Page 66 of Her Christmas Wish

She got there and done with impressive speed. And into her room to change just as quickly. As though they were burning her, she stripped off the dress, the noticeably wet underwear, and throwing the gown in the dirty clothes, put the panties in the trash. Practically jumping into sweats and a T-shirt, she walked through the dark front rooms to the kitchen, peering out to see that Gray had left her portion of the beach.

And then, opening a wine cooler, slid outside to sit on her porch. She needed the fresh air, the sound of the ocean. The sense of freedom. Hoping to hell, together with the wine, she’d find a way out of the panic coursing ruthlessly inside her.

What had she done?

They hadn’t used birth control.

And if she...

He’d think she’d jumped him on purpose.

A part of him would have to always believe that she’d tried to trap him.

Oh, God, there was no proof otherwise.

Every bit of the evidence pointed to her guilt.

Hadshe done it on purpose?

Absolutely not. Unequivocally. Her instant panic, the second she’d realized what she’d done, was testimony to that fact.

Somehow—while flooding with fear-instilled desperation—she’d managed to hold it together and get away in a calm, rational manner.

But...

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

The only consolation was that he’d think she was on birth control. She’d once forgotten her pills when they’d been on a weekend getaway on a chartered boat, and she’d insisted on nixing the plans to go back for them. Her cycle used to be so painful, and profuse.

Something that had waned over the years. And her doctor, for her own health, had suggested, since she wasn’t sexually active enough to need them, that she go off them. He’d advised that a condom would work just fine.

If one used one.

Oh, God.

The morning-after pill. She had to get it somehow. Call someone. Find a free clinic. Or a woman’s health office. Call a friend...

She’d brought her phone out with her, but it wasn’t the late-night hour that stopped her from searching the internet or dialing potential sources.

It was the idea itself. She had friends who’d used the morning-after pill. Supported their choices wholeheartedly.

Would use it herself in a heartbeat if she’d been forced, or...

If it wasn’t Gray she’d just had sex with.

Because she loved him. And wiping out the possibility of life for a child conceived in love?

Most particularly when she considered how strenuously Leigh had fought for her life? And then pictured the result of that fight. A child she was raising up to be a loving, fun, aware, contributing member of society.

She was mother incarnate. Her own mother incarnate. It was just who she was.

Truth was, even if she hadn’t been in love...if she ended up pregnant, she’d probably have to have the child. It was just who she was.

But she absolutely did not want to be. Not with Gray.

For his sake. The idea would strangle him.

But for her own as well. She didn’t want to grow a baby, bear a baby and raise a baby whose father didn’t want him or her.