One Night with her Bachelor(41)

“I’ll do my best.” His voice sounded choked, as if it were a struggle to get the words out.

“Did you ever really notice me before I came up to your cabin?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “The truth?”

“Please.”

“Not as anything more than Scott’s little sister.”

The words stole a little of her confidence, but then he said, “After you visited me, though, my memories of you as a kid sort of faded away, and all I could see was this beautiful woman who had a hell of a lot more courage than I do.”

That made her pause. “Are you kidding? Trust me, I’ve never parachuted into any combat zones—though breaking up fights between five-year-olds sometimes feels like it.”

His face softened and he shot her a small smile. “You were destined to become a teacher. That’s one memory I’ll always have—you making all your stuffed animals sit on chairs in your parents’ living room while you taught them the ABCs.”

She gasped. “I never did that.”

He pressed his palm to his chest. “Scout’s honor. I must’ve been eight so you were probably, what? Like, three? Four? It was the first time I went to your house to play with Scott. I remember thinking you were sweet. Then you told me and Scott to sit, and I found myself pretending not to know the alphabet so you’d feel proud of yourself.”

Her heart did a funny little dance, and she was helpless to do anything but stare at the side of his face as he opened up more and more. “You know, a lot of eight-year-old boys would’ve just ignored me and gone to play something else.”

“Well, I vaguely remember Scott suggesting that, but you looked at me like it was really important to you, and I couldn’t say no.”

Oh God. I could love you. I really could. She swallowed around the growing lump in her throat.

“Can I ask you a question now?” he said.

“Of course.”

“What made you come up to my cabin that day?”

The reasons were so embarrassing, but she couldn’t repay his honesty with anything less. “I wanted to get laid.”

His burst of laughter made her chuckle as she hid her face. “Hey, now,” he said, pulling her hands away. “Our force field works out here, too.”

He pushed her hands down, and she tipped her head against the seat to stare at the snowdrifts lining the road. “It had been so long. So. Dang. Loooong. My friends all tell me about their sex lives, and it seems like they’re constantly doing it. I thought I must’ve been missing out on something. I’ve never been that excited about sex. I mean, I was when I first started having sex, right after I got married—”

“Wait, didn’t you… before…”

She shook her head. “I’d wanted to wait. It seemed like it would be more special that way. In hindsight, I realize that’s why Greg and I rushed to the altar.” She shrugged. “Our honeymoon was nice. Awkward, but nice. But then I got pregnant and felt sick all the time and Greg didn’t really want to touch me anymore. I can’t blame him. I can see how insulting it would be if your wife gagged and threw up in your lap when she was…you know—” She gestured toward his crotch. “—performing certain services.”

He pressed his palm against his mouth, and she could tell he was trying not to laugh again. His voice was muffled, but she could still hear the amusement as he said, “Services?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Nope. You’ll have to be more descriptive.”

Exactly the kind of invitation she’d hoped for. She slid her hand over his thigh and channeled her inner Claudine. “Why don’t I show you instead?”

*

Gabriel bit back a moan. Damn but this woman was going to kill him. He was already so hard he thought he’d explode any minute. From the second she’d walked into her living room, all dressed up in that tight shirt and frilly skirt, all he could think about was getting inside her. But they had to have a serious talk first, and his truck wasn’t the place to do that.

“Gabriel?” Her voice was tentative, and he realized how insulting his silence might seem after such an offer.

He cleared his throat. “I’d love that, Molly. Really. But—”

But what? Why the hell couldn’t he say the words out loud? Why couldn’t he tell her?

Because not-so-deep-down he was a chicken shit. He was an unemployed airman who’d spent the past year avoiding people so he wouldn’t see his own reflection in the way they looked at him. Molly was holding down a job, holding together a family, and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. How could he add his own dead weight to that?

He was here to give her a good time, to help her relax and feel sane after all the insanity fate had heaped on her. He knew those feelings all too well. He still struggled with them constantly, and being with her soothed them like nothing else.

He wanted the fantasy. He wanted to pretend for a while longer that he was whole and she might choose him as her man to lean on. He wanted to pretend he could bring more comfort to her life than stress, even though the reality was he had so many of his own issues to figure out.

Molly shifted away from him, taking her hand off his leg and curling it in her lap. She stared out the window on her side of the truck, her shoulders hunching with that extra weight of his silence. He’d done it again. He’d hurt her by trying not to hurt her. He felt like the world’s biggest dick. But he just didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t a smooth-talker.