I’m a sex addict. And you’re here.”
“A sex addict would have made a move on me the night we met! God knows I gave you the chance! So don’t talk to me about not ‘doing’ chastity when you’ve been nothing but chaste with me for ten years!”
“You’re not like the others!”
“Well, that just goes to show that you’re an idiot! Because I am like the others. I’m exactly like the others. I want what they want, damn you!”
Sudden, charged silence.
Matt’s skin prickled, his senses going on high alert. “Tell me what you mean,” he said, breathing the words. “What you want.”
She closed her eyes. Heartbeat. Opened them. “You know what I mean. You of all men know what women mean!” And it was as though the angry energy drained out of her, even though her hands had clenched into fists by her sides. “What I want is you. I want...you.”
TEN YEARS OF not saying the words, and now they were out, hanging between them.
Romy’s heart was beating hard enough to leap out of her body. And Matt looked rigid enough to bounce the poor thing off his chest. Like a stone column. Or...or petrified wood.
Petrified being the operative word.
She choked down a rising bubble of hysterical laughter at the notion that big, bad Matt could be scared of her. She was the one who should be scared. Scared he’d tell her no and leave her with nothing: friendship in tatters, no baby and still no clue about what it was like to...to be with him like all those other women.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Matt said.
And on the spot, she consigned any last vestige of caution to hell. For ten long years she’d been subjugating her lust for him. That was long enough! “Yes, Matt, I do,” she said. “Exactly what I did say. I want you. But you can call it Plan B if that’s easier for you to deal with.”
“Plan B?”
“I need to get pregnant. You offered to provide the sperm. We’ve discussed the turkey baster method—Plan A—but there’s no reason it can’t be done the old-fashioned way—Plan B.”
“Old-fashioned way.”
“We have a window of opportunity here. It’s almost like fate stepped in.”
“Window of opportunity,” he said, like he was having trouble keeping up.
“Neither of us has someone in our lives—a minor miracle in your case. You said you were sexually frustrated, so you need a release valve, and here I am offering to be it.”
“Release valve.”
“From my perspective, it’s cheaper than IVF. It’s certainly more efficient. Like a direct deposit, cutting out the middleman.”
“Direct deposit.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, stop repeating everything I say,” she semiexploded as her resolve frayed around the edges. “It’s easy to understand, isn’t it? It’s just a one-night stand! We’ve already been through your ground rules about not mistaking sex for anything more, so don’t worry that I’ll be expecting a bourgeois romance. And you’re not the only one who knows what it is to be sexually frustrated, because it’s been a while for me, let me tell you, and I daresay it’ll be a much longer while once I’m pregnant.”
“One-night stand.”
“Yes, one night. No encore required. If it doesn’t work, we simply revert to the turkey baster/courier option and...and...and aren’t you going to say something?”
“No encore.”
“Something that’s not a stupid repeat of what I’ve already said.”
She waited; he stared.
Romy couldn’t recall an instance in which Matt had taken this long to make a decision. She wondered if she should shorthand the argument by taking off her dress.
“Matt...” she said, reaching for the zipper at her left side—but before she could touch it, a log fell in the fireplace, jolting the momentum out of her so that she lost her nerve. “Forget it. It was just a suggestion. If you can’t bring yourself to do it, there’s nothing more to be said. Plan A it is.”
“I’m pretty sure I can bring myself to do it,” he said, and then he started laughing as though she’d told the funniest joke on the world.
She drew herself up, glaring at him. “I’m glad I’ve managed to amuse you.”
She tried to push past him, but he blocked her. “Wait!” he said.
“We’ve wasted enough time. We need to go back to the paperwork.”
Again he blocked her. “I said wait. Let’s at least talk about Plan B.”
“I’m no longer interested in Plan B.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve just reminded me how it ends.”
“How can that be when it hasn’t happened yet?”
“It’ll be a carbon copy of the time I told you Jeff Blewett kissed like his mouth was an octopus suction cup and you dared me to let you demonstrate the way you imagined that to be. I was stupid enough to say yes because I thought...I thought...never mind what I thought, it doesn’t matter what I thought, because at the last minute you changed direction and gave me a hickey right here...” jabbing at the center of her forehead “...and no amount of makeup would cover it up so I went around for two days looking like I’d been hit by a cricket ball and you thought it was all hilarious.”
“So how about I try it now?”
“I don’t need another forehead hickey, thank you.”
“I mean I could kiss you for real. And then...well, then you could decide if we go ahead with Plan B.”
“It’d serve you right if I said yes.”
“So say it.”
Romy licked her lips nervously. “Be careful, Matt, or I really will call your bluff.”
“Call it. I dare you to.”
“After the forehead hickey, you’re going to have to convince me you’ll be able to get it up at the crucial moment before I go any further,” she said.
He took a step back from her, which she didn’t consider promising. “One look at me will tell you that’s not going to be a problem. So go on and look.”
She examined
