Her pulse quickened. Is Chase for real? Is that his way of saying he wants to see me again? Or am I reading too much into his response? Deciding she was, Demi smiled and said, “Your turn. What are you dying to do between the sheets and why haven’t you done it?”
“I’d love to have sex on a yacht, but I haven’t found a willing partner yet.”
Playfully swatting his arm, Demi rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “You’re terrible, you know that? You only said that to make me feel bad about this afternoon, but it’s not going to work. I’m as adventurous as the next girl, if not more, but I don’t want anyone to see me naked or record me getting my freak on.”
“Freak is certainly the right word,” Chase teased, inclining his head toward her. “You’re insatiable and, if I’m not careful, I’ll be hobbling to the charity event tomorrow afternoon.”
Demi touched her chest. “Me? I’m not the one with the acrobatic moves or the stamina of a teenager. That’s you, Mr. Man.”
“We’ll, this man wants a snack and a cold drink,” he said, pulling himself up to a sitting position. “Do you need anything—?”
“Not so fast, mister.” Demi dragged him back down on the bed, climbed onto his lap and pinned his hands above his head. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the mini bar,” Chase said with a grin. “I worked up quite the appetite with you, and if I don’t eat something soon I’m going to be hangry. And that’s not a pretty sight.”
“I don’t think so, Birthday Boy. The night’s still young and I’m not done with you yet.”
He wore an apologetic smile. “Sorry, babe, but I need an hour to recharge my batteries.”
“We’ll see about that.” Demi positioned herself on top of his erection, gripped the headboard and swiveled her hips. “Now, sit back and enjoy the ride!”
Chapter 9
Demi stepped out of the marble shower stall inside the master bathroom, snatched a thick, fluffy towel off the metal rack and swathed it around her wet body. Her gaze darted between the two designer outfits hanging behind the door. She didn’t want to make the wrong choice and end up being roasted online. Social media personalities didn’t just act the part, they looked it, too, and Demi hoped her followers responded enthusiastically to the blog post she’d written about bucking fashion trends.
Inclining her head, she tapped her foot on the tiled floor and took a moment to consider which outfit was more flattering. She decided it was the knee-length bohemian dress with the cut-out shoulders she’d purchased at a local boutique, and unzipped her toiletries bag. Singing along with the Spanish song playing on the bathroom radio, she hiked her leg up on the side of the soaker tub and lotioned her skin with almond body butter. Kneading her muscles with her fingertips, she massaged every ache and pain in her thighs.
Sunshine poured through the window, filling the bathroom with natural light, and Demi squinted. Marveling at the scenic view, she allowed her thoughts to wander. Just thinking about Chase—still asleep in her bed—excited her. She’d done a lot of wild things in her life, but she’d never hooked up with a perfect stranger, and was nervous about facing him the morning after. She hoped things wouldn’t be awkward when she returned to the bedroom, but decided to play it cool.
Demi checked the time on her iPhone. An hour earlier she’d slipped out of bed and tiptoed into the bathroom to get ready for the day. Chase was flying to Barcelona with his family that afternoon, but last night he’d insisted on taking her for brunch before he left for the charity event, and she’d agreed.
I hope we’ll have time for a quickie beforehand, Demi thought, applying mascara.
Their lovemaking had taken her by surprise. They were comfortable with each other, playful in bed, and she’d eagerly responded to his touch. Each caress aroused her and his passionate kisses had kindled her body’s fire.
Demi hoped Chase was awake in bed, waiting for her. With that thought in mind, she swapped the towel for her black-satin robe, fluffed her hair with her hands and then threw open the bathroom door. Feeling confident, she sauntered into the bedroom wearing a flirtatious smile.
Her feet slowed. Disappointment consumed her and her heart felt so heavy inside her chest her shoulders sagged under the weight of her despair. Chase wasn’t in bed and he wasn’t in the kitchen, either. He was gone.
Refusing to believe it, her gaze darted around the suite. His cologne, which had previously evoked feelings of calm and tranquility, lingered in the air, but it didn’t soothe her nerves now. Was Chase playing a trick on her? Was he going to jump out and scare her when she least expected it? Demi knew she was being irrational, but she checked under the bed, inside the closet and on the balcony, but she didn’t find him anywhere.
Stumped, Demi contemplated ringing the front desk and asking them to transfer the call to Chase’s suite, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself. She didn’t know his last name and she didn’t want the receptionist to laugh at her. Bits and pieces of past conversations came to mind. Demi didn’t know his room number, but she knew a lot about him.
He was a thirty-two-year old app developer from New York who loved winter sports, Italian cars and vacationing in Europe. Most important, he donated to charity, mentored at-risk youth and coached his niece’s little league soccer team. Chase was head and shoulders above all of the other guys she’d met in Ibiza, and he had so many admirable traits, it was easy to fall for him. To believe him when he said he was single. To invite him to her suite. To open up to him about her background. In a moment of weakness, she’d let her guard down. Next time she’d be smarter, would think with her brain instead of her flesh.
“Jerk!” Demi grumbled, hurling a sofa cushion across the room. Dropping onto one of the padded chairs, she toyed with the belt on her robe. Reflecting on last night, she analyzed every moment of their romantic, marathon date. He was a gentleman and she enjoyed spending time with him. Hence, why she was in a funk now.
Demi gripped the armrest, dug her manicured nails into the plush material. Did Chase sneak out of the suite because he regretted making love to her? A lump formed in her throat. Doubts assailed her, brutally attacked her confidence. Was the sex bad? Is that why Chase took off? Because he couldn’t face her this morning?
Demi scoffed, refused to entertain the thought. Not because she was arrogant, but because the sweet, complimentary things Chase had said to her during their lovemaking proved they were sexually compatible. Demi didn’t know how to make the perfect ribeye steak, but she knew how to please a man and there was no doubt in her mind that she’d satisfied Chase last night. They’d made love hours earlier, but Demi could still hear his groans in her ears. She’d ridden him long and hard until he’d exploded inside her, and he’d fallen asleep after round two with a big, fat smile on his face.
Then, why did he sneak out of your hotel suite? If you have a strong connection, then why did he bolt while you were in the shower?
Good question, she thought, racking her brain for the answer. Then it hit her. Why Chase had left without saying goodbye. The truth was obvious, staring her in the face. He’d reconnected with his on-again off-again girlfriend and was probably planning to romance her in Barcelona. It wouldn’t be the first time a guy had lied to her about his relationship status, but Demi thought Chase was different. She’d believed him when he’d said that he was single, and thought they’d made a connection—and not just in the bedroom. Sure, she was physically attracted to him, and the sex was outstanding, but what made the night memorable was the hours they’d spent in bed, chatting, flirting and laughing.
Anger coursed through her veins, but Demi willed herself not to lose her temper or to do something she’d later regret—like post about her one-night stand. Chase was gone and there was nothing she could do about it. Screw him. He wasn’t the only fish in the sea and if life had taught her anything, it was to move forward, not dwell on the past...
Her ears perked up. Hearing her cell phone ring, Demi peered into the bathroom. Spotting her iPhone on the marble countertop beside the vessel sink, she vacillated between taking the call and letting it go to voice mail. She knew from the jazz ringtone that it was her mom on the line and she feared Althea was going to ream her out for being a no-show at Pacha Ibiza last night. They hadn’t been on the same page for months, and Demi was sick of butting heads with her mom. Their relationship had been strained ever since she’d resigned as Geneviève’s personal assistant, and Demi was tired of arguing with Althea. She was twenty-seven-years old and she wasn’t going to let anyone stop her from achieving her goals, not even her mother.