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She was saying all the right things.
Making all the right points.
“You’ll need to be good to that child,” I warned, my tone turning icy. “I wanted the baby as much as Emmabelle. We had a pact.”
“I’ll treat this child as if it were my own.”
Louisa brought my hand to her mouth, leaning her cheek against my palm.
“I promise. You know I never break my promise.”
I didn’t remember standing up, but at some point I did. Louisa was up on her feet too, her body flushed with mine, her mouth moving over my own.
My hands skimmed the length of her back. We were kissing.
Belle didn’t want me, my family was on the verge of bankruptcy, and really, would it be so awful to have someone to grow old with? Someone who had my back?
But at the end of the day, I didn’t enjoy it.
Not the kisses. Not the way her body folded around mine possessively.
I was completely soft, my cock refusing to find a logical reason for this union with Louisa appealing.
The softer I was, the more Louisa tried to coax me into arousal, kissing me harder, deeper, rawer. Cupping my cock through my slacks and squeezing teasingly, flipping her head back and forth.
Bile hit the back of my throat.
Not good.
I took a step back in order to stop it, to buy time. Maybe produce the engagement ring I’d come here with. Put it on her finger.
But I couldn’t, for the fucking life of me, take the ring out of my pocket. Make the final move. Ask her the question I couldn’t take back.
I don’t want perfect with Louisa. I want a big, hot mess with Belle.
Meanwhile, Louisa perceived my step back as an invitation to get undressed. She slipped out of her black frock to reveal shapely legs and a well-kept body that screamed five Pilates sessions a week.
Her dark eyes traveled to my groin, her brow furrowing when she realized there was still no detectable bulge.
“Buggers. Well, what’s a little hurdle—”
“Do not say little.”
She giggled, moving toward me again, resuming our kisses.
Swallowing back the sour taste of vomit, I tried to concentrate on the task at hand.
She was a beautiful woman. No less pretty than the women I usually took to bed.
“Maybe, I can …” Louisa slipped her hand inside my briefs through my clothes and rubbed, her fingers cold and bony. The distant sound of my father’s taunting laughter echoed in my ears.
“Is that okay?”
“Great,” I hissed, softer than a bloody Pillsbury roll. “Fantastic.”
But I felt nothing, other than great frustration as her lips moved desperately against mine. She was doing such a thorough job rubbing my cock I was surprised a genie didn’t materialize from behind my zipper.
“Wait,” I groaned into her mouth. I pushed her away gently. She latched against me harder.
“I’ll suck your cock,” she offered. Louisa dropped down to her knees, completely naked now, fumbling with the first button of my slacks.
I stepped aside, worried the engagement ring was going to slip from my pocket.
“Don’t, darling.” I caressed her face while simultaneously moving it away from my crotch.
It occurred to me, rather miserably, that I couldn’t have sex with Louisa. No matter how much I wanted to—and I did.
I wanted to get over Emmabelle. To move on. But it wasn’t happening.
“Is your stomach a bit dodgy? Must be the lobster.”
She hurried to stand up, rushing to the bathroom and coming back in a crème satin robe. “Seafood can be suspect if you don’t know the place.”
This was the Four Seasons, not a shack on a remote island.
I gave her a doubtful smile. “I better head home.”
And I’m taking my soft pig-in-a-blanket with me.
“Oh.” Her face fell.
“Lou,” I said gently.
“It’s just that … she’ll be there.”
“Comes with the territory of her living there.”
“Is it something I said?” she asked.
I thought about what she said about Frederick. About the sort of man he was. And couldn’t deny her the truth.
“Yes. When you told me about Frederick, I realized I could never offer you what he made you take for granted. I need to sort through things in my head.”
I slipped my hand over her waist and pulled her into me, kissing her lips.
“Take care now, Lou.”
“You too, Devvie.”
My head was still spinning when I got back home. My limbs heavy with the realization that I was apparently immune to all women in the world other than the one who didn’t want me.
I stomped my way upstairs, cursing myself for the millionth time that week that I couldn’t use the lift like a logical human being.
Once I was done detesting myself for my claustrophobia, I began despising myself for having a traitorous body. What on earth was wrong with it? In the past, I’d been able to get it up whenever the faint scent of a woman’s perfume wafted through the air. Now, my cock decided it had principles, feelings, and morals. Did it not get the memo that it was, in fact, a COCK? The least sophisticated organ in the human body, apart from the anus.
