Chapter 11 #3
When he finally opened his eyes, his beauty momentarily winded her. Especially since as soon as he saw her, he smiled. It was a boyish smile. A smile of thanks and gratitude. But also with the subtle lip tilt of a cocky bugger who’d just accomplished the unthinkable.
Tears burned behind Krista’s eyes when the realization hit her like an anvil to the chest. Holy crap, she loved this man. She barely knew a thing about him, but what she did know, she loved.
They did the awkward post-coital dance and shuffle, and she tiptoed off to the bathroom, leaving him naked and possibly passed out in front of the fire.
When she returned, he had thoughtfully grabbed them each a glass of water and placed Krista’s on the hearth.
She took a greedy sip, not caring at all that a fair percentage of it dripped down her bare chest. Brock ducked off to the washroom and was back moments later.
Then they went to the task of getting dressed and pulling up the covers.
The fire had died down to a soft burnt orange glow, and the clock in the dining room said it was well past midnight.
As her head hit the pillow, she was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. This entire night had been a whirlwind.
“So … can I ask how in your thirty-six sexy years you’ve never managed to have anal sex?” she finally asked after they’d lain there for a few minutes, quietly listening to the fire sizzle and pop and cast shadows on the far wall.
“Opportunity just never came up. I haven’t been with that many women, you know.”
Holy hell, were they going to have the numbers conversation? “How many have you been with?”
“Fourteen.”
“Oh, that’s not very many. You’re right. Several long-term relationships then?” Was he not going to ask her how many people she’d been with?
“No. Maybe one or two, but as you may have noticed, I’m not exactly … ”
She snorted. “Friendly?”
His body shook with quiet laughter. “I was going to say a people person, but friendly fits. A few one-night stands, a few relationships, a few fuck buddies.”
“Oh.” They were quiet for a while again. Was he seriously not going to ask her her number? “You want to know my number?”
“Only if you want to share it.”
She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly grateful that they were both staring at the ceiling and he couldn’t see her face and she couldn’t see his. “I’ve been with eight.”
Maybe it was her imagination, but she could have sworn she heard an exhale of relief. But to Krista, eight was high. She came from a town where most girls married their high school sweetheart, so their fuck number was one. So with a number like eight, Krista was a trollop in Tanner Ridge.
“Eight guys are not very many at all,” he finally said. “The way you were breathing heavily just now had me thinking you were going to be in the triple digits.”
She bit her lip again. “Uh … eight people.”
He turned over onto his side, propping his head in his hand. “You’ve been with women?”
She nodded, deliberately not turning to face him. The ceiling was much easier to look at. “Yes.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Was it … ?”
“One was in a threesome. One was just the two of us.” Finally, because she couldn’t take it any longer, she shifted and faced him. “Does this change your opinion of me?”
Slowly his head bobbed in a nod.
Oh shit.
“I think it’s hot.”
“You do?”
He nodded more emphatically this time. “Yeah. Was it like an experimental thing? Or did you date this girl for a while?”
She mirrored him and propped her head in her hand. “It was when I went traveling. She’s from Poland. We met in Guatemala and started traveling together, and one thing led to another and we had a couple of fun weeks together.”
“So are you bisexual?”
Krista lifted one shoulder casually. “Maybe. I don’t really know.”
His hand came up, and he cupped her cheek. He tugged her in for a kiss on the lips that was more than peck. Seconds later he pulled away but didn’t release her. “Bisexual, hetero whatever, I’m just glad you’re in my bed now.”
Reveling in the warmth and safety of his touch, she leaned her face into his palm.
“Who are you, Brock Hart? I can’t figure you out.
I’m having a baby with you, share your bed and yet I know very little about you.
And you know very little about me … because you don’t ask.
Tonight is the first time we’ve ever really talked about ourselves and it’s been so nice.
I want to know more. And I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about me. You just have to ask.”
His brows knitted together for a second, and he studied her so intensely that she squirmed. Had the man even blinked? And then, all of a sudden, he changed again. The scowl returned, the walls or fence or whatever was back up, the mask was firmly on, and his eyes flitted to the clock on the mantel.
“It’s getting late,” he said gruffly. “We should go to sleep.” Without waiting for her to respond, he pulled his hand away and rolled over.
Leaving her staring at the back of his head with a crushed heart and wondering what the hell had just happened.