I might be woozy from the fall, or maybe I’m just good at making bad decisions, because I reach out for his hand, grabbing it like I did on the plane.
“Dane. Was it bad?” I ask, wincing at the delivery, and also at the impossible task I’ve just given him. Either be honest with me about the sex or lie to my face about it. Either way, we both know the truth.
He stops, turns, arches a brow, “Bad? What—on stage? Lucy, you know that you did a great job. Everybody told you so.”
Not you, I think, but don’t say, because I don’t want to change the subject to the stage, to the presentation. To work.
I don’t really care about what happened—mostly, I didn’t want him to have to go up there alone, though I’m sure he could have handled it. He’s a CEO with tons of experience, a literal legend in the business world. Even his worst probably would have been better than what anyone else could have delivered.
“Not on stage,” I clarify, dropping my gaze to our hands. He hasn’t flexed his fingers, hasn’t done anything to hold my hand back.
Which makes sense—he made it perfectly clear that this was inappropriate. Not happening. That he doesn’t date, anyway.
“Lucy,” he murmurs, realization settling over his features, and he turns, instantly, stepping close to me, then falters, as though questioning that decision. I let go of him, not wanting to look any more desperate than I already do, and that seems to sway him into coming closer, kneeling down beside me.
“It wasnotbad,” he says, his voice somewhere south of choked. “I can promise you that.”
“You don’t have to lie,” I say, knowing I’m being petulant, but also thrilled with his closeness. “It’s okay—I figured that was the reason you didn’t want to?—”
“Lucy. It was not bad—in a way, I’m not really sure womencanbe bad in bed?—”
I suck in a breath, turning to look at him, wondering if I should be insulted. “But I’ve read about it online, like—star-fishing or whatever.”
He blinks, surprise and amusement on his face. Of course, it’s not like Dane Rourke is scrolling through Reddit threads offering advice and expertise to know if you’re bad at sex. Not like I’ve been doing the past few days.
“It’s my opinion,” he says, slowly, “that if a man is doing his job, a woman shouldn’t be able to be bad in bed. Whatever you said… star-fishing? That seems like something that can only happen when the man sucks at what he’s trying to do.”
My skin is hot again, breath coming a little quicker, and I don’t miss the position of Dane’s hand above my head, the fact that I’m laid out for him on this couch, nothing but the towel separating us.
The fact that Dane is certainly good enough. That I could never be apathetic with him.
“I want to begood, though.” What I don’t say is,I want to be the kind of woman who doesn’t hear “that shouldn’t have happened”right after the deed is done.
He looks pained, glances away from me, then back. Once more, decision moves over his features, and I feel his hand flexing from its position above my head.
“Lucy,” he murmurs again, his voice low, his hand trailing down, skirting over the bare skin of my side. I shiver, he swallows, and once more, I feel it building between us. I’m already soaked—from the shower, but also from my body’s reaction the moment he slid his arms under me. “Are you hurt?”
I blink at him, confused, then he clarifies, “From the fall. In the shower.”
“No.” I say it a little too hastily, a little too needy, but I don’t care anymore. Dane knows that I want him, and it looks like he wants me back, no matter how hard he’s been working to keep himself from doing anything about it. “I’m not hurt.”
“Well,” Dane finally says, his throat working, his gaze traveling down over my towel. I want to fist my hands in his salt-and-pepper hair, want to feel his weight on top of me. It feels infinite, the number of ways I want him to take me, to have me, and like we just don’t have enough time for it all. “I could teach you.”
I blink up at him, lust momentarily paused by confusion. “Teach me?”
Some of that professionalism slides back onto his face. A different wall, but a wall, nonetheless. “Yes. We could… continue this relationship. But not romantic, not dating. Just—lessons. Would you want that? If you knew it would never go any further?”
This might be wrong—it probably is.
But it feels right, and I want it, and if I spend too much time thinking about it, all I’m going to do is talk myself out of it.
Not for the first time, I think about Frankie, and what she might say. In all our trips and adventures together, we didn’t really talk much about sex. As she got sicker, she didn’t really seem to crave it, and I wasn’t that interested in the college guys around us, anyway.
But I have the feeling that if she were alive now, and I could call her, she would ask me what the hell I was waiting for.
“Yes,” I breathe, reaching for Dane’s collar and dragging his lips to mine.
Chapter 14
