Chapter 8

 

Silence filled the line, and finally, an elegant soprano voice said, “Mr. Rozhkov, please don’t take this personally, but you have to put yourself in my shoes. This is the second marriage of my daughter’s I’ve had no prior warning about.”

Seth cut his gaze to Meg, who was now transferring the uncooked beef into the pot and watching him as she did it.

She raised both eyebrows.

He’d always assumed that her first marriage had been well coordinated, as most everything else in her life seemed. What had happened? Did her parents discourage the match, but go along with the marriage after the fact?

Seth cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Once things started moving, it was like trying to stop a rolling ball from going downhill.”

Was that right, or had he botched another idiom?

He looked at Meg, who nodded and grunted. “Sounds about right,” she whispered.

“Tell me—and I promise that if you want to keep it a secret, I won’t say a word—is she pregnant? Is that why you did it?”

His jaw dropped so fast the hinges creaked, but he couldn’t stop himself from staring down at her belly. Even clad in horizontal stripes, and white ones, to boot, it was flat as a board. If she were pregnant, she probably wouldn’t have had all that wine back in Bermuda.

Meg must have figured out what the conversation had turned to because she poked his shoulder with her index finger and spat, “No!”

Seth cleared his throat once more. “No, Mrs. Scott, she is not.”

“Dammit.”

“I’m sorry?”

She blew out a breath, and something on her end slammed. Suddenly, the sound of cawing seagulls filled the line. Static crackled over the din, and after about ten seconds of that, she said, “Sorry. Her father walked into the room. He lives under a rock and hasn’t heard yet. I’ll be honest with you. After Toby, she swore up and down that she wouldn’t have any more children, and it broke my heart. You’ll understand it when you’re my age and your entire legacy is one grandchild.”

Meg reached in and pressed her finger over the phone speaker. “Is she giving you the grandchild guilt?”

He nodded.

She rolled her eyes and drew back her hand.

“It’s not like Stephen’s ever going to get it together. You’ve met him. Wouldn’t you agree I should count him out?”

Seth felt the burn from that statement, and it wasn’t even about him. “Uh, I don’t know, Mrs. Scott. I’d say he has a lot going for him. He just needs to find the right woman.”

At that, Meg’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and she set down the packet of Italian seasoning she’d been fondling. Had he said the wrong thing? Embarrassed her?

“Well, I hope he does it soon. He’s the last of the line with the Scott name.”

And Seth bet Stephen would never be allowed to forget it.

“Have you talked about children at all? Stephen was coy on how long you two have been together but certainly family planning has come up at least once.”

This time when he looked at Meg, she could give him no clues, and he didn’t know which lies to tell. He hedged. “We’ve decided to let nature take its course. Whatever will be will be.”

“So, you’re not fixed?”

“I’m sorry?” He mouthed the word fixed to Meg.

She closed her eyes and sighed.

When she opened her eyes again, she pointed to his crotch and brought one hand down in a bladelike motion toward the other one.

Oh. “No, Mrs. Scott, as far as I know, I’m intact.” He felt dirty even discussing it with his sorta-wife’s mother. His mother-in-law.

“Good to hear. Maybe you’ll have an accident.”

“Um…”

Meg grabbed the phone.

“Hello, Mother. I’m going to take a wild-ass guess that whatever you just said to my husband was either offensive, obscene, or far too forward. Which was it?” She walked off with the phone, and Seth stood reeling.

He’d always thought Sharon was in your face when it came to impressing her will on people, and folks generally didn’t mind because Sharon was always right. But Mrs. Scott seemed to be a special breed of bossy. All he could do was laugh.

“What’s funny?” Toby asked from the sofa.

“Your babushka. Your grandmother. She’s very…interesting.”

“That’s what granddad calls her, too.”

Well, at least she hadn’t yelled. As crazy as the conversation had been, she didn’t have a single ill word to say to him. She’d only been concerned about the product of their future. But what she didn’t know yet was that he and Meg weren’t certain to have a future.

Kids, though…he’d never given having any much thought. He’d always been the kind of guy who didn’t think too far ahead when it came to his personal life. His longest relationship to date had been a few months, right before he left Russia for college. Nothing had clicked in all that time, and maybe he didn’t know how to go about putting the pieces together. He’d wanted a girlfriend, but the kind of women he pursued didn’t want that from him. Now he knew he’d been pursing the wrong kind of woman. In all that time, he was looking for cute and sweet, when his luck might have been a bit better if he’d been courageous enough to seek out a woman who’d make him work.

And working he was.

Meg returned, shoving her phone into her shorts’ pocket, and shaking her head as she passed him. “Sorry, Seth. She’s got sort of a one-track mind.”

“Why did she ask me about…” He made that chopping motion.

She wiped her hands up and down her shorts legs as if she were wiping sweat from her palms. She whispered, “Spike,” and bobbed her head in Toby’s general direction.

When she made a come-here gesture, he leaned down for her to press soft, warm lips against his ear.

He ached to draw her in even closer, to nestle the side of her face against his chest, but somehow he resisted her pull. He’d have to train himself to behave, or else when they finally shook the dust out of everything and walked away—back to their separate lives—he’d end up leaving a bit of his heart with her.

That wouldn’t do. At age thirty-five, he couldn’t afford to fall hard, because no matter how well he’d exercised his ability to rebound from disappointment, eventually there’d be a point when he’d never recuperate. He’d never want to try again. He’d die lonely and single. Childless.

He was an idiot for even coming over. True, he did have a meeting in Research Triangle Park in the morning, but he could have bunked with Curt and accepted Erica’s hospitality like he always did. He could have bothered Grant for his guest bed, or air mattress, depending on what they’d unpacked. In a pinch, he could’ve called Sharon and she and Ashley would’ve cheerfully put him up.

No, his self-torturing instinct had been to put himself in Meg’s space, and thank God that woman in the garage had let him into the building.

She whispered, “Spike told my mother after Toby was born that he’d gone and had a vasectomy. I don’t know if it’s true, and I always used backup birth control. But, I can’t imagine any ethical physician in the US doing the procedure without the patient’s spouse signing off on it.”

He turned her, slightly, to access her ear, unable to stop himself from grazing his lips along her earlobe.

Her hand fisted his shirt, holding him still, but he didn’t want to push his luck. He whispered, “He could have had it done outside of the country, but that’s a lot of trouble to go to while on tour.”

With a small nod and a murmured, “Mm-hmm,” she pulled away, and turned the dial on the slow cooker to high.

He wondered what she’d do if he pushed her just a little. Stroked her cheek or tipped up her chin. Would anger flash through those dark eyes of hers, or would she let him touch her more?

“My parents will….” She let her words trail off, and her face lined with worry as she fidgeted with the corner of a dish towel. “They’re driving down to meet you. Or will as soon as my mother fills my father in on the news. I imagine their arrival will come during the weekend.”

“Just tell me where you want me to be, and I’ll be there,” he said, and she rolled her gaze up to meet his.

“Why are you always so accommodating?” she asked.

“Is that so suspicious?”

“Given what I’m used to, I have good reason to be wary.”

“You should have better than you’re used to then.”

Her cheeks reddened again, but she shook her head and turned her back to him to tidy up the counter. “Simple as that, huh?” Her voice had taken on a bitter tone.

To him, the situation was simple. As complicated as Meg was, figuring out her most pressing needs wasn’t exactly rocket science…and he knew rocket science.

“I need to unpack our luggage and get a load of laundry started,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to see over the kitchen divider. “Oh, he’s asleep. Poor kid. Been a long day.”

“Should I move him?”

The tension in her jaw abated and forehead smoothed. She shook her head. “No. He’ll probably sleep until he wakes up drowning in his own drool. Half an hour at least. Won’t let him go longer. He’ll be up all night, walking the floor, if I let him.”

“Ah.”

“Here, grab your bags and I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

“I figured I’d sleep on the sofa.”

“I can give you something a little better than that.”

He could have sworn that when she looked at him, passing by, there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. The last time she’d looked at him that way had ended with hot, soft flesh pressed against his and a mind-blowing orgasm. Chances were good he was reading too much into the situation, especially with Toby being there.

He grabbed his backpack and followed her toward a corridor beyond the living room.

She pointed at doors as they passed them. “Main bathroom. Guest room-slash-office.” She didn’t stop there the way he expected. She kept walking, kept pointing. “Toby’s room. Utility closet and washer-dryer set.” With her hand on the knob of the last room, she looked at him. “That just leaves the master bedroom.” She pushed the door open.

“I couldn’t displace you from your own room.”

“You’re not.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the opening.

When all of him was in the room, she shut the door and locked it. Pointing to the corners of the room, she said, “Closet. Master bathroom.”

“Okay….”

“Sometimes Toby climbs into bed with me in the middle of the night, so consider this a serendipitous diversion.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t….”

Her stare locked on his as she wriggled her shorts past her hips.

Oh.

He set down his bags, never once taking his eyes off her as she pushed her panties down next. She stepped out of them and walked bare-assed to her bed.

“I’m going to be seriously disappointed if you suck.”

“Suck at what?”

She didn’t answer, just crawled to the center of the bed and peeled her shirt off. She tossed it to the floor, her bra immediately after it, then leaned back against the headboard. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she parted them and pointed to what was between them.

Oh.

He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed between her legs.

“Maybe next time we can crack open my box of goodies.”

He let his brow furrow. Was that a euphemism?

He shrugged and dipped his head, pressed his body flat against the mattress, only for her to pull her knees up to her chest to block him.

With her eyes closed, she blew out a breath and snapped her fingers. “Never mind. There are some condoms in the drawer.”

Never mind?

That may have been the first time he’d ever been stopped before he’d even gotten a chance to start.

“Hurry.”

“Right.” He eased off the right edge of the bed and opened the drawer she indicated, plucking out the sealed box of condoms right on top of all the other miscellaneous junk. Before cracking the tape, he made quick work of peeling his T-shirt over his head and unfastening the tab of his shorts. He had his hands on the box again before his boxers hit the floor.

The impersonal nature of their trysts weighed on him somewhat as he tore open the package. Before Curt had met Erica, Seth had often heard him mumbling, “I’m too old for this shit.” That’s precisely how Seth felt at the moment. He felt as if the time for casual affairs had passed, and that now it was time for something steady—something meaningful.

He unrolled the condom onto his erect cock, now feeling somewhat ambivalent. Obviously, he wasn’t going to say no to the woman. He’d give her whatever she wanted, even if it pained him. Maybe that was his problem.

Meg scooted down so she lay flat on her back, red hair fanned over two abutting pillows, and gave him a beckoning wave.

He straddled her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he lay on top of her.

Her breath escaped in a whoosh.

“Am I too heavy for you?” He propped himself up on his forearms to redistribute the weight.

“You’re very heavy, but the beautiful thing about mattresses is that they absorb some of it.” She slid her hands down his back and suddenly her right palm handed on his ass in a hard smack that made him hiss. “Now, if you don’t mind?”

“Witch.”

She closed her eyes and damn near purred as he eased into her. “Yep. What’s the Russian word for witch?”

“Ved’ma…” God she felt wonderful at that angle, and she wanted to talk? “But it doesn’t mean quite the same thing.”

“Mm-hmm.” She moved her legs up higher, draping them over his shoulders. The clench of her fingers into the meat of his back urged him on, so he increased his pace incrementally, savoring the tight clench of her cunt around his shaft with each attempted withdrawal.

She angled her torso upward and pressed soft lips to his chest, kissing across his pecs, then up his neck. Given her height, that was about all she could reach.

If he eased back a bit, she could meet his lips, but before he could follow through on the thought, her head met the pillow again, and her eyes fluttered behind her eyelids.

“Do that again,” she whispered.

“What?”

“That thing you did—on your knees.”

“Oh.” He shifted into the transitional position he’d taken moments before, on his knees, sitting back at about forty-five degrees, angling her bottom up off the bed toward his core. He’d only wanted to improve his passage a bit as she was so tight—her body so narrow. He hadn’t thought she’d noticed the brief reconfiguring.

She tucked her hands around the backs of his thighs and held on as he increased his pace.

With each thrust, she let out a little whimper, growing gradually louder until he had to clamp one hand over her mouth.

Her eyes took on a malevolent glint for a moment. Then her expression relaxed as if she understood what they were doing and precisely who could catch them.

Briefly, he considered pulling his hand away, but the shuddering movements of her body and the feral grunts vibrating from her throat forced him to reconsider. And knowing that he’d done this to her, rendered her wordless and pliant, aroused him that much more. His skin tingled, belly contracted, and when her short nails pierced the flesh of his thigh backs, he toppled over the edge, bringing her along for the ride.

He pulled out of her, drawing one more whimper from her throat, and rolled onto his back. His throat burned and lips were chapped from harsh breathing. He drew his tongue over them and tried to steady his breaths as he stared at the gentle swirls in the ceiling plaster.

Was that three times? He’d never had any other woman three times. There were a few who’d come back for a second round, but they’d just wanted sex. No talking. No follow-up. They didn’t push their luck for round three. Meg had passed them in that race, but their situation was a far more perverted one. Equally stagnant, unless someone labeled their relationship as something more.

And that someone would have to be Meg. That’s what Sharon said, and Carla had hinted at as much. But neither woman had given him any clues as to how he could get her to turn the tide. Perhaps he’d been asking the wrong questions.

Perhaps he always had.