Page 88 of Bad Luck Club

Then he lifted the silky, floating hem and raised it over her head, letting the dress drop and pool on the floor.

He nearly moaned as he took in her bra and panties, blue lace, and she’d be lying to herself if she hadn’t partially chosen them with him in mind, hoping that this might happen, that they might still learn each other in this way.

He expertly unhooked her bra, and her panties came off next, and then he was tracing her, just as she had him. Touching her everywhere, hands cupping her breasts, running down her knees, finding her core. His mouth followed his hands, leaving a trail of hot kisses, and a moan of pure pleasure issued from her.

Eyes hungry again, he lifted her off her feet, like she weighed no more than a feather, and carried her to the starfish, kissing her in a claiming way, his hands caressing even as he carried her, and she kissed him back in kind, because they were claiming each other. When they lay down, he maneuvered her on top of him, like they’d been in the car, as if to show her that he would share the control with her, always, that she needn’t worry with him. And because she didn’t, she rolled onto her back and pulled him over her. Something sparked in his eyes, that hunger they both felt.

“Shit,” he said suddenly, and she laughed a little at the sudden change in him. “I didn’t bring any protection. I didn’t think…”

She hadn’t either. They’d been so caught up in each other, so woven around each other.

“Were you tested after Victoria?” she asked, tracing a hand over his jaw, which now had a trace of stubble.

His smile was grim. “Every test they have and then some. I haven’t been with anyone since.”

“I have an IUD,” she said. “And it’s been…a long time. Since my marriage. I was tested too.”

His eyes widened with shock, as if taking in that she hadn’t been intimate with Dan, not like this—although God knows Dan had tried—but he didn’t comment on that.

Propped over her, every inch of him pressed against her, he still asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

* * *

Her phone woke her. She’d forgotten to turn it off, in the haze of Lee. It had only taken her a minute, maybe less, to fall off the precipice. It had been so long, so very long, since she’d been touched like this, since she’d been intimate with anyone.

And it had never, ever feltthisintimate.

The joy of it startled and frightened her with its intensity.

He’d started on top, and then they’d switched, sharing the control. Sharing each other with a generosity that had stunned and awed her, simply because she’d never experienced it before.

They’d moved to the bath after the bed, and then against the wall painted with the octopus, because he’d said he needed her there too, and then they’d lain awake and talked for hours.

He hadn’t commented on what she’d told him, that he’d been her first since the divorce, but she could tell it meant something to him, and that he realized it meant something to her.

But she wasn’t sure he knew how much.

She loved him.

Somehow she’d let herself love him.

But she couldn’t regret it, even though fear poked at her, its tendrils attempting to curl around her.

Sighing, she studied him in the dim light of the room—there were blackout curtains, so she had no idea what time it was, but Lee had insisted they leave on the crustacean night-light, remembering her fear of the dark—taking in his elegant nose and chin, the beauty of his long lashes and tousled hair.

Then she glanced at her phone and gasped, sitting upright in bed.

The first was a message from Addy.Yes, yes, yes. Dare I hope this means you and Lee are getting busy?The next was from Remy, sent at midnight, although she and Lee must have been too preoccupied to notice it then—Happy Valentine’s Day, Blue. I have a surprise for you this year.Unpleasant and unwelcome as it was, it wasn’t the source of her reaction.

The final message was from her mother.

I think I need a new medication, Blue. You were right. I’m not myself. Thank you for always being there for me.

She checked the time, 6:30. It was still early, but it didn’t matter. She needed to go to her.

Last night, she’d suspected something was off. Her mom had been quieter than usual, her expression drawn. And although nothing in her life had changed—she was still happy with her new man, still painting—she’d seemed like a dim bulb compared to normal, like the other side to the bipolar coin.

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