It had been the most intense and satisfying sexual experience of his life. All he could think was: they should have done that a long time ago.
Liz hugged the sheet to her and waited for her racing heart to slow its pace. All she could think was: they should never have done that.
How could she ever have thought that going to bed with Quentin wouldn't cause a seismic shift in her world? And, oh God, they'd been so carried away, they hadn't even used protection! Although it was unlikely, there was a possibility that she might even now become pregnant.
The last thing she needed was for him to know just how much she was affected, however, so she tried for sophisticated nonchalance. “You do know how to move fast,” she said with a laugh that sounded forced to her own ears.
He chuckled. “You call eleven years of suppressed desire 'fast'?”
“Well, we're officially only on our—” she thought for a second “—second date. Although,” she conceded, “things have been complicated by the fact that I've been living in your house.”
He smiled wolfishly. “Yeah, that means you owe me at least two more dates.” He paused. “By the terms of our agreement,” he reminded her.
Liz quaked inwardly. Two more? Heaven help her, how was she going to survive two more dates with Quentin? He wanted a nice, uncomplicated business arrangement. And she… in the midst of their passion, she'd admitted to herself that she loved him.
There it was. She forced herself to examine the admission unflinchingly. What was she going to do?
He gave a quizzical half smile. “I'm different from the other men you've been with.”
Yes, you're the only one I've been in love with. Yet, she could hardly answer with the truth.
She had, in fact, slept with only one other man. Soon after she'd learned of Quentin's engagement, she'd told herself to stop being silly and deluded. At twenty-three, it was time to give up hope Quentin would miraculously discover one day soon that he couldn't live without her.
So she'd finally accepted a date with Kevin Delaney, a nice, somewhat staid accountant who'd been hounding her for a date for at least six months. That Kevin's coloring and height gave him a more than passing resemblance to Quentin, she hadn't wanted to examine too closely.
Fireworks hadn't gone off, the world hadn't tilted on its axis, and she'd been forced to admit she'd made a terrible mistake.
There'd been men since then, of course, but nothing had gone beyond a few dates. The men had all been safe choices—as Allison uncannily liked to point out—unlikely to press her for more, content to let her set the pace.
Quentin broke into her thoughts with a teasing, “Am I supposed to take silence as an admission that I'm that good?”
If only he knew the truth! “Yes, well, everybody's unique,” she managed in a strained voice.
Quentin frowned. He didn't like thinking about Elizabeth with other men. “Speaking from your wealth of experience?”
She was hugging the sheet to her if it were a lifeline, unaware that the effect was to outline her ample chest—a chest he was intimately acquainted with now. “No, just one or two experiences.”
One or two experiences? She'd gone to bed with him like a fall leaf hitting the ground at the first breeze. He couldn't resist asking, “So I compare favorably?”
“Yes.” He had to bend his head to catch her monosyllabic response.
Troubled green eyes looked up into his. “I don't think this is going to work.”
He tensed and stilled the hand caressing her thigh. “Meaning?”
She bit her lip and glanced away from him. “This is more complicated than I thought it would be.”
He experienced an emotion suspiciously akin to panic at the thought that she might be trying to back out of their plan. Yet a part of him acknowledged that she was right. Going to bed with her had rocked his world.
Aloud he tried, “There's nothing complicated about two people who are attracted to each other acting on that attraction. I'd say this is as simple as it gets.” His voice sounded hard to his own ears.
She turned back to him. “You know, it's more than that. We're talking about having a baby. Bringing a baby into this world through a business arrangement, instead of because two people love each other enough to get married and have a baby together.”
He frowned. “You make it sound like most marriages are flawless relationships. The fact is they're usually far from that.” Panic made him perversely willing to argue with her instead of pushing her back against the pillows and using more primitive ways to persuade her.
“How can you be so cynical when your parents have a marriage that anyone would envy?” she asked with a troubled look on her face.
He sighed. After the debacle with Vanessa, he himself had pondered what made his parents' relationship work. “My parents are the exception. They didn't see each other for two years when Dad was in the military. They almost eloped because my grandparents objected to my mother getting married before she finished college. They had lots of time to paint rosy pictures of each other, and, believe me, even then, their marriage hasn't been a walk in the park. Dad was so busy building his company that my mother basically raised us on her own.”
Liz sat up in bed, careful to keep the sheet from falling and exposing her br**sts. “The exception is what I've been looking for.” She twisted the sheet nervously in her fists. “What I'm willing to wait for.”
Quentin's face was devoid of expression, giving her no clue as to what he was thinking. “This was a m-mistake.” She took a deep breath to steady her voice. “I'm sorry.”
“You want out of our agreement,” he said flatly, his hooded gaze revealing nothing.
“Y-yes,” she whispered.
He sat up and swung himself out of bed. Her gaze raked down his muscled back, tight bu**ocks, and strong legs. She drank in the sight before he started to dress.
When he turned back to her, he wore a cool and remote expression. “This was what we agreed on, nothing more and nothing less,” he said smoothly. “One of us could have stopped the whole thing at any time during our four dates.”
She willed herself not to cry. She bit her lip and looked away. “Well, I wouldn't worry about anything. With my condition, it will be difficult to get pregnant even at the right time—which this isn't.”
Nine
Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty. She finished counting the days on the calendar in her hand.
She was late. No question. How was that possible? With her condition, getting pregnant should have been difficult. Yet one night, one unforgettable night, in Quentin's arms, had been enough.