Page 21 of A Baby to Make Her His Bride

“I’m, um, going to go,” she choked and sat up.

“Are you crying?” He sat up in a horrified lurch and caught her arm. “Did Ihurtyou?”

“No.” Her feet swung off the side of the bed. She drew a pillow into her lap and hugged it. “I just feel so stupid.”

“Why?Don’t. That was really great sex, Vienna.” Wasn’t it? Had he been so lost in passion that he’d missed something?

“Yes, I know that, Jasper,” she said with strident anguish. “And now I know how trulyawfulthe sex was that I suffered through foryears.”

Ah, hell. He started to tell her he’d never experienced anything like this, either, but didn’t think it would be any consolation for her. Her sorrow wasn’t about the quality of their sex, but the broken dynamic of her previous relationship. The broken promises and her broken dreams.

“That wasn’t on you,” he reminded her.

“Yes, it was. I stayed with him! I asked him for it. Ibeggedhim to please make a baby with me.” She hunched into the pillow and her shoulders began to shake.

He couldn’t take it. He raked the covers down, then dragged her under them, spooning around her while she wept into her pillow.

Don’t let him do this to you, he wanted to urge. But he only stroked her hair and pressed his mouth to her crown and held her tight.

Vienna woke alone, thank goodness. She was able to slip into her room for a quick shower.

Her skin felt every stinging drop while her cotton-headed brain formed only one thought.What had she done?

She didn’t know how to process so much intimacy. Not just the nudity and the way she’d let Jasper touch her, or even the way she had regressed into some primitive form of herself. She had told him the worst, most miserable secret of her marriage andcriedabout it.

No one saw her cry. They denigrated her when she did.

Man up, Vienna, her father would say.

She can’t take a joke, Irina would say with an eye roll.

Quit being so dramatic, Neal dismissed.

Even Hunter, with the best intentions, had always tried to fix things.Don’t cry. I’ll talk to Dad.

Jasper hadn’t said anything like that. He had wrapped himself around her like a protective shell and let her drain the poison from her aching heart.

How was she supposed to come back from that sort of exposure? She couldn’t! He would forever know how utterly tragic her mistakes were. How grossly she had misled herself and how pathetically she had debased herself to a man who wasn’t worth it.

She had honestly believed she could have casual sex with Jasper because sex with Neal had been functional and detached. She had never loved him, not really. In the early days, when he’d been courting and charming her, she’d been infatuated and called it love. She had tried very hard to love him while trying to make their marriage work, but for a long time now, she hadn’t even liked him.

As for Jasper, she didn’t know what she felt. She didn’t know him well enough to be sure her instinctual liking and trust were justified. She knew he valued the truth. He had principles. He was a generous lover and—this was what really made her nervous—he knew how good he could make her feel. That gave him power over her.

Remaining detached from him now would be impossible. Even as she winced in embarrassment at the memory of him taking her apart on the stairs, libidinous heat tracked back into her loins, pulsing a guilty throb where his mouth had been, wanting that again.

Stop, she begged her wicked, wanton brain.

She left the shower and dried off.

Outside, the rain had rolled back in, bringing an early dusk and a comforting patter on the roof. She dressed in three-quarter yoga tights and a cozy tunic, then made herself go downstairs.

He was cooking again.Help.

Why did he have to be so incredibly hot and so incredibly thoughtful? He was moving with his casual efficiency, muscles shifting beneath his jeans and a forest green Henley that looked soft enough that hugging him would make her sigh with contentment.

“Hi,” she said sheepishly.

He sent her a look that was remote and inscrutable, making her heart unexpectedly swerve.

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