Jaci Burton (14 page)

open, sat up, and searched the room.

He wasn’t there. Neither were his clothes. She got up and

looked in the bathroom, and he wasn’t in there, either.

Wel , fine. She pul ed on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then

flopped onto the bed, forcing herself not to pout.

Maybe he had something important to do this morning. Her

gaze slid over to the clock on the nightstand—seven-thirty. It

was stil early. They hadn’t gotten more than four hours of

sleep last night. What could he possibly have to do this early

in the morning, besides hightail it out of her room so he could

get away from her?

Guys did that. A lot didn’t care for the “morning after.” Sex

was fine, but they didn’t stay the night. Rick had at least

stayed the night—or a few hours, anyway. They’d had sex

again, and promptly passed out in each other’s arms. Maybe

he’d only needed a few hours to rest, then wanted to get out of

there before he had to—gasp—talk to her.

Guys did that, too—left before they had to have the

morning-after conversation. The few guys she’d had sex with

hadn’t been the “cuddle and talk after sex” type. Hel , they

hadn’t been the “stay in the room after sex” type. Which was

probably why sex hadn’t been high on her priority list the past

few years. Being used wasn’t fun.

But for some reason she’d thought Rick was different. How

stupid of her. He was just like the others. Get off and get out of

there before the woman wants to talk.

It wasn’t like she was going to rehash the sex from the night

before.

She stretched, raised her arms above her head and

pointed her toes, smiling at the soreness in her muscles. No,

she was pretty certain the sex spoke for itself and needed no

further conversation.

But Rick didn’t know that, and he was probably used to

clingy women who thought one night of sex equaled a

relationship.

She wasn’t that kind of woman. She knew where they stood

—nowhere. He was a biker who traveled al over, was part of

a gang. She was a graduate student trying to decide which

col ege to attend for her Ph.D. She was nowhere near looking

for a relationship, and she doubted he was, either.

But if she was . . . oh, wow, it had been incredible last night.

Rick knew his way around her body without instruction or a

road map. He’d done it entirely by feel and by reading her

responses.

He was real y damn good at it.

Her body swel ed with heat remembering his touch, his

kisses, how he felt inside her. She slid her hand inside her

sweatpants and cupped her sex, let her fingers dance around

her clit, recal ing how his mouth and tongue felt there last night.

What an incredible orgasm he’d brought her to.

When she heard a click in the door lock, she removed her

hands from her pants and slid her feet over the side of the

bed. Rick pushed the door open. He had two cups of coffee in

a cardboard container.

“Oh, hey, you’re up.”

Ava couldn’t resist a wide smile. He hadn’t left her. He’d

gone for coffee.

“Good morning,” she said, suddenly feeling giddy, and then

felt stupid for feeling that way. It was just coffee.

But he hadn’t run like hel to escape.

“I wasn’t sure how long you’d sleep, but I hate in-room

coffee, so thought you’d want the good stuff.”

“You’re right. Thank you.”

He handed her a cup and cream and sugar. “I wasn’t sure

how you took it.”

“With cream and sugar.” She added both, then put the lid

back on, slid back against the pil ows, and took a sip of the

hot brew. “Oh, this is real y good.”

Rick shrugged his jacket off and lifted the lid off his cup,

took a swal ow and sat in the chair across from the bed.

“Sleep wel ?”

“What little sleep I got was fine. You were gone when I got

up. I thought maybe you wanted to avoid seeing me.”

Why had she blurted that out? She sounded needy.

Way to be mature, Ava.

He quirked a brow and propped his feet up on the edge of

the bed. “Why would I want to do that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Avoid the morning after?”

“The morning aft—oh.” He laughed, then pinned her with a

direct stare. “I’m not the type to fuck and run, Ava.”

She liked hearing that. She didn’t know why she cared,

dammit, but she did.

“You must have dated some miserable assholes.”

She lifted her gaze from her coffee to him. “Not real y. Just

none that were memorable enough to keep around.”

“Yeah? Tel me about them.”

She shifted and made herself more comfortable against the

pil ows. “My first was in col ege.”

“Late bloomer, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that. My parents overprotected me,

kept me busy with school and social activities.”

He grinned. “Al to preserve the sanctity of your virginity, no

doubt.”

She sipped her coffee and nodded, remembering having to

account for every second of her time back then. “No doubt.

But once I hit col ege and wasn’t under their thumb every

minute of every day, I had more freedom to go wild.”

“And did you?”

“Go wild?” She let out a soft laugh. “No.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t know how. I was tentative. I’d been

sheltered. Having al that freedom scared the hel out of me.”

“And you had guys beating down the door to get at you, I’d

bet.”

She laughed. “Not real y. I was painful y shy. Pretty much a

wal flower.”

“I can’t see that.”

“Thanks. But I was. Fortunately, I had my best friend, Lacey,

as my roommate and we stuck close together and weathered

the first couple awkward years of col ege. And boys. And then

men.”

“So your sexual awakening was in col ege, with the frat

boys?”

“Yes.”

“Did they treat you good?”

What an odd question. Why would he even care about that?

“I suppose. I wasn’t mistreated. I didn’t end up on a website or

in a
Girls Gone Wild
video. But then again I was never a big

drinker, so I always knew what I was doing. And I was

selective in who I went out with.”

“Sounds practical.”

He made it sound like she was boring. Maybe she had

been. She certainly couldn’t pinpoint anyone or anything

remarkable from her undergrad days.

“So how many?”

“How many what?”

“How many guys?”

She lifted her chin. “That’s a bit personal, don’t you think?”

“Okay. You don’t have to tel me.”

“Four.”

“That’s it? Four? You’ve only been with four guys? How old

are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

Rick dragged his fingers through his hair. “Damn.”

“How about you?”

“Uh . . .”

“That many, huh?” And why did it irritate her so much that he

couldn’t just pul a number out of his head right then? “Go

ahead. Give it some thought. I’l wait.”

And she did. Drank her coffee, twiddled her toes, glanced

over at the clock, then back at him while he stared up at the

ceiling and did mental math.

“Are you kidding me? It’s that hard to count a few sex

partners?”

“Uh . . .”

Oh, for God’s sake. “Never mind.”

“Thirty-three.”

Her eyes widened. “What? Are you serious? Thirty-three?”

“Give or take.”

“Jesus. Am I thirty-four, or thirty-three?”

His lips curled. “I didn’t count you.”

“Why the hel not? Because you only counted the

memorable ones?” Which meant she’d been utterly

forgettable. Great. Just great.

“No, that’s not what I meant at al .”

And he was laughing. Asshole. She put down her coffee

and stood. “Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Get out.”

“You’re serious.”

She pointed to the door. “Get. Out.”

“You are serious.” He stood. “You’re real y going to toss me

out of here because of the number of women I’ve had sex with.

”

Men were so clueless sometimes. “I need to take a shower.

And I need some time alone.”

“I could wash your back.” He lifted his brows.

“Oh,” she muttered a sound of disgust. “Just get out, Rick.”

“Okay. Jesus. Sorry.” He went to the door, turned, and

looked at her. “Cal me when you’re over being grumpy.”

She slammed the door in his face, double locked it, and

flopped back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling.

Her heart was pounding and her face was hot, flushed with

the heat of anger and embarrassment.

Thirty-three. What a man whore. Damn good thing he’d

worn a condom, since his cock had been so wel used before

he’d been with her.

But as the minutes ticked by and she continued to gaze up

at the monotonous white ceiling, she didn’t know what she

was more upset about—that Rick had had so much sex, or

she’d had so little.

Maybe it was the combination of Rick’s experience and

what she’d seen with Lacey last night. It seemed like everyone

was so adept at broadening their horizons—except her.

Though she’d certainly gotten a good start last night with

Rick, as wel as the night before. Phone sex, and a night of

awesome in-person sex. She couldn’t recal ever climaxing

like she had with Rick. He brought out a wild, uninhibited side

to her she never knew existed, and she had a feeling they’d

only scratched the surface of what she was capable of—what

they were capable of doing together.

So what the hel was she doing throwing a tantrum and

tossing him out of her room, when instead she could be

tapping into his wealth of experience while she had the

chance?

Dumbass.

If she’d spent less time holed up with books and more time

with men, she’d have known how to handle this—how to

handle him. Instead, she’d acted like a fourteen-year-old with

a bruised ego when, real y, his prior sex partners had nothing

to do with her—with them.

She jumped up and took a shower, dried her hair, and got

dressed, then grabbed her jacket and bag and marched down

to Rick’s room, raised her hand, then paused before

knocking, feeling every bit of two inches tal for her ridiculous

outburst earlier.

She knocked, her pulse pounding, not sure what she was

going to say when he opened the door.

If he was even stil in there.

He pul ed open the door and her breath caught.

He was wearing jeans, unbuttoned. No shirt. Bare feet. His

hair was stil wet like he’d just gotten out of the shower and

pul ed on the jeans to answer the door.

“Sorry,” she said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No. I was just getting out of the shower. Come on in.”

She did. He closed the door and she stepped into his room.

He was a typical guy—clothes tossed everywhere. She

resisted the urge to straighten up.

“Sorry. I just toss shit around. Let me move that.”

“It’s fine.” She moved his discarded shirt so she could sit in

the chair.

“You want some coffee? I brewed the in-room stuff. It tastes

rank, but it’s better than nothing.”

“No. Thank you.”

“Okay.” He turned around and reached into his bag to grab

a white T-shirt and lifted his arms to put it on. While his back

was turned, Ava had an unrestricted view of the way his

muscles stretched across his back and shoulders.

So much she hadn’t seen last night, hadn’t touched. He had

a few scars, too, white lines that stood out against his darkly

tanned torso. She itched to run her fingers, her tongue, across

those scars, and ask how and where he’d gotten them.

Too personal, too intimate. She didn’t want to know. She’d

already told him too much about herself and look where that

conversation had led. It was best to keep things impersonal

between them. What they had wasn’t going anywhere beyond

this week, anyway.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I behaved badly and I had no

reason.”

He turned around and smiled at her. “It’s not your fault,

darlin’. I was a dick.”

“No you weren’t.”

He squatted down in front of her and laid his hands on her

knees. “Yeah, I was. I was teasing you and you hated it.”

“I didn’t hate it. Much.” She looked down.

He tipped her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to meet

his gaze. “You hated it. I’m sorry.”

He spread her knees apart and moved between her thighs,

cradled her face in his hands and kissed her. It was soft, the

touch of his lips so light she could barely feel it. And because

of that, she held her breath, absorbed the utter sweetness of

his apology. For a man who looked and acted so hard, the

lightness of this kiss rocked her.

When he pul ed back, she felt shaken, disoriented, like she