A Billionaire for Christmas - Page 47
“I am perfectly rational, and I was perfectly rational last night, too.” Raji’s heart fluttered. “Yeah. Andy’s right. I can do something about it today.”
“Which is why I’m telling you. I’m sorry. I would have stopped if I had known, but we were going at it so hard that I didn’t notice until afterward.”
“Look, I need to know what else I need to do today. Do I need to start a course of acyclovir or triple cocktail or antibiotics? Have you been tested for such things?”
Peyton held up both his hands, as if in surrender. “Andy tests us for everything that will come up on a blood test every couple of months. I had to have a physical for insurance reasons three weeks ago. Everything came back clear. I can have Andy order more tests just to double check, but just so you know, I haven’t had sex with anyone else, not since I met you.”
“But you can’t tell Andy that you were with me. You can’t tell her that we are seeing each other. Why would you suddenly need tests for AIDS or other sexually transmitted diseases if you aren’t seeing me?”
Peyton’s blue eyes widened, startled. “Well, I suppose—I think I might—I could just tell her I fucked a groupie.”
Raji pressed her hands on the table on either side of her plate to keep them from shaking. “Yeah, a groupie. That’ll work, right?”
“Sometimes rock stars fuck groupies, I’m told. Surely it seems plausible, right?”
“I think so.”
Peyton told her, “I can sell it. I’ll make sure Andy never connects anything to you.”
Raji nodded. Peyton had kept their secret for over two years now from everyone in Killer Valentine. If he had slipped even once, Andy would have been calling Raji’s phone within seconds, demanding an explanation and details.
She sat back in her chair and sipped her coffee. The black brew was too hot and scalded her tongue. She coughed, and Peyton was around the table and rubbing her back as she spit the coffee into a napkin and hacked.
He asked, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll just get some Plan B today. I’m sure it will be fine.”
“I admit, I was kind of hoping you were on the Pill or something.”
“I was last year, but the hormones got to be too much for my body. It was interfering with my concentration at work.”
“I can see where that could happen.”
Raji said, “It will be fine. I’ll make sure it will be fine.”
He rubbed her back. “We’ve got hours before our flight. We can find a drug store here that carries it. If you tell me exactly what to get, I’ll get it for you. You don’t even have to leave the room.”
“I’ll get it from the hospital pharmacy. It’s cheaper on my insurance, and you never know what’s going on with a retail pharmacy.” God, retail pharmacies. She might as well buy some M&Ms on the street from a teenager. “I’d rather get it from my Pharm-D’s tonight.”
“I thought timeliness was important?”
“It’ll be fine.” She added up her cycle, and she wasn’t even due to ovulate for another day or so. “Trust me. I’m a doctor.”
He laughed. “In that case, I think we need a hearty breakfast to fortify us after last night.”
“We’ve got hours until our flight leaves,” Raji said, tucking in some eggs even though she had suddenly lost her appetite. “I know I was drunk last night, but I distinctly remember that you promised to play me some of your songs.”
Peyton ducked his head. “I have a new Killer Valentine song to work on. We are going to debut it in a club next week. I should practice that.”
“Nope, you’re not getting out of it that easily this time, buddy. You won’t let me fill out a spreadsheet with your career goals and metrics to attain them, but you definitely promised me that you would play all of your new songs for me today. Get your guitar.”
Peyton laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”
Raji drank coffee and lay on the couch while Peyton Cabot, the rock star, serenaded her with three sweet, lilting love songs. He ended up sitting on the floor beside the couch, his guitar resting on his rock hard stomach as he sang. Raji played with his blond hair, combing her fingers through the silken strands.
When one died away to silence in the hotel room, Raji insisted, “More,” so he played a few more.
By the end, she was floating dreamily, just listening. “Those are beautiful, Peyton. Even I can tell that they’re phenomenal. I can’t believe Xan Valentine gave them a pass.”
Peyton loaded his guitar into its case. “He hasn’t heard them.”
“You have to play them for him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh.” Light dawned. Horrible, horrible light. “They’re about Georgie, his wife, aren’t they? Yeah, I can see where the alpha male lead-singing rock star with the precariously balanced psychiatric problems might not be your ideal audience for beautiful love songs about longing for his wife.”
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