Her eyes flew to mine.
“I know Bailey, Gage’s wife, looked at this house first. And of course Langley and Echo wanted to see it when I threw a party a couple of months ago. Faith and Harper have been up here, too.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for her to understand.
“That’s not what I mean.” She arched an eyebrow at me.
“I know what ye meant. I’m not going to tell you that I haven’t been with women, because I have, but the number is probably less than you imagine and more than I wish. But none of them have been in my home.”
“Really.” She gave me a look I couldn’t interpret, and then made her way to the giant windows that lined one of the walls.
“Really. You don’t bring the crazy puck-bunnies home, lass. That’s a rookie mistake. And honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman.”
“How long is a while? Because I have a feeling that we have two very different definitions of the term.” She turned to face me, and that same panic was in her eyes.
“I haven’t had a relationship in a couple of years, and I haven’t slept with a woman for months. Since May.” I crossed the floor but kept enough distance between us that she wouldn’t feel trapped.
“Since May? But you guys won the Stanley Cup in June.” Her forehead crinkled.
“Aye, but I saw ye for the first time in May.”
Her lips parted. “And that...you...but…”
“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” I took the final steps between us and tucked an errant curl behind the shell of her ear. “I saw you in the street that day with those big sunglasses and wee heels—the tiny ones, and all that glorious hair in waves. After that, there was no one who appealed to me quite like you did—you do.”
“You were naked,” she blurted out, pink staining her cheeks.
“Aye.”
Her eyes locked with mine, and tension flooded the room. She’d seen me naked. I’d had my fingers inside her last week, and we were standing in the middle of my bedroom.
She swallowed and spun toward the windows, ruffling the skirt of her dress with the quick movement. “Is that a waterslide?”
I grinned, coming to stand beside her. “Aye. Fun, isn’t it? Plus, I had them put in wee water features—they call it a splash pad—for when we have Reaper barbecues. Honestly, I just like the slide.”
She sputtered a laugh. “Just when I think you might actually be a grown-up.”
“If I ever truly grow up, I’m dead. Life is too short to live it all stuffed up inside someone else’s box of rules, Annabelle.” I watched her carefully, catching the nuances of her expression as she absorbed what I said.
“My last relationship ended when I graduated college a couple of years ago,” she said suddenly, fisting her hands in the material of her dress. “He wanted to live in Atlanta, and I wanted to come home, but he’d insisted—begged actually—that I try long distance. So we did. And it seemed to work fine, I didn’t miss his...physical comfort all that much, and the phone conversations seemed like enough to bridge between visits.” She took a deep breath, her cheeks flushing. “Then, I decided to surprise him one weekend. I hopped a flight in one of my best dresses and headed toward his apartment. Only, I spotted him sitting at an outside table at this cute little restaurant right next to his building. He had flowers lying across the table—my favorite kind—and he was laughing at something the woman sitting across from him said.” She stared at the floor as she continued. “And I was so excited to see him there, so pleased with my bold plans to surprise him, that I rushed right up to him, hugged him and kissed him quickly.”
I cringed for her.
“Right,” she said, catching the look. “You know what was happening. But I didn’t. And once I realized I’d walked in on a date…” She buried her face in her hands. “I was mortified. You know how well I handle that.” She shook her head. “And I promised myself then and there that I’d never put myself in that position again. To be blindsided like that. Publicly humiliated. It’s not worth it.” She sighed. “And I couldn't have truly loved him because I didn’t really miss him when it was over. Maybe I missed the possibility of him, but that’s not the same.”
“No, it’s not,” I said softly.
“He wasn’t my first or anything. I’ve been with a few men,” she admitted as she looked out over my back yard.
“As is your right.” Not that I didn’t want to hunt down each of those men and cut their hands off for having touched her. The primal instinct was absurd, but it was there.