She could still feel Marissa’s hands, her mouth, her kisses. She could hear the way Marissa had moaned yes over and over. If she closed her eyes she could see Marissa’s face red with exertion, beaded with sweat and creased with unyielding determination to climb that damn cliff. She had the heart of a lioness and the strength of a woman. A woman’s fragility, passion, sweetness—but Marissa wasn’t the only one, Linda reminded herself. There had been other women in her life who were equally remarkable. The sea was full of diverting, intriguing fish. So why, oh why did she long to go after Marissa?

She always moved forward, never back. Going back hurt too much.

Run away, the pain advised. It’s always been the safest choice. Let the lawyers track you to the New Zealand bush, to an unoccupied bach not on any map. By then you’ll be in Australia.

Why was Marissa different? Like all the others, she’d first noticed the false exterior. As with all the others, Linda had laughed and played, flirted and rambled—it was a mask she had worn comfortably since childhood. Marissa had acted just like the others in response.

Except she hadn’t, not when it mattered.

Last night. Last night Marissa had wanted and Linda had gladly given. Last night Marissa had wanted more and in the dark had reached for Linda with hunger and touched the only places Linda felt were really her. She’d whispered sweet and powerful things in the dark, reacting to what she felt, not what she saw.

All the others had stopped listening at some point.

All the others had never failed to whisper the final blow: “You’re so beautiful.”

She started walking while old pain warred with new, the new pain born when Marissa had disappeared from her sight. Tahiti Faa’a Airport wasn’t very big and she had hours until her flight. Leaving the secured area, she quickly walked to the small marketplace just across the street, losing herself in the bright colors and scents of roasting fish and pineapple.

Marissa had never called her beautiful. Instead, she’d called her strong. Instead of going away and watching the rest of the night as if from a high corner in the room, Linda had stayed in the moment. She had felt everything Marissa had done. Felt it and let it feel good. Orgasm had been terrifying but she had stayed, and let it happen.

Just before sleep Marissa had asked, “You’re not even a dream I had, so how can you be real?”

She’d had no answer. She hadn’t felt real at that moment, not in the least. What had been real was the solidity of Marissa against her.

Wrapped close in Marissa’s arms, Linda had been enveloped by a feeling so foreign and so welcome that she’d known, upon waking to Marissa’s gentle, sweet kisses, that she had cried in her sleep.

Marissa was gone, and even the memory of the feeling was fading. Abruptly, reliving it was scary. She’d let Marissa close—too close, the pain whispered.