Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
claire
Is it actually possible to die from excessive yearning? Or dehydration?
That’s it—I’m literally dying of thirst, but the sexy kind.
Don’t get me wrong, I could lie here and talk to Rowan all night, especially when it involves this much skin-to-skin contact.
I don’t know if I’d ever get tired of kissing the man, and we’ve already proven my body responds extremely well to his touch.
And, although I’ve always thought of myself as having a high sex drive, Rowan seems to be every bit as into it as I am.
Yet, he’s still stalling for whatever reason.
We haven’t encountered any issues, despite all the medication he’s taken over the course of the evening, so I can only assume he’s worried about his stamina.
But after he exercised enough self-restraint to stop me in the middle of an activity he claimed to enjoy too much, I don’t see any cause for concern.
“You know what could be fun?” he poses, running a fingertip down my back.
I cross my hands over his bare chest so I can rest my chin and peer up at him. “Letting me finish what I started?” I guess.
His brow rises, and his face instantly flushes. “Oh, ah, yeah, that was … definitely fun,” he mumbles awkwardly, and I frown. “But I meant, fun for you.”
“I didn’t hate it,” I reply coyly, and his throat works as he swallows hard.
“I really want to know what you like, though,” he says, his voice strained.
I smirk at him. “Are you asking me whether I have a fantasy you might be able to fulfill?”
“Maybe,” he says, stirring another ripple of desire within me.
I wouldn’t normally share something like this, but I think his cheesiness might be contagious. And it’s not like we’re going to see one another again after tonight, anyway.
“Okay, promise you won’t laugh?” I bite my lip and wait for him to nod before I go on. “I kind of think barns are sexy.”
“Barns? Like, with the sheep and the hay and the ….”
“Shit?” I supply.
“Yeah,” he confirms, regarding me strangely.
“To be fair, it’s the hardworking man in the barn I find intriguing,” I say sarcastically.
“So you have a thing for cowboys?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“Not exactly,” I say, blushing.
“Farmers?”
I sigh. “I use to wish the country boy of my dreams would sweep me off my feet, buy me a piece of land, and build me a big old barn. And then I’d thank him by christening it, if you know what I mean.”
A devious grin takes over his face, and he reaches down to stroke my lower back. “If you were my wife, I’d build you a barn, Claire Bear. A big one, with a loft full of hay to roll around in together. I’d even put a bed up there, if that’s what you wanted.”
I bite back a whimper, squirming and trying to keep my hips from seeking out his. But I’m wasting away. It’s not fair that he keeps making himself more desirable, while I’m struggling to survive long enough to see him quench the fire he’s been stoking.
“You keep mentioning a wife and a family,” I begin, pausing to exhale and release some of the tension building up inside me again. “And earlier you said you only date women if you see things going somewhere …”
“Is this a proposal?” he replies, his lip quirking as he tries to keep a straight face.
“It’s a warning, because I don’t think I’ll bother with marriage ever again.” My stomach tightens as I say it aloud, as if even my body knows how sad that makes me.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, sounding genuinely regretful. “Don’t you think you might change your mind if you found the right person … at the right time?”
I shake my head. “I’m not under the impression that I’m completely blameless. I contributed to the downfall of my marriage, too, and I don’t think it would be fair of me to ask anyone else to take a risk on me again.”
He swallows hard. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I remind him quietly, trying to postpone the part when I confess what a crappy wife I’ve been.
“Yes, I’ve never wanted anything more than to get married and start a family,” he says, reaching out to brush a stray piece of hair away from my eyes.
“Well, I take that back. I think I’ve been introduced to a whole new level of wanting as of tonight.
” He smirks as he adds the last part, and I feel the effects of it deep down within my core.
“Rowan,” I object, but he only blinks down at me, waiting for me to continue.
No man has ever looked at me the way this one does, and a small part of me wonders how I ever settled for a Jeremy when there were Rowans out there in the world, just waiting to stroke my back and gaze at me adoringly while I unload a lifetime of emotional trauma.
“Do you know what I want most right now?” he ventures, and my lady parts instantly take note, hoping to get called out by name.
“What’s that?” I barely manage.
“For you to know that you can tell me anything,” he replies, eliciting another sigh from me. Looks like I’m really going to have to pay the toll to get a ride on this ferry.
“I guess you could say that’s what ultimately came between us, wanting different things,” I begin after a while.
“Like what?”
“Like, I wanted to have a baby so badly that I was willing to try anything, and he wanted me to be satisfied with the life we had, mostly because we’d always done everything his way.”
And even though it’s already more than I’ve voiced aloud to anyone else before, Rowan looks so captivated by my story that the words continue tumbling out of me.
“He got tired of hearing me beg him to run tests and consider fertility treatments. He said I’d lost sight of the point of our marriage, but I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to share something so important with me.
I grew more and more resentful every time he refused to give me this one thing, the thing I wanted most. He wouldn’t even consider adoption.
He refused to argue with me about any of it, and eventually, he just started ignoring me altogether,” I explain.
“But the baby stuff wasn’t the problem in itself.
It was past time we acknowledged that we were both unhappy.
We’d gotten together so young and grown apart over the years, and I think he’d fallen out of love with me a long time ago.
Maybe he never really loved me in the first place. ”
“And you still loved him?” Rowan asks, his tone laced with concern and empathy.
“I cared about him and our marriage, but he was right. I’d become so obsessed with getting pregnant that I drove him away.
Maybe I wouldn’t have been so desperate for a baby if he hadn’t always poured himself into his career.
And maybe I didn’t love him as much as I thought I did, anyway, since I made him feel like he wasn’t enough,” I explain, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.
“In hindsight, I think we’d both become lonely.
But the girlfriend he had lined up as soon as I agreed to our separation must have solved that problem for him, especially since she came pre-equipped with a bonus kid. ”
“I’m sorry,” he says again as he reaches out to swipe at a tear on my cheek.
I’ve always been too embarrassed to cry in front of anyone, not only because it’s another thing that makes me too much for most people to handle, but it doesn’t fit in with my tough-as-nails persona.
But Rowan doesn’t seem bothered by my emotional side.
I don’t think he minds that I cry too easily and laugh too loudly or that I don’t have much of a filter, and he makes me feel like I don’t need to pretend I’m so indestructible, at least not for him.
I guess it’s too bad my husband couldn’t manage to do what this stranger has within a few hours of meeting me, or maybe I’d still be married.
My body rises and falls with Rowan’s breathing, and I instinctively lean down and press a kiss to his chest. “Thank you,” I whisper, though I’m not sure what I’m grateful for.
Maybe he’s given me the push I needed to open up and let those feelings out, or maybe it’s the safe space he’s provided.
Either way, I’ve never felt more seen than I do right now.
Not pitied, chastised, or ashamed—simply acknowledged and understood.
“Thank you for trusting me with that,” he says softly. “I won’t pretend to know the first thing about marriage, but I’m certain you’ve been harder on yourself than you deserve. And I can’t imagine anyone stupid enough to take your love for granted.”
I huff. “Says the man I’ve been practically throwing myself at all night.”
He furrows his brow before he rises to sit and pulls me up to straddle his lap. Then he curls a finger beneath my chin and lifts my face to gaze into my eyes.
“My hesitation to spend the night with you is all my problem. I’m the one lacking the confidence for that kind of intimacy, especially with someone as beautiful and funny and sexy as you are.”
I gulp. “Or maybe I’ve been coming off as so desperate that you feel sorry for me.”
“Have you already forgotten the part when we met because you had to jam an EpiPen into my leg? Or the imminent threat of gastrointestinal distress and erectile dysfunction ever since?” he asks incredulously. “Do you really think I’m still here because I feel sorry for you?”
I giggle, grateful for his reassurance. “You are pretty dorky for someone so hot, although they do say the sexiest people have the worst tummy troubles.”
He tries to force a serious look, but the corners of his mouth are still turned up. “Then I guess I am dangerous after all.”
I stare at him, squinting my eyes. “Are you wearing contacts?”
“Yes,” he answers hesitantly.
“Do you always wear them?”
He shrugs. “They’re dailies, so I usually trade them out for my glasses before bed.”
“I knew it!” I fire back. “You’re even hotter and nerdier when you wear your slutty little glasses, aren’t you?”
He tilts his head back to laugh. “I’ve never been under the impression that my nerdiness is hot or that my glasses are slutty, but—”