What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [125]
Next to him, she bit her lip and looked down, clearly embarrassed to remember that part.
And shit—he felt like an ass. “Don’t be mad at me,” he said. “This doesn’t mean we’re not friends.”
“Friends,” she repeated, as if the word were ridiculous.
And she was right—it was. Hell.
So he flashed an irritated look of concession. “Okay, yes, damn it, I care for you, too—but . . . I can’t care in a way that goes beyond this, right here, this island. Because this is my world, my life, what I do. And in a few days, you’re going back to the world you know, the world where you belong. All this will, I hope,” he said gently, “be a pleasant memory, for us both.”
It relieved him when she nodded and said quietly, “Yes, it will be.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her then, “if everything I just said hurt you. I don’t mean to be harsh. I just needed you to know.”
“It’s all right,” she said, her voice soft but stronger now.
Good. Maybe they could get back to normal here. “Now—can we cut out all the damn psychoanalyzing for a while and just fuck?”
She blinked. “You still want to—after all this? You aren’t going to suddenly . . . push me away? Worry that I can’t handle it or something?”
He shook his head and spoke the truth. “I wouldn’t do that. I want this to be . . . what it’s been up to now—a good, satisfying thing for us both. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now, come here,” he said, “and let me nibble on your pretty tits.”
And nibble he did, while she purred and sighed—but the whole while he knew with brand-new certainty that things had to change here. She’d left him no choice—she’d shown him there was no riding this out on its current course.
He’d meant what he said—he wouldn’t suddenly abandon her; he’d continue to be her guide and her lover. And he’d probably continue to feel way too much while he was doing it. But plain and simple, he’d have to make it so that her sexual world no longer revolved around him.
The conversation had left Jenna stunned. To find out Brent’s first and only love had died so tragically was heartbreaking. And to further discover that the event had—in effect—trapped Brent here for fifteen years? Wow. She had felt presumptuous playing psychologist with him, but it had seemed so obvious once she knew the facts.
As for what had followed, about his relationship with her, the things he’d said had hurt her, but they hadn’t surprised her.
In fact, what had surprised her was how . . . normal things felt afterward. They’d had slow sex, him moving in her deeply, making her feel connected to him all the more. They’d slept snuggled together beneath the sheets and woken with the sun. He’d seemed happy to see her, kissing her good morning with a drowsy smile, then asking if she wanted Cheerios.
“You’re a charmer in the breakfast department, Powers,” she’d teased him. “Do all your other overnight guests put up with Cheerios and bagels?”
He’d just shrugged, looking as if there was something he wasn’t saying.
“Well?” she prodded.
“There aren’t all that many, sunshine,” he said matter-of-factly, shocking the hell out of her.
“Um, why?” She’d assumed his bungalow would be worthy of a revolving door.
“Think about it. I don’t get sexually involved with guests outside of their fantasies.”
“Except me,” she pointed out.
He ignored that. “So that leaves Hotel Erotique employees.”
“Of which there are plenty. And they’re gorgeous. And I’m sure they’re happy to share your bed.”
He shrugged again. “I used to indulge in that more when I was younger than I do now.”
“Why?”
“Guess it got old,” he said shortly. Then changed the subject. “Come on, or I might eat the last bowl of cereal and then where would you be?”
Over breakfast, Brent had told her she wouldn’t be having a fantasy today. And, of course, that had disappointed her, but she understood—last night’s had been a doozie, and the night before that had been a double dose for them both. And even though she still wanted to soak up all the sex with him she could, maybe a day off to absorb everything