Читать книгу P.S. I'm Pregnant - Heidi Rice - Страница 11

DAISY was utterly mortified. But she couldn’t decide if she was more annoyed by her own behaviour or the patronising look on Connor Brody’s face as he held her trapped by his side.

‘I don’t feel comfortable calling you by your given name,’ she blurted out. And then realised how prim and ridiculous it sounded.

Thank goodness he didn’t bust a gut laughing at her again. But the twinkle in his eye made it clear it was a struggle not to.

‘Should I make you more comfortable, then?’ He pulled the sheet over her, flattening his open palm on the expensive linen and lifting his eyebrow as if willing her to share the joke.

Daisy felt the warm weight of his hand on her belly and turned away, feeling so exposed she wanted to die on the spot.

When she’d surfaced a moment ago to find him gazing at her, his face flushed, those sexy blue eyes intent on hers and his erection still gloriously firm inside her, the hideous truth had dawned on her.

She’d ravished a complete stranger. Had as good as begged him to make love to her.

Which meant she was her mother’s daughter after all. Her mother, who had spent her whole life latching on to any guy who could give her a decent orgasm.

Daisy didn’t know the first thing about Connor Brody. And he knew nothing about her. For all he knew she could be the sort of woman who made rabbit-love every chance she got. He couldn’t possibly know she’d never ravished anyone before in her life.

The fact that the orgasm they’d shared had been the most incredible she’d ever had only made the situation that much worse.

When the muscles of her sex had clenched in response to the feel of him inside her, she’d been mortally embarrassed. Knowing she’d been tricked by her pheromones into believing they shared an intimacy, a connection, that they actually didn’t.

Whatever way you looked at it, she’d used this man and his mouth-watering body to slake a temporary physical thirst—and fallen victim to her own libido. In so doing she’d broken the solemn promise she’d made to herself as a teenager, that she would never be like her mother. That she would never let her libido rule her life.

A calloused thumb skimmed down her cheek. ‘What’s the problem? Tell me and we’ll see to it.’

Daisy swung round to face him. The tenderness in his eyes surprised her, but the lazy, confident, let’s-humour-her smile on his lips contradicted it rather comprehensively.

Daisy felt her misery being replaced by irritation.

It really was a bit much of him to find the biggest identity crisis of her life so hilarious.

She sat up abruptly. She had to stop wallowing. Letting a total stranger witness her having a breakdown was not going to help matters. ‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said, her voice as matter-of-fact as she could manage.

She grasped the sheet to her breasts, pushed her hair behind her ears, and felt a tiny bit better. She’d always been a woman of action. Once she saw a problem she set about fixing it. She’d have more than enough time later to analyse her wanton, irresponsible behaviour and what it all meant. Right now she needed to get the heck away from her studly neighbour before anything else happened.

The way he’d been studying her—all that smouldering intent in his gaze—suggested he was planning a repeat performance. And she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust her body not to take him up on his offer. Given what this little liaison had already cost her, another frenzied encounter with Mr Sex-On-A-Stick was the very last thing she needed.

‘This is a little awkward,’ she said. ‘But could you pass me my dress? I need to be off.’

He made no move to get her dress, so she scooted down the bed, intending to lean over him and get it herself.

But as she did so he stroked a hand down her hair. ‘What’s the rush?’ he murmured, his voice husky but firm. ‘Let’s talk about it. Whatever it is, we can fix it.’

She gaped at him over her shoulder. Would you credit it? The only time in her life she’d rather gnaw off her own tongue than talk about her feelings and she’d found the one man on the planet willing to share and discuss.

‘Mr Bro…’ She paused when his eyebrow lifted again. ‘Connor, we had sex. It was great sex. So thank you. But I don’t think there’s anything else to say.’

Both his eyebrows lifted at that one. Clearly, her no-nonsense approach had shocked him but she soldiered on. ‘We have absolutely nothing in common,’ she continued, slipping off the bed. ‘We’re obviously totally wrong for each other.’ She dropped her end of the sheet and whipped on her dress. ‘This was strictly a one-shot deal after a difficult night.’

They both knew the score here, and if he thought they were going to have another quickie for old times’ sake he could forget it—the first one had been quite devastating enough to her peace of mind.

She pulled on her knickers, scouted around for her bra, grabbed it off the floor and shoved it into the pocket of her dress. ‘So why don’t we call it quits and leave it at that?’

She straightened, holding one baseball boot as she scoured the luxurious deep-pile carpet for the other.

‘Are you serious?’ he asked. He hadn’t moved, the sheet resting tantalisingly low on his hips as he stared at her.

‘Absolutely,’ she said, forcing a smile.

Noticing the way the thin wisps of black hair curled around his belly button, she swallowed and averted her eyes. To her immense relief she spotted the other boot peeking out from under the bed. She grabbed it and stood up.

He’d propped himself up on the pillows, and was still studying her, looking stunned.

No doubt with those dark, dangerous good looks and the masterful way he made love, having the woman do a runner was a new experience for him. Daisy couldn’t muster much sympathy. He’d have to learn to deal with it. She had her own problems.

He slid his feet to the floor, the sheet now barely covering him.

Daisy threw up her hand to stop him going any further. ‘Please don’t get up. I can see myself out,’ she squeaked. The last thing she needed was another full-frontal view of that mouth-watering physique.

Before he could say another word, she dashed out the door, barefoot.

Connor gaped at the open bedroom door and listened to the pit-pat of Daisy’s footsteps as she hightailed it down the stairs.

The muffled slam of the front door echoed at the bottom of the house.

He flopped back on the bed, stared at the ceiling and frowned at the fancy light fixture his interior designer had insisted on shipping in from Barcelona.

What the hell had that been about?

He might as well have set her tail on fire, she’d shot out of the room so fast. Either he’d been hallucinating, or he’d just been treated to the female equivalent of the ‘wham-bam thank you, ma’am’ routine.

He guessed he ought to be hurt, but first he’d have to get over the shock.

Not that he hadn’t been dumped before, mind you. Of course he had. He could still recall Mary O’Halloran, slapping him down in front of all his mates when he’d been thirteen and full of the carelessness of youth. He’d snogged her and forgotten to call her the next day so he figured he’d deserved it. In fact, he still felt a little guilty whenever he thought about Mary.

But even Mary, riled to the hilt, hadn’t dumped him without chewing his ear off first for twenty minutes about all his shortcomings. And he’d never met a woman since who wouldn’t talk you to death about ‘the state of the relationship’ as soon as look at you. God, when he thought about all the times Rachel had insisted on ‘having a little chat about where they were headed’ his stomach sank.

So why should he care that Daisy had brushed off his offer to talk? Sure, he hadn’t really meant it. All he’d wanted to do was calm her down, get her to stick around.

He lay on the bed, the ripples of sexual fulfilment making him feel lethargic, and tried to convince himself it was all for the best. He should be overjoyed. It made things a lot less complicated. He wasn’t looking for anything serious and neither was she.

He rubbed his belly, stretched his legs under the sheet, contemplated taking another shower, then caught the heady whiff of her scent. Heat surged into his crotch. He frowned and sat up, staring at the tent forming in his lap.

The damn problem was, he wasn’t pleased. Because he wasn’t finished with her yet. Okay, they had nothing in common, and their one-night stand, or one-morning stand or whatever the hell it was didn’t have any future. But still, he hadn’t wanted it to end, not yet. He’d had plans for today. Fine, so them getting naked and having mind-blowing sex hadn’t been a definite part of it, but he didn’t see why they shouldn’t go with the flow there. They might not be compatible out of bed, but they sure as hell were in it. In fact they were more than compatible. She’d been as blown away as he had by the intensity of…

He stopped, his brain finally catching up with his indignation. Had she been spooked by how good they were together? He relaxed back into the pillow, the pounding heat in his groin finally starting to subside.

That had to be the problem. Daisy might be the most pragmatic, forthright woman he’d ever met, but she was still a girl. And wasn’t it just like a girl to analyse everything to death? To worry about what great sex meant instead of just enjoying it while it lasted.

He huffed out a laugh.

And now he thought about it, he didn’t have to feel hard done by either. Little Daisy might turn out to be his ideal woman. Someone sexy enough to turn him inside out with lust and smart enough to know he wasn’t a good bet for the long haul. Hell, they’d only just met and she’d already figured that out. Now all he had to do was show her that just because they weren’t going to spend the rest of their natural lives together, didn’t mean they couldn’t spend the next little while exploring their potential in other areas.

He whipped back the sheet and leaped out of bed—his faith in the wonder of womankind restored. He’d have that shower after all, get dressed and then head to her place and invite her back for breakfast. Whatever she had planned for the next couple of days he’d persuade her to drop it.

Daisy seemed to be remarkably susceptible to him—whether she liked it or not. Getting her over this little hump so they could finish what they’d started shouldn’t be too tough. He strode into the bathroom, his whistled rendition of ‘Molly Malone’ echoing off the tiles.