Take a Chance on Me (125 page)

His lips traveled down the side of her neck. Using just his teeth, he dragged a bra strap down one arm and then the other until the bra fell on the bed behind her. His big fingers moved from her hips to brush up along the tender inside of her legs, stroking, coaxing.

Emma heard herself draw in a shuddering breath as she helplessly opened her legs for him. The unmistakable scent of her arousal slammed into her nostrils, and she nearly died from shame.

Oh, God! Why was she letting this happen? How stupid could one woman be? What was wrong with her?

She needed to get him off her somehow—claw him, kick him, bite him if she had to—and run for her life. It was what any woman with a shred of self-respect would do.

But every cell of her body called out in ecstasy at the way he touched her. She was lost—it was too late—

and she decided she'd worry about her utter destruction later.

After the pleasure.

When he was finished with her.

« ^ »

W hen Thomas ended the kiss and pulled back, Emma saw that his eyes were filled with tears. Of all the things she'd never expected to see in this lifetime, Thomas on his knees before her, naked and crying, was right up there.

What right did he have to cry? She was the offended party here! And she reminded herself that he was a jerk, a conflicted jerk!

"Emma, I'm sterile. The woman I was with for four years—Nina—she left me when we found out."

Emma went completely still. He brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones. His hands trembled.

"I want you so much." Thomas laughed at his own confession and shook his head. "So damn much. But I think you deserve more than what I can give you, the best of everything, the best man there is. You deserve a real relationship with real possibilities—and I should have stopped this right at the start."

"Oh, Thomas…"

"I tried, but…" Thomas lowered his head and his voice. "I couldn't. I'm falling…" He raised his eyes to hers again. "I'm crazy about you, Emma."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry for the two-step."

Emma watched a fat tear plop over his bottom eyelid, and her body clutched in on itself. He couldn't have children? He was crazy about her? He wanted a relationship—one serious enough for it to even matter that they couldn't make babies together?

She was overflowing with a confusing swirl of joy and sadness. She thought her heart would crumble.

"How—" She stopped, puzzled. "You really can't have children?"

He gripped her face tight between his hands. "Jesus, Emma—I could come inside you for years nonstop—which sounds pretty good to me right now—and there'd never be any little Thomases or Emmas running around. I got hurt playing rugby seven years ago and thought I was fine. Then I reinjured myself at the end of last season, and it turns out I'm sterile."

He stopped, his eyes filled with uncertainty. Emma managed a nod. "Go on."

"There was a rupture—do you want all the medical details now, or can they wait?"

She brought a hand up to cover one of his, where it cradled her cheek. He was still shaking. "The details can wait."

He nodded, and exhaled in relief. "The bottom line is my sperm count's decimated. I thought maybe you could tell by looking at me. That I can't make life." He gave a small shrug. "I just seem to spend my days with death."

Emma couldn't say anything. She just gazed down into his face, stroked his hand, and felt the sadness roll through her. Good Lord! Here she was worried that she wasn't sexy enough for him and he was thinking he wasn't virile enough for her!

If this weren't so pathetic it would be funny.

"I'll understand if you don't want to see me again."

Emma let loose with a burst of startled laughter and pulled his hands into her lap, where she held them tight. "I don't mean to laugh—of course I want to see you—but it's just … well, I assumed this was about me."

"What about you?"

"The way I look. I mean, oh, God, I'm well aware that—"

"Yeah, what the hell was all that yelling about, Emma?" Thomas frowned at her.

"Me. My body. Aaron always told me that—"

A groan roared from Thomas's chest and his fingers clamped down on Emma's thighs. "What did that son of a bitch do to you, Emma? Tell me right now."

"He didn't do anything to me." She leaned away. "I just assumed I wasn't … you know … glamorous enough for you, because I'm pretty fleshy and I'm kind of basic and—"

"Stop right there." Thomas began rubbing her arms as if he were trying to warm her up. "Let me get this straight: Aaron, that dick-head of an ex-husband of yours, told you that you weren't beautiful? And you actually believed him?"

Emma snorted. "Wait a minute. I'm not some meek little housewife, okay? But I have eyes. I know I'm not really beautiful in the conventional sense, and I actually appreciated that Aaron was straight with me and didn't try to flatter me with a bunch of lies."

Thomas closed his eyes. "Oh, Jesus."

"It's not such a big deal. I've known it all my life. I mean, compared to Becca, I … oh, who cares now?"

She sniffed. "The important thing is I'm smart and capable and…" Now it was her turn to cry. "And I just assumed you didn't find me attractive enough, even in the blue dress, to want a relationship with me."

Thomas had been shaking his head back and forth, slowly and deliberately, letting her ramble. But after that last statement, he couldn't listen to any more.

"That's enough." He brushed aside the silky hair stuck to her wet cheek and held her sweet face between his hands again. He wanted to kill that fucking Aaron—eviscerate him for planting such lies in Emma's lovely head.

"Look at me." Thomas brought his face close to hers. "I have eyes, too, baby, and I'm telling you—you are absolutely gorgeous. I didn't say anything about the stupid blue dress because it left me speechless. I was tortured. Insane. I wanted to lay you down right there on the picnic table! But you're the one who said you wanted to keep it all business between us, right?"

She nodded, frowning.

"I didn't know what to do, Emma! Tell me what the hell I was supposed to do! You set me up to fail either way!"

She gulped and her eyes went big and round. "I did, didn't I?" She rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry, Thomas—what a mess."

"Baby." His voice had dropped a notch and it was rough and unsteady. "Believe me when I tell you that I loved looking at you in that blue dress." He peered up under her lowered lashes. "The only thing I didn't like about it was that all the other men in the place got to see you in it, too."

In a high squeak she said, "Really?"

"I love the way you look. I love your shape."

"Even my butt? Because Aaron—"

"What about your butt? Man, I have got to hear this."

Emma squirmed a little. "Forget it. This is the most ridiculous conversation I've ever had in my life."

"I'm kind of enjoying it—"

She glared at him. "I'm a thirty-four-year-old doctor of veterinary medicine and I refuse to waste another second of anyone's time discussing the pros and cons of the bundle of muscle that allows me to walk upright."

Thomas roared with laughter. "But I want to talk about it. That bundle of yours is the only topic I'm interested in right now. So what did he say?"

Emma's mouth fell open, then she slammed it shut in defiance.

"What size do you wear?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin. "What? I'm not going to tell you that!"

Thomas laughed softly and let a finger brush along the curve of her waist, the fullness of her hip. "Well, sweet-cheeks, you're sitting here in front of me and I can see it all, so what does it matter if you tell me the number?"

She flashed him a doubtful look.

"I'm going somewhere with this, Emma. Trust me."

She hissed in surrender and turned her face away. "Twelve."

"And?"

Her head swiveled back. "And what?"

"And what's wrong with that? I spend half my life studying people, taking mental measurements for descriptions, and I know for a fact that the average American woman is a size fourteen. So you're smaller than average."