The Value of Vulnerability (28 page)

“Apparently,” she struggled for breath, “you missed me.”

His answer was a long kiss, followed by a pleased laugh. “Come on. Let’s shower and do that again. More slowly.”

In her bathroom, she removed her watch and set it on the vanity while he turned on the shower. Her fingertips trailed over the jewellery. Ford cupped a hand over hers, and kissed her throat. Her pulse instantly responded.

“Now I can thank you in person for your gift,” she smiled up at him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

No response to that.

Reaching across her, he picked up a packet of pills. “Are you good about taking these?”

She met his gaze in the mirror. “Yes, of course. Why?”

“Curious.” His gaze shuttered as he set the packet down.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re thinking about condom-use. Or rather, not using them.”

“Yes.”

Here was an opening. “I’m not having sex with anyone but you.”

“Is that agreement?”

She chuckled uneasily. “It’s a question.”

“You’re asking me for monogamy.”

“You’re asking me to trust you.” Her voice was light but his statement hurt. He had been with someone—perhaps plural Someones—since sleeping with her. The thought was crushing, so unexpected was the force of it.

A hand came up to catch her chin, tilting her face. “Look at me.”

Lashes lifted, revealing the glaze of unshed tears.

“Erin,” he said softly, “I’m usually monogamous. Certainly in the past few years. One woman at a time. There is only you.”

“Do one-night stands actually count as monogamy?”

He gave a rueful smile. “Yes?”

“Ford.”

“In all seriousness, I do not juggle several women at a time. One at a time, as I said. As long as there is you, there is no one else. How is that?”

“
That
’s monogamy. You good with that?”

“Did I not just say?”

“Just checking.”

“Then, yes. I am
good
with that.” He smiled. “Let’s leave the condom question for now. Early days. And we’ll both want to get tested. Just to be safe.”

“Of course
.” She grinned, playful again. “I’ll think about it.”

“I forgot you might have an opinion,” he mused, and she laughed at the undercurrent of surprise. What an arrogant ass he could be! Would it always charm her—for it did now, as he seemed to self-correct it—or run out of steam?

Early days.
As they showered, washing each other with laughing and teasing affection that turned seriously erotic in short order, she pondered how long early days lasted. They had known each other mere weeks, only a moment in the scheme of things, and much of it had been apart. Physically, they knew each other well. Mentally, they were learning. Emotionally . . . well, there was that empty void. But her success in establishing exclusivity with him gave her hope for future success in closing the gap.

He carried her to the bed, both still wet from the shower, her hair only lightly towelled. As he stretched out over her, she wriggled out from underneath him, laughing as she pushed him back, success gained only by his cooperation. Her mouth went in exploration
. She thrilled to the sounds of his pleased and aching approvals, encouraging her. Sliding down his body, her hands stroked his taut, hot flesh. Nails raked over his skin, over the hollows beneath his hipbones as she took the tip of his powerful erection between her full lips.

He jerked beneath her, his breathing ragged.
His hands caught her wet hair, dragging it out of her way and holding it there. She grinned saucily around him as she looked up the length of his body, her tongue applying teasing strokes as she met his furnace-fired eyes. He groaned helplessly. Rewarding this response, she took him in until she could take no more. Backing off, her hand temporarily replaced her mouth with long, sure strokes, and she took him in again.

He bucked convulsively, giving an approving growl and she heard her name in the back of the sound. “Come here,” he muttered, dragging her up to kiss her roughly. “You’re too much.”

“I thought you liked it,” she protested teasingly, nipping his lower lip.

“You have no idea how much.”

Grabbing a condom from the bedside table, she sheathed him with more efficiency than she expected from her shaking hands and, lifting herself over him—

He stopped her, his hands cupping her bottom, holding her up. “Slowly, sweetheart.”

Her hand guided him in as he lowered her, inch by slow inch. Her muscles clenched and released in pulsing time, gripping his rigidity in her wet, tight channel until he was firmly embedded.

Her breath hitched in shallow puffs until she feared she would hyperventilate—and they had not even moved.

He sat up and, palms on the duvet, said: “Hold on.”

As she gripped his shoulders, he pushed up and back to half recline, half sit against the headboard and pillows.

“Whee!” she laughed, having enjoyed the ride, impressed with his strength.

“You’re a crazy playful thing,” he muttered, his mouth seeking and finding a hard nipple. “This is supposed to be serious stuff.”

She laughed again, a gleefully pleased sound, and then threw her head back to voice her pleasure at his skillful attention.

But then it was serious as they moved together in perfect time, thrusting and pumping furiously until they both collapsed, sweat melding their skin, harsh breaths intermingling in intimate proximity.

Stretched over him still, she smoothed back his hair and he smiled at her, a truly warm smile that went straight to her heart. “So,” she sighed contentedly, “about your Christmas present.”

“Wasn’t that it?”

Poking her index fingers into either dimple, she shook her head. “No. But I need something from you in order to give you your present.”

T
hough the smile remained, it had cooled. “What do you need?”

The fingers prodded the dimples, trying to get the warmer smile back. “A day. A full day of your time, spent with me. There will be treats and clowns.”

“Treats, I’ll agree to. Clowns, however . . . Nobody likes clowns.”

“Maybe just one clown. Is that a yes?”

“I suppose I could manage that. Saturday?”

“Perfect.” She kissed him. “Thank you. You’re awfully cute with these divots
.” She grinned, still poking his dimples.

“Cute, hm? Not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Did you solve the dog or cat question?”

“Research indicates that dogs are slobbery and either overly friendly or overly mean. So, given a choice, I assume I would prefer cats.”

“What a perfectly Ford-like answer!” Cupping his head, she placed soft, nuzzlily kisses on his mouth. “Okay. Chocolate or vanilla?”

“As in, ice cream?”

Nothing was ever simple with him! “Sure. Ice cream.”

“Vanilla is most commonly served with alamode deserts.”

“But do you
prefer
it?”

Silence, punctuated with a frown. Then: “If I were merely ordering ice cream—on its own—and there was a choice, I would likely order chocolate.”

She tucked her face against his throat. “You’re exhausting.”

His hands stroked over her, down her back and over her butt, holding her against him.

The sound of
Psycho
violins intruded from the living room.

“Who has
that
ringtone?”

He didn’t answer her, shuffling her aside with an absentminded kiss, and left the bedroom.

She finally drifted off to sleep as he didn’t return, apparently conducting a long call.

When she awoke again, he lay beside her on his stomach, his face turned away from her, tension emanating from him. Sliding her naked body over his, she blanketed him in her warmth, seeking to comfort him without words, without demanding to know what troubled him.

He glanced back at her, a puzzled frown marring his forehead. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you warm,” she murmured, kissing his shoulder.
Giving you haven
.

She tugged the duvet into a better position over them. They lay silently like that for some minutes. At last, she felt the tension ebb out of his body.

Reaching a hand back, he stroked her head. “Thank you, baby. You feel good.”

She smiled against his skin, pleased. “I’m not too heavy? Do you want me to move?”

“Don’t you dare,” he breathed sleepily.

***

Ford woke first, luxuriating for delicious moments as the sensation of utter restfulness weighted his body.

Their positions had shifted while they slept, and she faced him on the pillow, her breathing deep and even. Always surprising him, he could not begin to convey to her what her gesture of comfort meant to him. It was too complex to explain.

Perhaps he should try. He needed to tell her something important, and he could smooth things by letting her in on one of those seminal moments.

Her eyes opened then and she smiled at him so lovingly it clenched his heart.

“Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Yes.” He kissed her.

He couldn’t tell her how much it meant to him. It would sound ridiculous and she would read too much into it. But he would refer to it obliquely—she would get the idea that he did appreciate it—and that would lead into what he really needed to tell her.

*

“Your brain is working really hard on something,” she chuckled sleepily.

A line appeared between his eyebrows, marking a thoughtful but slight frown. It was several moments before he spoke
—so long, in fact, that she was certain that he was not going to respond.

He exhaled softly
. The first words out of his mouth came as a huge surprise, and not generally the thing one wants to hear in the first moments of wakefulness.

“People cheat, Erin. Sometimes they pretend it’s an accident, as if it crept up on them. That it was a time, a place, one too many drinks. That sort of excuse. Other times, it’s . . . planned ahead. A woman I knew . . .”

He paused, obviously self-editing, and then ploughed ahead.

“Diane was my lover, several years ago. I trusted her, not for any reason more than I hadn’t quite learned that trust is not always deserved just because I want it so. She got close to me, closer than anyone before. We would lie awake in bed, and she would ask me about my day, how the company was doing, what my worries were. I thought she was offering me a sounding board, someone to whom I could vent. In the long run, I discovered that she was pumping me—a regretful analogy, but so accurate—for business information to give her father, and her father’s business partner, her real lover.”

She held his gaze, feeling the sting of tears as she sought but could not find the pain she knew
must
exist behind the words, some hitch in that level tone—but the story was told as if it were the story of a stranger rather than an intimate moment of his own life.

“It shocked me, on several levels,” he continued, sounding remarkably un-shocked. “That I had misjudged her, that I had let her fool me, that she would want another man over me. The irony is that she needn’t have bothered with the duplicity. I planned to marry her eventually. She was from an important family, and the marriage would have been a reasonable merger. She would have held the keys to the Howard mint.”

“How did you find out?” Her question was barely audible.

He hesitated, and the answer he gave was almost certainly not the entire truth. “She slipped up, asking questions that were too sharp, too crafty. I was a young fool, but not an idiot.” He pressed his hand against her face. “I dis
covered it had been planned. Even our meeting had been set up.”

She put her hand over his, holding him against her cheek. Questions and protestations whirled through her.
Is that what you think of me? I’d never do such a thing. You wanted to
marry
her! For more than just a merger? Did you love her?

But she bit her tongue.

“The other cheating, the
accidental
sort—you know, the allegedly unpremeditated sort where the man was drunk, or had an argument with his wife, and just couldn’t help himself in the moment.”

She nodded, smiling wryly.

“Woods is looking to cheat on his wife, and he has you picked out for it.”

She jerked back as if slapped. “
What?
”

“I know you don’t believe me,” he soothed with annoying patience. “But one day, he’s going to come at you, probably crying some story about how his wife misunderstands him or how the marriage is falling apart.”

A fresh set of aggravating thoughts crowded the others out: Joe’s voice as he went on about his struggling marriage echoed in her head. But what Ford was saying—it wasn’t true. Couldn’t be true. And she wouldn’t want Joe no matter the circumstances.