The Millionaire Affair(32)

Caught up in his task, he didn't register at first that she'd spun  around until he was palming her breasts. His hands stilled. She tilted  her chin, asking for a kiss. So he kissed her, stroking her tongue with  his as they stood under the pounding water. Then he slid his hands from  her breasts to her bottom and massaged there, too.

When the kiss ended, she sent him a smile. "I don't think even that accident made me want to stop having sex with you."

"That's a relief." He wasn't done having sex with her, either.

"Is it?" The worry returned, a line forming between her frowning brows.  Rather than answer, he made quick work of rinsing her off. They toweled  dry and he steered her from bathroom to bedroom.

The sheets were fresh and cool against his overheated body as he slid in  next to her. She scooted closer, draping a leg over his. "What's number  nine?"

He'd created a monster. Which made him kind of proud. But more sex  wasn't what she needed right now, and they both knew it. He pushed a wet  strand of hair off her forehead. "Nine is talking in bed after a hot  shower."

Her gaze clouded. "I don't want to talk."

"Sure you do." He trailed his fingers down her face and thumbed her  bottom lip. "You're a woman and women love to talk. Let's have it.  What's on your mind?"

The clouds cleared from her vision. She watched him with her crystal-clear gaze. "What if we just made a baby?"         

     



 

A jolt of anxiety lit his bloodstream. He caged it. If he let the beast  free, he'd stumble down the pained and brambly trail of what-ifs and  yeah-buts. That was the last thing either of them needed.

"We'll deal with that if it happens." The intentional calm in his voice  even reassured him. He forced the next question out of his lips, unsure  how he'd managed to ask it without bursting into hives. "Have you ever  been pregnant before?"

She shook her head, her hair brushing against the pillowcase. He lifted his eyebrows. "There you go."

Sure. Like that is the end of this discussion.

She didn't buy it, either. As evidenced when she asked the question he  should've seen coming. The last question he wanted to answer. "Have you  ever gotten anyone pregnant?"

The query busted him open like a piñata. And he wasn't sure if he should spill the truth to her or keep his secrets to himself.



The answer was yes.

She could see it on his face, the way his mouth tightened at the  corners, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, the subtle tensing  of his shoulder muscles.

Then his expression eased into a controlled mask, and he forced a  calmer-than-you smile onto his face. "You have nothing to worry about,  Kimber. Either way." He leaned in and kissed her and she let him. But it  bothered her that he hadn't told her the truth she so clearly read in  his eyes. Against the white pillowcase, his eyes appeared their natural  green-mixed-with-gold hazel. They had no color to blend with or fade  into. He was naked before her. In every sense of the word. It occurred  to her that his eyes were a representation of who he truly was. Hiding,  blending in to his environment, and rarely showing his true self.

Only, she thought he'd shown her his true self. Had she been wrong? The  urge to point that out, to call him on his lie, was strong. She  resisted. She didn't want to lay skin to skin on potentially their last  evening together, and lob accusations in his direction. She didn't want  to fight with him.

It didn't stop her imagination from concocting scenarios of what the  truth might be. Was it Lissa who'd been pregnant? Did she miscarry?  Terminate? Was a secret baby the real reason behind their relationship's  demise? Kimber shut her eyes.

Don't jump to conclusions. Don't make yourself crazy.

Landon's low voice cut into her thoughts. "My girlfriend from college."

Her eyes flew open. His lips were pressed together as if conflicted  about how much more to say. Or like he'd regretted saying anything at  all.

She should tell him he didn't have to talk about it …  but curiosity  forced a question from her lips. The two words were a whisper of sound  in the dark, quiet room. "What happened?"

"She …  she …  didn't have it," he said with a frown.

Kimber stroked her fingers up his arm, up the length of sinew and long, lean muscle to his solid biceps. "She lost it?"

Silence permeated the room, and his eyes lingered, unfocused on something over her shoulder. "She had an abortion."

Those four words begged more questions. Was it at his request? Did they  go to the clinic together? Had he persuaded her to get it, or had she  made that decision on her own? Guilt radiated off him, so much of it,  her stomach tossed. She glided a palm onto his chest and rested it over  his heart. Beneath the impressive muscles, golden skin, and fair hair,  beat his heart.

His broken heart. Broken for a baby that never saw this world. Her heart  pinged in sympathy, even as she warned herself not to feel his pain  like her own. "I'm sorry," she said.

He clutched her hand and squeezed, his eyes boring into hers. Eyes  filled not with tears, but regret. She didn't push, couldn't bear to  make him hurt any more than he hurt now.

The initial panic over the broken condom had passed. She was relaxed and  warm, had Landon's full attention, and an entire house to themselves  without interruption. They also had time. As much time as they needed.

The chances of her getting pregnant were slim. She'd never had a condom  blowout before, and reason suggested using one form of birth control was  more risky than two. But she'd never gotten pregnant before, and the  incident that happened to Landon had happened years ago.

Sixteen years ago, to be exact. She remembered when he'd returned home  that summer, sadness hanging over him like a dark cloud. The sound of  defeat in his voice when he'd told his mother he and his girlfriend had  split.

She'd lost the baby by then.

And Landon had been mourning. Over more than just a girlfriend.

She palmed his face, and his brows lowered, maybe in confusion. There  was no way he could know the direction her thoughts had taken. That she  ached for him. Ached for the loss he'd suffered back then. Ached for the  loss he still suffered.         

     



 

"I love you," she whispered.

His eyes widened, his cheeks darkened, and his mouth pressed into a hard, unforgiving line.

She hadn't meant to say it. She'd meant to say something about that  summer, or let him know she'd witnessed his sadness back then. But her  stupid heart, that always fell too hard, too fast, had wired a message  to her mouth. The very last thing she should have said aloud. Or to  herself. At all, really.

So dumb.

He recovered quickly and tweaked her chin, bringing a halt to her  panicky thoughts. "Safe space, remember? That was part of our  agreement."

She shook her head against the pillow, tears welling in her eyes. Tears  of anger, tears of fear that what she said might really be true. What if  she did love him? She felt like she meant what she'd said, but didn't  she always?

"I'm sure when you suggested a safe space you didn't mean for me to  say … " she trailed off, her voice wobbly. "I'm-this is something I do. I  feel too much." A tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek. She  wasn't sure if she felt embarrassed …  or …  or doomed. But something.  Something not good.

A soft kiss landed on her lips, and he scooted close enough to touch her  nose with his. "You're walking away, remember? This is your fling. This  is yours to savor."

She blinked several times, weighing his words. What could have been an  awkward ending to an already awkward evening felt almost …  normal. He was  giving her an out. An out she'd be stupid not to take. "It's …  I'm not  sure why I said that."

"So say something else," he said simply. "Then we'll move on to the last item on the list."

The last item on the list. And then she could walk away and leave her  awkward pronouncement behind. A shimmer of pain spread across her chest.  Was he really so unaffected by her words? It doesn't matter. She  decided not to think about it any longer, to take the reprieve he'd  offered.

Earlier she'd wondered if Landon, man of many talents with his lips and  tongue and body, had started going warm and gooey on her. He'd soaped  her up and hadn't taken advantage of her even when she'd put her breasts  in his hands. And she'd been desperate to get them focused on the  physical, out of the emotional cage she'd been trapped in since she'd  stepped into the shower to wash the remnants of him from her inner  thighs.

Flings were supposed to be fun. Flings were supposed to be string-less. Pregnancy sounded downright stringy.

He stroked her thigh now, but not in a sexual way, just with the tips of  his fingers. Just to let her know he was here while she worked through  her meandering thoughts. His touch felt so good, she wanted to curl into  him and purr. Except that he wanted her to talk. And she wanted to talk  about something other than pregnant girlfriends and her haphazard  emotions. There was one foolproof way to douse that fire.