That’s the mantra thumping around my head. There’s no way things can be this simple and perfect between us; no way did the mail order bride program make the ultimate match.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the big reveal—the moment when the ground falls out from under me and I’m back in my real, lonely life. For the sight of my perfect girl driving away through those gates.
“It’s getting late.”
Jessica yawns like a kitten, wide and unashamed. Her head tilts back and her eyes screw shut, and she makes this cute little squeaky noise. She’s done it three times in the last ten minutes, and if I watch it again I might explode.
My maybe-bride nudges her glasses up her nose. She’s bleary-eyed, curled up on my lap in front of the fire, the armchair groaning beneath our shared weight.
I jiggle her on my thighs. “You should sleep.”
Jessica wrinkles her nose, shaking her head. “We don’t have long left, Murray. I don’t want to waste any of our time together.”
Right. That’s the problem, isn’t it? This isn’t truly settled, not until 8am tomorrow when we make our decision. And though she keeps hinting that she wants me, that she might really like to stay, I won’t fully believe it until my ring is on her finger.
“C’mon.” I push to my feet without warning, scooping Jessica into my arms, and stride toward the hallway. “I don’t want you associating me with a bad night’s sleep. I want you fresh in the morning when you make your decision. Rested and happy.”
She makes a mumbly noise, then mashes her face against my neck.
Fuck, I love this girl.
And it’s agony, setting her down outside the guest room door and backing up two steps. Jessica blinks at me, confused, and holds out a hand. She wants me to go in there with her. Wants us to curl up under the blankets together.
I shake my head, stomach dropping. God, I feel sick. “Not tonight. Just because we’re on the clock doesn’t mean we should rush this part.”
It sounds good and rational and I mean it too, but it’s not the whole reason I’m not going in there with her. It’s not even most of it.
And Jessica blinks, so cute and owlish in those glasses. Her hand falls back to her side. “Oh. Okay.”
She looks so small, standing in the doorway, and when she whispers goodnight and closes the door behind her, she does it so softly that it barely makes a sound. She’s unsure of herself again, and it’s like she can’t bear to take up space. Doesn’t want to make a noise.
I stare at the guest room door, dry eyed. My heart’s pounding.
I’m such an ass.
This is about me, not her.Myinsecurities. And even though I know that, though I want more than anything to push that door open and join her inside, I don’t. I turn on my heel and stride down the hall.
The rest of my life hangs on Jessica’s decision tomorrow. And if she realizes that I’ve never bedded a woman, that I’m unpracticed and clumsy and I don’t have all the moves…
I can’t risk that. I won’t.
I’ll learn how to please her once we’re settled. Once she’s decided to stay with me.
Then I’ll figure out how to work Jessica’s perfect little body until she screams.
* * *
The storm howls like it’s the dead of winter rather than late spring. Wind pounds against the lighthouse cottage walls. Floors creak and rain lashes down, and the thunder’s loud enough to make your ears pop.
I don’t hear the knock on my door at first. I’m too busy lying in my bed, propped up against the headboard and contemplating my own cowardice. It takes Jessica a few tries to get through to me, and then I realize all at once, her string of knocks finally sinking into my brain.
“Come in!” I yank the blankets higher up my lap, just in case. My body has no downtime when Jessica’s around.
She barely opens the door, slipping through the smallest possible gap then closing it softly behind her. Still desperate not to take up space, then. She’s dressed in a set of pinstriped shirt pajamas, and her eyes squint slightly without her glasses.
Her hair’s rumpled. She’s been tossing and turning.
“Murray?”