“So you were waiting for her to come home to do it in person?”
Rob nodded. “By then, I didn’t even care when she got back because all I could think about was seeing you again.”
“I guess I do need to take some responsibility in your breakup then. If not for me, you’d still be together.”
He tipped my face up for a slow, languid kiss. “Before you came back, I figured a bad relationship was better than none, and I already told you, I’ve never gotten it right with anyone.”
“You’re spot on, as far as I’m concerned. Though you could’ve put out sooner.”
“But I want you to respect me,” he said with admirable conviction.
“I do. So much. It’s beyond me how you can put up with my crap.”
Seeming to consider that a question, he thought for a moment. “It’s part of you who you are. So the person who makes me feel so good sometimes needs me back. Big deal. The night I found out about my dad, I was a mess. Do you think less of me because of it?”
“Never.”
Until then, my hand simply rested on his erection, where he’d set it. Now I burrowed under the covers to touch him. He lifted his hips, contradicting his sensible suggestion about going to bed early. It was sexy to explore his cock so tactilely, learning its shape under the covers and discovering what made him respond most. I watched his face as I stroked around the tip in leisurely motions. To my gratification, a trickle of fluid lubricated my hand, proving how much he liked it. Teasing, I jacked him for a few strokes, then took my hand away. Rob stared as I carried my fingers to my lips and tasted them.
“Mmm. Salty.”
His eyes flickered shut, breath coming fast. “There’s only one solution to this problem.”
“What’s that?” God, I hoped I already knew the answer.
He pulled me on top of him. “You got me so wound up, now you have to fix it.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
To nobody’s surprise, I got less than four hours of sleep.
I was a zombie when I took a shower, using Rob’s toiletries—silly how much I enjoyed that. I shut the bathroom door afterward, hoping I wouldn’t wake him while I blow-dried my hair. So far, so good. Getting ready for work at Rob’s place, damn. I never thought we’d be here. Not that he’d called me his girlfriend or anything.
He didn’t stir when I got the rest of my stuff, so I tiptoed out and crept down the stairs. A bowl of cereal was as much breakfast as I ever had at my mom’s place, so I ate the same here. According to my phone, which I’d forgotten to charge, I had twenty minutes to get to work. Fortunately, that wouldn’t be a problem in Sharon.
Since it was ice-cold, the truck gave me five minutes worth of trouble, so I barely dodged in on time. My boss, Mick Davies, shot finger guns at me as I hurried to my desk. Based on the coat over his jacket, he’d only just arrived, too.
But he gave me a creepy smile anyway. “Two minutes later, Lauren, and we’d have a discipline issue.” The faint stress on the second-to-last word told me he had in mind a spanking more than a warning for my file.
Gross.
“But I’m on time,” I said, pretending I didn’t speak fluent pervert.
“So you are.” He faked a hearty laugh. “Bring me a cup of coffee, will you? By now, you know how I like it.”
A salesman caught me pretending to vomit into the trash can beside my desk, and he shot me a sympathetic glance. “I guess the boss is already here?”
“That’s why you get the big bucks.”
As I put on a pot of coffee, I thought, Maybe I should’ve left a note. I mean, Rob knew I had to work in the morning, but...better to be sure. So I texted, Thanks for last night. No reply, but he was probably still asleep. I put away my phone and took the chief butthead his morning jolt. Even though I hadn’t been at the dealership very long, some days I was tempted to spit in it. I reminded myself that jobs were hard to find around here, and that the hours worked perfectly for my summer school plans.
Everything was fine until just past lunch when Davies yelled for me from his office. I was chatting with an elderly couple whom I’d already ID’d as perpetual window-shoppers. With a frozen smile, I invited them to look around the showroom. Then I hurried to the manager’s office, bracing myself.
“What is it?” I asked, pausing in the open doorway.
“Come on in. Shut the door.”
Crap. I remembered Shelly’s warning and resisted. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Of course not, I just need to talk to you.”
My skin felt like it was creeping off my bones. I stared over my shoulder at the front desk. “Should I leave the phones unattended?”
“I’ll pick up, don’t worry.”
“Okay.” This situation should definitely be avoided. But I had no idea what to do about it. Nobody on the showroom floor took any notice of my predicament.
I sighed and did as the boss ordered.
Once I shut the door, I skirted his desk, staying well out of reach, then I took a seat on the other side, being careful not to cross my legs so he could see anything.
Davies admired me for a long moment anyway, making me feel dirty. “There you go. How do you like it here so far, Lauren?”
“The work’s fine, hours are great. The sales team has been friendly.” Actually, everything’s awesome but you.
Since his family owned the dealership, there was no chance of getting rid of Mick Davies. And there wasn’t even a proper human resources department where I could report a complaint. In a business this size, if I said anything, I’d just get fired for “unrelated” reasons. While that might be actionable, I couldn’t afford a court battle. Well, not and go to college like I planned. Some things sucked, but there was no fixing them.
“That’s fantastic,” he said, smiling. “How would you feel about some overtime? I need a personal assistant after hours for a very special project.”
“Dear God, no.” The words burst out of me before I could stop them. “That wouldn’t be good for the baby at all. Working the hours I do, plus college classes—that’s all I can handle, along with nurturing this miraculous new life.” I patted my gut protectively.
What the hell did you just say? Crap.
Maybe I could whisper to the accounting girls about a miscarriage in a few weeks, and hope word got back to him. Otherwise, I’d have to gain thirty pounds around the middle or buy one of those prosthetic bellies, which was just too weird and comedy caperish. Maybe this came from watching too many I Love Lucy reruns on TV with my mom, during her I-hate-the-whole-world phase. Back then, we were too poor for cable, and network TV loved Lucille Ball. But this stupid story was the only thing I could think of that might keep him from moving forward with what he was about to suggest.