Chapter 7 #3
“Maybe this shouldn’t have happened.” He saw by the way her smile faded that he’d begun badly.
“I see.”
“No, you don’t.” Annoyed with himself, he made a grab for her before she could roll out of bed.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said stiffly. “When you’ve been fired as often as I have you get used to rejection. If you’re sorry about what happened—”
“I’m not.” He cut her off with a brisk shake that turned the glazed hurt in her eyes to smoke.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“I’m not sorry,” he said, struggling for calm. “I damn well should be, but I’m not. I can’t be, because all I can think about is making love with you again.”
She blew her hair out of her eyes and swore to herself that she would be calm. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“Neither do I.” He released her to tug his fingers through his hair. “It mattered,” he blurted out. It wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but it, too, was a fact. “Being with you mattered to me. I didn’t think it would.”
The ice she had deliberately formed around her heart melted a little. “Are you upset because it was more than sex?”
“I’m upset because it was a hell of a lot more than sex.” And he was a coward, he realized, because he couldn’t tell her that what they had now would end before either of them was ready. “I don’t know how to handle it.”
She was silent for a moment. He looked so angry—with himself. And as confused as she was by what had grown—no, by what had exploded into life—between them. “How about one day at a time?”
He shifted his gaze to hers. He wanted to believe it could be that simple. Needed to. “And what happens when I leave?”
The ice had definitely melted, because she felt the first slash in her heart. “Then we’ll deal with it.” She chose her words carefully. “Jacob, I don’t think either of us wanted to get involved. But it happened. I wouldn’t want to take it back.”
“Be sure.”
She lifted a hand to his cheek. “I am.” Afraid she would say too much too soon, she bundled back under the covers. “Now that that’s settled, it’s your turn to make breakfast. You can yell up the stairs when it’s ready.”
He said nothing. The thought of what might tumble from his heart to his lips unnerved him. If it was a choice between saying too much and saying too little, he had to choose the latter. He rose, tugged on what clothes came to hand, and left her.
Alone, she turned her face into the pillow. It smelled of him. Letting out a long, weary sigh, she willed her body to relax. She had lied. Rejections wounded her deeply, left her miserable and aching and full of self-loathing. A rejection from him would hurt so much more than the loss of a job.
Rubbing her cheek on the pillowcase, she watched the slant of sunlight. What would she do if he ended it? She would recover. She needed to believe that. But she knew that if he turned away from her, recovery would take a lifetime.
So she couldn’t let him turn away.
It was important not to push. Sunny was very aware that she demanded too much from the people close to her. Too much love, too much attention, too much patience, too much faith. This time it would be different. She would be patient. She would have faith.
It would be easier, she knew, because he was as unsteady as she. Who wouldn’t be, with the velocity and force with which they had come together? If they could progress so far in such a short time, how much further could they go in the weeks ahead?
All they needed was a little time, to get to know each other better, to work on those rough edges. Forget the rough edges, she thought, gazing at the ceiling. Those would take a couple of lifetimes, at least. In any case, she rather liked them.
But time . . . she was certain she had that right. Time was what they needed to get used to what had happened, to accept that it was going to keep right on happening.
She smiled at that, her confidence building again.
And if that didn’t work she’d browbeat him into it.
She knew exactly what she wanted. And that was a first. She wanted Jacob T.
Hornblower. If, after he had seen and spoken with Cal, he packed his pitiful little bag and headed back east, she would just go after him.
What was a few thousand miles between friends? Or lovers.
Oh, no, he wasn’t going to shake her off without a fight.
And fighting was what she did best. If she wanted him—and she was certain she did—then he didn’t have a chance.
She had as much right to call things off as he did, and she was far from ready.
Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d let him off the hook in fifty or sixty years.
In the meantime, he was just going to have to deal with it, and with her.
“Sunny! This stuff is in the bowls, and I can’t find the damn coffee.”
She grinned. Ah, the sweet sound of her lover’s voice carrying on the morning air. Like music, like the trilling of birds—
“I said, I can’t find the damn coffee.”
Like the roar of a wounded mule.
Madly in love, she tossed the heap of blankets aside.
“It’s in the cupboard over the stove, dummy. I’ll be right down.”