Bran had never felt so good in all his life. He was still inside Ireland, his body jerking with residual pleasure. And hey, the table hadn’t collapsed. Bonus.

“We didn’t break it,” he said sleepily. Ireland was on her back and Bran lay on top of her, her lovely breasts providing the best pillow.

“It seems…sturdy,” she said.

He glanced up. “Am I smashing you?”

“No, I like the way you feel on top of me. And inside me.”

“Mmm. We can head upstairs and reconvene in a more comfortable setting.”

“Bran, wait. That’s the problem.”

He frowned. “There’s a problem?” He scanned her body, wondering if he’d hurt her.

“It’s just…we were a little too comfortable. You didn’t wear a condom.”

Bran’s head went blank. Not really. More like it went a hundred miles an hour and became a blur, retracing his steps. He’d taken a shower, ditched the boxer briefs in favor of easy access for tonight, and grabbed condoms from his bathroom. He’d placed the condoms on his bed, planning to tuck one in his back pocket later.

But he never had. The condoms were still on his bed.

He’d been so happy to see Ireland that he’d jogged down the stairs when he heard her knock and completely forgot about the condoms. He’d been so eager to have her—on the table, in his bed—that he’d motherfucking lost his mind and hadn’t used anything.

Bran climbed off Ireland and reached for his jeans, pulling them on as though covering up could reverse the mistake. “Fuck.”

Ireland sat up and covered her breasts, the rest of her naked. “I forgot too.”

How could he have forgotten? He never forgot.

“Bran…it’s okay.”

He swung his head toward her. “It’s not okay.” His tone was too harsh, but the words were out before he could stop them.

Ireland flinched and slid off the table, scrambling for her clothes. “I should go.”

“No.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I just—I never make this mistake.”

She looked up. “You made it once.”

Now it was his turn to flinch.

A pained expression fell across her face. “I’m sorry. That was unkind.”

“Yet true.”

She pulled on her clothes. “We’re not children. This will be okay. It was one time. There’s no guarantee of…”

Pregnancy…a child?

He nodded stiffly, but he wasn’t reassured.

How had everything gone so wrong? The night went from the most powerful connection he’d ever had with a woman, to everything shattering in a heartbeat.

“I’ll leave,” she said, looking lost.

Bran walked over and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I’m mad at myself, not you. You’re right—everything will be okay.” But the words sounded hollow even to him.

Ireland swallowed. “We should stay in our own beds tonight. Get actual sleep. We’re both exhausted, and it probably didn’t help this evening.”

He looked away. He wanted her in his bed. Wanted to hold her. But he also wanted time to wrap his head around a mistake he hadn’t made in ten years, certain he’d never make again. “You’re right. I’ve kept you up too late this week.”

She nodded, but not before he glimpsed a look of disappointment.

He’d fucked up. Again. “Ireland…”

She reached for her bag near the stairs and looked up.

“Do you want me to drive you home?”

A strained smile crossed her face, no light in her beautiful green eyes. She shook her head. “I have my car.”

He looked up at the ceiling, wanting to say something—anything—as she walked to the door. “Will you be okay?”

She paused, fingers on the handle. “I’ll be fine.”

But he didn’t believe it. He’d put them in a position where they had to consider what to do about a potential unplanned pregnancy. He’d let himself down. He’d let her down. And he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself.