“I don’t think I can.”
He took several breaths, smoothing a hand over his jaw. “Okay . . . here’s what we’re going to do. If you don’t want this or you don’t feel up to it, tell me. I’ll go back to my place, stick my head in ice water and attempt to scrub the last five minutes from my long-term memory.”
Please let there be anor.
“Or . . .” He watched my face as he spoke. “You could grab that vibrator from wherever you’ve hidden it and bring it back here.”
I could hear nothing but my own heartbeat. “You said kissing would complicate things.”
“Aye, it probably will.”
“You said you weren’t attracted to me.”
“I fucking lied. Isla, look at me.”Wasn’tI?No, my gaze had drifted to his chest. He lifted my chin again, holding my eyes for a long moment. “Grab it or tell me to leave, but this is all up to you. You’ve gotta pick one.”
I swallowed, nails biting into my palms. “And this won’t change anything. You’re still leaving Kinleith?”
There was absolute silence. He looked away and dipped his head. “Aye, I’m still leaving. We do this once. It changes nothing.”
I felt like I was going into cardiac arrest.
He released me to kneel on the sofa cushions. But there was nothing relaxed about his posture. His hands were fisted on his thighs. Jaw locked tight and his cock . . .God. His cock pressed impressively against his jogging bottoms.
He was holding himself back. Letting me decide.
Could I change what this arrangement was between us? Get out of my head long enough to let it actually happen?
“Isla.” A plea.
“This changes nothing,” I agreed. Mind made up. I didn’t breathe as I rose from the sofa, walking to the hallway, my steps obnoxiously heavy on the hardwood. My hands shook as I opened the cupboard and dug around between the towels on the top shelf. How had he figured out I’d been too scared to use it?
When it’d first arrived I’d opened the box, put in the batteries, flicked through every setting with a horrified fascination, then shoved it back in the box, hidden away to one day be found by archaeologists.
Maybe they’d place it in a museum. An ode to a lonely woman’s miserable sex life.
Back in the living room, I paused in the doorway. Heart thundering so quickly, it had to be dangerous.
Alistair hadn’t moved. But his gaze met mine, hot and expectant before dropping to the box in my hands.
“Isla, come here,” he said.
I couldn’t. My mind was a messy, knotted thing. Filled with questions that felt like quick-growing vines, each one leading to another. “You keep saying my name.”
“I can’t help it.” He crooked his fingers. “Come here.”
Should I have changed into something sexier? My hair was wound into a messy braid. I hadn’t shaved or put on lotion. Hadn’t done a single one of the things that Cameron had liked.
When I’d made this arrangement with Alistair, the only thing I hadn’t worried about was the physical side of our fake relationship. Because never in a million years did I think it would actually happen.
He read my hesitation. “Changed your mind?”Yes. I started to nod, but paused. Shook my head.
“Okay,” he said. “What are you thinking?”
Is this a pity orgasm? What if I can’t orgasm? Are my thighs too big? What about my pussy, what if it looks strange – smells strange – because I don’t know what’s normal? What if this ruins things? What if we start and you decide you don’t want this?
“Too many things.”
He tilted his head slightly, looking at me like . . . like I was cute. Someone he wanted to wrap in a blanket and protect. “Tell me one of them.”
