“Obviously it’s a cause close to your heart,” he said. Was he teasing her? Because the quizzical expression on his face was hard to read.
“It doesn’t have to be close to my heart for me to contribute to it,” she said, hating herself for the defensiveness.
“I guess not,” he said.
“I’m not asking for your opinion on my integrity.” She plopped her fork down on the table, hating the fact that he was right—she hadn’t given a lot of thought to how the charity she couldn’t remember might be affected by her disappearing act. “What I’m asking for is a place to stay for a couple of days,” she continued, deciding she would make a hefty donation to the charity—whatever it was—when she got back to Manhattan. “If the answer’s no, just say so—you can save the lecture, I’ve heard it before.”
Which made it all the more unsettling that his opinion of her could still sting. A little.
“Yes.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, yes, you can hang here until the press loses interest.”
“Really?” she said, then immediately wanted to kick herself for sounding so pleased.
Play it cool, Zel.
“You’re sure you want to risk it?” she added. “My lack of integrity might be infectious?”
His mouth tugged up on one side, giving her another glimpse of that boyish grin which had blindsided her earlier. Its effect was still potent.
“My integrity’s pretty robust. But …” The grin disappeared. “There’s not a lot of space on this barge and…” His gaze flicked to the couch. “Given what already happened, we should probably get a couple of things straight.”
She smiled, his sober expression ridiculously endearing. No doubt about it, Ty Sullivan was even cuter when he was being noble.
“What things?” she asked.
But she figured she already knew. Faith’s big brother was the model citizen, knight-in-shining-designer-suit type, who’d probably never done anything irresponsible before in his entire life. And he was clearly still a little shocked by their no-holds-barred sex-capade on the couch.
“Just so there’s no confusion about…” He paused, looking uncomfortable. “About why you’re hanging here. It makes sense for us to keep the sleeping arrangements the same as last night.” He cleared his throat.
It took her a moment to realize what he was getting at. And while she could have gotten mad that he would assume she would want to share his bed, she somehow knew that hadn’t been his intention at all. Ty Sullivan was hopelessly gallant. And he just wanted to make sure she didn’t feel awkward. Or compromised.
That he should be prepared to protect her honor felt oddly humbling, especially as she knew she didn’t actually have any honor to protect.
“Absolutely. I’m glad we cleared that up,” she said trying hard not to smile at his discomfort.
Maybe he was also worried that she might misconstrue their impromptu bonk as the start of something more?
No doubt a guy who looked like he did, who was as smart, sincere, and upstanding as he was, had a solvent career, a very nice house barge plus those magic fingers and such a gifted cock, had to fend off eligible women all the time. What he didn’t know was that she had no desire to catch any guy. And she would never be eligible, not in any permanent sense. Because she’d never been naïve enough to believe in Happy Ever Afters—and fighting her demons would always be a full time job.
“Okay, good.” He lifted her hand off the table and rubbed his thumb across the back. “So I guess that means we should lay off the hot sex? So we don’t confuse stuff.”
He sounded unsure, which she took as a very good sign.
“If you say so.” She tugged her hand out of his, deciding now might not be the best time to tell him she’d never found anything confusing about hot sex.
“I need to crash.” He stood, the weariness in his stance very apparent. “Leave the dishes, I’ll handle them tomorrow.”
“Crash away.” She stood to stack their dirty dishes. “And I’ll handle the dishes. While I never offer hot sex for room and board, I can offer excellent services as a chief cook and bottle washer.”
“Cool, thanks.” He paused. “I’m gonna take the bed in back. I’d offer to let you have it.” He glanced at the bunk and screwed up his face in a comical look of distaste. “But the couch is kind of snug when you’re six-two. And I’m not that much of a gentleman.”
“No problem. I’m grateful for the couch. And it fits me fine.”
“Great, well, thanks for supper.” He let his gaze roam over the living area which was back to its pristine state after their food war. “And for cleaning up the place. I should have said that before.”