In my younger professional days, I was subjected to the vagaries of chauvinistic attitudes of older males who could not in the least believe I could possibly be in possession of a body that had both a brain and a vagina.

But those days are in my past. It doesn't occur to me anymore that I need to prove myself. More importantly, most men like working with me and the feeling's mutual; I think they like my approach and the fact that I don't run scared when things get tough.

On the other hand ... for all my ease with men on a professional level, Diary, we both know that I am not as confident around men when it comes to the ancient dance of sexual pursuit.

Here's a confession, Diary. Of all the men in this group, it is Maximus with whom I believe I will never find common ground. My reasons, as is my want, are rather complicated. Let's start with the most obvious. Picture Maximus in your mind, Diary. Got it? A man of honor, discipline, rigid views, warrior, brilliant, dangerous, stoic, powerful. Uber man. But trapped by his view of what a man should be because he is a product of his time - when men did men's things and women stayed in their place, which was a place prescribed by men.

Now there's a man, Diary, who has some notions that seem to need a bit of modernization to me. Can you imagine, for one second, the meeting of a true feminist and that dinosaur?

Ah, but I'm not that uncomplicated ... for there is a part of me that cannot fail to acknowledge that Maximus is a man of great attraction to me - both on a purely sexual level but also because I admire him, almost to the point of reverence, for the honor of his personal ethics, the courage of his rigid beliefs and the depth of his emotions.

And, so, if I'm being honest, I must admit that I found this man intimidating to the point of not allowing myself to ever imagine that we could become lovers, like I have been with the other men I've met so far. I believed I would pass out if he ever looked at me with want in his eyes. He was so far out of the league of a woman like me.

Here's what it is then, Diary: I just knew he'd piss me off royally and I was also scared to death of him.

I'd watched him since I've been in this World and I'd learned a few things about him, even as I deliberately hid from his notice. He is a dominator - he will overpower women sexually and mentally. It seemed to me that even the strongest of our group of women, Bou, let him have his way when it came right down to it; but then she is a product of his time as well.

I have watched how he has seduced the other women, none of whom are exactly weak, to giving in to him and allowing him to assume his customary role as the boss over them. Not that they don't enjoy it and don't feel loving toward him; nor do they see it that way, I'm sure. I read their diaries and know each comes away with deep feelings for the General. It's not this uncomplicated, but I think a lot of woman do so like to have a 'real' man who can make things very simple for them. You know - the whole 'I'm the man, you're the woman, now get down there and suck my dick' bit?

Sorry, that was damned uncharitable of me, wasn't it? I mean, who am I to criticize? I had no problems with Hando, who's probably actually said those words. Hmm. He might have even said them to me.

But with Hando, you go into it knowing it's about sexual domination and if that's what you're wanting, he's the best one out there. I'd never go to Hando for soft, erotic love.

What do you go into it looking for with Maximus?

I never cared to find out, truthfully, Diary. He wasn't ever a man to me. He was Commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions.

And then he started sending me emails. Seeking me out, asking me to invite him for a visit, saying he wanted to meet me. It took me a day to answer the first one. I must have written the response in my head a hundred times before I finally told myself 'you're such a fucking baby' and essentially told him thanks, but no thanks.

He then tried the same come on he used for two of the other women I knew well, including Uma! It was the whole 'ask for me and I will come to you' bit. When I made fun of him for that, he got huffy that he'd been trying to give me the chance to take him up on his interest in me. I figured it was the last I'd hear from him.

But then he tried a different tack, saying he was captivated by my 'dark spirit and sweet nature.' That made me uneasy because to me it was so far from yet so near to the truth I saw as to be frightening; and, so I changed the subject. Told him I suspected ulterior motives; that he was just using me to get to Uma. I got another huffy response from him that amused me that he could be so easily offended. He then tried baiting me, trying to engage me with questions that gave me no quarter if I'd chosen to answer them. I knew that trick and called him on it.

And then he tried honesty. Bastard. Honesty always seems to work with me. Not that I really believed he was telling me the whole truth, of course. I've seemed to make it a habit lately to look for ulterior motives.

I was the last of the women for him to meet, he said. When he first began writing to me, he was newly divorced from Bou; he was looking to discover what this new freedom held for him in our World. As he looked around for fresh experiences, he couldn't fail to notice how avidly I was avoiding all contact with him. I was obviously never going to invite him for a visit so he'd decided to take the initiative.

It was the very fact I was avoiding him that intrigued him the most, he told me; and the more I tried to dissuade him, the more determined he was becoming. Well, there's a no-win situation, now, eh? I mean, how do you keep using the very tactic that makes a man like that even more fired up to pursue you? But if I couldn't avoid him, what could I do?

I led him to believe I'd consider issuing an invitation and then he stopped pestering me. Not to put too fine a shine to it, I basically lied to him. Hoped he'd take the hint when I didn't make any moves and then lose interest as he skipped between more willing women.

But there did come a change in my attitude. I decided the time had come to meet this final challenge I felt I had left in this Game.

I would be the last of the founding Diarists to meet Maximus. I would be unlike any of these women he had met. He would be unlike any of the men I had met. That's about all I was certain of in that time as I waited for him.

My attitude was front and center from the moment I saw him. I detested the way he made me feel so shaky. Are you ever like me, Diary, in that you respond to situations in which you feel threatened by absolutely the most inappropriate display of childishness? No? Well, dammit, you're such a fucking perfect bitch, Diary, aren't you?

Sorry. That was inexcusable of me. I apologize, Diary. Don't give up on me, okay?

Anyway ... Here he came, striding slow, almost ponderous, as he left the security gate at the airport. Looking for all the world as if he was daring the sunlight falling through the overhead panes not to light his way so that he could walk toward me on a spinning path of golden highlights.

He was dressed for our climate. Had he dressed purposely to make me sweat even in the over-air conditioned airport? Jeans that made my mouth drop open. I could barely tear my eyes from his thighs. Had to give myself a mental shake and then ... Black, almost too tight t-shirt. Another hard mental shake and forcing myself to look above his chest and arms. Good God. But I didn't linger on his face because his eyes were insisting that I look into them and I didn't want to give in that easily. I liked the neat beard I glimpsed on my rush to examine his hair, which was a bit longer than I had expected but was that dark hue I knew from pictures of this man.

My breath caught as he approached and I stood awestruck by the reality of him, unable to even move. And then he passed me by without even a pause. I looked at his retreating back with shock. Fuck! I thought he was looking right at me. I thought he just knew it was me like he did with every single other woman in our group. But, no. Of course not. I didn't even have a strong enough presence or aura for it to register with him like theirs had.

Sighed, felt like the runt of the litter, picked my shattered pride up from the floor and went off in search of him. Found him finally, standing under the arrivals board, peering around without a trace of nerves. He just looked vaguely curious and above it all. Looking over my head at others of more interest to him.

"Max?" I poked him on his shoulder to get his attention. It didn't give an inch and that rather impressed me. "Hi. It's me. I'm ..."

His eyes latched onto mine. "You were late and you were not where you told me you'd await my arrival."

Great start. I drew myself up. I narrowed my gaze at him. "I was not late. You walked right past me. But none of that matters. Let's go downstairs and get your luggage then we can get out of here."

Wheeling around, I figured if he followed, great. If not, better.

He came up behind me as I stood near the luggage carousel, my arms crossed and my foot tapping. I only knew he was there because I could feel his breath on my neck. It was the oddest feeling. Like he was just there, making me feel his presence; it felt the slightest bit threatening.

A whisper from him slipped into my ear. "Is this how we begin? Shall we not be the friends you claimed you wish to be?"

"I was not late."

Heavy sigh from him and this curious sound he does with his mouth, like a huffy click. "I apologize for my words, Ann. There? Is that better?"

Turning to peer at him over my shoulder. He was so close to me; I wondered if he always invades personal space with such haughtiness. Stepping back from him to reclaim my place. "Yes. It's better. How was your flight?"

"Not anywhere near as bumpy as my reception." His eyes suddenly got this twinkle.

Dammit. That was inexcusable. How dare he now be personable and clever with me?

He moved right up toward me, bending over me, shocking me with his forwardness. Just as I took a step back and opened my mouth to tell him to not try anything like that with me just yet, I realized he was simply snagging his suitcase as it passed behind me on the carousel.

God. Could I be any more of an idiot child?

Not so fast. At the car, I waited as he put his suitcase and carry on into the back storage compartment then slammed the hatch closed. Went to the driver's side door and before I could get there, his hand grabbed for the door handle. I'd been waiting for this, Diary. The other women always let the men drive. I remember reading another woman's account of her visit with Max and making note of her assumption that he'd be more comfortable doing the driving. I had thought to myself then, just let him try that with me.

"Hey. Don't get any big ideas, Max. I'm not like the other women. You don't get to drive just because you've got a penis. My car, my city, I drive. You just hop on over to the passenger seat."

"I had not presumed such, my dear. I was simply opening your door. I had understood it was a courtesy gentlemen showed to ladies in this time." We faced each other and I was just on the verge of taking my other foot out of my mouth when his hand touched my arm. "Do you always react with anger when you are scared of a man?"

Oh, Christ. Now would have been the time to keep my mouth shut, wouldn't you say, Diary? Hey, I actually think I was taking some lessons from Uma at this point. My inner child was having a field day.

"If I'm reacting with anger, it's because of you and your attitude. I never wanted you to visit anyway. And now, it couldn't be a worse time but you don't care about that, do you? You're only here because you wouldn't stop annoying me. I never wanted to meet you."

"Only because I intimidate you. But that is not my fault, is it?"

"No. But ..."

"And did I do something to cause this fight between Thorne and Uma?"

"Well. No. That's got nothing to do with this. But ..."

"Then why this hostility?" His hand slid slowly up my arm and I noted the small tilt he made to his head. It was such a little thing; why did it fascinate me so? "Get to know me, Ann, before you decide what we shall be to each other. You have nothing to fear from me."

"Friends." The word chirped out of me unbidden. "We will be friends. Nothing more. We agreed, right?"

"Friends it is, then." This bemused look on him, enjoying my discomfort. "For now."

Thankfully, I kept my mouth shut but I glared at his back as he walked around the car. And, despite what the security cameras might show, I refuse to believe I really stuck my tongue out at him.

Now, I'd so like to report, Diary, that I morphed into an adult female somewhere between the airport and my home. My mood was not helped when Max made some vague comment as we pulled out of the parking space about whether or not I'd take him to see the 'famous fourth floor' of the parking garage. I snapped out at him to cool it and that he could just keep any snide comments about Terry and me to himself.

I got these sudden twin pangs. Terry. But I knew where he was; he was safe and loved just then. And then ... Jack. Christ. I had things to make up to him. Why hadn't I been totally open with him and just taken my chances that he'd understand? Diary, even you know the answer to that - because I didn't know what to say to make him see that I still felt the same about him. I just never expected that Jack would be seeing Uma before he came home. Right about that time, Jack was visiting the Temple. And Uma was probably pouring him a cup of tea while she poured out her troubles to his big heart. She wouldn't tell him bad things about me on purpose, I knew, but what if Jack heard things that made him wonder if I'd lied? I could feel him slipping out of my hands while I felt helpless to stop it. And I knew I deserved whatever happened.

And for all that, here I was, stuck in a visit with Maximus. Wasting both our times. 

During the ride home, I doubt I said much to him that wasn't forced remarks about landmarks we passed. My phone rang about ten minutes from my house. In my ear, the frazzled voice of a client who wanted to meet me for cocktails in two hours. I groaned inwardly but then perked up with the realization that this meant I could have the perfect excuse to escape from Max for a few hours.

But, Diary? Max doesn't take 'no' very easily. He wanted to come along with me. At first, I was just going to lay the law down and tell him how inappropriate it was for him to come with me to work. But then he came stalking in after taking a shower and getting prepared to accompany me.

Damn. Dammit. Dammit all to Hell and back.

He'd actually gone to a bit of an effort. For me. It made me feel ... I don't know exactly what, but it made me feel something I hadn't expected to feel. Kinda like we were going to try to make an effort with each other. I actually felt myself loosen up and I never expected to feel that way around him. Relaxed but with my guard still up.

So he came with me. And all was going well. For a while. My client brought her boss along and the three of us were plotting out a revision to a publicity initiative we were launching to help restore some of their image that had been tarnished by a controversy in their healthcare facility.

And then it happened. We were in agreement until Max's deep voice, from nowhere and sounding like the voice of authority, said: "This is not the time for such obvious tactics. What is to be gained by proceeding so quickly? I would not advise you to take such a reckless route."

I cut my eyes to Max and gave him a curt frown. He was unmoved. My client's boss, a reasonable man, looked between us with real confusion. "I don't understand, Ann. Your colleague doesn't agree with your counsel yet you brought him along anyway? I'm not sure if that's a sign of your good ethics or a suicide wish."

We all had a nervous chuckle as I explained Max was not a colleague. Just a friend of my brother's in visiting for a few days, I said. Who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut, I thought.

"I may not be schooled in the intricacies of your business, sir, but I believe you would be well-advised to ..." Max began, his words careful, his tone imperial.

Max had been drinking a glass of red wine. He was then wearing it. I was busy apologizing for my clumsiness in having knocked the wine glass over and then I was shoving Max from his chair so I could help him get his shirt cleaned up in the restroom.

He let me usher him away from the table; the moment we rounded the corner, I pinched him hard on his arm and hissed into his ear, "What the fuck do you think you're doing? These are my clients, my business. You don't know what you're talking about, Max. How could you do that?"

I felt his strong hand wrap itself around my forearm and he drew me in front of him. He leaned toward me, his voice low and so deep, telling me, "I was simply stating my opinion, Ann. I have some ..."

"Max!" I got in his face. "I didn't bring you here for your opinions. You're the arm candy. Nothing else."

"Arm candy?" An ominous growl from him because I think he knew I was insulting him.

"Yeah. Arm candy. Your only job tonight is to look cute sitting next to me."

"Cute?" He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language.

I can be such a smartass at times, but then, I think you know that already, Diary. I smirked at him because I just got this image of me telling Bou that I'd used Max as arm candy. I simply couldn't help myself. "Just look sexy and gaze at me every so often like you think I hung the moon. That's all you have to do. Is that too hard?"

It took him a few moments. I watched as he got my sarcastic tone of voice and the fact that I was joking with him. Then felt the tension between us blow away with this odd, funny image of role reversal. At the exact same second, we both chuckled.

"I'm sorry, Max. This really isn't like me at all to be this way to one of the men. I really have treated you abysmally since you've been here. We'll never become friends at this rate. Truce?"

"Agreed. And what of the terms of this truce?" he asked gruffly, giving me the slightest of smiles. 

"Um. Terms. How's this? You keep your mouth shut the rest of the evening and I'll ..." I almost said 'make it worth your while' but checked myself before the words came out; instead I finished with, "... I'll be on my best behavior with you from now on."

He didn't say a word. Just studied me for what was probably seconds but felt like hours. I swallowed hard and suddenly realized where I was. Right up against his body. The one place I thought I'd never want to be and yet it didn't honestly feel so bad.

And then, from nowhere, he said, "If you are on your best behavior and if I keep my mouth shut, we could never do this ..."

Lips gliding into mine. Soft. Sure. Assertive as he prodded my mouth open with his probing tongue and then kissed me long, slow, deep. I couldn't even think; it seemed my body shut down. I know I didn't breathe. A hand to his chest and I pushed away. He let me go instantly.

Looking at the floor and feeling my cheeks flame. Shaky voice: "Just friends, Max. Okay? It's all I can manage with you."

"Very well. We will proceed at your pace." He slipped around me and I turned to watch him disappear into the men's room. He left behind a vague sense of curiosity in me.

Diary, we spent the rest of the evening abiding by the terms of the truce; and over the next few days, we tried hard to see if there was a way we could indeed be friends. I forced him to play tourist with me; we went everywhere because I wanted to see south Louisiana through his eyes. The idea had captivated me; more than any other man in the group, how fascinating would it be to observe how he viewed this place that was so much a part of me and so foreign to him? Would our culture's 'anything goes and let the good times roll' attitude clash with his own inbred Roman view that life should be devoted to fulfilling your duties?

They were affecting days. Like somehow, in this odd shift, he became a person to me. We talked about so many things. I had always, even in the days I could never have seen myself doing it, wanted to just sit with him for hours and interview him about the differences in our times and how that affected him.

Me being me, there wasn't a lot I let go unchallenged when probing his beliefs. I was fascinated by his take but I wanted to explore just how much real thought he'd given his opinions versus just making knee-jerk assessments. Some things he told me hit me like he'd turned on a light and I was seeing a place that I'd never even thought about looking at. And there were many things on which we absolutely differed in attitude. Our discussions were as intense as they were revealing. We learned a lot about each other. I learned that he was a lot more flexible, reflective and aware of our times than I'd ever given him credit for. I hoped he learned to give me the benefit of having some gray matter.

Our longest-running discussion was on the utter inhumanity of war. It started out heated. At first, Max would arrogantly dismiss my comments when I would not capitulate to him as the great military mastermind. But once he learned I have a military background, though nothing to even remotely compare to his, and that I would continue to challenge him, he met me head on. Our breakthrough, and it seemed to herald a new way for us to discuss differing viewpoints, came sometime in the third day he was with me. It wasn't that we disagreed but that we were approaching the issue from different perspectives as befits our different cultures, he said at one point.

"Each culture finds its way to truth," Max said. "Each culture takes its own path."

Smiling at him with genuine warmth. "We are products of quite different cultures; therefore, many of our truths are bound to be different yet equally valid. I never looked at it that way before, Max."

In the end, our positions demonstrated this very point: I abhor the necessity of war; Maximus believes that war is not just a necessity, but also an inevitable destiny of the strong to overpower the weak.

Not that I didn't frustrate him insanely.  What probably drove him craziest in dealing with me was my straightforwardness with him. He liked to be more circumspect, loved using verbal ploys to try to confound me or be dismissive if I disagreed with his opinion. I knew most of his tricks; they were in my arsenal when I was a reporter and I never let him get away with it. He would sometimes simply walk away from me when I wouldn't relent and I'd usually call to his back, "Coward! Come back here and fight me like a man!"

Which was really pretty funny, all things considered. To be fair, there might have been more times when I'd just stare at him in frosty silence, shaking my head as he smiled at having bested me with his own unique logic. But we were forming a strange and affecting kind of friendship that was being built, for all appearances, on mutual respect and a sense of humor.

On the fourth day he was with me, we were driving back from a trip along old River Road to tour antebellum mansions almost two hours west of New Orleans. It was such a beautiful excursion into the country. I looked over at him and smiled to see his easy concentration on the sugar cane fields we were passing.

"My grand-père, my mother's father, was a strawberry farmer. All of his neighbors grew cane, though," I told him. It was perhaps the first time I'd revealed something like this, something personal and trivial. "When I was a child, I used to wander his neighbor's cane fields when it was close to harvest time, like now, just to listen to the canes."

He turned slightly in his seat to consider me and I slid my eyes over him. Smile of remembrances over both our faces. "I used to walk the wheat fields in my youth to watch the dance of the wind in the crop. It can be mesmerizing when one is young, such things," he said.

"You're so right, Max. But I've never outgrown it. The sound in the cane fields. I can't explain it. It still enchants me." It came out almost as a sigh.

"What is the sound?" he asked me, his voice soft. It never even bothered me when I felt his hand rest on my shoulder because he was leaning toward me and I felt he was interested in this memory.

"Oh, Max, I could never describe it. It's not just the sound but more how the sound gets in you." I looked out at the fields we were passing. Got an inspiration. Pulled over at the next cut out and was never more grateful for an all-terrain vehicle. We bounced over the ruts of the harvest lane and I parked in the first spot where we could safely pull over without sinking to the axles.

Childhood came over me and I was skipping down a lane between towering canes while hooting at Max to keep up. I wove my way as far in as I dared take us for fear I'd have a tough time finding the way back to the car. When he caught up with me, I put my hand to my lips so he'd stay quiet. We stood there and I welcomed back sounds of the past.

Canes have an amazing variety of sounds. As they ripen, their pitch changes from muted to lyrical. And when the wind really whips them, it can sound like music from heaven to me.

I felt the spray of the withering outer layers of the cane tops drift to me and knew the wind was about to really kick in. I leaned in to whisper in his ear and patted his chest: "Listen hard and you'll feel it here. Watch."

Seconds later, the show began. I was watching his face so I knew we felt it happen at the same time. He dragged in a deep breath, closed his eyes, turned his head toward the sky and simply absorbed the feeling of the echoes within. He spread his arms wide and the canes around us glanced around his fingertips.

As the wind soothed, his face tilted down and we grinned softly, almost ethereally, at each other. I'd never seen that appealing look on him before; he was no longer the rigid authoritarian I most often thought of him as. It was like sharing a delicate secret with him.

"Doesn't it feel freeing?" I asked him, absorbed in his reaction. He was the only person I'd ever taken with me to experience this who might have felt the mysticism perhaps more than I ever did. It had been riveting to watch him, to bear witness while it happened to him.

I felt the warmth of his hand cupping my jaw. His smile drifted away; he whispered to me, "Thank you, Ann."

Just that simple. But it all changed in just this effortless, shared experience between us. When he bent to kiss me, I felt the magic of the moment. There was no fear. It was as if we were existing in a space out of the real world. Where it was just us and it never mattered that his reasons for wanting to know me were suspect. Where I could give him the benefit of the doubt that he was glad it was me he was seeing standing before him.

I returned the kiss. Not with everything I had but with everything I could give him. He knew I was holding back. But he pressed only so far. And when it ended, it was easy to step apart without the kiss coming to mean more than it should.

In the grand scheme of things, Diary, do all kisses always mean something? Can't they just sometimes be trifles, fluff? Christ, why do I ask you? You won't lie to me.

I was no longer lying to myself either, I think.

We stopped for dinner at a small po-boy restaurant. And in this time, I was still seeing him with the eyes that had first viewed him amongst the singing sugar cane. I studied him, openly, and felt oddly at peace with the examination of the man I now saw.

But, just as I was relaxing to the idea that more might have been possible between us, he was backing away from me. Very much on purpose. So obvious that I began to realize that just as I'd begun to consider expanding this from simple friendship, he'd come to realize friendship was all he wanted with me.

Between the restaurant and home, I crawled back in my shell.

At my home, we fell into what had become a nightly ritual for us. A last snifter of cognac and unwinding with conversation about the next day's activities I had planned. That night, he sat at my kitchen counter, watching me as I brought down and then poured amber liquid into the balloon -shaped crystal. When I handed him his glass, his fingers gripped in over mine, refusing to let me release the vessel into his hand.

Couldn't control the reflex to look up into his eyes to see what was the matter. I must have visibly shaken at the intensity of his gaze and the transparency of his sexual message.

He made this dismissive clicking noise with his tongue and I saw a deep frown darken his brow. "So, we're back to fear of me? Come. This is so unworthy of the woman I've come to know."

Ever been in a situation, Diary, where you just cannot figure out what in the hell is going on with the people around you? Like the world's gone a bit mad and you wonder if the definition of sanity has placed you on the wrong side of the majority? This was how I felt just then. And I felt very much that he was fully aware of the game he seemed to be playing. Pursuit until he thought I would give in, then indifference and now waiting for me to capitulate to his demands.

Wanna guess how I responded? Oh, Diary, I do think you're catching on. It was like he lit a match in me.

"Fuck you, Max. I am not looking for your approval."

"What do you look for from me?"

"I don't know ... Friendship."

"You do know. It is not only friendship. It is more than that." 

"Give me my hand back."

"Why must you retreat? This show of anger is beneath you."

"What do you want from me? I asked you that. The first time you wrote me. Tell me now so I can see in your eyes if you lie to me."

"I want to see longing for me in your eyes." He said the words in a heat, in a rush; and I'm not sure to this day that he ever meant to say them. But when they were out, hanging between us, he just looked at me, gauging my reaction I think, noting the way I was no longer trying to pull my hand from where he held it trapped. His voice softened to the sound of whiskey slipping over pebbles. "This very day, in that field, you looked at me with openness and desire. Your eyes hold so many mysteries for me. But I saw longing for me there today, and it made me tremble."

It was mesmerizing and I believe I wanted to believe. 

But I didn't. I never had believed him. It was, I am now sure, the main reason I held myself back from him even as I'd grown to truly like him in that visit, as punishment for his obvious wish that all I'd be for him was a notch in his belt as he fucked his way through all the women. And I was the last and knew that once I gave in, he'd have won. This was how it felt. I am not ashamed to admit it.

Whispering to him. Now in command of us both. "Maximus, when you first met Uma, you told her the secret to this world of ours was to see if we could make our desires match. You want to conquer me. I do not want to be defeated. Our aims will never meet. It is no longer fear that holds me back from you. It's that I'm not a whore so I can't just turn off the need I have to be needed for something other than as a sexual conquest by a man who only wanted to meet me because I was the last hold out. When you and Bou split, you went to see several of the women in our group you'd never been with before. You told them they were the first and the second of your new lovers. But you know what? They were also your last. Because you won't have me.  And I'm the last available. That's what this has been about, hasn't it?"

His eyes flashed in genuine anger and yet I felt no fear; this was the time I should have, so here's just one more bit of evidence that I so often am not what's expected.

"Not a whore? You who spread your legs for every one of the men who's ever been near you? It took you only hours to give yourself to Thorne. Perhaps less for Captain Aubrey."

Calm in the face of his emotion. Seeking a soft spot in which to hit back. "You could learn a lot from the other men. You could do with a huge dose of Cort's romanticism and Terry's smoothness and Jack's sweetness. I imagine Jack was the best thing that's happened to Bou in a long time. I bet she learned a lot in his visit about what she's been needing from you in the bedroom. Jack would be such a ..."

With a move so fast I never saw it coming, his hand was wrapped around the front of my neck. Not overly tight but tight enough. Cold voice: "I don't care to hear this."

"Of course not. Why would you ever want a woman to tell you that you were less than perfect? That you are just a man. Yet isn't that what you told me you wanted me to learn about you? Just a man, Max. That's all."

We stared into each other's eyes and I wonder where I found this person inside me who'd stand up to him this way? And yet, I never lost sight of the fact that what was happening held an excitement for me that I was only slowly acknowledging for what it was.

He swallowed hard. His fingers dug in on the side of my neck; when I winced, he eased his grip.  Heat smoking through his voice: "You might be the most exasperating woman I've ever known."

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment. You might be the most complicated man I've met."

His eyes narrowed and they swept down my body. I surprised myself with the instant response. Breasts rose higher with deep breaths; nipples seemed to come to attention; wetness between my legs. But I was in pure reaction mode and not really questioning my body or my brain.

"I meant that as a compliment, Maximus," I whispered hoarsely as his hand slid to the back of my neck and drew me closer to him.

"I took it as such."

There was no gentleness between us. Either of us. We simply kissed like we were expending the energy of our mutual anger. And it occurred to me in this kiss. We might never understand all things about each other, this dominating man and little old me, but we understood more than we might have felt comfortable admitting to ourselves. We were both fighting battles against our inner selves and our expectations.

He pulled away from me. Abrupt. I was watching his chest for some reason; my free hand went to it and touched him there, near his heart. I wondered what I was seeking. I felt him release my other hand from the snifter and the gesture drew my eyes to the glass. I followed its arc as it traveled to his mouth; I noted the way the light infused the liquor and it seemed to me that it glowed as he sipped. I watched the snifter's arc as he set it on the counter. His hand come to my chin to nudge it up and force my eyes to meet his.

"Surrender to me," he said in this low growl of a purr.

"No," I replied, my voice subdued but with a strength that still surprised me. "I give myself to you freely."

"Then come to me now. Show me."

On his bottom lip, a tiny jewel of a drop from the cognac fascinated me. I had to taste it. It was how my lips found their way to his. It was why they were thirsting, drinking from him. His mouth. His tongue. Teaching me without effort. And then I tasted his neck, finding that the salt of his sweat held hidden meaning for me. I was lost there; biding my time within the scruff of his beard that made his neck a place of pure masculine virility.

And this was how it happened between us. All the things I'd accused him of, they were true of me. I was in this more for his body than anything else, it seemed.

He let me remove his shirt and my hands smoothed over his chest. They ranged lower, exploring. Not really resting until they undid the snap and zipper of his jeans.

"You like what you see." Not a question; did he want adoration?

My eyes found his and I know he saw the challenge there in a complicated mix he couldn't quite decipher. He rose from the stool and I would have taken a step back from him but his hands on my forearms forestalled any retreat. He backed me to the kitchen table; I felt the shift in power between us. He was in charge; I had no complaints. The only part of his body he let me feel at first was his groin; he used it to press my buttocks right in against the edge of the wood table.

Didn't take my eyes from him until he bent to kiss me. He growled his way into the kiss and he bent me rudely, roughly over the table; his hands shifting to my ass, kneading it as he pulled me up onto the table's edge.

Pushing on his shoulders, forcing him to let me breathe out, "Why this way? Please, Max. Show me the side of you I saw today."

"Then show me the woman I met in that field. The woman who longs for me," he grunted to me, even as his hands were undoing my shorts and raising my hips to drag them down. I never struggled, not really; even when his hands slid between my thighs, I cooperated.

All I could do was moan when his fingers caressed me below. He took his time but he was never tentative with me; I was so wet for him and he told me it excited him to make me so. There was something unexpectedly freeing about having no qualms about going along with his passion. To be malleable to his desires. Stifled a cry as I felt his cock begin to enter me. But unable to stop the shudder of my lingering fear as it raced through me.

Somewhere in the midst of that unique time of feeling a man's cock enter you ... before they can get all the way in ... in that time when they must hesitate, push and then stop before pushing again when your body gives them permission ... doesn't it sometimes feel like in this very moment of their force, men become weak? I don't know why but that thought came unbidden to me, Diary, right in the midst of him trying to force his way into me.

I opened to him. And he felt me when I did for I went almost limp in his arms and he responded by lying me down upon the table with a gentle touch. And I know he saw her in my eyes; the woman he'd seen once for a flicker of time in a field of ripening sugar cane and nature's music. I know because he gave me the man who'd been able to feel the mysticism there in a way no one else ever had.

This little sob came bursting from me when I saw him and realized what was happening between us. He bent to my ear and murmured to me, secret words of release and revelation.

"Take me there with you," I pleaded with him and felt him smile against my neck. 

"As you wish, little one. But later." 

I swear I don't understand. To this day. I just don't get that moment. Perhaps we both stopped being afraid. Perhaps we both gave up. Perhaps we really did feel something for each other.

My back just seemed to arch of its own volition; my skin seeking his touch as his sure fingers undid the buttons of my shirt and bared me to his subtle tongue. Its warmth, its wet, its roughness ... sensations that made me whimper under their tender assault. I gave him words that seemed to bind us; he smiled into my eyes as he thrust slowly into me and I felt that smile's warmth caress me.

Legs around his waist and hands clinging to him just to have someone there for me as he took me ... because deep down, I was still the child and he was the master in this arena. And if I hadn't clung to his form, I might have disappeared inside his assault.

Then his chest rose from me; he leaned in on his hands to grip hard onto the sides of the table. Starting sure if rough, he began thrusting into me with a strength that made me struggle to absorb. His head down, eyes closing in concentration ... expending his energy into me. I never screamed; I whimpered his name, drawing it out slowly as the breath inside my body came and went under his battering: "Maxxx ... i ... musss."

I might not have screamed, Diary, but I did cry. Not loud sobs, but strong emotion that was so unexpected.

I don't know when he realized I was crying. I simply know that at some point, his arms wrapped around me and he murmured in my ear words of near poetry and sweet sentiment ... words that made me cry all the harder as I held him tight. A side of him that I never saw coming.

He slowed to an almost imperceptible movement as the spasms of my coming wracked me; I could feel his thick cock like every single nerve inside me was sensitized to its contours. It was an amazing feeling, Diary.

Limp with the physical release; wild with the need for emotional healing. Easy for him to manipulate. Low voice commanding me to breathe deeply and regain myself. To kiss him, to smile, to tell him that I wanted more, to tell him to make me come again, to tell him how much I wanted him. To help him as he turned my body over and entered me from behind. Trying to find the ground with my toes so that I could have purchase to grind back against him. But his arm around my waist had pulled me up to the height he wanted me to be in order to pump into me with something approaching fervor.

When I whimpered and told him that if I couldn't touch the ground, then I couldn't help, I felt a chuckle leap down his body. "I will do all the work. Just accept this from me. I will let you do the work later."

Big groan from me because I knew what he meant and it excited me.

Feeling his hand behind me, knowing from the way it moved that he was pumping himself slowly and preparing to enter me. I shook hard and begged. He entered smoothly; his passage easy with the slickness of my excitement. Thrusting slowly at first and then changing his pace each time I would choke on an impending coming. I begged some more and he teased me until he must have known I couldn't take more.

His hand slipped around me and I thought I had felt it all until he manipulated that tight, avid bundle. Like he wanted simultaneous orgasms from me; not letting me go even after I came, crying out his name and feeling the exhaustion of possibilities. And after that, I let go with him; no will, no thoughts, just his to play with.

Fever pitch. Heat that sears. Wild abandon. He came from a dream and made it real between us because it was what he desired from me. His own coming seemed to be from his depths; his words and sounds were unrepentantly elated.

He carried me to my bed, helped me crawl under crisp sheets, held me to him, spooning with me.  Occasional words of comfort and assurance. I gripped his hands and felt steady. A time of deep tranquility blanketed us. Just on the edge of sleep and he pulled me back.

"I knew who you were," he whispered to me. Deep gruff voice that moved over my skin like liquid silk.

"What?"

"At the airport. When I arrived." His lips sucked my earlobe into his warm mouth. It took me moments to understand what he'd said.

I turned in his arms and our eyes locked. "You walked right past me, Max. This was all just a game to you?"

"You were afraid of me. I could read it in your eyes and I wanted to see what else there was in you." His fingers drew down my jaw, his lips glanced across my chin. "I was so pleased you refused to back down. It bode well for us."

I shook my head at him yet smiled at the notion that he might actually like something about me. My hand trailed in his beard. It felt intimate to touch him so easily. Perhaps more intimate than what we'd just done, as odd as that might sound, Diary. As if this was a real connection, to feel so at ease with him.

"I wonder if we're destined to test each other constantly, Max."

"We weren't who you thought we'd be with each other. Were we?"

"What was I to you, Max? In the end?"

"You were what I needed. I hoped it would be thus."

"Oh, Max, don't. You didn't know me well enough to need me in any way. Well, perhaps to need to screw me so you could say you'd had us all. Like you'd been missing out on the good life that the other men in the group were having."

Deep furrow of disapproval, that way he had of making you feel like you'd just committed a grave sin. "If that was the only reason I pursued you, I would have had you the first night I was here."

"Give me a break. You didn't have a chance."

"I can be quite persuasive." Quick flicker of a grin and a tweak of my breast. Then turning serious. Intense even. "But until today, in that field, I worried I might not really see the woman I most need in this time."

That felt almost too real, too truthful to me and it shook my sense of reality. Sitting up. Looking down into clear eyes that captivated me. But he moved from my gaze, pulling my legs toward him and pillowing his head in my lap. His fingers trailed patterns from my thighs to my calves. "What is it you need from me, Maximus? Can I give it to you?"

"I have read all your diaries and I felt I learned something about you. You have a dark spirit. I do as well. But you fight to find the light. It may flicker, but you search for it. It is your way. I needed to understand your resolve to do this. I seek the will to search for my own light. I needed someone to wake that desire in me. It's what I take from you."

This feeling of such tenderness swept over me. I'd never thought of Max as needing anything of substance from someone like me. I swallowed hard, leaned over and kissed warmly at his temple. "Thank you, Max. That was a lovely thing to say. I'm so glad we've become friends. Truly. I realize that I want to be someone you can tell anything. I would consider it such an honor to be trusted like that. But, you do know, I will always be blunt and honest with you? Nonetheless, I'll be in your corner, even if I don't agree with you."

"Yes, we are friends. But lovers also?" He pulled my lips to his and we kissed softly, with indolence and affection. "I may never confide in you as fully as you might wish. It is not really my way, Ann. But it is nice to know I may do so with you."

"So, we're going to sheath our swords and learn to get along?" We shared a warm laugh. I sighed and leaned back against the headboard. "Lovers. I never thought I'd see the day."

He turned in my lap and regarded me. A hand stroked languidly over my breasts. "I'll show you things you've never experienced. A lover you've not had before. I'll take you right where I promised. Where you said you want to go with me."

It made me shiver. His voice, pitched low and deep, bidding my mind to imagine what he could do for me. A bit of bravado, a bit of bragging? But by then, I wanted to believe in the possibility of him.

I remain uncertain of Maximus. To this day. Even though the few days we had together after this night were spent in a heady pursuit of new experiences. And they freed us both. They freed me to rest my suspicions of why he really sought me out; they freed him of the need to dominate me.

Max remains uncertain of me, as well. I know this, Diary, because of promises he sought from me before he left me. But he did tell me more than I know he expected to reveal of his troubled spirit. Not nearly as much as other men might share, mind you. Why is it we seem to find it easier to reveal these kinds of things to anyone but the people we should tell? What might have been different if he'd been able to say certain things to two women in his life from whom he most desired finding fulfillment?

Ah, Max. Alas, Diary, I fear his complications make an unsolvable maze for one such as me. Yet, I think I've learned to give him a break and I've learned that he is his own reward to me. 

And, Diary, be truthful now. You didn't think I had it in me to find common ground with Maximus, did you?