Free Love Is the Drug by K. E. Saxon

more commonly known, far cruder, expression for what he was suggesting they do. Which, she guessed, she should give him credit for, at least.
    But, good Lord, it was Jason she’d said no to! Had she lost her mind? Because he was right, it would have been fun. And dangerous. Wild. And hot. Very, very hot. God, she really wanted him.
    But he’d just break her heart and move on to his next willing victim—and no doubt, sooner than she expected. Plus, no matter what he thought, it would ruin the partnership after that. At least it would for her.
    He glanced up and she started. Ding-dangit! She dropped her eyes to the colander and grabbed a potato. He’d caught her looking at him again.
    “Hey,” he said.
    Julie heard the slight screech of his wooden chair scooting an inch or two across the linoleum and looked up.
    He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, raising the front legs of the chair off the ground. “I know that us becoming lovers is a no-go, but do you mind telling me, now that you’ve calmed down a little, why you got so offended by the idea?”
    Julie wiped her hands on the dish towel. She felt her face heat, and couldn’t bring herself to look at him while she explained. “That type of relationship was a common occurrence with my sister. I knew Connie was looking for a man that would love her, but she gave herself too easily, and ended up, always, with nothing.” She shrugged and twisted the loose thread around her forefinger that hung from the edge of the towel. “I’m waiting for the right man. The man who’ll love me, make a commitment to me.”
    “Whoa.”
    She heard the distinct sound of chair legs hitting the ground. Startled, she lifted her gaze, but he was already up on his feet.
    “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
    Her brows drew together. With a shrug, she said, “I don’t know. What do you think I’m saying?”
    He stepped forward, placed his palms on top of the red countertop, and stared at her across the length of the island. “That you’re a virgin.”
    His eyes were as round as the red potatoes in her colander. She swallowed a very untimely chuckle. “Yeah. So?”
    “Damn.” Jason turned and walked a pace or two away. “No wonder I was getting such a déjà vu vibe from you.” He shook his head. “A virgin. Damn.”
    She felt her face flame even more. He was acting as if she were some kind of freak. “Well, it’s better than being a male slut. How many little Jasons are there running around, anyway?”
    He whipped his head around and then turned fully to face her again. She saw the tick in his jaw and knew she’d struck a chord. A flash of guilt went through her. “Now who’s being offensive?” he said. He strode back up to the island. “Look, Julie, I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise, is all. And, just so the facts are clear: I’ve been real selective, and very careful. There are no ‘little Jasons’ and there never will be. I’ve made damn sure of that.”
    She took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry, too.” She picked up the knife and sliced the potato in half. “Go back to work—dinner’ll be ready in a couple of hours.”
    There was a long pause. “Alright.”
    She heard him shuffle over to the table and settle back into work. Instead of easing her mind, their conversation had confused her even more. What had he meant when he’d said there would never be any ‘little Jasons’—he didn’t ever want to be a father? That was so hard for her to believe. How could someone with such a wonderful man like Gabe Jörgensen for a dad ever not want to be one himself? But, she supposed, it was a very good thing that he was being so cautious about it now, before he’d settled down. At least there wouldn’t be quite as sordid a past for a new wife to deal with.
    * * *
    Jason was finding it very hard to concentrate. Oh, he moved the drafting pencil along the edge of the ruler every once in a while, drew line after line,