“Amara,” he panted against her lips, his hips pounding a frantic rhythm. When it hit, his body exploded, the spasms stronger, deeper than he’d ever felt. He sank into her, savoring the absolute intensity of their connection, marveling first-time sex could be so good.
It was only moments later when he’d rolled off to the side and pulled her close that he realized they were lying in the middle of his living room, on the floor.
And that he’d forgotten a condom.
Chapter 20
Amara lay in Matthew’s arms, replete with satisfaction despite the hard surface beneath her head. Did people typically have relations outside of a bed?
She smiled to herself as her fingers traced over his abdomen. That had been marvelous. Heavenly. She wanted to do it again.
The sudden tension in his arm took her by surprise, and worry trickled in. Was he regretting it? She certainly didn’t. He’d said he didn’t want a relationship; did he fear she would now pressure him to offer for her or at least pursue a further connection?
“Amara,” he whispered, his fingers lazily drawing a pattern on her arm. Well, he was still caressing her—that was a good sign.
“Mmm?”
“I’m so sorry. We—I forgot a condom.”
Her hand stilled. Condom? She’d heard the word, something men used to protect against pregnancy and disease, usually associated with houses of ill repute. She’d never actually seen one, though. Did he think her possibly diseased? Or was he more concerned about getting her with child?
Her own muscles tensed. Blast! She hadn’t fully considered that, though she ought; conceiving out of wedlock was the height of scandal and every woman was on guard against it, against seduction, to avoid that potential consequence.
What had she been thinking? She hadn’t, of course; she’d been governed by lust, just like that summer so long ago, in the garden, with Drake. Would she never learn?
“I’m clean,” he said, though she hadn’t a clue what he meant. “So let’s hope one time won’t result in an, uh, ... accident.”
“Yes, let’s hope,” she murmured, though she didn’t hear her own words. The euphoria evaporated in an instant. Surely God wouldn’t be so cruel.
He’d mentioned condoms. Better to focus on that than on a possibility too fearful to consider. Mayhap condoms were common here. If so, she and he could engage again, without risk. “Teach me about these condoms,” she said, injecting lightness into her voice. “I need to know for future encounters.”
If his body had gone any more rigid, he’d be dead. “Future encounters? We said—”
“Oh, I didn’t mean with you.” The insouciance in her voice was faked, but he didn’t have to know that. It stung that he was already trying to rid himself of her moments after they’d shared such a fantastic experience. Or had it not been so for him? “Though I would be up for it again if that didn’t satisfy you. I still have much to learn.”
A harsh, guttural noise emerged from his throat. “You’re killing me. That was one hundred percent amazing, and from your responses, it was for you, too. But—”
“There’s no pressure from me, Matthew,” she interrupted, sitting up and smoothing her mussed hair. “I think I shall make use of the shower. I find myself a little soiled.” She rose, but before disappearing down the hallway added, “I was seeking physical pleasure only. If you’d like to keep sharing it, I would be a willing pupil. But I expect no more from you than you from me.”
Matt lay on the floor long after the shower started, his thoughts—and feelings, if he were being truthful—a mess. He’d just shared the most exquisite sexual experience of his life with this woman. Half of him—no, quite a bit more than half—wanted to do it again. The other part, the rational, logical part, told him to stop. They shouldn’t have slept together this time; future times invited trouble. Eventually, one of them would develop feelings for the other and that could only lead to problems.
Maybe not, the lust-driven part of him whispered. Friends with benefits could work, couldn’t it? Amara said she was no more interested in something serious with him than he was with her—though he had to admit that hurt more than expected.
Still, what could be the harm in a few weeks of mutual satisfaction? And using protection—from here on out, at least—would ensure no unwanted pregnancy. That was the last thing he needed and one of his biggest fears; something like that would derail his entire life plan. But sex ... sex was welcome on the menu.
Condoms. Amara had asked to see one. She’d never used a condom before? He raked a hand over his hair. Well, she’d only had one lover; he supposed it plausible she’d never been exposed to them. But in this day and age? So many things about her didn’t add up. He’d joked about the Amish thing, but was there something else going on? Could someone really be that sheltered?
He could ask Cat for more information. Taylor’d tell him to talk to Amara directly, but the idea made him uncomfortable. He frowned. No, he shouldn’t ask. He didn’t like people prying into his business; he shouldn’t pry into theirs. And Amara’s history was none of his business. He wasn’t invested in her, nor she in him. He didn’t need to know her entire backstory.
He sat up, glancing at the clock. 1:20 p.m. Whoa. Where had the day gone? He had so much to do. Yet what he wanted to do was crawl in the shower with Amara, run his hands across her skin as the water sluiced over the two of them, press her up against the wall, and—
The sound of his phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. He eased himself up, grabbing it off the music dock. “Hello?”
“Hey, Matt, it’s Cat. Sorry to bother you, but I was just checking in. Is Amara okay? I thought for sure you’d bring her home by now. Is she really sick or something? I can come get her if you need me to.”
“She’s fine. She slept in late and is in the shower now.” Could she hear the catch in his voice? “I’ll bring her home. She said she wanted to run some errands, but I’ll have her back by the time I meet with Ben, if not before.” Liar. LIAR.
“Oh. Okay. Thanks, Matt. I appreciate you helping her out.”
“My pleasure.”
His pleasure, indeed. What was he doing, trying to buy more time with Amara? This was exactly what he didn’t want.
And exactly what he did.
Minutes later, Amara walked into the living room, leggings on, but bare-chested, rubbing her hair dry with her towel. Her movements made her breasts bounce in the most adorable fashion, and Matt nearly groaned aloud. He’d pulled his clothing on after talking with Cat but could feel himself rise again, straining against the jeans.
“Sorry,” she said. “I left my sweater out here.”
“No problem,” he muttered, as she retrieved the garment and pulled it over her head. He was sad to see those breasts go but relieved at the same time; there was only so much temptation he could stand. Not that clothed Amara was any less tempting, especially since he knew she wore nothing under the leggings. They clung to her, hugging her thighs, nestling against her ...
He turned away, desperate for some distance.
“Now what?” she said, draping the towel over a dining chair to dry.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want to return me to Cat’s?”
He couldn’t read her expression. Did she want to go back?
Or was she trying to determine if he wanted her to leave? “I could,” he said, hesitating. “Though she just called, and I told her you might want a little more time to recover, so she’s not expecting you home right away.”
Her shoulders relaxed. Good. She didn’t want to leave yet. “I was rather hoping ...” She paused as she shoved a piece of wet hair off her forehead.
Was she suggesting ...? Already?
“ ... We could listen to more music. I’m truly enjoying that.”
Oh. He felt oddly deflated, though he kept his face neutral. “Sure. We were up to the ’80s. Horrible hair, but great music.”
She nodded and took a seat on the couch.
“I’m ready.”
His heart caught at the sight of her, all innocence and excitement. Was this the same woman who half an hour before had been as wild as he in their lovemaking?
You may be ready. But I’m not.
Amara’s insides tingled as Matthew retrieved his headphones and phone, then sat next to her. He was closer this time, his thigh nearly grazing hers. He smelled so good, so masculine. A hint of their intimacies lingered in the air.
“I heard this one last night,” she yelled, as Karma Chameleon played. She shifted on the sofa to lean against him. If he didn’t care for it, he’d let her know, surely.
He said nothing, moving his arm up so her head fit more comfortably against his shoulder. “Yeah, Culture Club is great. Can’t always make sense of their lyrics, though.”
A new, different song echoed in her ears, its beat and odd cadences sparking unexpected desire in her. How could a man singing about crying doves do that? Or was it Matthew?
“Prince,” he said, lifting one of her headphones so she could hear him. “Icon of the ’80s. You can’t know that decade’s music until you know him.”
She nodded in acknowledgment, wishing she could see Matthew’s eyes, see if he was truly as casual, as nonchalant as he sounded. They’d shared intimacies on this very spot. Yet now they sat as if old friends, listening to music.
She rather liked that, actually—the idea that passion and friendship could go hand in hand. In her era, men and women were so often separated it was hard to form any true depth of relationship unless officially courting.
She’d enjoyed her brother’s friends, Arth and Coll, but they’d been careful to observe the bounds of propriety, engaging in conversation only in the presence of others. Never would they be alone with each other, sitting on a sofa, listening to music, to voices pouring so intimately into their ears.
As a new song started and the words I Want Your Sex hit Amara’s ears, she tilted her head to look at him, her skin burning furiously. Matthew merely chuckled. People sang so blatantly about sex! She couldn’t imagine it in her own time, though there were likely bawdier songs to which she, as a young woman of a certain social standing, had never been exposed.
The day drifted on in easy companionship. Occasionally one of them got something to drink or used the bathroom, and yet they each returned to their spot on the sofa, nestling into each other. After several hours and innumerable songs, Amara peered up at Matthew. “Do you have a song called Home?”
“Home? The one by Michael Bublé?”
Amara shifted, her eyebrows puckering. “I don’t know. Eliza sang it once. It was so beautiful.”
“Eliza? Cat’s friend who moved to England? You know her?”
Blast. He knew of Eliza. Of course, he knew of Eliza. Did he know the full story? She doubted it. “Yes,” she said, hedging. “She married my brother.” That was the truth, at least.
“Your brother? Cat said you’re here because you have no other family.”
“I have family, but none with whom I currently have relations.” Not a lie, right? They were all, even the children, more than a century gone.
He smoothed the hair off her forehead, sending a shiver through her at the unexpected, tender touch. “Family dynamics can be hard. I get it. I haven’t spoken to my dad in years.”
She had no idea what family dynamics were, but nodded nonetheless, relieved he didn’t press for more about her family. She wanted to ask about his father, but he might reciprocate, and what could she tell him? He’d never believe her time-travel story. He’d likely run, never wishing to see her again. And in spite of her assertions of wanting nothing from him, she enjoyed his company, at least for now. She’d hate to lose it.
He grabbed his phone. “Shoot, it’s nearly 4:00. We missed lunch. I’m starving. You hungry?”
Her stomach rumbled in answer, and he chuckled. She was hungry, hungrier than she’d realized. Only half of it wasn’t for food.
“Wanna grab a bite to eat? I have time before I have to meet with Ben. If you do, that is.”
He wanted to spend more time with her? She rose from the sofa. “Yes. I want pizza. I find it quite tasty.”
He chuckled again as he pocketed his phone. Crossing to the door, he reached for a sweatshirt on the hook near it, then pulled off a coat, as well. “How about you take this? It’s getting cold.”
He held the coat for her, and she slid her arms into it, suddenly enveloped in his smell. She raised the lapels up near her face and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. When she opened them again, he was watching her, a half-smile on his face, confusion in his eyes.
“You smell pleasant,” she offered, shrugging. Might as well downplay her odd behavior. She didn’t want him to think she was forming an attachment to him.
Because she wasn’t. She most certainly wasn’t.
Chapter 21
Matt held up the keys. “I should teach you to drive,” he said, as he unlocked the front passenger door.
Her eyes lit up. “Would you?” She gave the truck a dubious glance. “Though the speeds these machines go is rather terrifying.”
“Sure,” he said with a laugh. Her unusual combination of spirit and inexperience amused him. He couldn’t imagine not knowing how to drive, not having the freedom to go where he wanted when he wanted. How constricting that must be.
He assisted her into the truck, then walked around to his side. His stomach knotted. He’d just offered to spend more time with her. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t afford all this time away from his work.
On the other hand, he’d be helping someone out. No one could fault him for that, right? He was being a model citizen. As he settled into his seat, that damn voice in his head whispered, Someone else could teach her. Cat. Ben. Doesn’t have to be you.
With a vicious yank on the gearshift, he banished that thought. He wanted to teach her. He’d be providing her with a useful skill. Besides, Cat and Ben were busy with a toddler. They didn’t have time.
Nor do you. Stupid voice. He’d make time, somehow. He liked serving, being helpful. He looked over at her, her face animated as she exclaimed over the song on the radio, Pharrell William’s Happy, obviously thrilled to recognize it. Her eyes flashed and her cheeks crinkled in that dimpled grin before her mouth rounded in the most delectable O as she sang along.
No, it had nothing to do with wanting to spend more time with her. Nothing at all.
Dinner was a lovely, casual affair. Amara peppered him with questions about his family, his upbringing, and his job. To her surprise, he answered every one of them.
“Explain this tenure to me,” she said at one point. “You talk about this as your life goal, but I don’t know what it means.”
“Tenure means job security. Once I’m tenured, the University can’t fire me. I’ve got a job for life.”
A job for life. She’d never thought of that, of the worry of not having employment, a source of income. Her brother had chafed at his ducal responsibilities, occasionally confiding he felt trapped, with so many obligations and so little opportunity for escape, but it was a title granted to him at birth, with its requisite social position and wealth.
She’d understood his frustrations. As a woman of high birth, her future had been determined from the moment she was born: to comport herself as a duke’s daughter ought, to bring respect to the family name, to marry well. To have life so prescribed was difficult to bear.
Difficult, yes, but not half so much, perhaps, as the stresses of providing for oneself, for one’s family. She’d been born into wealth, born into privilege. That didn’t mean, of course, that she and those of her station didn’t face real struggles, real pain. But perhaps she should more readily acknowledge the cage in which she’d thought herself imprisoned was a gilded one.
“Do you not fear you shall grow tired of the same occupation for all of your life?” Sameness, to Amara, was not the goal. It’s what she’d been desperate to escape: the monotony of days never changing. The
same people, the same social events, the same fashion, the same daily activities. The only thing that changed was the gossip, and she’d had enough of that to last several lifetimes. She wanted change. New challenges. New adventures.
“No. I relish it.” He tapped his fingers on the table, his eyes not quite meeting hers. Silence stretched for a moment before he heaved a sigh. “My dad lost his job when I was nine. Then my mom discovered he’d gambled away our life savings, gambled our family into extreme debt. He left. Left my mother with the entire mess. We struggled financially for many years. I don’t ever want to repeat that.”
Oh, how terrifying to be without funds. To be poor. Amara had landed here with nothing, and yet the reality of that had never hit. Eliza had kept her promise of provisions. With the fund Deveric and Eliza established for her at Lloyds bank, a fund acquiring interest for two centuries, she was in no danger of poverty. In fact, she’d never have to work a day in her life if she didn’t want.
She was beyond grateful, of course. She wouldn’t have known how to earn money. Because of Eliza’s foresight, Amara had the freedom to pursue whatever she wished. She could get the education she’d always wanted. A true, broad education like that of men.
“Wow, it’s close to seven.” Matthew’s words disrupted her musings. “We should go.”
Amara fingered her glass, staring into those heavenly blue eyes, her tongue moistening her lips. “Do you have to go to this meeting? Could you not tell Ben you need to help me ... shop for groceries?”
He snorted. “You want me to blow off my advisor to go grocery shopping? Can’t Cat take you? I mean, not that I don’t want to help, but ... ”
“No,” she said slowly, her gaze dropping pointedly to his mouth. “I don’t want to shop. But I do want to give that bed of yours an actual try.”
The Magic of Love Series Page 74
