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‘I’m sorry,’ she finally whispered into the silence.
‘No. Don’t be.’ He was still staring at the ceiling, still feeling that scalding rush of shame and guilt. He was also feeling incredibly, painfully aroused. ‘Let me just take a shower,’ he muttered and, rolling off the bed, he headed towards the bathroom.
* * *
Aurelie lay on the bed and listened to Luke turn on the shower. She blinked hard and tried not to cry. What had gone wrong?
She honestly didn’t know. One second she’d been lost in Luke’s little touches, aching for his deeper caress—and the next? She’d felt the heavy weight on top of her and his breath in her ear and suddenly, painfully been reminded of the first time with Pete.
Let me...
She blinked hard again, forced the memories back. She did not want to think of them now, to bring them into this moment, this bed.
Drawing a deep breath, she reached for her scattered clothes. She didn’t even remember Luke unclasping her bra, but he must have done. It was lying on the floor. She dressed quickly, furtively, afraid Luke would come out of the bathroom—and then what? Was he angry? Frustrated, no doubt, in more ways than one. And knowing Luke—which she did now, she realised—he’d want answers. Answers she didn’t want to give, because she knew they wouldn’t reflect well on herself.
Sighing, she sat back down on the bed and waited.
A few minutes later Luke emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his hips. Aurelie swallowed dryly at the sight of his chest, broad, browned and shimmering with droplets of water. Just a few minutes ago she’d had the power to touch it at her leisure, had felt that hard, muscular body pressed against hers. Just the memory caused a pulse of desire low in her belly. How had it all gone wrong? Could memories really have that much power?
Luke reached for a T-shirt and dropped his towel, oblivious to his own nakedness. Aurelie was not. She swallowed again, felt her heart start to thud. He slipped on a pair of boxers and then sat on the edge of the bed. She tensed, waited.
He smiled wryly, his eyes dark, his hair damp and spiky. She wanted to comb it with her fingers, to feel its damp softness. She folded her hands together in her lap.
‘I guess you realise we need to talk.’ She nodded, and Luke sighed. ‘I’m sorry for the way things happened.’
‘Don’t be.’ It hurt to squeeze those two words out, for her throat had got absurdly tight. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘It’s not yours, either.’ She didn’t answer, and Luke reached over and placed his hand over her tightly clasped ones, his thumb stroking her fingers. ‘Tell me what happened to you, Aurelie.’
‘Nothing happened.’ She shook her head, impatient with the way he was making her a victim. She’d never wanted pity. She’d made all her choices willingly. She had.
‘Why, then,’ Luke asked evenly, ‘did you freeze up at a rather crucial point? Everything was going well, wasn’t it?’
She let out a little choked sound, half-laugh, half-sob. ‘Very well.’
‘And then?’
‘I don’t know. I just—’ She moistened her lips, forced herself to continue. ‘I just froze up, like you said. To be honest, you’re the only one who’s ever noticed.’
‘Then you haven’t had very considerate lovers.’
‘No.’
Luke sighed and squeezed her hand. ‘I appreciate that I may not have earned enough of your trust to tell me what happened to you, because something did. Some experience has made you fear sex and, until I know what it is, I can’t help you. And,’ he added, a wry note entering his voice, ‘I can’t make love to you, which is a shame.’
Aurelie lifted her gaze to his. ‘We could try again—’
‘No.’ Luke spoke with such flat finality that she recoiled. ‘I don’t think you realise,’ he added more quietly, ‘how it makes me feel to see you beneath me, looking like you’re bracing yourself for some kind of torture.’
She blinked, felt the hot wetness of tears behind her lids. She hadn’t thought of that. She’d only thought of herself, and how disappointing she must be to him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
