by Brenda Novak
“Grady, Rod and Mack have similar genes.”
“But they’d never dare to do it, not without telling Dyl.”
“So I should step up?”
“I’d love for Cheyenne and Dylan to get what they want. But...I can’t say yes, not when it might be difficult for you to live with that decision.”
His expression suddenly cleared. “What the hell,” he said. “How bad can it get? I should just do it.”
“Only if you’re sure you’ll be okay with the results. Will it bother you to see the baby and know he or she is yours?” And what would Aaron do if he found out that Cheyenne’s wasn’t his only child? She felt terrible that he’d come to her to help him make this decision. She was the last person he should trust.
“How can I even guess?” he replied. “This isn’t a scenario I’ve ever imagined.”
“You need to be sure. Genetic material isn’t something you’ll be able to take back.”
He sighed as his gaze moved restlessly around her living room. “It’s tough.”
“It is tough.” She was in a real dilemma herself. She wanted to tell him about Wyatt; she just didn’t dare. So when he settled on a picture of her son, she grew nervous again.
“Your little boy’s really cute. I saw him at Dylan’s on Friday.”
“Thanks. My apartment was nicer in Fresno, by the way,” she volunteered, hoping to divert his attention before he could see the resemblance she saw whenever she looked into Wyatt’s face.
“This place is adequate.”
“What with starting the studio, I thought I should be conservative.”
He nodded at her massage table, which was folded up in the corner. “That’s got to be the deluxe version.”
“It is.” It had been expensive for someone at her income level, but she needed it and Cheyenne and Dylan had pitched in with some cash as part of her Christmas present.
“Are you any good?”
“At massage?” Her eyes met his. “I think so.”
“Why don’t you show me?”
She heard the challenge in those words. “Right now?”
“Why not? Doesn’t have to be a full-blown deal. I’ll even pay you for it.”
Hadn’t she just congratulated herself on keeping her distance from Aaron? “Not tonight.”
“Too tired?”
Not anymore. She was too scared. But what could it hurt? He’d done all that painting for her, and refusing would make a big deal out of something that shouldn’t be. She was in the massage business, after all.
“I guess I could.” She got off the couch to set up the table. When he came over to help, she let him finish. “I’ll be right back. I have to get the table cover, a sheet, my heating pad and some cream.”
Once she entered her bedroom, she stood against the door, willing herself to return and send him home. But the idea of getting his clothes off and running her hands over his body, just one more time, drove her like a cattle prod. Maybe this would be a safe way to get her “Aaron fix.”
It wouldn’t go anywhere, she promised herself, and put on a bra and one of her work smocks to prove it was strictly professional.
“You’re serious about this,” he said when she returned and he saw that she’d changed.
“Absolutely. It’s my job.” But never before had she approached a massage with her heart pounding so hard she thought it might crack a rib. She lit several lavender-scented candles. Then she turned off the lamp she’d been reading by and put on some soft Celtic music. She would’ve done the same for any client. Massage was about peace and quiet and relaxation. But tonight everything she did felt so...sensual. Maybe because she’d dreamed of doing this for him half a million times.
After she’d covered the table, she draped the sheet across the bottom half and stood with her back to him. “Undress and climb under the sheet, faceup. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“Faceup?” he echoed.
“I’ll start with your scalp. I need to give my cream a chance to get warm.”
She could hear his clothes rustle as he removed them, heard them drop.
“I’m all set,” he said a couple of minutes later.
She walked closer, but what was transmitted between them when their eyes met again should’ve warned her off. The air crackled with energy, but she was too invested, too eager to get her hands on him, to change course.
As soon as he’s facedown it won’t feel as risky. She’d massaged so many people since entering school. This was no different, she told herself.
He closed his eyes as she slipped her fingers through his hair. She felt less self-conscious now that he was no longer looking at her, no longer reading every nuance of her expression. But when she started to massage his scalp and he groaned, showing her how much he was enjoying it, the uneasiness she’d been feeling returned. Almost at first touch, she’d become aroused and hyperaware of every detail—the lavender scent of the candles, their flickering light, his bare chest rising and falling beneath the sheet. He must’ve had a similar reaction, because she soon noticed something else—the sheet lower down was tented.
His eyes no longer closed, he was watching her carefully, knew where she was looking and, possibly, what she was feeling. “Force of habit,” he said with a boyish grin.
“It happens sometimes.” She shifted her gaze to his chest—which seemed far safer than anything above or below it.
“You mean with other guys you’ve worked on?”
“Sometimes. You can roll over.” She’d reached the ten-minute mark. She had her massages down to a routine, knowing precisely how long to focus on each area. Her cream would be the perfect temperature by now. But as often as she’d done this before, she’d never given a massage during which it was so difficult to breathe.
“They taught you well at that school,” he said as she smoothed the cream over his back and began to knead his shoulders. “But you were always good at this sort of thing.”
That reminder didn’t help. They’d traded massages before. Many times. She’d just never enjoyed being on the giving end quite this much. It’d been so long since she’d been with him. So long since she’d been with anyone. Although she’d had a few relationships while she was in Fresno, they’d been fleeting. None of those men had been a good enough father for Wyatt, so she’d never let her clothes come off.
Channeling her emotions through her hands, since she couldn’t express them any other way, she focused on the music. She was making love to Aaron without actually making love to him, and it was such a relief. Somehow she’d managed to cross the desert of the past two years and come out successfully on the other side.
But the relief didn’t last. Soon the tension began to build instead of dissipate. The feel of him was so familiar that massaging him wasn’t enough. As she worked the thicker muscles along his spine down to his narrow hips, it was all she could do not to curl her hands around his tight buttocks.
“Feels good,” he murmured.
She tried to ignore the slight hoarseness in his voice. But it wasn’t easy. If only she could turn him over and make good use of that erection! She’d told him she didn’t want anything to do with him—but it was all she could do not to climb on top of him and reveal the exact opposite.
When the image of doing just that passed through her mind for at least the tenth time—with more immediacy, more demand—she finally pulled away. “We shouldn’t have started this,” she said.
He rolled onto his side. “Why not? It’s what you do for everyone else, isn’t it?”
“It’s...not the same.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe it’s because we’ve slept together in the past.”
“I don’t think it has anything to do with the past,” he scoffed. “I think it has to do with what we wa
nt right now.”
She wiped her hands on a towel. “I don’t...I don’t want you,” she insisted, but it wasn’t a very convincing lie. She could tell he wasn’t buying it when he grabbed her by the wrist and sat up.
“Prove it,” he said, putting her hands on his chest. “Touch me when I can play a part in this, Presley. When I can show you how it makes me feel, and I can touch you back.”
The sheet puddled at his waist, allowing him a slight amount of modesty, but it wasn’t difficult to recall the size and shape of what she’d find underneath.
This was the father of her baby, the man she saw in her mind’s eye whenever she looked at Wyatt. She’d missed Aaron so much....
“Don’t,” she whispered, but she didn’t try to pull away.
He cupped her cheek as he ran a thumb over her bottom lip. “Don’t what?”
Don’t make me tremble. Don’t make me mess up. Don’t remind me how wonderful it feels to have your full attention.
“Stop pretending you want me,” she said.
“I do want you.” His hands circled her waist, drawing her against him. But he didn’t hold her too tightly. She could tell he was being careful not to be too forceful. He preferred to entice her.
He didn’t need to be forceful. She’d lost this battle the moment she agreed to give him a massage.
Some of his caution faded when she pressed her lips to his and took his tongue in her mouth. That was when she realized he had her. He gripped her tighter, with his old confidence.
The sheet fell away as he stood. He was still only kissing her, but he was growing more aggressive. She could feel it. Briefly, a final warning rushed through her head. She had to stop this. But the power to act was there and then gone before she could grasp it. The compulsion to possess him, and to let him possess her, was too great. So when his hands slid up her shirt, it startled them both that she jumped back.
“What is it?” he murmured. “You okay?”
Her laugh was shaky, but she nodded. “Just overly sensitive. I haven’t been touched there in a long time.”
“How long?”
“Two years.”
“You’ve been celibate for two years?”
She nodded. She’d thought she was reinforcing her new lifestyle, being a better person during those months of abstinence. But now she had to wonder if all those good intentions had carried her to her weakest moment just when she was facing her most formidable challenge.
“Why?” he asked.
“I never met the right man.” He wasn’t the right man, either. History had proven that. But heaven help her...
“Sounds like we need to make up for lost time.”
Yes. Let him do it. Let him erase all the days and hours of missing him. If she was going down, she might as well go down in flames.
She dropped her head back as his thumbs flicked across the tips of her breasts. “God, I’m going to regret this.”
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until he froze. Then she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking but she began to fight her way through the hormones that were interfering with her own ability to think. She took hold of his wrists so she could push his hands away, but the disappointment that crossed his face made her hesitate. Then he kissed her again, and it was too late.
“You don’t mean that, do you?” he whispered against her mouth. “What’s to regret? It’s just me. We’ve been together hundreds of times.”
Maybe he was right. Making love once wouldn’t lead to anything that could threaten Wyatt. Aaron was the king of casual. Afterward he’d continue on his way. It might even help because once he accomplished his goal he’d have no reason to give her a second thought.
He untied her smock, and the rest of her clothes were gone soon after. But she wasn’t spooked; she was done trying to resist. Although she hated to admit it, he was as much her safe harbor as he was her Achilles’ heel. After not having a home for most of her life she’d latched on to him—figuratively and literally—and couldn’t make herself give him up.
“No one feels as good as you do,” she whispered as her arms slid around his neck.
“That’s my girl.”
His girl. Although she wished it wasn’t true, she couldn’t argue with that. But at least this time he seemed to be equally invested. That made their lovemaking more exciting than ever before. She had to have him right away, couldn’t wait another heartbeat after having waited for so long.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait. He felt the same urgency. Or he was afraid she might balk if she had the chance. So he got a condom out of his wallet, which he tossed aside, then lifted her against the wall and took her hard and fast, just roughly enough....
“Yes,” she groaned, “that’s it.”
His teeth flashed in a self-satisfied smile. “You like this?” he asked as he thrust harder.
She clung to him as he continued to move inside her. “Yes.”
“How much?”
“Too much.” Almost immediately the tension began to mount. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.” She heard the desperation in her own voice. She was so close....
“I wouldn’t...leave you...hanging.” His muscles were trembling with the strain, but he proved his words. When she cried out, he seemed relieved. Then he took a ragged breath and let himself go.
9
“That was freaking amazing,” he gasped as he lowered her feet to the floor. He no longer had the strength to hold her; his limbs felt like rubber. The past ten minutes had been so intense it had depleted his energy. “The best.”
When she said nothing, he felt a small jolt of alarm. Earlier she’d mentioned regret, but he hadn’t taken her seriously. What was there to regret? They’d both wanted this.
But he was pretty sure she was crying. Although she was trying to keep her face averted, he’d felt a warm drop on his arm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head, but he wasn’t reassured. “You’d tell me, right?”
“Of course.”
That was the answer he’d been looking for, but those words held no conviction, so they didn’t persuade him, especially when she immediately moved out of reach. He was so concerned about her reaction, it wasn’t until she went to wash up that he realized the condom he’d used was broken. Then panic shot through him, and he wondered if maybe he’d misinterpreted disappointment or sadness for fear. Had she noticed? Was that what was wrong?
If so, she had every right to be frightened. He was frightened, too. He’d never had anything like that happen before. “I didn’t come over to...to do what we just did,” he said when she returned to put on her panties. Now that he was standing more than two inches away from her nude body, he could see how much she’d done to get in shape. She looked great, but she seemed to be in a hurry to cover herself, which added to the unsettled feelings he already had. It’d never been like this between them.
He didn’t bother going after his own clothes; instead, he leaned a shoulder against the wall and watched her. “You believe me, don’t you? I mean...I really wanted to talk to you tonight.” This was especially important for her to know, given the state of that damn condom, which he’d removed and thrown away. He had to tell her, of course. He just wasn’t sure how to start out.
“Don’t worry about...what happened here,” she mumbled. “It was as much my fault as it was yours.”
She was good at taking responsibility. She’d done that before—at the book signing. But her reaction only made him feel worse. What if she got pregnant because he wouldn’t leave her alone? “Does it have to be anybody’s ‘fault’?”
“No,” she said, but she spoke as if she was forcing the word through her teeth, and she wouldn’t look at him. It disturbed him eve
n more that she moved quickly, erratically, as if her life depended on getting dressed and gathering up her massage stuff.
“You had fun, too. I felt you climax. You seemed to like it.”
“Yeah. You were as accommodating as ever. Thank you.”
He hadn’t been seeking praise, and accommodating wasn’t the word he would’ve hoped to hear even if he had been. That made him sound like he’d merely been servicing her. There’d been a lot more to it than that. They had too much history to make love without any emotion. He’d felt a great deal beyond pleasure—relief, satisfaction, a sense of resolution. So why was she upset?
“You know about the rubber?” he asked.
She finally glanced over at him. “What about it?”
She didn’t know, he realized. At some point, he had to tell her.
Or maybe not. Maybe he should just wait and see if she missed her next period. Maybe they were in the clear, and there was no reason to worry about it.
Damn the risk he’d taken! His brother, his sister-in-law—even Presley—had asked him to keep away from her. He’d come over here despite those warnings, and things had gone further than they should have, just like everyone had been afraid they might.
“At least say we can still be friends,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel bad, especially about this. And I definitely don’t want to feel as if...you know, as if I pushed you into something that wasn’t good for you.”
“You didn’t push me into anything.”
“So you’re not angry?”
“No.”
“You are angry.” He knew her too well for her to deny it.
“Not at you,” she clarified. “I’m mad at myself. I didn’t even make it until Monday. This wasn’t the direction I wanted to go.”
“Meaning...”
She sighed. “I have a date with Riley next Friday.”
He didn’t like the idea of Presley seeing someone else. It wasn’t often that a woman he’d just made love to brought up another man. He supposed that was why he felt a sudden surge of possessiveness, a desire to touch her again, to drag her into the bedroom until he could find the person he used to know amid all this resistance. “And this makes you feel...what? Guilty? Like you cheated on him? You don’t owe Riley anything. You barely know him. A date is just a date. Besides, Friday will be your first date.”
