Just My Type (12 page)
He had intended to have this
conversation
over dinner, but now was just fine with him.
She appeared startled when she looked into his eyes and Mac knew all of his frustration and end-of-the-rope showed. He came forward, which made her wisely back up, until she came up against the wall. He didn’t stop at a comfortable distance. He got as close as he could, totally invading her space, slapped a hand on either side of her next to her shoulders and leaned in.
“Listen, princess, here’s the situation. The final decision. No more discussion. All you get to do is say
‘okay’ when I’m done.”
Her hands were flat against the wall behind her and she looked like she might have realized she’d pushed him too far.
“The bottom line is you can’t keep up with me sexually, Sara, and that’s a deal-breaker for me. There are sixteen sexual positions that I like and you’d have to start a stretching program to accomplish at least seven of them. I want handcuffs, nipple clamps, toys and at least one other woman.” She opened her mouth.
“I’m not done.”
She closed her mouth.
He wasn’t lying to her. He loved toys and had definitely enjoyed more than one woman at a time on occasion. Of course, this was Sara. He didn’t need much more than her smile to get going.
For now.
That was the kicker. He wanted Sara. More than he’d ever wanted another woman. More than he’d ever want another again, he was sure.
But he’d never ever wanted a woman indefinitely.
67
Erin Nicholas
It had taken him a while to figure out why that was. When he had it made sense. He liked pushing boundaries, he liked teaching women new things, seeing how far they’d go for—and with—him. As egotistical as that was. Which was why he stuck with more experienced women. Now. Women who knew their limits and weren’t shy about letting him know. Even the experienced ones, though, ultimately got to their limit. Then he was ready for something new.
It wasn’t kinky. At least not all the time. It wasn’t crazy. All the time. Sometimes pushing a woman’s limits simply met introducing them to sexy lingerie or a new position or two.
Whatever it was, it eventually came time to move on. Until then it was fun. It was sex. There were no drugs, no pain, no disrespect. When they said stop, he stopped. When they said more, he gave more. It was harmless.
He made sure of that. First, do no harm. Just like the frickin’ doctors.
In the past, he’d thought he could have amazing sex with women who loved him. What he hadn’t realized was that loving him meant they wouldn’t say no or stop, even when they wanted to.
He would not make that mistake again. Not with Sara. Especially not with Sara. He knew Sara thought he walked on water. Much more than any other woman ever had. Most women met him and liked him based on his looks and a few minutes of conversation. Sara was basing her draw to him on much more.
Which meant she trusted him. Which meant when he screwed it up it would be all the more devastating. Not only would it ruin his connection to her, but the entire group, their family, would be disrupted. He couldn’t let that happen.
Wouldn’t
let that happen.
“I appreciate the fact you think I’m worthy of your affections, but the truth is, I’m not the warm-and-fuzzy type of guy. Where women are concerned, I want down and dirty, wild and raunchy. And, princess, you’re not it.”
He pushed back from the wall, his stomach cramping as he watched her absorb his words.
“You want me,” she said, quietly. “I know you do.”
“I do,” he admitted. “For now.”
She thought about that. “How long?”
Now the feeling in his stomach was less regret and more a definite
uh-oh
.
Time for one of those questions he’d likely end up regretting. “How long what?”
“How long do you want me for?”
Damn. Great question. One that he couldn’t answer. He never knew when the excitement would wear off. That’s why he hung out with women who didn’t expect a lot of notice.
Yeah, this was just terrific.
He said the only thing he could. “I’ve already had you.” She tipped her chin up and took a deep breath in through her nose. “So you’re done with me?”
“Yep.” He couldn’t meet her eyes, though.
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Just My Type
“As of right now?”
He just knew she was going to somehow make him sorry. He said, “Yes,” anyway.
“Okay. Then as of right now, you step aside.”
He moved toward her again, making her look up at him. “Define step aside.”
“You give up the right to give me advice, to interfere, to even be informed of what’s going on in my life.”
“Bullshit,” he said with deadly calm. That was simply never gonna happen.
She looked him right in the eye. “You’re not my brother, you’re not my father, my guardian, my power of attorney, my husband… You’re just a guy who I fell in love with, offered everything to and who turned me down.”
He wasn’t breathing and he couldn’t seem to change that.
Fell in love with.
Everything.
Turned me down
.
Her words wouldn’t stop echoing in his mind. Love. She’d said it before. For some reason this time was the first he truly believed her. He could have everything she was, everything she had. He didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it. With a desire that almost brought him to his knees. And he’d turned it down.
She was right. He was a damned idiot, but she was right. He wasn’t going to take what she was offering.
Couldn’t. For her sake.
Now she wanted him out of her life? No fucking way.
“Bullshit,” he repeated firmly, reaching for her. He grasped her upper arm, needing to touch her, needing to hold on to her somehow. “I’m your friend. That doesn’t change.”
“I can’t control how you feel any more than I can control how I feel,” she said to the neckline of his shirt. “I also can’t control what you do. But I can control what
I
do.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, his throat tight.
“It means I won’t be spending time with you, I won’t be calling you, I won’t be confiding in you, I won’t be…needing you.”
“So that’s it?” he asked, trying to suppress the anger, and panic, building in his chest.
“Yes. This isn’t a buffet. You don’t get to come through and pick and choose what parts of my life you want to be involved in and what parts you don’t want.”
“All or nothing?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
“You’re going to tear our group apart because you want to get laid?” he demanded, feeling the anger and panic increase. He couldn’t lose her.
69
Erin Nicholas
She raised her eyes to his then. Slowly she shook her head. “Not laid, Mac. Loved. I want to be loved.
By you.”
She yanked her arm free of his grasp and stepped around him. She almost slid out of her flip-flop. She paused and shoved her foot into it more securely, then headed for the door.
Un-fucking-believable. Mac was still staring after her.
This thing just kept getting better and better.
He’d come down here to keep her sober and safe. He’d ended up getting her drunk, helping her get tattooed and nearly making sure she tried every sexual position he knew.
Now they’d broken up when they hadn’t even been a couple.
How had this gotten so screwed up so fast?
He headed for the beach bar where he’d first seen Sara when he arrived on the island. He needed to drink. Heavily.
As he tossed back the shot of rum, then took a long drink of beer, he contemplated the situation.
He was in deep shit.
Somehow he’d contributed, unintentionally, to Sara seeking a sexual revolution. Now she was a loaded weapon. She had the looks, the motivation and just enough knowledge to be dangerous in her search for orgasmic perfection.
He couldn’t sleep with her. He also couldn’t—or at least shouldn’t—do any more of what they’d done in her condo. But he also couldn’t just let her go off on her own.
He’d tried rejecting her at the wedding and look what had happened. She’d taken off for an island.
Alone. With hardly any clothing. She was determined to go wild and used to getting her way. A recipe for disaster.
The scumbags and man-whores would be all over a sweet young thing like Sara, and she’d be in too deep before she knew what was happening. It wasn’t like she was demonstrating incredibly responsible decision-making. She’s chosen
him
as the object of her affections, for instance, and he was far from the upstanding nice guy she deserved.
Of course, the idea of Sara with
any
other guy made him want to put a fist through a wall. Prior to their kiss at the wedding he was able, and willing, to ignore it all. It wasn’t easy, but it was possible.
Now he’d had a taste of her—and then some—and there was no way in hell he was going to be able to ignore
that
. The kiss had been bad enough. After that afternoon in her condo… Well, he was never going to fully recover.
She was going to go wild and now he knew what that looked like.
He shifted on the barstool, suddenly less comfortable in his jeans.
70
Just My Type
At least a thousand men would be lined up within an hour, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it short of literally locking her up or beating them off with a stick. Also literally. Which he’d enjoy to some extent.
She was doing all of this to get his attention—and to torture him since he’d said no to her. Heaven forbid someone tell Sara something she didn’t want to hear.
She’d said that she wasn’t going to be talking to, calling or seeing him. But she would find ways to make him miserable. She knew him. The more outrageous she was—like jumping on a plane to St. Croix out of the blue—the more worried he’d be, the closer he’d want to stick, the more of his attention she would monopolize.
The more attention he gave to her, the harder it would be to forget that he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything. For the rest of his life he was sure that whenever he was within ten feet of her he’d be remembering what it felt like to almost have her.
Basically, he was screwed.
God only knew what she—or the men around her—would do if he tried to just walk away.
But he was
not
the right guy for her. Even if he wanted to be. He wasn’t and he’d never risk hurting Sara the way he’d hurt…
He stopped that thought before he could complete it. It was good to remember that he couldn’t be with nice girls, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to remember the details of why. None of that would
ever
happen to Sara. Period.
Even if the man he had to protect her from was him.
The question was how in the hell was he going to do that?
He couldn’t reject her. He couldn’t keep her. He couldn’t convince her this was a bad idea. Once Sara got something in her head the only person who could change her mind was her.
But what could convince her that she was wrong about this? Sara’s entire life had been about getting her way. She had no reason to believe that things wouldn’t happen the way she planned or that any of her ideas were less than perfect.
What she didn’t realize was that things turned out for her because there were always people to bail her out, to smooth things over, to soften the landing.
He would be sleeping much more comfortably if Sara, just once in her life, had been allowed to fail miserably and live with some regret and disappointment about even one choice she’d made.
And suddenly Mac had his answer. He thunked his bottle down on the bar and sat up straighter.
It was actually quite brilliant. And simple.
He couldn’t tell her she was wrong. He couldn’t insist she was wrong. He had to
show
her she was wrong.
By giving her exactly what she thought she wanted.
71
Erin Nicholas
It was time for Sara to figure out that she wasn’t always right.
“Ask me to marry you.”
“Are you drunk?” Sara stood in her pajamas in the doorway to her condo and stared at the man she loved and hated equally at the moment. Mac had just said the word “marry” to her and it didn’t have the word “not” or “never” with it.
“I had a couple drinks,” Mac admitted. “But I’m not drunk.”
“You must be,” she said. “You just told me you’re done with me, you’ve had what fun you wanted and I’m not enough for you. Now you’re telling me we should get married.” Mac had his hand shoved deep in his pockets and he looked tired, but lucid. The faint scent of rum had met her as he’d leaned in close and kissed her cheek when she opened the door, but he did seem to have all of his faculties functioning at adequate levels.
“You have to ask me, though. Everyone knows that you always get your way. You ask, eventually I say yes. Been that way for twelve years. Why stop now?” She crossed her arms. “I’ve been asking you to have sex with me. You’ve said no to that.” He sighed. “Yeah. So far.”
In spite of the grim look on his face, her heart flipped. Then her eyes narrowed. “Is that why we have to get married? To assuage your guilt when we have sex?” He sighed again. “Something like that. Sam’s going to be pissed no matter what, but I can’t sleep with you and have you move in with me if we’re not married. That would be worse. At least this way he won’t think this is…like all the other women.”
“Am I different, Mac?” she asked quietly.
“You know you are.”
She shook her head at that. “Not sure. Hopeful.”
He put a hand against her cheek. “You are. Very different.” Her heart squeezed in her chest and she tried very hard to suppress the squeal that climbed in her throat. “So marry me,” she said calmly.
Something in his eyes made her catch her breath. A tenderness, a concern.
“Okay,” he said simply.
She stared at him, not trusting her emotions at the moment. The confrontation in the resort shop had shaken her. Now this. She wasn’t sure what to feel. Except for relief.
