If he was trying to get a reaction out of her, he was succeeding, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. She did another rep. As she began the third, he crossed the room to the free weights, picking up a set she’d never used due to their size, and started with some curls.
She’d had mirrors put up on one wall of the room, since she worked out alone, so she could pay attention to her form and know that she wasn’t causing damage by doing an exercise improperly. Unfortunately, that meant that from where she was seated she could see every move he made. Front and back.
The baggy shorts gave his front some of the same camouflage her shirt provided her. But she didn’t remember him being so well-endowed that he’d fill out the fly of his pants to the extent she was seeing, except when… Pulling away her gaze abruptly, Harper caught him looking at her in the mirror—watching her watch him.
“Speaking of that night,” he said, sounding as though he was doing nothing more strenuous than sitting on the couch.
No! That night was exactly what she didn’t want to speak of. Especially not now that things were closing in on her.
Her sexual attraction to him was a huge mistake. One she’d rectify somehow. And the rest…the aftermath…it did neither of them any good to go there.
He hadn’t called. That whole day after she’d left his place, he hadn’t called. By the next day, when Bruce had come looking for her at her apartment, she’d never been more ashamed in her life. She’d thrown herself at his brother, and the incident had meant so little to Mason that he hadn’t even called to assure her there were no bad feelings, or that if there were, they’d work through them. She’d given him her number. Asked him to call…
“I know when Brianna was born, Harper. I’ve left well enough alone, but now…with this…if Bruce is abusive…”
Her weights clamored and she swore out loud. Could have been a reaction to the way he was maiming the reputation of her daughter’s father, right there in their home.
“Brianna was born nine months after I married Bruce.” She squeezed again. Holding her count. Released slowly. Another couple of reps and it would be time to move on to leg lifts. A quarter of the way around the machine. Putting her closer to where he was standing.
“You married Bruce six days after you and I had sex.”
“You wore a condom.” At least, for the past five years she’d been praying he had. It was one of those details she couldn’t remember. The room had been dark. They’d been under the covers. There’d been a lot of movement. Mostly, there’d been Mason, touching her so expertly. Everywhere. Giving her more pleasure than she’d ever had. Before or since.
He hadn’t stopped in the process of climbing on top of her. He’d just kept working his magic. What he’d done to himself with his other hand…she’d just assumed…
Hoped.
Prayed.
“No, actually, I didn’t. I didn’t expect to have sex that night. And contrary to popular belief, not all guys carry condoms around in their wallets. You said you were on the Pill.”
“We were at your house.” In his bed, next to his nightstand. Where else would a guy keep his box of condoms?
“I don’t ever bring women to my house.” The news made her heady for a second. If only she’d known… All those times over the years that she’d brought herself down by thinking about him in that bed, sharing such a glorious night with another woman.
She’d wanted it for him. Just not there. Which made no sense whatsoever, as she’d told herself each and every time her mind had strayed.
“Where do you keep your condoms?” She was done with her reps. She had to move. To keep moving. All those years, she’d prayed he’d used a condom. Had somehow convinced herself she remembered movement under the covers that meant he’d put one on.
In the middle of butterflies now, Mason didn’t even grunt as he said, “In my glove box.”
Okay, well.
“Bruce didn’t use condoms, either.”
She changed her routine and got on the elliptical, grabbing the hand bars and starting her climb. Refusing to let these thoughts creep in. Refusing to panic.