Two in Winter (4 page)

“What do you want?” he forced himself to ask.

“Not this.” She gestured between them. “I want my life the way I’ve planned it, and I didn’t plan for you.”

He swallowed. Well, she couldn’t have said it more clearly than that. Her life, him not included. He nodded, willing the sting in his throat to go away. It seemed he was always at the mercy of a woman’s plans—one to have a baby with him … then another to have one without him. Finally, the breath he’d swallowed eased from him in a long sigh.

He dropped her elbow.

As she walked down the hallway toward the ultrasound room, he felt himself frowning after her. When she looked up, she gave him another one of those impossibly bittersweet smiles before she disappeared.

* * * *

“Have you seen her again?”

Eric’s eyes moved from his plate up to his sister’s earnest face. He nodded. “Yesterday. She told me in no uncertain terms that there is no room for me in her life.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe it’s time to move on, Eric. Just chalk it up to a rebound crush and walk away.”

“I can’t get her out of my head. I have no appetite. I’m living on caffeine and the hope that I’ll see her again. I think Lucky wishes Lesley had taken him with her. E, I’m literally pining away over a woman. I didn’t do this when Lesley left even. This is ridiculous.”

“Hush.” Erica reached for his hand. “Is Skip still dating her friend?”

“Yeah. Apparently he and Getty are all buddy-buddy. I tried to ask him to put in a word for me, and he says he did, but I have this feeling something he said may have fucked it up worse.”

“Fucked.” Nossie’s childish voice repeated. “Fucked worse.”

“Nossie sweetie, please don’t repeat things your Uncle Eric says. Sometimes, he uses words that aren’t appropriate for kids to say.”

“Appwopwiate.” She tried this one on for size instead. “Approp-wee.” She murmured the word a few more times before she looked up and grinned at Eric.

“Sorry kiddo.” He apologized for his language, returned to pushing his pasta around on his plate.

“Ewic,” his niece said solemnly. “If you don’t eat you supper, you don’t have ice cween.”

“Uh oh.” He grinned at little Nossie. “And then what?”

“You fucked.”

“Nossie!” Her mother exclaimed.

“Well, she’s right. I’ve pretty much blown it with the ice queen. And now … I’m… Yeah.”

“Eric.” His sister frowned. “I wish you could let this go.”

“Me too.”

Chapter 8

Eric was crowding Getty’s thoughts. He had offered to take himself off rotation just so he could get to know her. The thought that he was that interested was flattering, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who was open to flattery.

She sighed, looking at the tickets in her hands. Plane tickets to New York for Fashion Week and VIP passes. She’d already hired the new sales manager, so there was really no need for her to go. A part of her considered asking Eric, to show him that part of her life, so he’d understand why, but she squashed that part of herself down ruthlessly.

If she invited him in that far, it would be that much harder to shut the door. He and Skip were the only ones who knew her secret, and she felt like it made him a co-conspirator. Not that it was a conspiracy. Just a plan. One of many she’d put into place in her life. Why did his knowledge of it make him take up so many of her waking thoughts?

No. She couldn’t take him to New York.

* * * *

“Tickets to fashion week?” Stacey looked at the envelope in her hands, then back up at Getty. “You want me to go to fashion week?”

“I’ve hired a new sales manager, she’s taking over that part of my job. I thought you might like to go and keep Anna company. I figured you could take Skip, if you wanted.”

“Take me where?” Skip wandered, shirtless, into the hallway from Stacey’s room. Getty giggled as Stacey rolled her eyes.

Stacey looped her arms around Skip’s neck. “What do you say? You, me, New York City, my surly designer friend, and lots of thin beautiful creatures on impossibly tall high heels?”

“Can we have coffee first?” Skip raised one eyebrow.

“Definitely.” Getty walked into the kitchen to start the coffee. “And I brought donuts.”

“Mmm. Donuts.” Stacey peered into the box on the counter. “Are these custard or cream filled?”

“I don’t know. Be brave.”

“Getty, you’re in a weirdly good mood,” Stacey observed. “Did last quarter’s sales numbers blow you away or something?”

“No, I’m just … hopeful.” She smiled. Truth was, it had been almost two weeks since her second insemination. She was planning on taking a pregnancy test the following morning. She had maniacally googled every “early pregnancy symptom” and found at least a half dozen that might apply to her. At least she
thought
her veins looked darker. And her breasts were definitely sensitive. Of course, squeezing them like fruit at the grocery every time she had a moment of privacy might have done that. Tomorrow. She’d find out tomorrow.

Skip sat across from her at the breakfast table.

“Eric asks about you,” he said, almost too casually.

“Did I ask about Eric?” she shot back, one blonde eyebrow raised.

“Fair point. But Getty, I gotta ask you something. Have you thought about what you’re giving up?”

“Mmm, a few dates, a few months of groping each other, a few episodes of mediocre sex, and then we break up, I’m suddenly six months older, and wondering what happened to half a year of my life that could have been spent on something productive?”

Skip’s expression turned exasperated. “Eric is a good guy, Getty. He’s a lot of fun to be around when he’s not brooding. Add to that, you’re the only woman I’ve seen him show an interest in, besides Les of course, since before he met her. And he’s really interested.

“Let me put it another way for you. What if he could give you everything you’ve ever wanted? What if he’s the one person you’re meant to be with? Your partner in life? And by denying him, you’re denying yourself. You have your company, your friends and family. But without him, it’s bitter and cold and you resent every day that you didn’t take that chance.”

“Skip…” she cautioned, “…don’t. You can’t scare me into loving him. I don’t believe in all that soul mate crap anyway.”

He wrote something down on a piece of paper and held it up. “Just imagine that I’m holding your happiness right here. You can choose to live a life full of happiness with a partner by your side, or you can live this bitter half-life, because without someone to share it, life is a lot less sweet. I’m telling you, I know Eric. And now that I’ve gotten to know you, I wish you’d give him a chance. I think you guys will never be happy if you don’t at least explore whatever this thing is between you. Change both of your lives. Better, not bitter.”

* * * *

Getty sat on the edge of the toilet seat, waiting for the alarm on her iPhone to beep, letting her know it was time to check the test. When it finally came she took a shuddering deep breath and turned over the small strip of pink and white plastic.

Her eyes searched the test carefully. Two lines. There should be two. There are supposed to be two.

One.

She felt a lump rising in her throat. Her nose stung and her breath caught.

She held it up to the light, as if that would change anything.

It wasn’t calm, collected Getty who flung the test across the room, watched in satisfaction as it shattered against the cold travertine wall. It wasn’t logical, rational Getty who climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. And it was certainly not Ice Queen Getty who pulled out the folded-up slip of paper Skip had given her yesterday, folding and unfolding it until the creases had softened and the writing had smudged just a little. It couldn’t have been her, but somehow it was Getty who found herself sitting up in bed in her underwear, dialing a phone number she’d never asked for.

“’Lo?” His sleepy voice triggered a rush of melting heat. For a moment she just considered what that must have been, that gushy-rushy-gooey sweetness that throbbed below the icy surface. “Hello?” Annoyed now, an edge crept into his voice.

She remembered then … she’d called him.

“E-eric?” she stammered into the phone.

“Who’s this?” She could hear the yawn in his voice, and she smiled, picturing him stretched out in bed.

“It’s Getty,” she whispered.

“Getty?” No softness to his voice now … just excitement?

She nodded, realized he couldn’t see, hugged her knees to her chest, and started over. “Yeah. It didn’t work. Again.” Feeling small, Getty let the sadness creep into her voice. “I’m not pregnant.”

“Oh, honey.” She heard the empathy there, knew it was up to her. She’d known exactly what she wanted when she decided to have a baby alone. And she could see that all planned out neatly and perfectly. She hadn’t counted on her body not holding up its end of the bargain. She hadn’t planned for disappointment, for grief and for needing a release for it. She hadn’t known how alone she would feel when none of her friends knew the truth and she’d be turning to a virtual stranger…

“Can I see you?” she whispered into the phone, eyes squeezing shut against the tears. “I really need someone to talk to.”

Chapter 9

When Eric knocked on the door, Getty was ready. She flung it open, drinking in the sight of him, his morning’s beard growth dotting his chin. Blue—so blue—eyes looking at her with empathy and banked desire. Both big hands clutching coffee cups from Starbucks. Wordlessly, he handed her a cup and arched a brow at her.

“Please, come in.” She held the door wide and walked back through the entryway to the lush living room with the overpriced couches she never sat on, the large-screen TV she never watched. She sat down, hugging a pillow to her chest as she sipped at the coffee.

With a trembling smile that told her he was as nervous as she, he sat next to her, putting his coffee on the table. He dragged the pillow out from under her arm, taking her hand in his.

“Are you okay?”

Three words that asked everything and nothing, left it up to her to divulge or not. A crack in the ice, dripping.

“Now that you’re here.” She smiled. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

“I know.” His thumb stroked the quilted flesh inside her palm, tracing the lines there.

“I didn’t plan for it not to work.” Another sip—okay, this one more like a gulp—of coffee.

“I know.” He nodded.

“You could give me statistics.” She attempted a smile.

“Did you want a doctor? Or a friend?” He smiled back. God, his smile was gorgeous. She wanted to trace it with a finger until she had it memorized. Her awareness of him was centering in the palm of the hand he still held, caressing, stroking, tracing. Who knew the soft squishy heel of her hand was an erogenous zone?

He did.

“A friend,” she said finally, a stiff nod dragging on her chin.

He let go of her hand. She almost protested, then she realized he was reaching for his coffee.

“Well, it’s Sunday. I don’t have to go to work. Do you?”

She shook her head.

“Church?”

“No.”

“So, you’re all mine for the day.” He looked vastly pleased with himself. The laugh burst from her. So fast, she thought an avalanche might be on the way. Rivers overflow banks. Flood and disaster.

“All yours.”

“What do you want to do?” Blue eyes pierced into her. This was the real question, wasn’t it?

“I want to forget,” she admitted.

He took her coffee from her hand, tugged her to her feet. “Close your eyes,” he whispered into her hair. His voice stirred her, churning her insides like rapids under ice. She did as he told her, was rewarded by the sound of music filtering through her stereo speakers. A smile tugged its way onto her face for real.

“Dance with me.” He came and stood behind her, wrapped one arm around her waist, tugging her bottom tight to him. He took her arm, placed it on the back of his neck as he slid his other hand down to her hip. And then they were moving. She let the music move through her, ignoring the melting ice roaring in her ears. Eyes still closed, she let the beat take over, and the sensuality simmering between them flared to a sharp heat. Like she had at the dance club, she let herself fall into the music, lost herself in it. She could feel him, hard and hot at her back, and the dance wasn’t enough.

Spinning in his arms, she laced her arms back behind his head, tugged his forehead to hers, and opened her eyes.

Blue stared back, serious and wanting. Her move. Always her move.

She bit him.

Not hard, but she took his chin in her teeth, felt the stubble on her tongue, swayed her hips into his because now he was kissing her, like he had at the club, and it was so good, so sweet and hard and messy and right.

She felt the groan rumble up in her chest as his hand pulled her leg around his waist. The hand still on her hip pushed her back against the wall, but she only had enough attention for the melting, gushing whirlpool that was tugging down deep. This was how things should be between them. His hips pushed against hers, his erection pressing into warm wet heat.

She felt him through the pajama bottoms she had pulled on and he felt so good she needed to rub against him harder, sweeter. Her lips pulled from his in a ragged breath and he bit down gently along the side of her neck, bite, suck, bite, leaving a trace of heated marks along her throat as he made his way down her body. Her shirt went up over her head with no resistance and she buried her hands in that soft hair as he lay his head against her breast, right over her heart.

“Eric, please.” She tugged at the hair. A heated breath against her nipple before he tugged it into his mouth and she was speechless again, writhing against the pull of teeth and lips, hips pulsing into him, dimly aware that she was still moving with music that flooded her veins with rhythm and warmth.

The mouth disappeared from her nipple, found the other and treated it to the same desperate pull.

Her pajama pants were down around her ankles now, and she stepped out of them, her own voice a stranger as she mewled and rocked against the hand that was pushing her panties aside. Almost shy, she felt her legs closing automatically.