She rested her head against his shoulder, which felt so nice. “You never have to apologize for that, and it was a very nice minute.”
Arguably the nicest minute he could remember. Although to be accurate, it had been a lot more than a minute. Had any woman ever felt so nice in his arms? He couldn’t even remember who the last woman had been.
“You’re scowling. Do I smell?”
“You smell like heaven. I was just thinking.” With a big effort at control he unwound his arms from around her and she slid back onto the sofa next to him.
“That didn’t look like happy thoughts.”
“Hmm,” was all he could say.
She tilted her head back to look up at him, eyes searching his face.
“Are you going to say more?”
The way he was feeling now, he’d be very likely to say much, much more. And that would be a very bad idea. “Not really.”
“So, you’re also a man of secrets.”
He needed to get off this topic and fast.
“I was hoping I was also a man of good kisses.”
“No. You are a terrible kisser.” She moved closer, and so did he. “I hated every minute of that kiss.”
His fingers were in her lovely short hair again. This time he was aware of the touch of her lips on his, the way they softened for him, the press of her body into him, a faint smell of apple shampoo. Like heaven on a summer’s day.
He laced his fingers through her hair to deepen the kiss, and an involuntary sound reverberated from his throat. A groan halfway between pleasure and hunger.
This was heating up very fast, far past his control. Slowly, as if from beyond a mist, he became aware of her hands on his chest, trying to push him away. With an effort he broke the kiss, and tried to catch his breath.
A moment passed in silence with her still straddling him, his heart galloping inside his ribcage.
“I think,” she finally whispered, “it’s even worse manners to have sex in someone else’s house.”
He sighed. “Probably for the best to stop. I don’t have anything resembling a condom.”
“You want me to improvise something from silk?” An adorably wicked smile lit up her face.
“If I thought that would work, you’d be sewing it right now.” He brushed a thumb across her bottom lip.
“Do you normally carry some with you?”
“No,” he said shortly. No, he never carried condoms these days and there lay so much bitterness, he had to sip more of the obnoxiousslivovato wash it away.
“OK.” She sounded like she meant business. “I think I’ve answered your question. Now you have to answer mine. And, no, you can’t distract me with more kissing.” She unwound his arms from her and slid off him. In fact she slid as far as she could, leaning her back on the arm of the sofa and brought her feet up. She sat there, hugging her knees and gave him an expectant look.
“OK, what do you want to know?”
“You can either tell me why you don’t carry condoms or why you haven’t delivered any babies for six years.”
She could have no idea that both questions led to the same answer, and nor would he tell her. She didn’t need to know everything.
Not everything.
But giving her half an answer meant walking through a minefield, tiptoeing around explosive bits of the story. He drew a deep breath and tried to organize his scattered thoughts.
“I’m a bastard,” he said as matter-of-fact as he could, hoping to make her laugh. She had a lovely warm way of laughing that started in her eyes and travelled down to her whole body. However, it was he who ended up laughing at the look on her face.
