His voice is barely a whisper. “Regret.”
I choke out, “Are you saying you’d regret having sex with me?”
His eyes widen dramatically. “No! I absolutely did not say that.”
“What are you saying then?” Goddamn him for being so logical at a moment like this. I’m not, though. I’m completely irrational and know it. “Is that one of your lines, Kellan? Is it because I’m . . .” Hysterical Chloe, coming right up. “Not as desirable as your other girls? Like Sophie?”
I didn’t think it possible, but his eyes widen even further. “What?”
I jerk out of his grip and sit up. “Am I to understand that you have no scruples when it comes to having sex with other women but somehow or other, you . . . you . . .”
“Wait,” he says, reaching out for me again. But I evade, instead grabbing my bra, fortunately dangling nearby off the chair arm. “You’re misunderstanding—”
I yank the bra on and scramble out of the chair to find my dress. I feel so incredibly stupid. “You could’ve fooled me.”
He’s out of the chair, too, his loose shorts falling down, still so hard he must be in physical pain. “Chloe—”
I’m perilously close to crying as I tug the dress over my head. “Why is it so easy to be with everyone but me?”
Shorts now partially buttoned, he clamps a hand over my mouth. “You need to listen to me without talking, okay? Please, just . . . just let me explain.” I nod and his hand lowers. “Look. If you somehow think what I’m trying to say to you is that I don’t want to make love to you, then you’re horribly mistaken. I do, desperately so. I dream about it every night. I’m not ashamed to admit I fantasize about it all the time, even when I shouldn’t be. Like at work. And class. And when I’m out with friends. And when you’re with your goddamn fiancé. I love you. I adore you. Being with you is everything to me. I want you so much right now that I am this close,” he holds up two fingers, barely spaced apart, “to throwing everything we’ve worked hard to build away. But Chloe, when it comes to you, I have to think about more than just my urges and wants. I have to think about what’s best for you.”
“You think . . . that us . . . not doing anything is best for me?”
“Yes.” His forehead drops against mine. More quietly, “You’re going to marry my brother.”
Reality slaps me straight in the face. Oh. My. Gods. What just happened here? I almost—I almost—we almost had sex.
“If the situation were reversed,” he continues, “and it were me you were marrying, then I would take extreme exception knowing you’d made love to him first. Or at all. Scratch that. I’d go insane knowing it. I’d probably kill him over it.”
Is my virginity so obvious? My cheeks blaze. “And you don’t think that he and I . . .?”
“He can block lots of things from me, but if you two were to have sex, he wouldn’t be able to block it fast enough. Actually, I know that one for sure.”
I hate to ask it, but I do. “What do you mean?”
“Because it’s happened before. I know, well, I’m assuming you haven’t actually . . .” He rubs at his forehead. “But, I know other things have happened. Like all of the . . .” He clears his throat. “Like whenever you give him an orgasm. It’s too much for him to hide immediately.”
I. Can’t. Even.
“Let’s just say that when he’s completely overcome physically, blocking me is the furthest thing from his mind, even though afterwards, he kicks himself for not being able to do so. And it’d be the same for me, I have no doubt.”
All of the lust consuming me just minutes before is gone without a trace. “But . . . I thought? That you two automatically blocked that sort of . . .?”
“We normally do. If it’s anyone other than you, yes. Another one of those Connection things, I guess.”
Something comes to me. I whisper, “What about when we merge?”
“No.” His fingers against my cheek are gentle and reassuring. “I don’t know why, but that one never comes through. Maybe because it’s part of our souls that’s being affected, as opposed to our bodies. I don’t know. Just . . . don’t worry about that one.”
I can barely speak now, but not for the same reasons as earlier. “But . . . you’ve . . . you’ve known that he and I . . .?” The pain in his eyes is a kick to my gut. I have to look away. “So, um . . . you think he knows about . . . this . . .?”