could change my mind, break the old promise to myself-not like this, so willingly-but being with this man has changed something inside me. I am no longer afraid. Nor am I resigned, though I would have every right to be. I tell myself I am simply being modern. One-night stand. A friendly roll in the sack. Nothing heavy, even if the consequences are.
But I want this to be my choice, not something the boys make me do. My choice, now. Not later. Grant, and not some other man.
I kiss him. I am awkward, an ugly duckling when it comes to lovemaking, and Grant is little better. All those smooth moves we had for each other fade away as we fumble at each other's clothes, rocking each other down on the bed as we give up trying to yank off shirts and jackets and jeans, settling instead for a tangle of limbs, cradling each other with hot deep kisses that burn so deep I can feel the slow rise of some cresting pleasure, an ache that makes me twist and writhe. Grant murmurs my name, running his fingers through my hair, while my hands trail down his chest to his belt, his button, his fly. I push my hand inside his jeans and swallow down his gasp with a kiss.
Grant breaks away, chest heaving. "Holy God."
I laugh. "Should you be using the Lord's name in vain?"
"No," he rasps, a slow smile spreading. He rolls us, half-pinning me with his body, and his hands touch my hair again, my face, stroking the outline of my cheeks. His eyes are dark, heavy with hunger, but he does not kiss me. Just stays there, poised, drinking me in.
"You shine so bright," he whispers. "I wish you could see what I see, Maxine. I wish you could see how beautiful your spirit is."
"Not possible," I murmur. "Not me. No light."
"You're wrong." Grant kisses the corner of my mouth. "You're good, Maxine. Down to the core of you, good."
Heat fills my eyes, my face; with it, guilt. I place my hands against his chest and try to push him away. Grant resists, holding me down with his hips and hands. A crease furrows deep between his
eyes. "Maxine."
"Let me go," I say to him.
"Tell me," he replies, unmoving. "What's wrong?"
I close my eyes, silent, anger and disappointment stealing away the warmth inside my body. After a moment I feel Grant shift, his arm stealing around my waist and back, turning me so we both lie on our sides. He snakes his leg around my hip and draws me close and snug. Our noses brush; his lips touch my forehead.
"Tell me," he says again.
I cannot look at him. "There's something you should know. About what might happen if we're together. Now, tomorrow, for any length of time." I hesitate, forming the words inside my head, tasting them, finally afraid. Saying it out loud will make it real. "No matter what we do to protect ourselves, chances are good I will be come pregnant."
What a mood-killer. Grant blinks. "Pregnant?"
"As in, with child." I shake my head, trying to pull out of his arms. He refuses to let go. I could force him, but I give up, eyes squeezed shut. "It's part of the magic that makes me what I am. It's to keep the women of my line from ... cheating the boys out of their future."
"Cheating." His voice carries an edge. "Does that mean the boys are passed on, from mother to child?"
"Mother to daughter. Only daughters."
Grant's chest rises and falls; I listen to his silence, his breathing, his heartbeat, my own heart shrinking and shriveling, my skin crawling. I want to run. I should have run the first time I saw this man. I should never have let this go so far. Damn.
"So we would have a child," he says, finally, softly. "What else aren't you telling me?"
I cannot lie. I could say nothing at all, but I do not want to hurt Grant, to do him the disservice of distrust. I want to believe he is a friend. I want to live the illusion that such a thing is possible for me. To have a friend, even it means he no longer wants me in his bed.
"It's hard," I tell him, my voice breaking on the words. "The mo ment I have a child my death sentence is