We talk a little, but mostly we just stare at the sky. The bright stars shine above us but I barely notice them. I’m too aware of his hot wet body lying barely an inch away from mine. And his breaths, slow and even, both comforting and seductive.
We end up in his room, which is closer than mine. I slip into a plush resort bathrobe and he eases into his slacks, then joins me in bed. I can smell the vodka on his breath as I lift my head to look at him in the dark. He’s so gorgeous and feels so predatory now that we’re alone in his room. I can’t stop staring at his rugged features. And he’s staring right back.
He said he’d look and touch and taste…
“Do you want me?” His voice sounds brusque, and a little low, uneven. He looks at me with an intense gaze. “Do you?” His hand curls possessively over my hip.
In his eyes, there’s a war. He’s debating whether to make a pass at me. Whether to fuck me.
Do you want me? his eyes ask.
“No,” I lie.
His eyes are dark and disbelieving for a moment. He nods and clenches his jaw. He pries himself away, rises, and puts on a shirt.
“Rest, call me if you need anything.”
He sets the cordless phone on the bed, within my reach, and walks to the door.
He’s going to see one of the other girls. I know it. And I stay in his bed, wondering if it’s the vodka’s fault that I care.
Hands on my breasts.
Wet lips on my neck.
Fingers try to tug my panties down my legs.
“Wait.”
I stop his hand, bringing our make-out session to an abrupt halt. I’m pretty sure I’m ready to kick Trent out of my bed. It feels so wrong. Why does it feel so wrong?
“What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you were into it?”
“I wasn’t…” Oh god, why wasn’t I? “Look, you’re a really nice guy but I’m not into one night stands, not really.”
When he looks at me incredulously, I groan and rub my temples. Shit. He seems…a little too drunk to make sense of it.
“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” I ask him, and when he only stares at me, I sigh. “You can spend the night but…no spooning or cuddling or even breathing my air, okay?”
He’s asleep within minutes, but I can’t close my eyes. I’m afraid I’ll see the blue eyes that I can’t get out of my mind—the ones that have been popping into my dreams.
Why did I bring him to my apartment? No guy has ever been here. This used to be Rachel’s and my sacred space, only Malcolm Saint dared venture here—and I hadn’t been too happy about it.
At 5 a.m. I find myself wandering the apartment in my pajamas.
I hate the silence.
Rachel and I shared this apartment since the end of college. It’s an industrial penthouse loft. Painted wood bookcases separate the living area from the kitchen. It’s dark now but as soon as the sun comes up, it will be bright and sunny.
I stare at the ceiling then glance at the calendar. Next month, an X marks the day that Wynn is moving in with me. I’m glad she is; I can’t afford to pay the rent on my own, and I don’t want to leave this place. I also don’t like being alone.
I’ve had three homes in twenty-three years, and I’ve always been the one left behind.
The first time, my parents told me they’d sold the house I’d grown up in, explaining, “We want to reconnect and get the spark back in our lives now that you’re leaving for college.” They left for Spain just after the sale closed. I finished packing and handed over the keys when I was done.
My next home was one I shared with my college boyfriend, Paul. He was definitely the first to leave.
I didn’t used to be so anti-men, until Paul betrayed me. The worst part about being betrayed was that I hadn’t seen it coming. I’d been blind, deaf, and stupid for such a long time.
Paul Addison Moore was good to me, but he was also good to two other girls at the same time. They both knew of me, and were content to be in the background. I didn’t know about them for two years. Twenty-four months and nine days, to be exact.
One day, I received a call from an angry girl telling me she was his girlfriend and she’d been waiting for months for him to leave me, because he promised he would.
I hung up on her and told him some crazy girl had called to tell me this.
He grew very agitated—and suddenly began packing.
“Paul?” I asked. “It was a joke. Right?”
He just shook his head.
We were going to be late to class, so I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and I heard drawers slamming.
“She’s not the only one, there’s someone else too,” he suddenly yelled from the bedroom.
“Excuse me?” I walked to the doorway as I spoke through the toothpaste in my mouth.
The bedroom was empty.
I walked down the hall, my steps growing more hurried by the second, and I found him in the living room with his backpack and suitcase.
I froze.
“I don’t love you, Regina.”
That was the hundredth time he said the L word to me. He had said it while he lived with me, slept with me, called me just to tell me he was thinking of me.
He stood in the doorway as the toothbrush hung from my mouth. I must have looked awful. It felt like he’d shoved the toothbrush down my throat and stabbed my heart with it.
Finally, I took it from my mouth and sent it flying across the room at him.