Thrill Me (One Night with Sole Regret 9)

open-minded and beguilingly humble. Someone with your success should have a bigger ego.”

She opened her eyes and found him watching her face. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. “I’ll try not to be jealous of the gorgeous, young, pregnant blonde living under your roof.”

“Oh, she’s not staying with me anymore.” He shook his head. “She’s staying with my mom.”

“Your mom? So you told her the baby is yours?” Why else would she take in a pregnant stranger?

He snorted on a laugh. “Uh, no. It’s just my mother likes to take in strays—stray kids, stray animals, stray pregnant groupies.”

“So you often drop off your pregnant groupies at your mother’s house?”

He laughed again. An anxious laugh. “What? No, of course not. Lindsey is the first.”

“But she’s yours,” Caitlyn pressed.

“Quit twisting my words,” he said. “I could have let her stay at my place, but I didn’t think you’d like that arrangement.”

Fighting down the jealousy eating at her, she stared at him for a long moment. This was just a fling, she reminded herself. Sex and fun and nothing more. “Why would I care if she stays at your place?”

Yes, Caitlyn, why? Because she did care, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She wasn’t very good at this frivolous, meaningless relationship stuff. Maybe she’d eventually get the hang of it. But when he said all the right things and made her feel good about herself in addition to being an all-around great guy, keeping him at an emotional distance was difficult. And they hadn’t even been together an hour.

“Can we not talk about Lindsey?” Owen asked. “I came here to spend time with you. To get to know you better. She’s enough of an invasion into my life without me letting her dig her claws into me here as well.”

“So you don’t think it’s your baby?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I just want to be irresponsible and self-centered for a few more months. Is that too much to ask?”

She forced herself not to laugh. Maybe he had a reputation of being irresponsible and self-centered, but she never felt he was either of those things. He was kind, considerate, and thoughtful. And just the right amount of dirty and dangerous. But mostly he was nice.

“I don’t want to talk about Lindsey either,” she admitted, dipping a carrot stick into ranch dressing and biting into it with a satisfying crunch.

“Good,” he said, his shoulders relaxing as the tension in his back eased.

“I’d rather talk to you about my list.” She kept her eyes fixed on the countertop before her.

“What list?”

“A list of my fantasies.”

“Ride a unicorn in a crystal forest fantasies or sexual fantasies?”

She met his gaze and grinned. “Well, I meant sexual fantasies, but do you have a unicorn?”

“I could probably find one.”

She rolled her eyes at him. Even rock stars couldn’t find a unicorn.

“Are you truly all-in on the threesome with another woman?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, crinkling her brow. She felt that she was missing something important.

“Then I’ll find us a unicorn. What’s your type? I’m assuming no young blondes.”

“Aren’t all unicorns white?”

He lifted a brow at her. “Do you have something against women of color?”

“What?” She shook her head vigorously. She was of mixed heritage herself; how could he even ask her that? “Of course I don’t. Are we even talking about the same thing?”

“A unicorn.”

“Right.”

“A woman who enjoys having sex with a committed heterosexual couple,” he clarified.

She blinked at him. “They call that a unicorn?”

He chuckled. “Well, they are incredibly rare, but I’ve run across a few of them in my, um . . . adventures.”

She massaged her forehead. “I feel so dense. I thought we were talking about an actual unicorn.”

“Actual unicorns aren’t real, but the kind I prefer are.”

So he preferred two women at once, was that what he was saying? “A threesome with a woman is on my list, but it’s not at the top.”

She went to the refrigerator and pulled her fantasy list from its magnetic clip. She’d hung it between her grocery list and her to-do list.

“You made an actual list? And wrote it down?” He chuckled, but his laughter died when she glared at him.

“You can’t make fun of me for this. I’d be mortified.”

“I won’t make fun.”

She cozied up next to him at the kitchen island, her list pressed against her bare belly.

“I did some research.”

“You did research?” He pressed his lips together, but managed not to laugh.

She nodded. “I did, and I ranked a handful of fantasies in accordance to my interest and then assigned each to a room in my house. If they required props, I went out and bought everything we’d need and set it up.”

“I take it you’re a planner?”

She flushed, trying not to be embarrassed. Focusing on every detail had seemed like a great idea at the time. Now she felt foolish.

“I, yeah, well, I can’t help it. Is it better to just be spontaneous?”

He would know. He was the expert.

“Let’s see the list,” he said.

“You won’t laugh at me?”

“I won’t.”