I am about to tell Pierce this, but before I can answer, a waiter comes over. He’s dressed like he’s going to a wedding, with a full penguin suit complete with long tails.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Lane et Mademoiselle Henderson,” he says with a flourish and a bow.
I feel myself flush with delight. I’ve never been a real VIP in an exclusive restaurant before.
Pierce masterfully orders oysters for us, and the waiter nods.
“Very good, Mr. Lane. Immediately.”
Wow, it must be amazing to have people jump and your beck and call. But I haven’t forgotten my date’s question.
“Thailand,” I tell him after a moment. “I’ve always wanted to go there. But it’s so far away that it just seems unattainable right now.”
He nods. “Never made it to Thailand. Always wanted to as well.”
“I love Thai food,” I tell him shyly.
He gives me a cheeky grin. “I do recall eating pad thai naked in your bed on Friday.”
I give him a coy smile and lightly brush my foot against his leg. The man stares at me intensely, as if he can see through my dress. That blue gaze sizzles as it traverses my body, and shamefully, I love every second of it.
But this is dinner, and soon, on a shining plate of rock salt, a dozen oysters sit between us. We knock them back together. They’re cold, briny and sweet, served with a zippy mignonette.
“Oysters are one of nature's aphrodisiacs,” he rumbles with a wink.
Out of nowhere, I visualize his throbbing cock entering me the other night. I remember the screams of pleasure that I couldn’t control. And suddenly, I remember that we need to talk about the lack of protection. Oh god.
“Uh, not to ruin the mood,” I mumble awkwardly after another oyster slides down my throat.
“What?” he asks casually. “I thought we were done with bracelet talk?”
“No, no, no. Nothing like that,” I assure him. “We’re beyond the bracelet. At least for tonight.”
“Well, what’s up, then?” The alpha male’s looking at me, oyster fork poised in midair with one black brow raised.
“Um well, we didn’t use protection the other night, and I’m not on the pill or anything. I just thought you should know.”
Pierce goes still.
Great. I guess I can expect a diamond bracelet tomorrow. Or better yet, a flight voucher. I blink back tears. To avoid him noticing, I take a sip of my champagne, and it sparks and fizzes against my throat.
“Are you okay?” he growls, obviously sensitive to my state of mind.
“Well, yeah, I’m okay. It shouldn’t be that time of my cycle, but I guess I thought you should know.”
Slowly, my lover sets down his fork and lifts his glass before swirling his drink and taking a thoughtful sip.
“Would you ever consider going on the pill?” he asks casually. I shake my head.
“The truth is, Pierce, no. I really don’t want to. At least not if I didn’t have to. I’ve always felt funny about it. I don’t know. I don’t like putting strange chemicals in my body, and besides, my breasts are already massive, and I’ve heard the pill makes them bigger.”
His eyes travel down to my ample cleavage, and the man looks at me with a hunger that these oysters won’t satiate. His eyes flicker up at me ravenously.
“I would never make a woman do anything she doesn’t want. If you don’t want to go on the pill, then that’s your choice,” he states in a low voice. Whew.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “I’m glad you feel that way.”
My heart, which was racing moments before, is steadying now. I take a few breaths, glad to have it over with. I look back to my menu, which is mostly in French, my taste buds almost vibrating. But the conversation isn’t done.
“But Pierce, if I’m not on the pill, then what are we going to do? I’m sorry to ask you this at dinner, but it’s important. You know it is.”
Pierce is silent, still swirling the wine in his glass.
“Are you saying we should use condoms?”
“Yes! No. I don’t know,” I finish miserably. “I just know that I’m young and fertile, and you know how these things go. If we keep having unprotected sex, I’ll wind up pregnant.”
A gleam flares in Pierce’s eyes before dying to a glimmer.
“And would that be so bad?” he drawls, not moving a muscle. “I’ve always wanted to be a father.”
What in the world? He must be crazy. We just met, and the billionaire can’t be suggesting that we get pregnant on purpose. That’s absolutely out of this world, and I gawk at him.
“Mr. Lane,” I protest. “You can’t mean that.”
But the CEO merely shrugs.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. It could be fun.”
This time my reply is swift.
“No, absolutely not. We can’t risk it. We have to do something. Anything. Unprotected sex isn’t the way to go. It’s not right for me because I have a job, and my career’s just getting started,” I begin.