Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 477(@300wpm)
Only, all Fern had had to drink that night was two sips of champagne. And while the experience had been disappointing, she didn’t think it had been quite as appalling as Cade clearly seemed to think it was.
“When you say ‘what happened between us’ do you mean the sex act or the quality of the sex?”
“Yeah? Both of those things? You’re not really someone I’d normally find myself attracted to—” He winced and shook his head in self-disgust. “No, sorry, that’s not—I didn’t mean it to sound so… Uh, look, Fern, I usually date more sophisticated women and you’re… I mean you’re nice, but you’re not my type. And whatever drew me to you that night, it kind of—it sort of fizzled when we—while we were in the middle of it.”
Fern now had a hand clamped over her mouth in horror as her stare turned into a glare of disbelief and disgust. What the hell was she supposed to say in response to this disjointed, ineloquent pile of insulting drivel? How did one even react to words such as these?
“So, what you’re saying is that you were drunk when you first saw me, imagined you were attracted to me, and at some point, between kissing me and sticking your penis in me, you suddenly realized that I wasn’t your type?” Her voice raised to a near shout on the last two words, and she pinched her lips shut and tried to control her breathing for a few, furious moments before counting to ten and attempting to speak again. “Well, I’m certainly glad we cleared this up, Cade. Don’t worry, you and your perplexed penis are no longer welcome anywhere near the general vicinity of my body and all its attached bits. I’d hate for you to be the victim of any more mediocre sex.”
Chapter
Five
“Iwasn’t drunk… just not completely sober,” he clarified, as if that made it somehow better. He peered at her intently before sighing. “I’ve offended you.”
She folded her arms over her chest and glowered at him.
“What makes you think that?” Her voice was dripping with saccharine. “It’s not like you were being offensive or anything.”
He sighed again and this time the sound was long-suffering and—nuh uh! She glared at him. Nope… no way!
They had not been married long enough for him to whip out a sigh like that in her presence.
“I just meant to say that sex won’t be on the list of complications we need to worry about. And if I do decide to have my needs met elsewhere, I’ll be discreet. As I’m sure you will be.”
“Right. Sex, off the list,” she repeated, her voice curt, she unfolded her arms to lick the tip of her index finger and draw a gigantic check mark in the air in front of her. “Got it. Then we need to address the other matter. The one you refused to discuss last night.”
God, had it only been last night? It felt like a lifetime ago.
His eyes narrowed and sharpened on her face.
“What matter?”
She gulped in a deep breath. She couldn’t will this away. She didn’t want to. It was her entire reason for proposing this mad venture to him in the first place. The past twenty-four hours had been crazy and distracting enough to shove it to the back of her mind, but it had never been completely gone. How could it be? When it was so precious to her.
“I didn’t want to push it when you’d so vehemently rejected the notion. I was afraid you wouldn’t help me and I couldn’t risk that, Cade.”
He swallowed and his eyes involuntarily darted down to her stomach, before he jerked them back up to her face. His expression had hardened into stone.
“I wasn’t lying about being pregnant,” she whispered, hating that she sounded so apologetic. She wasn’t sorry about this pregnancy. Not one bit. It had given her hope and a reason to fight. She loved the tiny flicker of life in her uterus fiercely and she’d already taken massive, life-altering measures to protect it.
She picked up her purse from the seat next to her and scratched around in the untidy interior before she pulled out her journal and flipped it open to retrieve the grainy ultrasound image that she’d tucked between the pages. She unfolded it and smoothed her palm lovingly over the crease in the center of the paper, before leaning forward to hand it to him with a badly shaking hand.
He stared at the offering blankly for a few long, agonizing seconds before—with clear reluctance—grasping a corner gingerly between his thumb and forefinger and taking it from her.
“You can’t see much, I know,” she whispered, her voice thready with anxiety. “It’s a six-week ultrasound, taken a couple of weeks ago. I had to sneak out to a clinic to have it done. Just a little blob at that stage. An embryo really. But it’s there. It exists.”