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“I get that,” Oliver said, shrugging. “You still love her.”
Rafetsked. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
Ollie barked a laugh. “Because if you didn’t love her, you wouldn’t be so insistent about her marrying you.”
“I’m doing that for the baby,” he said, scowling.
“I thought you were only doing that if the baby wasn’t yours. Last I checked, you don’t know if the baby is yours or not, yet you’re insisting she marry you either way. That doesn’t sound like something a man not in love would do.”
Exhaling sharply, Rafe folded his arms over his chest again. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re right, I don’t. You have a gorgeous woman throwing herself at you, begging you to fuck her, and you’renothitting that?Tell me why, Rafe. What’s the real reason? I mean, are you afraid to be happy? What?”
“Because I’m tired of Jane using me as her rebound lay,” Rafe snapped. “If she wants to fuck me, fine. I’ll fuck her ’til she can’t walk straight. All I’m asking for is some commitment first. Why is that such a bad thing?”
“It’s not. But there’s commitment and then there’s marriage. And if you’re serious about making this work with her in the long term, you’re going to have to compromise. Relationships aren’t all or nothing, Rafe. And if you don’t start taking care of her needs, she’ll find someone else who will.”
A spike of anger ripped through Rafe at the thought of another man touching Jane, especially now. He glared at his younger brother as Ollie stepped out of the shower, the memory of Jane’s earlier outburst still fresh in his mind. “Well maybe if all she wants is my dick, I’m better off without her.”
Oliver smacked Rafe upside his head.
“What was that for?” He straightened, getting ready for the inevitable fight coming his way.
“You know something,bigbrother? For a really smart guy, you can be so fucking dumb.”
“You’ve never had a serious relationship in your entire life, so what the hell do you know about anything?”
“Just because I’m not relationship material doesn’t mean I don’t have friends who are, dipshit. You’d be surprised what you can learn about things if you actually bother to ask questions.”
“Well that was cryptic. Thanks for that.”
Ollie shook his head, shoved his way past Rafe and yanked the bathroom door open. “Like I said. Fucking dumb.”
Then he disappeared down the hall and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, and leaving Rafe even more confused than he had been a moment ago.
Rafe lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of thought.
Did Oliver have a point about marrying Jane? Was Rafe expecting too much? Not compromising enough? Initially, yes, he’d asked her to marry him because of the baby, to ensure he could protect the child if Sam—or anyone else, for that matter—came looking to make life difficult for them. But somewhere in all the back and forth, he’d realised he wasn’t as altruistic as he thought.
He wanted her. Plain and simple.
But was his fear of repeating their past keeping them from moving forwards?
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he muttered, “Fuck.”
He punched his pillow and tried getting comfortable, but every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Jane, uncertainty swimming in her clear green gaze. And all he heard was the slight tremor in her lovely voice as she spilled her reasons for using him for so many years.
Galactic orgasms and a feeling of safety.
Taking a deep breath, he slowly let it out again. He supposed there could have been worse reasons for her to use him the way she had. He couldn’t think of any right at that moment, but he was sure they existed. But it still didn’t explain why she’d always left him afterwards.
Obviously he hadn’t made her feelthatsafe.
“Maybe I should go see her,” he said, then nodded, his mind made up. “I’m going to go see her.”
But before he could even swing his legs over the edge of the bed, he heard the familiar sound of timber and glass rattling and sliding, and then a soft feminine grunting preceded his view of a very nice, round, denim-clad arse.
“Speak of the devil,” he muttered, shaking his head as he watched her emerge through the window. “Making this a nightly thing, are we?”
