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I tilt my head back and let out a low groan, my eyes sliding shut. "When I was seventeen, a bonnie girl coaxed me into showing her my, ah…"
Christ, why is it hard to say the word cock? I could sayslat, but she wouldn't understand that. Of course, I could call it my penis or even my dick. But I can't make myself speak any of those words, which leaves me squirming beneath her bonnie erse while I stare at the refrigerator.
"What'd you show her?" Erica waves a hand in front of my eyes. "Your porn collection? Your pink bunny tattoo?"
"No." Maybe I could've sounded more embarrassed if I'd wanted to, but I doubt it. I rub my eyes with the heel of one hand, contort my mouth, and drop my hands to let them hang at my sides. I still can't look at her, and when I speak, it comes out as mumbling.
"Sorry, I didn't catch that," Erica says.
Bloody hell. I squeeze my entire face into an expression that must look pathetic, then I aim my gaze at a spot somewhere near her ear. "My dick. I showed the girl my bleeding dokey." I raise a hand to my brow, as if I can hide behind it until she forgets I ever told her about the most humiliating moment in my life. "My whole family walked in on us. We were out in the barn and the family had come home early from a trip into the village. They assumed the girl was about to, ah, give me…"
"A blow job?"
I flinch, though I can't fathom why. Talking about sex does not fash me. Well, not usually. "She wasn't. The girl only wanted to see. Her friends dared her to do it. And apparently, there was a sizable wager involved. But my parents and my sisters and my brothers all saw—and they started laughing their heads off."
Erica pries my hand away from my face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you tell me that."
I swear I detect a note of empathy in her voice, which makes me wonder once again what thatcacanPresley did to her. "Tell you anything you want to know if it'll help you forgive me."
Aye, the idea she might think of me as anything like that other bloke makes me…anxious.
She cups my face in both her hands. "Nothing to forgive."
Clasping her hands to my chest, over my heart, I give her a sheepish smile. "I have a confession. I liked telling you my embarrassing story."
"You did? Why?"
Cannae believe I said that, but I see only one way out of this conversation. So I shrug. "Now you'll wonder what I've got that lasses would make wagers about."
She glances down at my erection, visible inside my pants. "I can guess."
"No more guessing after tomorrow." Did I just decide we should wait another day? Aye, my subconscious got the better of me, or it might have been my conscience whispering to me. Erica is wounded, like me, and I feel that I should go a bit slower with her.
Not too slow. I cannae wait longer than one more day to have her.
"Good." She curls her fingers into my chest. "Cuz I don't have a barn to lure you into."
"You'll never need to lure me anywhere." I lift us both up and onto our feet. "I'm yours."
For a casual affair, that's what I meant. There is no deeper meaning in my statement, or in my need to convince Erica that I'm not a bastard.
She stuffs her hands into her pockets. "If we're not having sex tonight, how about catching a movie?King Solomon's Minesis on TV tonight. The good version with Deborah Kerr and Stewart Granger."
"Classic film buff?"
"Grew up watching old movies."
A woman after my own heart.
No, this has nothing to do with that bloody annoying organ in my chest.
I claim her hand and usher her toward the kitchen doorway. "To the living room, it is."
"Wait." She stops abruptly, halting us both. "Would you like to come over to my place? I mean, it's not really my place, but I've got a plasma TV. Gil's is LCD, and it has a smaller screen."
Something she just said registers in my brain at last, and though I shouldn't do it, my curiosity insists I ask. "What do you mean it's not really your place?"
"Well, you see, you're not the only one living in someone else's house." She hugs herself and veers her attention to the window above the sink. "I live in my parents' house. When my dad retired two years ago, they moved to a retirement community in Florida, but they didn't want to sell the house or leave it empty." She rotates her gaze toward me, hunching her shoulders. "I don't pay rent, just utilities and taxes and any repairs that need doing."
