Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(74)

“I knew it!”

“—it would be that you just made me really goddamn happy. That’s it.”

He peppers sweet, reverent kisses all over my neck and shoulder.

“You’re a romantic, you know that?”

Connor chuckles. “And you’re the only woman who’d accuse a man of that in a surly tone of voice.”

I grunt. It sounds surly.

He turns me over so I’m forced to look at him. “C’mon. Admit it. There must’ve been a time when you weren’t quite so…”

I narrow my eyes. He has the good sense to look wary.

“If I say ‘cynical,’ will that be the last time I’ll ever see my dick?”

“Probably. Tread carefully.”

He cracks a cocky grin. “We’ve already had the conversation about how good I am at that.”

“Hmm. You’re right. You admitted in your letter that you only had one speed. Full steam ahead.”

Connor takes that as a license to bulldoze away. “Yep. And since we’re on the topic, why have you never had a drink before today?”

“We weren’t on the topic.”

“I’m full steaming here. Go with it, woman.”

“Just out of curiosity, how can people who aren’t having sex with you stand to be around you for more than five minutes?”

“Because of my good looks and charm, obviously. Answer the question.”

“Connor—”

“You’ve had my cock in every orifice in your body, Tabitha. Answer the question.”

We stare at each other until finally I say, “Please, for the love of all that’s holy, never, ever say the word ‘orifice’ to me again.”

He smirks. “Start talking, princess, or it’s ‘orifice orifice orifice’ until the cows come home.”

I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. “God, why do you hate me? Seriously, what have I done to offend you so deeply that you’d burden me with this ridiculous—”

“Ahem. Heroic,” Connor interrupts.

“—egomaniacal—”

“Brilliant.”

“—delusional—”

“And yet somehow always right.”

“—insufferable, asinine, jockstrap of a man?”

After a moment, Connor says, “Jockstraps are very useful, so I’m taking that as a compliment. And I happen to know that you don’t believe in God, so cut the theatrics and answer the question.”

“I don’t believe in the traditional definition of God,” I answer. “The Biblical God who throws tantrums and demands sacrifices and basically acts like a spoiled five-year-old who needs a time-out, but I do believe in…something. Some sexless, formless, benevolent energy that watches over us and lets us flail away in ignorance until we finally get old enough or lucky enough to figure out that all we basically should be doing is being kind to each other and to every other sentient being on the planet.

“That’s all. Just be kind. Help old people. Help the weak. Don’t be an *. And stand up to bullies, no matter the cost.”

I count the cracks in the ceiling. There are seventeen. It seems prophetic, somehow, that number. Seventeen was the age I was when all my deepest cracks began to form.

More softly, I say, “That’s the most important thing. Stand up to bullies. Even if you accomplish nothing else with your life, standing up to a bully is enough. Bravery is an end to itself. That’s what God or the universe or the sacred sparkle pony or whatever you call it wants. For us to learn to be brave and to do the right thing. In my humble opinion, that’s the real meaning of life.”

After a moment when Connor doesn’t say anything, I add sheepishly, “Sorry. I’m always tetchy right before I get my period.”

I get a big, warm hand on the side of my face, gently pressuring me to turn. When I meet Connor’s eyes, the look in his is breathtaking.

He says quietly, “You are the most interesting, thoughtful, beautiful, weird, and perfect soul I’ve ever met, Tabitha West. It’s an honor to know you.”

My throat tightens. When I inhale, it’s with a little, hitching breath that makes it sound like I might be about to cry.

I AM NOT ABOUT TO CRY.

“Don’t try to butter me up so I’ll answer you stupid questions.” I sniffle, blinking hard.

“Just the one question,” he corrects. “And you know you’re going to answer it, so just get it over with already.”

I look at the ceiling again. Connor moves his hand to my belly, where it spreads open, warm and strangely comforting.

“Like a flesh blanket,” I say, sighing.

“Um. What?”

“Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking out loud. Disregard.”

“Uh-huh. I did include ‘weird’ in that list a second ago, right?”

“You did. And I keep telling people I’m not weird, I’m limited edition.”

Connor chuckles. “Sweetheart, they broke the mold with you.”

That makes me smile. “I know.”

He leans in and softly kisses my shoulder. He nuzzles my neck, tickling me with his beard.

“Okay. Here’s the answer to your question. Are you listening?” I ask when he starts to nibble on my earlobe.