The Idea of You

by Darcy Burke

  “Not at all, and of all my siblings, she’s the most trustworthy one you could ask.”

  Alaina laughed. “I thought so. I’m getting to know you Archers pretty well.”

  “But I also have a key.” He took his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. “Sara knows that. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

  “She did, but we planned for every contingency.”

  He pushed the door open and set the wine bottle down on the floor next to the wall. He turned, swept her into his arms, and carried her over the threshold. Maybe this was going to be the romantic evening she’d planned, after all.

  She locked her hands behind his neck and kissed him just beneath his ear. “Leave the wine. There’s more upstairs.”

  He tightened his hold on her and bore her to the staircase at the back of the cottage. He carried her up the stairs like she weighed nothing, but then, she’d seen what he could bench-press. The stairs opened up to a landing with two doors. She knew one led to a closet and the other to the suite.

  He knew which was which and carried her into the suite. The room was aglow with candles—battery-operated, like at the high school, so that she could have everything set and ready without worrying about burning something down. Music played softly in the background. She’d chosen instrumental with a bit of a Celtic hint. She liked the beat because it was primal and heavy. Sexual.

  He lowered her to the floor, and she slipped her arms from his neck. “Where are you going?” he rasped.

  She perched on the edge of the four-poster bed. “I was going to take off my shoes, if you want to help.”

  He squatted down and lifted her foot. With deft fingers, he unbuckled the slender strap and slid the shoe off. “These can’t be very comfortable.”

  “Not particularly, but they look fantastic, right?”

  He moved to the other shoe. “They’re without question the sexiest shoes I’ve ever seen. On the sexiest legs to ever walk this earth.” He ran his hand up her calf and cupped the back of her knee.

  She jerked, giggling. “I’m ticklish there.”

  “Are you?” He slid his other palm up her other leg and drew a fingertip into the cavity behind her knee. “Like that?”

  She squealed and pulled her leg away. “Stop it!”

  He sobered. “Sorry. I hate to be tickled. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She stood from the bed, eager to banish any discomfort. She wanted tonight to be perfect. And it had been going so well. She’d never seen him so comfortable, so easily witty and carefree. It was intoxicating.

  She pressed her palms against his chest and slipped them under his jacket, pushing it from his shoulders. He arched his back and let the garment fall behind him. “Do you want more wine?” she asked.

  “Not right now.” He fingered one of her earrings. “These look expensive.”

  “They were a birthday gift from a producer I’ve worked with a bunch of times. And yeah, I think they’re worth about fifteen grand.”

  He blew out a breath. “I hope you don’t expect me to buy you a present like that.”

  She reached up and took them off. “I thought you said you had a trust fund. If you don’t, I might have to rethink this relationship.” She set the earrings on the nightstand, and when she turned back, he was staring at the bed. “Evan?” She touched his arm. “I was kidding. I don’t care about your trust fund.”

  “I know. But you said . . . relationship. Is that what this is?”

  She took his hands in hers but didn’t ask him to look at her again. “I think so. Are you okay with that? We don’t really have to call it anything. I’m happy with you, are you happy with me?”

  “Yes. And I don’t care what you call it either.” He cupped her face and kissed her. Where their connection had been intense and rough in the limo, now it was soft and gentle. Sweet. “How does your dress come off?”

  She smiled against his mouth. “There’s a zipper on the side, underneath my arm. Here.” She lifted her shoulder and reached over with her other hand to slide the zipper down. The dress gapped open, and as she shrugged to dislodge the one shoulder of the dress, her breasts fell out. His gaze dropped to them. “Fancy built-in bra with this dress—it was made for me by the designer.”

  “Fucking brilliant. Every single dress should be this easy.” He lifted her breasts in his hands, weighing them almost reverently. “I have zero experience with fake tits, but I’m guessing these are real.”

  “Completely.”

  “Your maker was incredibly good to you. And by extension me.”

  She laughed again, unable to suppress the joy cartwheeling inside of her. “Lucky us.” She shimmied her hips, and the dress fell to the floor. Without waiting for him to ask or touch her, she slipped her underwear down and kicked them aside. Standing naked before him, she looked up into his face.

  He’d let go of her breasts and was staring at her hair. “Can I take it down? I almost don’t want to. You look so perfect. Like a fancy cake.”

  She began to pull the pins out one by one, and gradually her hair cascaded down her back until it became too heavy and the mass fell before she was finished. She managed to find the last few pins and dumped them next to her earrings.

  He touched her mouth with the tip of his finger, and she sucked it into her mouth. His indrawn breath spread heat outward from her belly. “No one’s ever done that to me before.”

  She continued to suckle him, drawing him deeper into her mouth. He gripped her waist and closed his eyes briefly. Then he pulled his finger out and trailed it down her chin and along the front of her throat. He slowly dragged it down between her breasts, leaving a path of trembling want.

  He splayed his hand flat against her belly, his touch light and oh so arousing. Her pulse sped as he moved to her side, skimming his palm over her heated flesh as he went.

  “Are you really mine?” He caressed her ass as he circled around her, pausing to brush his fingers up and down her flesh and drawing a needy sigh from her lips.

  “Yes.” But her answer was to so much more than that simple question. Yes, I’m yours. Yes, touch me. Yes, make love to me. Yes, never let me go.

  Yes.

  He slipped his hand between her legs from behind and found her core. She was wet and hot and so ready. She gripped the bedpost to her right and held on as he stroked his finger into her. “Oh God.”

  He withdrew, then surged forward again. And again. He pushed her hair to the side, and most of it fell over her shoulder and grazed the top of her breast. His breath whispered against her neck a moment before his lips pressed down. His tongue, all velvety softness, brushed along her spine. All the while, his finger kept up its relentless invasion.

  His other hand came around her and cupped her breast, squeezing her flesh lightly and then pulling on her nipple until she gasped. She widened her stance and arched back against him, wanting more. “Please,” she begged.

  He moved his hand around to her front and slipped his finger in that way. No, fingers, this was fuller, better. She cast her head back against his shoulder as he tugged her nipple and latched his mouth onto her neck.

  She moaned, rotating her hips, seeking release as her orgasm built. He pressed his hand flat, then found her clit, grazing it with swift, delightful strokes. Then his fingers were inside her again, and he kept his hand flush against her clit as he pumped hard and fast.

  “Come, Alaina,” he whispered in her ear. He tweaked her nipple, and the floodgates opened. She cried out as pleasure slammed into her, weakening her legs. If not for him behind her, holding her, she would’ve collapsed to the floor.

  He didn’t stop until she sagged against him. With an artful pivot, he swept her into his arms and laid her carefully on the bed. Her entire body trembled, her breasts and thighs tingling with satisfaction. She watched him as he undressed, his fingers moving fast over the buttons of his shirt and stripping it away before her hungry gaze.

  The rest of his clothes followed until he
was unabashedly, magnificently nude. He really did have a model’s body. Perfectly sculpted, engineered almost. Yes, their maker had been more than generous to both of them.

  He had one of his ever-present condoms in his hand and made short work of rolling it on before settling himself between her thighs. She tipped her pelvis up, urging him to find his way home.

  He brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her, his mouth hot and wet. He guided himself into her, and she moaned into his mouth. Her flesh, still sensitive from her orgasm, quivered around him. He plunged slow but deep, filling her. He braced a hand next to her head and began to move. She wrapped her legs around his waist and clutched his back.

  She would’ve been content to do this forever. Listening to him breathe, feeling his body work, tasting his need—a need that mirrored her own.

  He broke away from her mouth and picked up speed. She closed her eyes and listened to the music. The beat of the drums matched the thrum in her veins. She let the rhythm overtake her as he pumped into her. She rose up and met his thrusts, pressing his ass into her with her heels.

  She opened her mouth on his neck, kissing and licking and nipping at his flesh. He moved even faster, his hips twitching in perfect time. Another orgasm built and quickly cascaded over her. She reached for his ass, grabbing him just above her feet and squeezing as she came.

  He shouted her name and fisted her hair. His cock filled her again and again as his orgasm rocked through him. It felt different from before, for some reason. Better.

  He gradually slowed and then slumped, his breathing hard and fast, as if he’d run the track. But then, she sounded exactly the same. She smiled, feeling utterly sated and complete.

  He kissed her cheek, and she turned her head to capture his lips with hers. Their tongues danced briefly before he sat up. “Give me a sec.”

  He withdrew from her and rolled off the bed. “Well, shit.”

  The alarm in his tone set off warning bells in her brain. She sat up. “What is it?”

  “I think the condom broke.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was bad. She was pretty sure she’d ovulated a couple days ago, but wasn’t she still fertile? And wasn’t she on fucking Clomid?

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Calm down, Lainie.

  She reached down and felt between her thighs. Yeah, the condom had definitely broken. That was what had been different.

  She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s okay.” It might not be, but what was the point in freaking out now? She’d learned a long time ago not to jump to conclusions. Bad shit happened when you made assumptions.

  His eyes were narrowed, his mouth hard. “It isn’t really, not unless you’re on some other kind of birth control. And I hope you are, because kids are the last thing I want.”

  She’d never heard him speak with such derision. In fact, she hadn’t thought he was capable of that. “Ever?”

  “Ever.” He strode toward the bathroom. “I’m not ever having kids, and I’ll never change my mind.”

  Alaina’s shoulders drooped as the bathroom door closed. Anything she’d planned to say about what she wanted died on her lips.

  EVAN CLEANED UP in the bathroom, but his heart was still racing. The thought of getting Alaina pregnant made him break out in a cold sweat. He knew there was no solid evidence that autism was hereditary, but there was no chance he was willingly having a kid who might be born with this or, even worse, with the bipolar depression that had driven both his grandfather and his brother to kill themselves.

  He splashed cold water on his face, then braced his hands on either side of the sink and looked in the mirror. There was a red mark where she’d kissed his neck. It wasn’t a hickey—it would be gone soon, like her.

  Relationship? What the hell kind of relationship could he give her? Great sex? A good time? Nothing more. They’d said nothing permanent, and he still meant it. He had to.

  He took a quick shower to rinse off and hurriedly toweled dry. He wrapped the towel around his waist before leaving the bathroom to grab his clothes.

  He opened the door to find her sitting up in bed, her hair in a ponytail. She’d thrown on a sweatshirt and yoga pants, which she must’ve stashed here earlier.

  She pointed to the floor next to the bathroom door. “There’s a bag for you over there. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Thanks.” He picked up the bag and went back into the bathroom. She’d packed toiletries, clothing, even his meds, which he took every morning. She’d intended them to spend the night together. And since there was only one bed, she’d meant for him to sleep with her. He told her he didn’t do that. He didn’t care how into her he was, he didn’t do that.

  Irritation, something he didn’t encounter on a regular basis, threaded through his body and set him on edge. He got dressed quickly and went back into the bedroom.

  “I’m not spending the night here. Are you ready to go, or do you want to shower?”

  She fidgeted with the sheet. “You seem angry.”

  “Yeah, kind of.”

  She got up from the bed and walked toward him but stopped before she got too close. Good, because he didn’t think he wanted to be touched right now. His mind and body had gone from total bliss to practically shorting out.

  “Because of the condom, or because I was hoping we’d spend the night together?”

  “Both.” He moved the bag to his other hand. “I’d rather not talk about it right now.”

  She pursed her lips briefly, then crossed her arms. “Why not?”

  He kept his gaze fixed on the headboard, but he could see her reactions from his peripheral vision. “Because I don’t want to have a meltdown in front of you.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.” She uncrossed her arms and took a step closer. “Really. I care about you so much. You can be yourself with me, your complete, uninhibited self.”

  “If I can not have a meltdown, it’s better for me. Do you understand that?”

  She flinched, and he realized he must’ve said that more sharply than he realized. Once again, his communication skills were circling the toilet. “I’ll be just a minute,” she said.

  She grabbed her bag from the corner and went into the bathroom. He heard the lock turn. As if he would’ve tried to go in. He was a mess. Or at least bordering on a mess.

  He went to the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed and sat. How had the night gone from the best of his life to complete disaster? Because the stupid condom had broken and put his entire brain out of whack. Logically, he knew he ought to be able to acknowledge the chances of pregnancy were low. However, they weren’t nonexistent, so emotionally he was fucked.

  He got up and plucked his clothes from the floor. His phone was still in the pocket of his pants. He pulled it out and stuffed everything else into the bag.

  He stared at the screen for a moment before searching for his meditation app. He brought it up and began a ten-minute relaxation exercise.

  By the time Alaina came out of the bathroom, he was done, but he was still lying on the floor on his back. He slowly opened his eyes and glanced at her standing near the door.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Meditating.” He plucked his phone off his chest and got up. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He scanned the room. She’d picked up all of her things—her clothes, her jewelry—while he’d been in the bathroom. “Do we just leave everything like this? I don’t remember if there’s a cleaning crew or something.”

  She crossed the room, passing him without getting close enough to touch. “Sara said it would be taken care of.”

  He nodded and moved to open the bedroom door for her to precede him down the stairs. He let her outside and then turned to lock the door behind them. It was late—nearly midnight—and the sky had completely cleared. That also meant it was cold, and neither one of them had coats.

  “I guess we forgot it was February,” he said.

 
“Yeah, I guess so.”

  He dropped his bag behind the car on his way to open her door. Then he took her bag and waited for her to get situated before closing it firmly. He stowed both bags in the trunk before climbing in the driver side. He fired up the engine, and more importantly the heater and heated seats, and pulled down the lane.

  “Are you feeling better after meditating?” she asked.

  “Yes, it typically helps.” Physically, he felt great, but mentally, there was a still a kernel of annoyance at the back of his mind. He didn’t know how to make it go away. Hopefully tomorrow he’d feel better.

  “I’m glad.” She went quiet, as if she were hesitating. She smoothed her hand over her thigh, drawing his attention to her familiar shape. “Can we talk about what happened now?”

  He wasn’t sure but thought he probably owed it to her to at least try. “We can give it a shot, but I can’t promise I won’t ask you to table it for another time.”

  “Fair enough. So, you don’t ever want any kids at all? I mean, you said that, but I just wanted to be sure.”

  “You heard it right. No kids. Ever.”

  “Why?”

  “Hereditary issues. Too much garbage in my genes I’d rather not pass on.”

  “What about adopting? Would you feel the same if there wasn’t any chance of the child inheriting your ‘garbage’?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.” And why would he have? He’d yet to experience a relationship that made him think about tomorrow, let alone forever, and children just didn’t figure into the conversation until you were ready for that level of commitment. “To be honest with you, I’ve never seen myself getting married or even being in a long-term relationship, so the whole kid thing is moot.”

  She shifted in the seat, turning toward him. “Really? You expected to spend your life . . . alone?”

  He shrugged. “I’m never really alone. You’ve met my family, right?”

  “Sure, but they aren’t your partner, your best friend, your lover.”

  She had him there. “So far I haven’t missed those things. I’ve managed to do just fine.”

  She settled back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. “Because you had a fuck buddy who you kept at arm’s length.”