Finally, he shook his head and smiled, but she refused to be charmed out of this. “My mother is a leech. I’ve told you that. You’ve heard her talk, all those extreme delusions of how well she raised me, how she has big plans as a small business owner. It’s...crap!” She flopped into a chair near tears and furious over that, too.
He hesitated, his brow knit in consternation. Crying threw him for a loop every time. She sometimes wanted to advise any lady lawyer arguing opposite him in court to flip on the waterworks. She’d have him eating out of her hand.
Unfair, Cara. Have mercy but you are a colossal bitch, went the inner lecture this time.
She waved him away when he hurried over to her, clucking and fussing like a mother hen. He crossed his arms, his brow furrowed, a flash of anger passing over his face, making her thank heaven for that. A pissed-off man she could deal with. Mister Perfect made her feel like a high-maintenance whiny cow.
“Oh, never mind. It’s your money. Throw it down the toilet, write her huge checks pretending you want to ‘cover her pampering’. I don’t care. I didn’t earn it.”
Kent blinked and for a split second Cara honestly hated her own guts. Then he laughed so hard he bent double. He guffawed and got the hiccups from it before he stopped. Her lips twitched as she tried to keep frowning at him.
“Oh, honey, c’mere.” She ducked into his outstretched arm, pressing her face against his neck. “I’m sorry, but the concept of your mother thinking that five-hundred bucks could launch her as the next great makeup saleswoman or would buy her a restaurant is too much.” He gave her a squeeze, and Cara felt irrationally insulted and defensive over her mother’s extreme naiveté. She was allowed to insult the woman. He was not.
“Lord almighty, I thought you’d staked her ten grand or something.” Sniffling, she pulled away and sat behind her tray of food. Her mouth watered at the sight of the rare steak, leaking red underneath its perfectly charred exterior, and the fluffy mound of mashed potatoes alongside the home-style green beans. “You are too good to me.” She glanced over and caught him still chuckling at the concept of her mother’s ignorance regarding five hundred dollars.
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and pecked her on the nose. “Yes, I am. But I love you. So there you go. Now eat. You’ll need your strength for the coming gauntlet of parties.” She let go of the niggling sensation that he’d insulted her by making fun of her mother.
Later, they sat curled together under a blanket while Love, Actually played for the hundredth time. He claimed to enjoy it as much as she did. She claimed he only said that so he could get laid. By the end, he had her pressed down on the couch, and was teasing her neck and pulling her shirt off so he could get at her breasts.
“You taste so good,” he mumbled around her nipples. Her yoga pants got tossed over his shoulder before he dove down between her legs, taking the task on with the sort of enthusiasm she sometimes questioned for its authenticity. But he’d discovered all her buttons, all the secret little places that would send her spiraling over the edge every time he used them. He dug his fingers into her ass and yanked her closer, so she raised her hips and let it happen.
Once she lay gasping and spent, he dropped down beside her, his huge leather couch accommodating them both as long as one of them lay propped on his or her side. He ran his fingers down her face then nibbled his way down her neck, but when she reached for him, needing more now that he’d started this particular ball rolling in his expert way, he stopped her.
“No, sorry, this one is about you,” he said, using his fingers to tease her flesh until she shuddered and gasped and gripped his arm. But she felt it, or rather the lack of it, against her hip. He’d been this way before during the weeks leading to their wild weekend at the B&B. He’d chalked it up to stress. Now he claimed he didn’t want to hurt her, claimed he felt guilty over all the rambunctious sex they’d had before the miscarriage. He’d not so much as stirred behind his zipper as far as she knew, since her night in the hospital. A shame, really. She missed it. But she didn’t want to embarrass him.
He pressed his lips to her stomach and she succumbed to the sudden drowsiness post monster orgasm. She wound her fingers in his hair, smiling when he raised his face to hers.
“I love you,” he said, looming over her, making her wish he could finish, to find his own release.
“I love you,” she murmured back, already half-asleep, cradled in his arms, figuring she might as well enjoy it.
Hellfire, Cara, are you that craven? Have you become your mother despite all your efforts not to be?