"Why aren't you more upset?" I drop my hand from my face and study his utterly relaxed body. Just what the hell is going on? I feel like I'm in a middle of a hockey game where the rules have suddenly changed.
"Do you want me to be?"
I don't know how to answer that. So instead I say, "You should've remembered the rubber."
He nods. "True. I apologize."
Oddly enough, his easygoing attitude bugs me more than getting upset would. I straighten and stare straight ahead.
He starts to push himself up, then drops back on the bed and pulls me gently down over him. I settle onto his bare torso, my breasts pressed against his chest. I can feel his strong, throbbing heartbeat, and my heart accelerates to match his tempo. It still astounds me how my body adjusts to his until we fit perfectly. It's either magic or madness. Liquid heat ripples through me despite the strong orgasms I just had, and I don't know if I'll ever get used to this need I have for him.
"This isn't about being responsible or hoping for the best," he says. "I'm not going to worry about anything until … if it happens. And I don't want you to worry, either."
I nod, somewhat placated by his explanation. He's being logical, and worrying won't solve anything.
"There's something else. It's about your former roommate-Caroline."
Caroline. The last time we spoke about her, it was about him checking out my assertion about her betrayal.
"If she ever bothers you again, you have to let me know. I should've told you this earlier, but didn't. Another mistake." He tilts his head while adjusting me, so he can look at my face. "She hasn't bothered you since … the articles, has she?" I shake my head, and he says, "Good."
"What happened between the two of you?" I whisper. "I saw pictures of you at the same hotel."
"Fucking parasites." The muscles in his jaw flex. "Let me guess. They said I was there to bang her, didn't they?"
"Something like that."
"I put the fear of god into her after I extracted some information."
"I see." But I don't. Not really. He didn't have to take her to a hotel for that. And as inane as it is, I don't want Caroline or any woman with Elliot in a location as private and conducive to an affair as a hotel room. Given the events of the last week, I should be relieved that Elliot and I are finally on better footing, but I'm not because I recognize I'm being jealous.
The emotion is entirely pointless. Even though I'm his wife, I know where I rank in his life, especially after our horrible argument on Sunday. The peace between us is temporary, like everything else we have. When Annabelle Underhill goes through with her threat, who knows what will happen? Just imagining how Elliot might react deflates me like a popped balloon.
I close my eyes. My time with him is almost a quarter over. I can do this.
"What are you thinking?"
Why did you choose a hotel to talk to her? "Nothing." I look away, then roll off him. "I should clean up and get dressed. It's late now."
"We don't have to be at the airport for another five hours." His slightly pinched eyebrows say I haven't really fooled him.
"Then let's see a little bit of the area," I say. "I've never been in San Francisco before."
He studies me, his gaze moving over even the smallest lines on my face, then nods. "If you wish."
Chapter Thirteen
Elliot
By the time we check out, there aren't that many hours left before our flight. We end up at a seafood restaurant for a light lunch of shrimp cocktail and grilled wild salmon, then I take her shopping. I figure that should cheer her up-I've never met a woman who doesn't like to buy a handbag or three. Or shoes. Jewelry works too, but I didn't check with the concierge for an acceptable jeweler.
Belle glows like a polished diamond inside the stores. Her unbound red hair frames her face and bounces around her delicate shoulders. The green of her eyes looks even more vivid under the display lights, and the mustard-yellow maxi dress with floral lace trim is casual and feminine, perfect for a lazy shopping excursion. She's paired it with a light, cream-colored cardigan for extra warmth and to hide the bruises.
The weather is chilly compared to Los Angeles, and I'm glad I packed a pair of slacks and a sweater. I shove my hands into my pants pockets, my untucked blue button-down shirt covering my wrists. I watch my wife examine the selection of bags the clerk has brought out.
Although I pretended to be calm earlier to play it down, I'm anything but. I forgot the condom. I've never been so careless. I should've known better, protected both of us.
At the same time, it's not like the idea of tying ourselves together with a baby hasn't crossed my mind. That probably makes me an underhanded son of a bitch. How craven I've become with my need for her. It isn't like me to want anyone this desperately. Not even Annabelle Underhill got to me like this.