“Geoffrey hasn’t gone home yet, so I’m going to send him to get the pill,” he says when he straightens, and I stare at him blankly for a moment, my mind still on the way his muscular ass looked when he was bent over, doing his neat freak thing. Then it dawns on me what pill he’s talking about.
“We forgot the condom again?”
He nods, his gaze hooded.
“Shit.” I can’t believe I didn’t catch that myself. Actually, no, I believe it. With sex that intense, I could’ve had a kidney taken out and been none the wiser. Case in point: he’s been carrying me around tonight like I weigh no more than my cats, and I’ve just now realized it.
Those big, sexy muscles aren’t just for show. And neither is the semi-erect cock hanging between his legs. My mouth waters at the thought of wrapping my lips around that long, thick column and—
Oh my God, Emma, stop it. You’ve just had sex with the guy. Enough.
“I think I need to get on birth control,” I say, forcing myself to look at Marcus’s face instead of all that muscle-y temptation. “It’s ridiculous that this keeps happening.”
He stills, an indecipherable something darkening his gaze. “Kitten…” His voice is low and soft. “Do you want kids?”
Wait, what? “You mean like… ever? Or soon?”
I’m sure he doesn’t mean the latter, but I have to check, because his timing is odd, to say the least. It would be one thing if we were having a nice dinner and the conversation drifted to our future dreams and goals, but we have a forgotten-condom situation on our hands. At this very moment, his little swimmers are inside me, and if they’re anywhere near as goal-oriented as their daddy, we need that morning-after pill, pronto. And I need to find the cash for a long-overdue visit to my ob-gyn.
Not having health insurance sucks.
Marcus’s gaze is unblinking. “Either. Both.”
“Well, I…” I gulp in a breath. “I do want kids. Eventually. With the right person.”
There, that should be a neutral-enough response. My dream is actually three children, two girls and a boy, spaced about two years apart, but I’m not about to tell Marcus that. Men tend to get freaked out when women get overly specific about stuff like that, as if a woman fantasizing about children in the future means she wants to steal his sperm that very day.
I’m about to congratulate myself on getting out of that sticky—literally, I can still feel a little stickiness between my legs—situation, when Marcus’s jaw tightens and he turns abruptly with a curt, “I’ll be right back.”
He disappears into his ginormous walk-in closet and emerges a second later in a dark blue robe. Without so much as a look at me, he strides out of the bedroom, and I hear his footsteps in the hallway. They’re fast, almost angry.
Crap. Did I upset him somehow?
I hope he doesn’t think I’m trying to trap him with a baby, because that would be totally unfair. He’s the one who forgot to use a condom, not me. Unless it’s again whatever it was that got him upset earlier?
My cats destroying his place, maybe?
Increasingly worried, I find the fluffy pink robe I wore the last time I was here and throw it on, then tiptoe out of the bedroom to peer down the spiral staircase.
Marcus is downstairs, talking to Geoffrey. Their voices are pitched low, but I catch the words “pharmacy” and “pill” and blow out a relieved breath.
For a moment, I was afraid he might be telling Geoffrey to pack up my cats’ things and throw all four of us out on the street.
I turn to head back into the bedroom—and nearly trip over Mr. Puffs, who’s decided that stretching out on his side directly behind me is a great idea.
“Puffs!” I bend down to grab him, but the evil cat flips over with lightning speed and streaks away, fluffy tail raised high.
If this were my apartment, I’d catch him after a few minutes of determined chasing—there are only so many places to run in a tiny studio—but Marcus’s mansion-sized penthouse is a different matter, and the cat seems to know that. With a gloating look over his shoulder, he disappears into the library, and I decide against pursuing him there.
From what I recall, all the pricey first editions in Marcus’s collection are under glass, and in any case, my cats don’t usually mess with books.
I’d like to think it’s because I raised them to respect the written word, same as I do.
Sighing, I return to the bedroom and go into Marcus’s closet, where I’m unsurprised to see my jeans, sweaters, and blouses hanging neatly—and looking particularly cheap and ratty next to Marcus’s sleek Italian suits and perfectly pressed shirts.
Oh, well. Not all of us shop at Bergdorf Goodman, or wherever it is that billionaires get their stuff.
I’m flipping through the meager selection, trying to decide what to wear to work tomorrow, when Marcus appears in the doorway.
“Geoffrey’s gone to pick up the pill,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. His face is partially in shadow, making his expression hard to decipher, but his voice is even, the earlier abruptness gone.
Maybe he’s over whatever caused his funk?
“Okay, thanks,” I say and take a breath. “So, about tomorrow… I have to be at work by—”
“Wilson will take you.” He straightens and comes toward me. “And he’ll bring you back.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ll take the subway and—”
“I promised your grandparents.” He stops in front of me, his face set in uncompromising lines. “They want you safe and warm, and so do I.”
I stare up at him, fighting a warm sensation in my chest. I should be irritated by his autocratic manner, but I find his overbearing protectiveness oddly sweet. Still, I can’t just use his private driver willy-nilly. “Thank you, but—”
“No buts. Wilson
