be gone by the time anyone noticed.

She hustled along the desolate path, thankful it wasn’t tourist season, or good weather for that matter. Overcast with air so damp you could taste the salt, no one bothered with sightseeing.

Her pace quickened until she could feel the blood pumping against her eardrums, her teeth aching from the exertion. But she didn’t slow down. She knew exactly where she needed to be and didn’t bother with anything else until she stepped free of the tree line and made her way down the rocks.

He’d taught her how to navigate her way down, exactly where to place her feet, where to hold on. She hadn’t been here since before she left college, hadn’t been here with her father since she was allowed to take walks alone.

Wind whipped through her, her college sweatshirt and jeans no barrier for a Pacific gust. It lifted her hair, pushing it from her scalp. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t get colder. Reaching the edge of the rocky cliff, she sat, her feet dangling over the precipice. If she kicked off a shoe it would fall so far and pitch into the surf so fast she wouldn’t even hear it.

You couldn’t hear a thing here. The wind hit full force against the rocks, blowing past your ears, and the surf crashed with a fury below. Here, you could say whatever you needed, and no one would know. That was why she brought his words, his secrets.

Careful not to open her backpack too much, she found the folder and peeked inside. Her eyes scanned official-looking documents. No pictures, which was probably for the best. Her fingers hit on the envelope, white and rectangular like the ones used to send out bills.

He hadn’t even sealed it. Still within the backpack, she unfolded the plain white paper before pulling it out.

So much like her own, his handwriting comforted her. Though his words did not. He wrote of love and marriage, obligation and compromise, how nothing was what he wanted it to be. He wrote the same words to this child he’d said to her a few months ago.

Live your dreams, no matter how crazy they seem. Let them run wild and free. Don’t bottle them, concede them to another. Dreams and ambition are what keep you alive. You die a little every time you barter them away. Live your life so you can live your dreams. Learn from my mistake.

Sobs racked her body, emotions so powerful they threatened to pitch her over the edge into the churning abyss below. Somehow she held on, cried it out until her eyes were dry, her mouth parched, her throat raw from screaming.

It felt good to feel something besides the loss. An hour ago she’d wante the mirror image of her father’s life. To get married in the same church her parents wed in, earning her white dress. To be the perfect professional’s wife, write a column for the local newspaper in between diaper changes and soccer games.

But that life was not what it seemed. It rang empty now, and she needed to fill it up with something so loud she wouldn’t have to hear herself mourning it.

New York came to her in a rush. A girlfriend had moved there last summer, there seemed a never-ending supply of underpaid copywriting jobs she was overqualified for. She could go, now, get away from the girl who wanted things that weren’t real, that didn’t last. Be someone else entirely. Someone who dreamed dreams she alone could make come true. Someone who would never rest her happiness on someone who could disappoint.

She’d done that, lived it every day for the last four years, but her life rang as empty now as it did that day. A hollow sound to remind all who heard it something big was missing. It was that emptiness that drove her back here, back to him.

She dug her bare heels against the jagged rocks, wondering how hard she’d need to push to slice them open. To feel something more than this loss. She’d be leaving on Saturday, as soon as the photographer flying in for the day was done collecting pictures of the resorts and making her mediagenic for the masses. Despite Ben’s pretty words and promises, she knew he’d disappoint her if she expected a day more.

Was that why she’d decided to help Angela? Because she didn’t really expect to see him after she left? She’d promised not to tell him until tomorrow, giving Angela enough time to contact Jay herself. She’d be able to tell Ben what she’d done the last day she had with him. Was it a self-sabotaging excuse, so she could think he dropped her because of an act instead of not being enough herself?

No matter what he said, she would not let herself be suckered into believing he’d call. Believing his hopeful promises of working it through. She’d get on that plane, and take with her what she came to find out. There was something about him, and only him, that stirred her. She’d got what she came for, but she had no idea what to do with that information.

Water splattered against the tip of her nose. She looked around, noticing fat droplets falling carelessly about. A storm was coming; she could see it hanging on the horizon. The storm front was almost upon them, a warning to usher people inside and out of harm’s way.

Jillian wanted to be nowhere else. Just here, on the rocks, watching the storm make its way on shore. She couldn’t see the boats any longer. The roar of the sea grew louder as the clouds darkened and rain blurred her vision.

The sea battled the clouds, rain the intermediary, sometimes falling down, other times flowing up. A beautiful thing so many people missed, the sea during a storm. It was all water, the clouds, the rain, the ocean, yet they attacked one another with such vengeance you’d never think they’d ever be one again.

Heat stirred against her back, pure warmth, not a touch, just a fever. She swallowed hard, knowing it was him, probably wanting to know why she was sitting in the middle of a rainstorm like a crazy person, coming here to drag her back inside.

His legs slid on the outside of hers as he sat behind her, not nudging her forward on the edge even a centimeter. His sultry body spiked her temperature from sheer proximity. She knew that like the storm, they’d be over soon. But like the storm, they could be fast and furious while it raged.

His hands circled her waist, pressing her back against him, farther from the edge. She leaned back, resting her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes so the raindrops could splash against her lashes.

“You can take the girl out of Oregon...” Ben’s voice rumbled against her, his lips licking the rain from her neck.

“What?” She didn’t fight the smile, wrapped her hands around his.

“Anyone else would be running inside. If I’d known you like the rain so much, I wouldn’t have pulled you inside that day on the course. We’ll never get another chance where it is that deserted.”

“Why was it deserted?’ His body stiffened behind her, but his kiss against her neck deepened. Almost distracting her to the point where she didn’t hear him answer.

“Because I wanted you to myself.”

He was lying. She could feel it. She couldn’t fathom why he would lie, but it didn’t matter. It made him less perfect, made it all the more easy, really. If he could lie to her about that, then he could lie about anything. So getting what she came for, and getting out, was all there was.

“You wouldn’t even kiss me.” She lifted his hands from her tummy to her breasts.

“I don’t kiss students.”

“Then you’ll have to stop teaching me things.” Thunder roared overhead, making her jump. That was close. She liked to storm watch, but she didn’t have a death wish. “Let’s go inside.”

“Take off your shirt first. And your bra.” She tried to turn to look at him, but he kept her head forward with the side of his face. “I want to watch the rain dance on you. Take them off.”

Without analyzing, she did it. Reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, undid the front snap of her bra and shrugged out of it. Jillian wanted to let it all go. Just take this in and remember every nuance of it. To hell with who could be watching, or getting caught.

She leaned her bare body against him and watched the rain dancing across her skin. The water jumping. When she watched, she felt every raindrop as it pelted against her torso.

The rain became heavier, the sky darkening as the storm moved closer. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensations as each drop splattered against her skin. She wanted to move, to try and catch them on her tightening nipples, but stayed still instead. Let the rain fall where it may.

Behind her, she felt his arousal growing against the small of her back. Swelling as she was tightening.

“If you go—” his raspy whisper tickled her ear, sending a chill down her side, “—even the rain will miss you.”

Thunder clapped overhead, covering the way her body stiffened at his words. This was just sex for him. The rain would miss her willing nakedness as much as he would. She wanted to tell him to stop with the false promises, that even though she knew, he was breaking her a little with each one.

“I’d go with you if I could. But I can’t get away for a few more weeks. When can you come back?” The words pierced through her, driving the rain through her skin like pinpricks. Such pretty lies. “I want to make sure I get the office set up at the house so we don’t have to stay here.”

Lightning flashed even behind her closed lids. This was it, the end.

Jillian straightened up, not wanting to risk his seeing the teardrops betraying her eyes. She wiped the water from her face, her fingers dancing over the velvet ribbon on her neck. If she were writing this story, what kind of ending would she want?

Ben’s hands cupped her breasts, his hot mouth and the cool rain massaging all the tension out of her neck. His wet kisses went deeper and deeper into the muscle, relaxing her body completely, except for the electric thrill coursing down her spine. The heat and the suction and—Jillian’s mind awakened and she shrugged him off.

“Careful, I have a photo shoot tomorrow, remember?” Lightning flashed again. This time it lit up the entire shoreline. “We should go in.”

Gripping her waist, Ben hauled her back over his leg. “Let’s stay here. I’ll just move lower.” His head dipped, but Jillian caught it in her hands.

“Are you trying to mark me?” In the storm-darkened light, she couldn’t read his expression. If he was, what did that mean? Instead of answering, he tried to dip his head again, but she held it firm, trying to search his face through the dark and the rain. “Answer me.”

“When are you coming back?”

Jillian blinked, her eyelashes heavy with rain. She did not want to waste their time together fighting and making promises too easily broken.

“When, Jilly?”

“I won’t know until after my meeting on Monday.” She swallowed hard. Why did he insist on this charade? She released his face and scooted away, grabbing her shirt and bra as she stood. “When are you coming to New York?”

“Three weeks, at least.” He caught her hand. He squinted as the rain fell between them. “I was. Trying to leave something on you. Not on purpose, really. Just something so you’d look in the mirror and think of me.”

“I already have that.” Jillian pulled her hand back, her finger rubbing the wet velvet as she watched him rise to his feet. An idea flashed through her mind like the lightning overhead. With one hand she undid the snap and pulled it from her neck. “Take off your shirt.”

Her heart raced. Could she really do this? Did she really want to? Ben peeled the polo shirt off his body, the muscles rippling in the faint light coming from the bungalow. There was no turning back now.

“Put it back on.” Ben’s voice was gravelly and low as he stepped closer, until they were toe to toe. So close not even the rain could fall between them, though their bodies didn’t touch at all.

She reached for his arm, trying to wrap the choker around, but he pulled away as if she’d burned him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“You can’t do it, can you?” Jillian pressed her body against his, the feel of her naked chest against his empowering her. Skin so slick it slid with every husky word. “You think I didn’t know what this was? Sweet, innocent Jillian didn’t know you’d collared her. Didn’t know what that meant?”

Jillian squeezed her shirt in her left hand, squeezing down the fear. She could do this. Then he would know how it felt to give someone that kind of trust only to have it washed away. With her right hand she dragged the ribbon up his arm. She could feel his angry huffs of breath, see the tense set of his jaw.

“Let’s play my way tonight.” She didn’t have his expertise, his vast repertoire, but she knew what she wanted to make him feel. She knew she could do that, without tricks or games, if he’d only let her.

“No.” His refusal sent her stomach plummeting to the bottom of the sea.

“Fine. You don’t want to play my way, then you can go home.” Jillian clutched her shirt to her chest, along with what was left her pride, and made the short walk back into the room. She peeled off her skirt, realizing she’d left her shoes outside. No matter. They were probably ruined from the rain anyway.

Tossing the wet ribbon on the bed, she made her way to the dressing room where she dried her body before slipping into a creamy satin nightgown. The smooth fabric scratched at her skin as she rubbed the towel through her hair.

Tossing the towel to the ground, she leaned against the wall and gave a defeated sigh. Even her reflection in the mirrors looked dejected. If she left it like this she might never see him again.

She wanted him. And the only way to get him would be to go outside and apologize. If he was still there. If not she’d have to hunt him down at home. In the dark. In the rain.

She leaned her head back, letting it bump into the wall. What had she been thinking? She just wanted to make love to him, long and slow and quiet. So he’d know how she felt, really. She couldn’t give him the words only to have them echoed in her mind every night he didn’t call.

With a flick of her wrist, she turned out the lights and stepped out of the dressing room. The bedroom was dark, barely lit by the moonlight streaming through the open windows. But she could make out his frame, sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with something in his hands.

Her smile arched her cheeks into her eyes as glee shot through her. He was here. He would let her play.