“Oh, Sam.” Alva froze, one arm in her dressing gown. “No.”

They stared at each other, the silence a pit between them.

What had he done?

“I … I didn’t know I was going to ask you that,” he said.

She put the other arm in the gown and tied the sash around her waist. “I knew you were good,” she said, sitting down next to him. “I just didn’t know you were this good. It seems I’ve just seduced an archangel. You can’t marry me, Sam.”

“Of course I can,” he said. “You mean you don’t want to marry me.”

“I can honestly say I’ve never even considered it,” she said. “It’s … not a possibility.”

He should stop pushing. He’d asked; she’d answered. There was no point arguing about it. “Why?”

She sighed. “Besides the fact that you’d be ruined along with me? Sam, last night was wonderful. It was probably the best night I’ve ever had. But I’ve told you all along, I can’t … I can’t do the romance thing.”

“So nothing’s changed, for you.”

“Of course something’s changed, but not—not that.”

Sam shook his head. “You don’t need to explain,” he said. “You made it clear you weren’t offering more. I don’t know why—I don’t know why I thought last night made a difference.”

He was … stupid. Naïve. What had he thought, one night of lovemaking and she’d be ready to walk down the aisle? And when had marriage come into this, anyway? Not that it was such an insane thing to think about. Lots of people did it. If she’d been a virgin last night, it would have been required.

Why did he keep ending up in this position with her? He was always off-balance, always craving more, always rushing things. He wasn’t like this with other women. He’d had plenty of nights like this; they’d never left him aching before.

He stood to pick up his shirt and straightened in frustration. “What does that mean?” he said. “You don’t do romance? Because I’ve had meaningless relations before, sweetheart, and last night wasn’t that.”

She took a pause before responding, plucking one of his socks off the vanity chair and handing it to him. When she finally spoke, her voice was careful, composed. “I haven’t,” she said.

“What?”

“Had meaningless relations,” she said. “Or any relations, really. This was my second relation.”

“You mean I’m your second partner,” he said. “You told me that already.”

“No,” she said. “I mean, last night was the second time I’ve had intercourse. Second, third, and fourth times technically, I suppose.”

He sat down again. The ground kept shifting beneath him.