When You're Ready (Ready #1)(34)

“I’m so sorry, Clare. Is Maddie going to be all right? Should I figure out a way to get us home?”

It was a sweet gesture and I was really wondering how he planned on getting us home, but I declined.

“No, it’s fine. She’s fine with Leah. I just have to make a phone call.”

Oh God, that was going to be interesting. No doubt Leah would have some advice on what I should do.

“Okay, have you ever gone a night without her? Will you be all right?” he asked, still concerned. He was always checking on both of us.

“Yes, she’s spent the night at my parents quite a few times. She’ll be fine,” I assured him. He looked visibly relieved.

Ms. Thompson had been politely quiet during our exchange and now placed herself back into the conversation saying, “Okay, good. Now, should I make up one room or two?”

Well shit.

~Logan~

Clare looked to me as if I was supposed to answer the question. Oh right, because I was the organizer of this grand date? Well, this was definitely not in the plans and I had no f**king clue what to do.

“Ah, um...well.”

I’m stuttering. I’m f**king stuttering!

I stood, unable to sit there anymore. Pacing the floor, I turned back. They were both looking at me now. Two sets of eyes waiting for an answer. Why should sharing a night with a beautiful woman be such a difficult decision to make?

Body said good idea.

Mind said bad.

Fuck.

“Two, please,” I answered quickly.

A brief look of disappointment flashed across Clare’s features and then was quickly replaced by something else. Rejection?

She felt rejected? Oh, hell no. That shit was not happening.

Ms. Thompson said her goodbyes and went off to prepare our rooms for the evening. I swiftly grabbed Clare’s hand, pulling her from the couch and rotating her around in my arms, as our bodies collided together against the nearest wall. She needed to understand how badly I wanted her.

I pressed my body against hers, letting her feel every hard inch of me. She gasped and her eyes went round in surprise.

“Do you remember what I said to you in the garden?” I asked.

She nodded breathlessly.

“This isn’t a casual f**k for me, Clare. I refuse to screw this up like everything else in my life.”

Her eyes softened at my words and she opened her mouth, no doubt to rebuff my words, and soothe me. But I was in no mood to be soothed. She thought I rejected her in refusing to spend the night with her, and that seriously pissed me off. Lifting her at the waist, I grabbed her legs, wrapping them around my body, and rocked myself deeper against her core. She gasped, her eyelids lowering as she let out a small moan.

“But don’t think that me making the decision, the very hard decision, to refrain from taking you up those stairs to make love to you all night long, has anything to do with me not wanting you,” I reiterated before I released her legs, letting them drop gently to the floor. I still kept her pressed against the wall, our bodies tight together.

“Am I clear, Clare?”

She simply nodded, eyes wide, as a sheepish grin spread across her face.

“Good, now go stand way over there, across the room, while I think about old men running naked on a beach," I begged

She busted out laughing as I pulled away from her and dropped my hands to my knees, panting. I glanced up as she walked over to the over side of the room, clutching her sides in hysteria.

She was cracking up while I could possibly be dying of blue balls, all because I wanted to prove a point.

~Clare~

I never felt so bad for a man, but I couldn’t stop laughing. He actually looked like he was in real pain, with his hands on his thighs, and his breathing heavy and staggered.

Could men die of blue balls? Should I Google this? Hmmm...

He looked up at me, straightening, looking much better. Okay, good. At least I wouldn’t have to explain to Ms. Thompson why he looked so…ill.

“I’m good. Thinking about naked old men. Works every time,” he admitted.

Ewww…. “I so didn’t need to know that.”

He gave me that lopsided grin I loved so much and joined me on the other side of the room, his attention focused behind me.

I followed his eyes, and saw a large painting in the corner of the room. It was hard to see in the dim light, but once you did, you couldn’t look away. It was of a young woman dressed in period clothing from the late 19th century. She was beautiful, with dark brown ringlets and a fully adorned Victorian gown. Her skin was the color of porcelain, which was in stark contrast to the deep red of her cheeks and lips. Her vivid green eyes reflected a deep emotion and I took a step closer trying to discover it.

“Ah, I see you’ve found Catherine,” Ms. Thompson announced as she re-entered the room. Logan and I had been so mesmerized by the painting we hadn’t heard her.

“Pardon?” I said, still staring at the painting. It had an almost haunting quality to it that made it difficult to look away.

“That is Catherine Ann Thompson. She was the eldest daughter of my great-great grandfather William Conrad Thompson,” Ms. Thompson said proudly.

“She’s beautiful,” I told her.

“Yes, she was. I found that painting in the attic after my father died and I couldn’t let it sit in the darkness anymore. It’s too beautiful to hide.”