The Idea of You (24 page)

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.

E
VAN 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.”

He winced at her description but couldn't find fault with it. He also couldn't quite bring himself to feel guilty. He'd been honest with Alaina. “I told you I suck at relationships and that I wasn't interested in anything long-term. I told Michelle the same thing. I can't help it if she forgot or chose to ignore what I said.” Shit, was the same thing happening with Alaina? Was she starting to expect more from him?

He turned his neck from side to side as his senses started to sway again. He'd wondered earlier if he might be feeling something for Alaina, something he'd never felt before. Something he'd never expected.

He pulled up the drive toward the house, glad that they were almost home and he could retreat to his solitude, where he felt utterly safe and in control.

“Sometimes people can't help the way they feel,” she said quietly.

He couldn't quite detect the emotion behind her statement, and spending a bunch of energy worrying about it would likely put him over the edge. He pulled into the garage and shut the car off.

She opened her door and jumped out. He followed suit and met her at the back. When he pulled out their bags, she took hers from his grasp. Their fingers touched, and he felt a pang of longing. He reached for her other hand, but she turned and started toward the apartment.

He grabbed his bag and shut the trunk, hurrying to close the garage door and catch up to her. “Do you want me to carry that upstairs for you?”

“No, I've got it.” She paused at the door. “I hope you had fun tonight. We didn't even do everything at the dance. I meant for us to at least take our picture.”

Was that a twinge of regret in her voice? He wanted to turn back the clock and take that picture—and use a different condom. “I did. I had an amazing time until . . . you know.”

“Until a life you never wanted flashed before your eyes? I get it.” She opened the door and stepped inside.

“I'll see you tomorrow?” he asked. “It's Sunday dinner, unless everybody scared you off last week.”

She turned to look at him, but her face was completely in shadow, so he couldn't see her expression. Not that he would've done a very good job of interpreting it. Right now, he had no idea what she was thinking or feeling. As in so many situations, he was helplessly, frustratingly blind.

“They didn't scare me off. I'll think about it. Good night.” She turned, and he watched her go up. He stood in the doorway, registering the cold but not caring about it, until she'd closed and bolted the door at the top of the stairs.

He wanted to say something, to repair the damage that had been done. Okay, apparently he wasn't
completely
blind. He knew she was upset. He just wasn't certain why. Had he freaked her out with his talk of meltdowns? No, she'd said she could handle it, pretty much said she
wanted
to handle it.

It had to be that he wouldn't spend the night with her. She'd gone to all of this effort to create the perfect evening, and he'd pissed all over the climactic ending.

No wonder she was mad.

He closed the door and walked over to the house. He'd make it up to her tomorrow. Right after he asked his sister how in the hell to do that.

A
LAINA
'
S PHONE VIBRATED
on the nightstand, waking her from a deep sleep in which she nursed a baby contentedly until she realized it was fake and that it was just a movie role. She reached for the phone and squinted at the display. Four thirteen in the morning. Crystal better have a good reason for calling at this hour.

She slid her finger across the screen. “What.”

“Sorry to bother you, but I just got a frantic phone call from the producer of the Academy Awards. They are
desperate
, and since he knows you, he's begging. Jeff's a good guy. You should do him the favor. You know how things come back around in this town.”

Yes, she did. She fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “The whole point of my getting out of town was to lay low. If I come back and do this, I'll be on the red carpet and people will ask stupid questions. I'll throat punch them, get arrested, and, well, disaster.”

“The story's died back. And you know you can skip the red carpet entirely. Just go on stage to hand out the award. So what's the deal? Do you just not want to leave this guy you met?”

She would've said yes, until last night. She'd lain awake until probably two thinking about how a relationship with Evan would work out. How could she think about a future with a guy who basically didn't see himself as boyfriend, let alone husband material, and for whom kids were completely off the table?

“No, I could come back. Is this still best costume? I thought they got Reese Witherspoon to do it.”

“They did. This is for best picture.”

Wow. That was usually saved for legends. And she wasn't a legend. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. Would I call you at four in the morning for anything less than best picture?”

Alaina smiled. “Good point.”

“There is something else, actually. I didn't want to interrupt your
whatever
last night.” Since she'd shipped Alaina's things, she'd known about the date, but her questions about specifics had gone unanswered.

Alaina heard Crystal's disappointment and felt bad for keeping her in the dark. “It was just a date.”

“Just a date in a Golden Globes dress, your favorite diamond earrings, and those Louboutins I covet.”

“I was trying to knock his socks off.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.” And everything else, too. She'd also scared the crap out of him with her plan to spend the night together, and while she was upset about it, she couldn't be upset with him. He'd been clear from the start—just like he'd said—and she was the one who was trying to change the rules. “So what was the something else?”

“Isaac called me with a rumor, but his intel is pretty reliable. It sounds like Christopher Nolan's sending you a script.”

Alaina sat up in bed, and her eyes shot open as all vestiges of drowsiness fled. “Shut up.” Nolan was her dream director. Every actor had one, but so few actually got to work with them. She'd worked with some huge names, but Nolan was the golden ring. If it was a science-fiction or fantasy script—like
Inception
or
Interstellar
—she would
die
.

“So I should book you a jet?”

Alaina's pulse raced. “When's the script arriving?”

“I don't know. It's just a rumor, but it came from the studio, so I'd say it's a pretty good bet. You just might want to be here in case, you know, he wants to meet or something.”

For a brief moment, she wondered if she should stay, but why? Evan had been very clear about where he stood. “Let me know when I need to be at the airport.”

“Will do. I'll get everything set for tomorrow. Isaac has a handful of designers on speed dial.”

Shit, the Oscars weren't tomorrow, they were
today
. In like twelve or so hours. “That jet better get here fast.”

“I'll text you with details.”

“Great. See you in a bit.” Alaina disconnected and tossed the phone on the bed.

Christopher Freaking Nolan.
She squealed and kicked her feet under the covers.

This could change everything. Her decision to take a year or two off. Most importantly, the baby. And of course Evan. But she suspected there wasn't anything there anyway. They'd had a great time the past ten or so days, and it was time to exit the bubble and step back into reality.

What was her problem? She loved her life. She'd worked her ass off to get here, and it was exactly what she wanted.

Except her reality felt different now. Incomplete. And not just because her biological clock was ticking louder than a hurricane.

Like Evan, she'd expected to be alone given her track record with guys. Finding a husband hadn't worked out very well, which was why she was doing in vitro.

But now she'd had a glimpse of someone she could've spent forever with. Too bad there was no way he would've felt the same.

“H
EY
, E
VAN
,” K
YLE
called out as Evan came down the back stairs at six for dinner. “We're eating downstairs so we can watch the Oscars. It's already on, and I've got a pasta bar set up. I'm just grabbing the garlic bread.” He wore mitts on his hands and opened the oven to pull out two foil-covered loaves.

Evan had actually wanted to avoid dinner with his family tonight, but that was hard since it was Sunday and he lived in the house. Plus, he was starving. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, when he'd gotten Alaina's text:
I'm headed back to LA. Something came up unexpectedly—sorry. I'll see you soon.

It had been vague, which was very unlike Alaina. It had also ruined his appetite for the rest of the day, as well as his creative mojo. He'd spent a good part of the afternoon in the gym.

“Where's Alaina? We haven't seen her yet,” Kyle said as he unwrapped the bread and set the already-cut pieces into a huge basket lined with a cloth.

“She's, uh, back in LA. She had a thing.”

Kyle looked up at him, his hands stilling. “Everything okay?”

Evan shrugged. “Fine. Do you need help carrying anything down?”

“No, we got everything.” Kyle looked at him another moment, and Evan worried he was going to ask about Alaina. When he didn't, Evan exhaled in relief. “I'm heading down, you coming?” Kyle asked.

Why not? He could grab dinner, then head back upstairs. He needed to get some work done, not think about Alaina and whether her leaving was really because something had come up or if he'd driven her away with his freak-out.

As he walked to the stairs, Sean and Tori came in the back door. It was raining, and they both peeled off their wet coats. Tori hung hers on her hook and went to Evan. “Hey, I heard Alaina left. You okay?”

Is this how it was going to be tonight? Everyone fawning all over him because Alaina had gone back home? “I'm fine, and I'd appreciate it if you and everybody else stopped acting like Alaina and I are a couple or somehow joined at the hip.”

“Aren't you a couple?” Sean asked, joining them.

Tori cast her husband a narrow-eyed stare and whispered something Evan couldn't hear. He didn't want to hear it either. He wanted to grab his food and get back to the quiet solitude of his room.

Except as soon as he got downstairs and his eyes landed on the television screen, he was mesmerized. They were showing a montage of movies that had come out in the past year, including one in which Alaina had starred. Her hair was pale blonde in the clip, her face overdone with makeup. She was playing a mother with two young children, and she was struggling with some sort of problem—alcohol or drug addiction or some sort of mental illness.

He couldn't help but think of her as a mother to a child they might have created, and for a fleeting moment, warmth filled his chest. But then he thought of what kind of father he might be, and a chill overtook him. Still, he couldn't look away from her luminous face. Then it was gone from the screen, and everyone erupted into applause and commentary since they now knew the famous actress.

He turned and went to where Kyle had laid out the food and began to dish up his dinner.

Tori came up beside him. “Are you sure you're okay? You seem subdued—even for you.”

“I'm just busy with work.”

She tugged on his arm so he'd look at her for a moment. Her mouth was doing that little frowny thing that wasn't quite a frown. “Don't be dismissive. This is important. Alaina's important. I've never seen you like you were with her. You were so
on
—you know, engaged . . .
happy
.”

He knew what she meant. “Yeah, so?”

“So, did you have feelings for her?”

He should've expected this would come up eventually, but that would mean he understood emotion and relationships, and he really didn't. “I liked her a lot. I liked spending time with her.”
Understatement of the century, asshole.
He'd
loved
spending time with her. But had he loved her? He honestly didn't know.

Her brow furrowed. “Could it have been more?”

“I don't know. Tori, I don't . . . I don't do that. I don't look for connections or relationships. If I get along with someone and stuff . . . happens, well, it just happens.”

Tori picked up a pasta bowl. “And what ‘happened' with Alaina? You guys seemed pretty close. You actually copped to dating her, for crying out loud.”

He smiled faintly. “I guess that does make her sort of unique.”

“Completely.” Tori pressed her lips together. “Is she coming back? Do you have plans? I really think you could make a go of things.”

“In what universe?” He thought about his conversation with Liam at Georgia's. “How does a guy like me even function in her world?”

Tori flinched. “I don't know, but you could figure it out.” She looked at him earnestly. “I wasted almost a year of my life trying to fight Fate. I didn't think Sean and I could work at all—not with what had happened, with how we'd started out. But things changed.
I
changed. And what I thought was impossible wasn't just possible, it was critically important to my happiness.” She grinned. “And sanity.”

She was talking about the funk she'd existed in as a result of Alex's death. Or what Kyle referred to as her “spiral of doom.” Sean had saved her—or as Sara said, love had saved her. But, contrary to Internet memes, love wasn't an answer.

“I'll stop pummeling you with questions. I just hope you have plans, that you'll see each other again. Things seemed too special for you both to just go your separate ways.”

Evan spooned marinara sauce onto his pasta. “I suppose.”

“Your excitement is overwhelming.” Her sarcasm provoked him to smile. “Sean has to fly to LA next week for a meeting. He'll be there overnight. Why don't you go with him and take Alaina out for dinner?”

Shit, how would that go? Random nobody takes mega movie star out in Hollywood. Think people would notice? Maybe she could disguise herself again. Or maybe they could just get takeout at her house. His body quickened at the thought of seeing her—physically, mentally, and yes, emotionally. He missed her, and it had only been a day. He'd never missed anyone except his family, not for more than a few hours at best.

“I'll think about it.”

The show came back on, and the room quieted. Jon Stewart was hosting, and Evan appreciated his dry, self-deprecating wit. Maybe he'd stay and watch a little bit.

The only place to sit was on the couch on which he'd made love to Alaina.
Try not to think about that. Just be in the here and now and focus on your family.

He fought the urge to laugh, as he'd never really had to work at being in the present before. It was the other stuff, like dwelling on Alaina and their “relationship,” that typically took effort.

Before he knew it, he'd watched almost the entire show, and now they were down to the last award of the night—best picture. The presenter was a surprise guest, touted as one of Hollywood's brightest stars and an Academy Award winner herself. His gut clenched as he wondered if it could be her . . .

Then Alaina's name was announced, and she walked onstage. She looked breathtaking in an aqua gown with a deep V-neck, a massive diamond nestled between her breasts. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back and cascaded down her spine in artful waves. She wore the same earrings she'd had on last night.

Had that only been last night? It felt like a lifetime ago.

Her toes—the nails already a different color than they'd been on their prom date—peeked from the hem of her gown and the strap of those Louboutins she'd worn. Everything about her was both familiar and foreign—she looked ethereal and utterly untouchable on the screen. The movie star was an Alaina he didn't know, an Alaina he wasn't sure he
wanted
to know. Her life was so complicated, so public. In a word: a nightmare.

The room erupted again as everyone commented on how she looked and how cool but weird it was to see her on TV after having her as a guest. Sara turned to look at Evan. “Did you know she was going to be on?”

He shook his head. Would he have watched the show if he'd known? Would he have been able to stop himself? He had a hard time reconciling the woman on the screen with the woman he'd come to know.

Suddenly he didn't think he could go with Sean to LA. That was her world, and it was about as far from Evan as a person could get.