Page 83 of Maverick

“Welcome,” he said, dropping his keys on a sleek console table. “Make yourself at home.”

I hovered near the entry, strangely intimidated. This place was too perfect. “It’s… beautiful,” I managed.

He smiled, shrugging off his suit jacket. “Thanks. My father’s taste, mostly. But I’ve added a few touches.” He gestured to a grand piano in a side alcove, a bar cart gleaming with top-shelf liquor. “You want something to drink?”

I hesitated, remembering my newly confirmed pregnancy. “Uh, no, I’m still not feeling… up to it.”

He gave me a curious look but didn’t push. “No worries. Let me show you around.”

We moved through an open-concept living area with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a landscaped backyard with an infinity pool. White leather couches sat around a minimalist fireplace. It reminded me of a high-end hotel, lacking any personal warmth. Then again, maybe that was what Mark preferred.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked as we strolled upstairs.

I forced a laugh. “Sorry. Just taking it all in. It’s… a lot. And, I guess, to be honest, I’m nervous about being here. With you. All alone.”

A knowing smile, he took my hand, guiding me into a large bedroom dominated by a king-sized bed with a gray upholstered headboard. Windows lined one wall, showcasing the courtyard below. He flipped a switch, dim recessed lighting glowing around us.

“Better?” he asked softly, drawing me to the bed.

I swallowed, nerves tangling in my belly.

I could do this. If I intended to pass off this pregnancy, or even maintain a semblance of normalcy, letting Mark close might be my path. But did I really want it?

He leaned in, kissing me gently. His lips were soft, his movements measured, polite, as always. Nothing like Maverick’s demanding urgency. I shuddered, forcing myself to focus on Mark, on his pleasant cologne and controlled caresses.

He whispered, “We don’t have to rush, if you’re not ready.”

I bit my lip, heart pounding. “I want to,” I lied. Or maybe I partly wanted to, needed to. My mind flared with images of Maverick, but I pushed them away.

He left. This was my life now.

Mark smiled, sliding his hands along my sides. He unzipped my dress slowly, laying it aside. I tried to relax, letting him see me in my lace underwear, conscious of every flaw I imagined. He didn’t seem to care, eyes gleaming with admiration. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, pressing light kisses down my neck. “But what’s with the tattoo?”

“That biker forced me to get it.”

“Property of Maverick. He didn’t force you to do anything else, did he?” Mark looked properly concerned.

“No, he didn’t. Thank goodness,” I said. It was the truth, even if that wasn’t what he was asking. I let him think I never had sex with the biker.

“But you’ve been with a man before.”

I bit my lip. “Yeah, just one, just once. It seems like a lifetime ago.” That was all too true as well.

“Then I’ll be gentle.”

The bed felt firm under me as he urged me onto it, carefully removing his tie, then his shirt. His body was lean, not particularly as muscular as the biker, but fit enough from time in the gym. He moved with polished confidence, as if everything he did was scripted in a textbook on seduction. I kept my eyes closed, letting him undress me further. A pang of guilt twisted my gut.

This wasn’t passion. It was a transaction. But I obliged myself to let go, to respond, soft moans, gentle touches.

He tried to please me, murmuring sweet nothings, asking if I was comfortable, if I liked it. I tried to pretend I was into it. But the ache in my heart rendered it all meaningless. My mind drifted to a rougher, more urgent lover who’d once pinned me under him with raw need.

Stop thinking about Maverick, I screamed internally.

When Mark finally entered me, it was slow, careful, almost clinical. He groaned softly, pressing kisses to my shoulder. I clung to him, going through the motions, hoping maybe it’d spark something real. But the spark never quite came. My body responded in a mild wave of pleasure, but my soul remained numb.He’s not Maverick. Not my biker.The refrain haunted me, even as I moaned and arched for Mark’s benefit.

Afterward, he curled an arm around me, panting lightly. “You okay?” he asked, brushing my hair back.

I nodded, throat tight. “Yes. Thank you.” Thank you? My stomach lurched at how formal it sounded, but what else could I say?

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