She giggled softly as he leaned against her, fingertips gently stroking through his wet hair even as she was lowered to her feet once more. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, but sweetly responsive to that tender touch of his mouth to hers, a tiny smile playing at her lips. Until he turned away, swore, and left without so much as a backward glance. Heather stood in the rapidly cooling cubicle for a long moment, listening to the bedroom door close behind him, dumbfounded. What just happened? Had she done something? Had he not meant to let it go so far? Her hands reached for a towel on automatic pilot, drying her skin, wrapping her hair in a second towel. She made her way into the bedroom, squeezing the water out of her hair as she went, uneasiness spreading through her belly, to find that at some point during the shower, clothes had been left on the bed for her. Not last night's dress and heels, either. She frowned, checking the labels. Designer, and her size - even the underwear was the right size. "Oh, man," she sighed. "I'm gonna break my bank just paying him back for these."
Laid out on the bed, for her, were a pair of jeans, a pale blue shirt to match her eyes, a cornflower blue thong that was really nothing more than lace and satin, a bra to match the panties in the same lacy design, a pair of ankle socks and a pair of gray and blue runners. Christian hadn't exactly planned her staying the night, much less the rest of the day, but he couldn't let her go home in a dress she wore the night before (there were tears in it!) and without panties. And while he had marched to his own bedroom, he was nearly shouting into his blackberry. "I don't know! Look, how long before we know something, anything?... Shit!" He didn't dispense with any pleasantries before hanging up and making his next call. "Yes, I need a Plan B delivered..." he paid for it over the phone and gave his address to the pharmacist. How could you be so farcking stupid, Christian? You've never been this careless, ever! And once the calls were made, he marched back up to her - the spare - bedroom. He was dressed in just a pair of jeans and his hair was still damp from the shower as he knocked on the door.
She could hear him from where she was, though the words weren't clear. He sounded angry - furious, in fact. Biting her lips, Heather shrugged into the bra and panties, still trying to get over how creepy it was that she'd had clothing provided for her, taking a moment to twist her damp hair into a plait and knot it in place at the nape of her neck. When the knock came on the door, she jumped, hastily buttoning the jeans at her waist. One hand strayed toward the shirt still lying on the bed before she mentally kicked herself. He's seen all there is to see, grow up, Heather. "Uh ... yeah?" she called, looking toward the door. "It's your apartment, come on in."
The door swung open and Christian stepped inside. The self directed anger hadn't left him and he bore no smile as he looked at her. "When was your last period?" He hadn't meant for the question to come out sounding like an accusation, but the man was off kilter when it came to all things Miss Garabedian. Placing his hands upon his hips, it was blatantly aware that he didn't even realize the tone he'd used when asking.
Heather froze, staring at him in disbelief. "Excuse me?" was her immediate response, utterly gobsmacked by the accusation that was snapped in her direction. It hit her then what had his panties in a twist. No condom. But there were other ways of asking if she might be pregnant or not. "What the hell business is it of yours?" she snapped at him, shrugging into the shirt hurriedly, feeling her own anger rising at his manner.
With her own ire beginning to rise, Christian's stubborn anger came to the front. "I've ordered a Plan B. It'll be here in a half hour. And you will take it," he nearly spat at her. "One bastard in this house is more than enough." He turned from her then and ran his hands through his hair. He still couldn't believe how careless he had been.
"I beg your pardon?" Heather couldn't stop staring at him, glad she only had the sneakers to get on before she could get away from the freak he'd suddenly turned into. "For your information, I can't take a Plan B, and if you'd bothered to ask me before turning into a crazy freak, you'd know that." She glared at him, wriggling her feet into the sneakers and twisting to grab her bag. "I'm not sticking around for you to randomly medicate me. Thank you for the clothes, I'll send you a check."
Wait, what? She can't be leaving in the middle of this crisis! Turning around, he pinned her with his gaze. "What do you mean, you can't take Plan B? Do you want to get pregnant? Was that the reason why you were so eager to leave with me, last night?" Of course, she didn't want you, who would? That line of thinking only caused the walls around him to slam tightly together. His gaze became impassive and he leaned back against the bedroom door, shutting it.
"Oh, for fark's sake!" Heather actually stamped her foot as he leaned back against the door, blocking her escape with frustrating ease. "What century are you living in? Do you honestly think that I don't take precautions myself, or did you really think I was just another dumb blonde looking to get rich easy? 'Cos, you know, I've got money. I've got a good name. I've got everything you have, Mr Moretz, plus the sense I was born with! Where the hell do you get off, telling me what I think and what to do? It's been one night, for god's sakes!"
She was making perfectly good sense, but with his back to the wall, he childishly held onto that stubborn anger. "You wouldn't be the first in Atlanta's society to try, Miss Garabedian," he responded coolly. But the heat had gone from his voice and though his face remained stoically impassive, his eyes became turbulent with uncertainty. "What kind of birth control are you on?"
She was flushing with anger now, which wasn't helped by the fact that even broody and angry, he was still close to irresistible. Her hands itched to touch him, forcing her to clench them rather than give in. "Gee, thanks, lump me in with the bimbo crowd, why don't you?" she snarled at him, radiating frustrated anger as one hand flailed helplessly. "For your information, I get the shot, all right? I got my last one three weeks ago, go and look it up with your gynae friend or whoever it is delivers birth control to your door on command."
"As you said, it was just one night," he sighed and then sagged a bit against the door. He didn't have to go look it up, Christian knew well enough about depo-provera. It was his contraceptive of choice for the women who had graced this bedroom. "And if you swear that you've had it, I'll take you at your word."
"Oh, thank you. I'm so pleased you think I'm trustworthy after forcing me to tell you what I do with my body." She huffed, blowing a hank of hair out of her face as she glared at him. "Are we done here? Did you want to take a look at my birth certificate, maybe get a copy of my social security number? Anything else intensely private you want to know?"
Nothing I don't already know, Miss Garabedian. He shook his head and pushed off of the door. Sighing, he pulled the door open and stepped back. "Don't forget your dress and things from last night," he murmured, purposely not looking at her. If he did, he just may lose control again and tackle her to the bed.
And now he's dismissing me. Great. So much for "I'm keeping you". Disappointment lanced through her gut, startling her once again. She couldn't be that attached already, could she? Staring at him for what felt like a small eternity, Heather finally rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Fine. Whatever. Thanks." She let her long legs stride forward, brushing past him in teeth-grinding temper, steaming over his high-handed attitude.
When her shoulder brushed his chest, he gasped softly. It was his undoing. Before he even realized it, Christian reached out for her. He wanted nothing more than to hold her and claim her as his own. Farck my life, I don't want her to go. Please don't go. And though he didn't speak it, his eyes were a dead giveaway.
The eyes that met his were still furious, blazing with anger at being treated like just one of many idiots in their league. And he got to see how that anger softened, retreating as she absorbed what was in his eyes. It didn't fade entirely, still simmering there behind the softness that made the blue of her eyes shimmer as she held his gaze. But she was too proud not to need him to say something before she made up her mind. "What?"
"You forgot your shoes," Please don't go, Heather. His gaze never left hers and he didn't think she could be any more lovely than she was right now. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and there was a wildness in her eyes that he wanted to tame.
She seemed torn. On the one hand, there was walking out of here with her dignity intact and possibly never seeing or speaking to him ever again. On the other hand, there was walking back into the bedroom, and risking him closing that door on them. Risking him distracting her from being angry with him with his hands and lips and eyes and voice, and everything about him that made her heart sing and her c*nt clench. She bit her lip, caught like a rabbit in headlights in his gaze and almost wishing for that car to run her down.
Laid out on the bed, for her, were a pair of jeans, a pale blue shirt to match her eyes, a cornflower blue thong that was really nothing more than lace and satin, a bra to match the panties in the same lacy design, a pair of ankle socks and a pair of gray and blue runners. Christian hadn't exactly planned her staying the night, much less the rest of the day, but he couldn't let her go home in a dress she wore the night before (there were tears in it!) and without panties. And while he had marched to his own bedroom, he was nearly shouting into his blackberry. "I don't know! Look, how long before we know something, anything?... Shit!" He didn't dispense with any pleasantries before hanging up and making his next call. "Yes, I need a Plan B delivered..." he paid for it over the phone and gave his address to the pharmacist. How could you be so farcking stupid, Christian? You've never been this careless, ever! And once the calls were made, he marched back up to her - the spare - bedroom. He was dressed in just a pair of jeans and his hair was still damp from the shower as he knocked on the door.
She could hear him from where she was, though the words weren't clear. He sounded angry - furious, in fact. Biting her lips, Heather shrugged into the bra and panties, still trying to get over how creepy it was that she'd had clothing provided for her, taking a moment to twist her damp hair into a plait and knot it in place at the nape of her neck. When the knock came on the door, she jumped, hastily buttoning the jeans at her waist. One hand strayed toward the shirt still lying on the bed before she mentally kicked herself. He's seen all there is to see, grow up, Heather. "Uh ... yeah?" she called, looking toward the door. "It's your apartment, come on in."
The door swung open and Christian stepped inside. The self directed anger hadn't left him and he bore no smile as he looked at her. "When was your last period?" He hadn't meant for the question to come out sounding like an accusation, but the man was off kilter when it came to all things Miss Garabedian. Placing his hands upon his hips, it was blatantly aware that he didn't even realize the tone he'd used when asking.
Heather froze, staring at him in disbelief. "Excuse me?" was her immediate response, utterly gobsmacked by the accusation that was snapped in her direction. It hit her then what had his panties in a twist. No condom. But there were other ways of asking if she might be pregnant or not. "What the hell business is it of yours?" she snapped at him, shrugging into the shirt hurriedly, feeling her own anger rising at his manner.
With her own ire beginning to rise, Christian's stubborn anger came to the front. "I've ordered a Plan B. It'll be here in a half hour. And you will take it," he nearly spat at her. "One bastard in this house is more than enough." He turned from her then and ran his hands through his hair. He still couldn't believe how careless he had been.
"I beg your pardon?" Heather couldn't stop staring at him, glad she only had the sneakers to get on before she could get away from the freak he'd suddenly turned into. "For your information, I can't take a Plan B, and if you'd bothered to ask me before turning into a crazy freak, you'd know that." She glared at him, wriggling her feet into the sneakers and twisting to grab her bag. "I'm not sticking around for you to randomly medicate me. Thank you for the clothes, I'll send you a check."
Wait, what? She can't be leaving in the middle of this crisis! Turning around, he pinned her with his gaze. "What do you mean, you can't take Plan B? Do you want to get pregnant? Was that the reason why you were so eager to leave with me, last night?" Of course, she didn't want you, who would? That line of thinking only caused the walls around him to slam tightly together. His gaze became impassive and he leaned back against the bedroom door, shutting it.
"Oh, for fark's sake!" Heather actually stamped her foot as he leaned back against the door, blocking her escape with frustrating ease. "What century are you living in? Do you honestly think that I don't take precautions myself, or did you really think I was just another dumb blonde looking to get rich easy? 'Cos, you know, I've got money. I've got a good name. I've got everything you have, Mr Moretz, plus the sense I was born with! Where the hell do you get off, telling me what I think and what to do? It's been one night, for god's sakes!"
She was making perfectly good sense, but with his back to the wall, he childishly held onto that stubborn anger. "You wouldn't be the first in Atlanta's society to try, Miss Garabedian," he responded coolly. But the heat had gone from his voice and though his face remained stoically impassive, his eyes became turbulent with uncertainty. "What kind of birth control are you on?"
She was flushing with anger now, which wasn't helped by the fact that even broody and angry, he was still close to irresistible. Her hands itched to touch him, forcing her to clench them rather than give in. "Gee, thanks, lump me in with the bimbo crowd, why don't you?" she snarled at him, radiating frustrated anger as one hand flailed helplessly. "For your information, I get the shot, all right? I got my last one three weeks ago, go and look it up with your gynae friend or whoever it is delivers birth control to your door on command."
"As you said, it was just one night," he sighed and then sagged a bit against the door. He didn't have to go look it up, Christian knew well enough about depo-provera. It was his contraceptive of choice for the women who had graced this bedroom. "And if you swear that you've had it, I'll take you at your word."
"Oh, thank you. I'm so pleased you think I'm trustworthy after forcing me to tell you what I do with my body." She huffed, blowing a hank of hair out of her face as she glared at him. "Are we done here? Did you want to take a look at my birth certificate, maybe get a copy of my social security number? Anything else intensely private you want to know?"
Nothing I don't already know, Miss Garabedian. He shook his head and pushed off of the door. Sighing, he pulled the door open and stepped back. "Don't forget your dress and things from last night," he murmured, purposely not looking at her. If he did, he just may lose control again and tackle her to the bed.
And now he's dismissing me. Great. So much for "I'm keeping you". Disappointment lanced through her gut, startling her once again. She couldn't be that attached already, could she? Staring at him for what felt like a small eternity, Heather finally rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Fine. Whatever. Thanks." She let her long legs stride forward, brushing past him in teeth-grinding temper, steaming over his high-handed attitude.
When her shoulder brushed his chest, he gasped softly. It was his undoing. Before he even realized it, Christian reached out for her. He wanted nothing more than to hold her and claim her as his own. Farck my life, I don't want her to go. Please don't go. And though he didn't speak it, his eyes were a dead giveaway.
The eyes that met his were still furious, blazing with anger at being treated like just one of many idiots in their league. And he got to see how that anger softened, retreating as she absorbed what was in his eyes. It didn't fade entirely, still simmering there behind the softness that made the blue of her eyes shimmer as she held his gaze. But she was too proud not to need him to say something before she made up her mind. "What?"
"You forgot your shoes," Please don't go, Heather. His gaze never left hers and he didn't think she could be any more lovely than she was right now. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and there was a wildness in her eyes that he wanted to tame.
She seemed torn. On the one hand, there was walking out of here with her dignity intact and possibly never seeing or speaking to him ever again. On the other hand, there was walking back into the bedroom, and risking him closing that door on them. Risking him distracting her from being angry with him with his hands and lips and eyes and voice, and everything about him that made her heart sing and her c*nt clench. She bit her lip, caught like a rabbit in headlights in his gaze and almost wishing for that car to run her down.