Page 73 of If the Ring Fits

He rolls off me partly, staying closely pressed to my side. The shift in his eyes is clear; whatever self-control I had shattered, it’s now reasserting itself.

Adrian grabs my hand and kisses my palm before interlacing our fingers. “Honest is that I’ve no idea what we’re doing. You’re pregnant and vulnerable and I don’t want to take advantage of you.” As I make to protest that I can make my own decisions, he presses a finger to my mouth. “Let me finish.” I nod, and he lets go. “This thing we’re about to do, won’t be just sex. It’ll complicate things, and I’m not relationship material.” He anticipates my intention to argue again, silencing me with a look. “You might think you’re okay with my crazy schedule at first, but in the long run, you won’t be. Doing this tonight would mix things up”—he trails a finger down my sternum between my breasts over the silk of my dress down to my navel where he lays his palm flat—“for all three of us. Add that we’ll be standing in front of a minister two months from now, vowing to love each other for the rest of our lives, and everything will be even more confused.”

“W-what are you saying?”

“That I admire you and respect you and that I’m crazy attracted to you. But that I hope you understand it’s with the utmost affection and consideration that I say we can’t take this any further.”

I smile despite the meaning of his words. I keep caressing the hair away from his face. “All that hard work, and then I ruin it by running my mouth. I should’ve taken you while you were in your lust haze.”

He taps my nose. “Around you, I’m constantly in a lust haze.”

“Nah, not anymore. I could undress now in front of you and you still wouldn’t touch me.” To demonstrate, I kneel on the bed next to him and lower the remaining strap of my dress. The silk flows down my torso, dropping to my waist. I’m not wearing a bra underneath.

Adrian’s jaw snaps so tight, I’m afraid he might break a molar or two. His gaze is dark and intent as he follows my every move, but he keeps deadly still. I feel his eyes on me like a physical caress.

I lift up and shimmy out of the dress completely. I remove my strappy sandals next. From the floor, I collect Adrian’s discarded linen shirt and pull it on.

He makes a strangled sort of noise that sounds like a cross between a groan and a whimper. “That’s my shirt.” There’s a note of desperation in his voice that’s almost funny.

Ignoring his comment, I button the shirt, leaving it open enough to be suggestive but closed enough to maintain a modicum of modesty. I straddle him next, but keep my thighs high so that we’re not really touching. I undo his belt, unbutton his pants, and pull the zipper down. Throughout this, Adrian watches me, jaw tense, hands balled into fists at his sides.

I drag the pants down his legs and remove his shoes and socks, before pulling the trousers down completely. I stand at the foot of the bed and admire Adrian, in all his glorious semi-naked splendor. I can see he’s not lying when he says he wants me.

I scoot back onto the mattress, settling down on my side to face him. “Now we’re ready to sleep.” I drop a soft kiss on his mouth. “Please hold me tonight.”

I turn on my other side and curl up in a fetal position. There’s a heartbeat of silence, then a heavy sigh as Adrian flicks off the lights and pulls the covers over us. For a short instant I’m afraid he’s going to keep his distance, but then his arms pull me against him. One slides under my head as a sort of second pillow, the other protectively wraps over my waist.

There’s still tension lingering between us. I’m keenly aware of every point where our bodies touch, the heat of him seeping into me. But also a different kind of warmth seeps in, soothing away the sparks of electrified air. His breathing is steady, a rhythm I sync with as the minutes tick by.

Sex or no sex, I’m already so far gone for this man that I wonder if I can find my way back. And I’m not sure I’d even want to.

31

ROWENA

I blink awake, my hand instinctively reaching across the sheets. Empty. My heart sinks. He’s gone again. Adrian will probably go back to being a ghost, avoiding me at all costs. I pushed too hard.

I sag on the bed and facepalm myself. What got into me with the striptease? He must think I’m so desperate. And in a way, I am, because even now, I turn my chin and sniff the collar of his shirt that still smells like him—of a starry night.

The front door creaks open, and I let go of the shirt collar—caught in the act. Adrian strides in, gloriously shirtless and glistening with sweat, his T-shirt tucked into the back of his sporty shorts. I drink in the chiseled planes of his chest, the sculpted muscles of his abdomen. I prop myself up on my elbows to get a better view.

“I went for a run,” he explains, still huffing as his eyes meet mine, unreadable.

“Oh. Good. That’s… good,” I stammer, flustered by his nearness, by memories of our bodies pressed close under the covers. Are we going to discuss last night?

He runs a hand through his damp hair, then looks away. “I’m gonna hop in the shower.”

I guess not.

Adrian disappears into the bathroom, and as the shower turns on, I imagine rivulets of water sluicing over his naked skin, steam rising around his sexy, powerful body. Adrian with his head tilted backward as the jet hits his face, his hands lathering soap over his chest. I picture the way his eyebrows might draw together in concentration or relaxation—gah, what is wrong with me? I’ve turned into a full-blown preggo pervert. I blame the hormones.

My phone buzzes, jolting me out of the sensual fantasy. I grab it from the nightstand. A barrage of texts light up the screen—Nina and Hunter, demanding I meet them for breakfast. They also crashed at the resort after the engagement party.

Throwing back the covers, I pad to the bathroom door on shaky legs, still reeling from the intimate images playing through my head. I raise my hand to knock.

“Adrian?” I call out, trying to steady my voice.

The spray of water stops. “Yeah?” His deep baritone echoes from the other side of the door, rough and sexy.

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