Mad About You

him a little more. "It's gone a little beyond lying together, don't you think?"
    "Let's go to your bedroom," he whispered urgently, nipping the top of her shoulder.
    "He'll know," she insisted, still moving against him.
    He planted a kiss just below her ear, his breath coming in short gasps. "Relax, Ginny. Nothing would make him happier than for us all to be together."
    At his words, Virginia pulled away from his embrace and swung her feet to the floor.
    He groaned his disapproval and shifted to his back, throwing an arm over his brow. "What did I say?"
    She pushed to her feet and looked down at her ex-husband, her mind spinning with indecision.
    Impressive—that was the word that came to mind as she scanned his half-naked body. His dark hair, almost blue in its intensity, fell against the light-colored cushion. His arm covered his eyes, but his mouth was soft with drowsiness, his chin darkened with morning beard. Spanning the width of the couch, his shoulders were gloriously muscled and tanned, his chest matted with dark, springy hair that extended from throat to flat navel. And beyond, she remembered, unable to miss the hard ridge of his arousal through his jeans.
    "Ginny." He sat up and raked his fingers through his hair. "Talk to me."
    She sighed and rubbed her throbbing temple. "If Chad wants us to be together, it's only because it would mean he could be with you all the time."
    "You'll grow closer in time, Ginny, I know you will."
    "Maybe we will," she admitted, "but what happens if you and I play house for a while and things don't work out between us? We'd be harming him even more if we split up again. You said yourself, Bailey, that commitment isn't your strong suit."
    He sighed. "I know, but I'm working on it."
    She scoffed, anger flaring through her. "What the hell does that mean"—she raised her arms—"you're working on it?"
    "Ginny." He stood and reached for her. "We can make it work this time, I know we can."
    She stepped back out of reach. "Not unless I mean more to you than just a vehicle to get to your son."
    He frowned, exasperated, jamming his hands on his hips. "How can you say that? Are you blind, Ginny? We're good together."
    Her laugh was short and humorless. "Our sexual compatibility was never in question, Bailey, but I need more from you."
    She captured his gaze and leveled her chin at him. "What can you offer me?"
    His chest rose and fell as he pondered her question. Finally, he said, "Marriage, if that's what it takes."
    Disappointment washed over her. The words were right, but the circumstances were wrong, and she knew it. She'd backed him into a corner, and he'd given her the answer she wanted to hear. She turned away from him. "You should leave."
    "Not like this." He walked up behind her. "I love you, Ginny."
    A sound of disbelief emerged from her throat. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
    "I do, Ginny. I always have. But I don't want to make you long-term promises this time until I know I can keep them. That's why I asked you to be patient."
    She spun. "And while I'm being patient, you also expect me to warm your bed."
    He dropped his gaze. "You're right, it's not fair. I'm sorry."
    She took deep, even breaths to control the emotions racing through her. She didn't want to provoke any more discussion — she just wanted him to leave. "You're going to be late for work," she said calmly.
    Bailey stared at her for several seconds, frustration clouding his eyes. Slowly he nodded, then reached for his shirt draped over the couch arm. He shrugged into it, buttoned two buttons, then pulled on his boots one at a time, leaving his jeans tucked haphazardly inside.
    "I'll call you later," he said.
    She watched him walk out of the room, then heard the front door open and close. Tears welled in her eyes, and she angrily wiped them away. He was the one who had overstepped his bounds. So why did she feel so miserable?

    * * *

    "Rough night, Bailey?" Lenny asked when he walked into the office.
    "I'll be in the shower," Bailey barked, ignoring his boss's chuckle.
    At the first burst of hot spray from the shower head, Bailey sank forward, supporting himself with both arms on the tiled wall. He rolled his head, loosening his stiff neck, and allowed the therapeutic water to work its magic. The rising steam helped to lighten his head, but his heart still felt heavy in his chest.
    Although his first priority was Chad's well-being, Bailey felt sure his son's future would most benefit from