by Lucy Monroe
She washed her hair with the fragrant shampoo provided and then lathered her body, amazed at the way her skin tingled where she touched it. She’d never had these lingering effects from sex before. Not that she’d had sex all that many times, but her meager experience had been equally dismal in the pleasure department.
Her present feelings were really amazing. They’d made love almost three hours ago and she’d been asleep since…the fact that her body was still sensitized boggled her mind.
She went to wash herself. She was awfully sticky. She didn’t remember being this wet either, but the first time he’d made her climax, she’d woken up a lot stickier than when she’d had sex before too. There was even more moisture between her legs now and it was stickier.
Had he forgotten the condom? The whole experience had been so hot, so out of her frame of reference, she had never once thought of it. She didn’t remember him taking the time to put on protection, but she didn’t really remember how she’d gotten totally naked either. It had just happened.
Of course it hadn’t, but making love with him had been mind blowing…apparently literally. She could not imagine him being so irresponsible. It just wasn’t in character, but then maybe he’d been so turned on he’d lost track of reality too. Embarrassment washed over her at how much she liked that thought. But it would mean she was special to him, because she was positive he didn’t go around having unprotected sex.
She couldn’t even be sure he had this time.
The teakettle started whistling when she was drying off and she dashed toward the kitchen to shut off the burner as the door to the suite opened.
She stopped in her tracks and stared as Brett entered the suite carrying several bags.
His blue eyes were unreadable in a face too stoic for the aftermath of the kind of lovemaking they had enjoyed.
“Are you going to turn that off?”
Belatedly, she realized the teakettle was whistling shrilly now. “Oh…yes.”
She rushed over to turn off the burner and move the kettle to an already cool one. The whistle stopped immediately, leaving an odd silence between them. What was he thinking? Why did he look so serious? He had forgotten the condom. It was the only thing that could make him look like that, wasn’t it?
She certainly hoped so.
He dropped a couple of the bags he had in his hands on the kitchen counter and carried the others into the bedroom. She was still standing there, staring after him, trying to determine what to do or say next, when he came back.
“Were you trying to make tea?”
“Yes.”
“I bought some for you. The kind you like.”
“Thank you.” The words were stilted, the moment awkward.
She was practically naked, and he was acting as if they were polite strangers. As if they had not checked into this hotel for the express purpose of making love. As if they had not made love with near soul-destroying intensity. Why?
Was it the condom thing? Or was he now trying to act like it hadn’t happened because he wished it hadn’t?
“I’ll make the tea while you finish drying off from your shower.”
It was not the most loverlike of responses, but it was considerate, she reminded herself. “All right.”
He didn’t say anything else as she headed back to the bathroom.
She stopped at the door. “Brett?”
“Yeah, sugar?”
The endearment was encouraging.
“Do you regret doing what we did?”
“Making love?” he asked as if there could seriously be some doubt about what she was referring to.
She spun to face him. “Of course making love. What else did we do?”
“Well, we had lunch at a Chinese restaurant, flew kites on the beach, got them all tangled, and checked into a hotel to stay overnight.” If he didn’t sound so serious, she’d think he was teasing her.
“Why would you regret any of those things?” she asked, irritated he was making it so hard.
“I wouldn’t.”
“Then why bring them up?”
“Why bring up regret at all?”
Which did not answer her question and she was smart enough to see that. “Because I want to know.”
“If I regret making love to you?”
“Yes.”
His blue eyes bored into her. “It’s a waste of time to regret actions that cannot be changed.”
Her stomach cramped. “Are you saying you wish they could be?”
He was certainly acting like he regretted making love. Which meant he probably didn’t want to repeat the experience. A knot of pain formed inside her, a huge mockery of her newfound sense of freedom. She’d believed she could handle him moving on, but it had never crossed her mind he would want to do it so quickly.
Her heart cried out in denial.
“Go get dressed, Claire. And then we’ll talk.”
“Fine.”
Hotwire sighed. She was angry and it was only going to get worse.
He had a plan to mitigate the consequence of his stupidity, but fixing a problem that should never have become a problem wasn’t something he liked doing. Nor was he used to being in this position.
At least not with him as the instigator of the debacle.
She came out less than a minute later, wearing the hotel bathrobe and looking ornery. She’d finger combed her red curls, but even wet, they showed signs of having a will all their own.
He wished she’d put on one of the outfits he’d gotten her. She was too damn alluring wearing a garment he’d always associated with the bedroom. And he was not going back in there until they had some things settled between them.
He hadn’t started making her tea yet and found himself moving out of her way so she could do it. He wasn’t going to mess with the aura of mulish irritation surrounding her, no sir.
For a woman who was pretty much a disaster in the kitchen, she sure was particular how she made her tea. She even timed how long she left it to steep before adding one perfectly level teaspoon of sugar to her cup and two heaping ones to a second mug he assumed was his.
She finished about the same time he finished putting away the few groceries he’d bought while he’d been out shopping.
She handed him the heavily sweetened tea. “Here. We can talk in the other room.”
He took the mug from her, noticing how careful she was not to touch him.
He frowned. “I don’t bite.”
She glared right back. “Maybe I do.”
He had to clamp down on an urge to laugh. That would not be a smart move right now, but she was the cutest testy person he’d ever seen. He sat at one end of the couch, but regretted his choice the second Claire followed suit. So close, she was way too tempting for his peace of mind or his self-control in the face of their need to talk.
Sitting in the spot right next to him, she faced him with her legs tucked up next to her. “So, does any of this grim fatalism you’ve been subjecting me to since coming in have something to do with the fact you didn’t use the condoms you bought?”
He’d been about to take a sip of his tea, but put it down right quick. He had no desire to scald himself as shock coursed through him. “You realized I didn’t use one?”
And was taking it this calmly?
“Not at the time, no.” She took a sip of her tea, her gaze steady over the rim of her mug. “But it did when I was in the shower. It probably should have occurred to me earlier, like when I woke up, but I was too busy wallowing in how good it had been. I never got as wet as I did the night you gave me pleasure to help me sleep, so I wasn’t entirely sure, but I suspected. I guess I’m slow about some things.”
“Your brain is really fast.”
“Not fast enough to remind you to use protection, apparently.”
“It wasn’t your job. I was the experienced one. It’s entirely my fault.”
She frowned at him. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you? Because if you do, it’s
a terrible insult to my intelligence. I’m an adult and I’m responsible for my own actions, or lack thereof. And while I may not have a list of lovers as long as my arm, I’m no naïve virgin. I know the importance of using protection when having sex.”
“You didn’t know what you were getting into, how overwhelming it was going to be.” Hell, neither had he, but he should have had an inkling, considering how hot he’d been for her. And that was what he had to focus on here. He should have known better; therefore, he had been the one to make the mistake. “You said yourself, you’d never before had sex worth writing home about. I should have protected you, but I screwed up. Big time.”
They weren’t easy words to say. He worked hard never to have to say them, so when they were necessary, they were like sandpaper on his voice box.
“I don’t understand how this is your personal faux pas. You were as lost to what was happening between us as I was.”
“But I shouldn’t have been.”
She eyed him speculatively. “Are you saying you aren’t normally?”
“No,” he gritted, feeling like a fool.
“Do you forget the condom very often?” She didn’t sound worried.
In fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d think that was relief darkening her brown eyes…and a certain amount of smug satisfaction. But no woman would react that way to learning she had just had unprotected sex, especially a woman as practical as Claire.
“Of course not. I never rely on my partner for birth control.”
“So, I don’t have to be concerned about contracting any nasty diseases?”
“No,” he said, even more affronted by this question than the last.
Did she seriously think he would make love to her without warning her about such a thing? Not to mention the fact that he was a lot choosier about his sex partners than she seemed to give him credit for. “I am not carrying an STD.”
“Good. Neither am I.”
“Glad to hear it, but that’s not the main issue here.”
“So, what you are saying here is that you think because I was less experienced in the art of sex and mind-blowing orgasms that I was allowed to be brain-dead when it came to protecting myself from pregnancy?”
“No.” For a woman with intelligence as fine as hers, she made some strange assumptions. “I did not say you were brain-dead.”
“Then you agree that forgetting the condom was both our faults…both our responsibilities?”
“No.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” She was getting all squinty-eyed, and calm patience was not the emotion emanating from her right now.
“I’m being honest. It’s not easy to admit I made such a huge mistake, but I’m not going to shirk from it, either.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll make it right.”
“In what way?”
“I think we should get married.”
Chapter 15
H otwire wanted to curse.
That had come out wrong. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out without any buildup. Even if theirs wasn’t the romance of the century, a woman deserved to be asked to be married with some finesse. Like over dinner with candlelight and a warm kiss, or two.
But he’d already blurted it out. Now he needed to go with the momentum…such that it was.
Her eyes were wide with shock. “What?”
“I want you to marry me. Please.” At least that sounded better. Saying please was a good touch.
Only she didn’t look even remotely more reconciled to the idea. Shock was still the only expression he could read on her face.
“Because we forgot to use a condom?” she asked in a voice that echoed astonishment.
“Because you might be pregnant.”
She gasped, as if he’d said something offensive. “How likely do you really think that is?”
“You tell me.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded belligerently.
“It’s your female cycle.”
“Oh.” She went still, as if counting the days, and then her brow wrinkled and she bit her bottom lip. “I’m right in the middle of my cycle.”
“So the timing couldn’t be worse.” Damn it. He’d done it again. “I mean, the chances we made a baby are pretty high.”
“No. The possibility of conception exists, yes, but statistics show that men and women make love all the time during the optimum days in a woman’s cycle without her getting pregnant. Why do you think fertility specialists are in such high demand here in the United States?”
“It’s a high risk,” he insisted. “Not everything is about statistics, Claire.”
“And because of what you consider a high risk, not even a definite reality, you’re willing to sacrifice your future and marry me?”
“It wouldn’t be a sacrifice.”
“Right. You don’t love me—you told me so—and you never once thought of marriage before forgetting the condom.”
He wasn’t going there. She was right, but admitting it would only add fuel to her arguments. He’d already messed up enough in this discussion. “Claire, you can’t tell me that after your childhood, you would take single motherhood lightly.”
“After my childhood, the prospect of being a mother at all is not something I want to contemplate.”
“Are you saying that you would terminate the pregnancy?” He’d never considered that possibility.
Maybe he should have.
Her expression filled with horrified revulsion. “I don’t eat meat because the thought of killing animals is so abhorrent to me! Do you really believe I could kill my own child?”
“Some people—”
“Are not me. I do not see abortion as a viable form of birth control.”
“I don’t, either.”
“Then why bring it up?”
“You said you didn’t want to be a mother.”
“I said it wasn’t something I wanted to think about, not that I wouldn’t do my best to be a good one if I had a child.”
“I knew you’d feel that way.”
“What way?” she asked warily.
“That giving our baby a chance at the best possible life would be worth whatever you had to do to ensure that.”
“And you think that good life includes me marrying you?”
“After growing up with your mom the way she was, you’d want to give your child two parents it could count on.”
“Are you trying to say that after your normal upbringing, you don’t feel that way?” The way she asked it made him feel like he’d insulted her.
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Let’s get something straight here—my mom wasn’t a rotten parent because she was single. She was a rotten parent because she drank. I don’t. I won’t. And I don’t have to get married to give any child of mine a life worth living.”
“But marrying me would make it easier. Admit it. You’re just finished with school…you haven’t established a career yet. You need me.” Couldn’t she see that?
She scooted away from him as if he were diseased. “I’m not your charity case. You don’t have to marry me out of some mistaken sense of chivalry or fear I’ll follow in my mother’s footsteps and rely on the largesse of the state to provide for my child.”
“That is one fear I will never have,” he said forcefully. “This is not about me thinking you’d be anything but a terrific mom. You’re too strong and too smart to ever make your mom’s choices, but why should you have to make any hard choices at all? The mistake was mine and there is nothing chivalrous in making it right.”
“It was both our mistakes!” She glared at him. “And I don’t need you making it right.”
What the heck was the matter with her? “You’re acting like I’ve grossly offended you.”
“You have.”
“Asking you to marry me is an offense?” he demanded, none too happy at the moment himself.
“You didn’t ask. You informed me it was the
best solution to making up for a mistake you regret making.”
“I didn’t say I regretted it.”
“And you didn’t say you didn’t regret making love, either. I understand your attitude now, but I don’t appreciate it any more than I did before. What we did, we did together, and you can’t deny it was something you wanted as much as I did.”
“I don’t regret making love with you,” he practically shouted, unable to understand how their conversation had become a full-blown argument. “And I sure as heck wanted it.”
She should be happy he wanted to marry her. Intimacy meant more to her than she was willing to admit, and he’d known that from the beginning. It was why he had tried to keep from acting on his desire, but he hadn’t been able to keep his libido in lockdown mode living with her twenty-four-seven.
“Tell me about the other men you’ve had sex with.”
“What?” She stared at him as if he’d grown two horns. “Why?”
“I want to know.”
She frowned and shifted on the couch so her legs were in front of her, her feet on the floor. “There were only two.”
“Who were they?”
“They were both boys I dated in high school when I was young and stupid enough to believe in love and happily-ever-after despite what I’d seen.”
“Did you love them?”
“I thought I did.”
“Who broke it off?”
“Me.”
“Why?”
She sighed. “What does it matter?”
“It just does,” he said, pretty sure he knew what she was going to say.
He’d known Claire for a couple of years now and had learned a lot more about her in that time than he was sure she realized. She was loyal to the point of fanaticism.
And she was ultra-committed in her friendships. Just look at the way she watched over Queenie, how hard Lester’s death had hit her, and her willingness to sacrifice her own comfort to make Josie happy by being in her wedding. Even though it had meant going to work on no sleep.
“I broke up with each boy when I realized he wasn’t as committed to the relationship as I was.”