I feel that shift inside of him, the seriousness that I first noticed on board his plane. I wonder what’s behind it, what’s lurking beneath the surface with him.
Uncertainty threatens to engulf me. Should I go? I feel like that’s the sensible thing to do. His invitation was for sex. Nothing more. So?
‘That was great,’ I say, annoyed that the words emerge a little breathlessly. I don’t want him to know how affected I was by that pleasure. But I was. I am.
He nods, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. ‘Stay for a drink?’
Something trips inside of me. Because it confirms what I’d just been thinking—that he’s expecting me to go away now we’ve slept together. And I hate that it bothers me because I came here expecting that.
But there’s something else, because he doesn’t actually want me to go right now, hence he’s offering me a drink. Unless he’s just being polite.
I tilt my chin, refusing to second-guess his intentions. What do I want? That’s what I should be focusing on.
The problem is, I really don’t know. On the one hand, I want to stay. On the other? Something feels wrong and I don’t know what. I’m no good at this.
‘That’s fine.’ The words are brittle and, unconsciously, a frown shifts over my face.
My frown is reflected on his face.
We stare at each other, a strange awkwardness between us, given what we’ve just shared. There is intimacy and there’s intimacy, and while we have plenty of one, the real intimacy is something neither of us wants, and it’s nowhere in evidence anyway.
‘I’m glad you came over.’
A smile shifts the frown, just a small lift of one corner of my lips. ‘So am I.’
His brow furrows and then he moves towards me again, his body warm, his masculine fragrance tickling my nostrils and making desire stir lazily back to life.
‘Stay for a drink.’ This time it’s not a question. I look up at him, knowing I should go, that staying is futile, and yet my feet don’t move.
I want to stay. I want to have a drink with him, and I want to ask him about each and every tattoo that scores the smooth flesh of his body. And that’s the main reason I know I have to go. Because asking questions leads to knowledge and knowledge is a very dangerous commodity. Knowledge of a person can create affection for them, and I will not feel that for Holden, or anyone. Not now. Not when I’m on the brink of a new life, and new possibilities abound.
I shake my head, forcing a smile across my face.
‘Thanks, but I got what I came for.’ I soften the statement with a wink, returning the mood between us to light, fun and flirty, then lift up and press my lips to his. ‘See you later.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Six days after landing
I SCAN THE DOCUMENTS, only half listening to the meeting progressing around me. I barely slept last night. After Cora left I changed into a suit and toured the casino. It’s the only way to get a proper feel for how a place is running and I make it my business to play a few hands of poker at each of my casinos, every time I’m there. I stayed on the floor until four in the morning, then threw back a few Scotches before finally dropping into bed a little before five.
It smelled like Cora and sex. It made me want her, so the couple of hours’ sleep were punctuated by memories of her, of all the ways I want to fuck her—so much more than ten minutes would ever satisfy.
My mind replays every minute of the night before, specifically the time I spent with Cora. I see her eyes when I asked her to stay for a drink, the realisation that buried within that request was an expectation she’d go away again, soon.
Did I hurt her feelings? Did she think I meant for her to spend the night? No. It was obvious why I invited her over. And that wa
s obviously why she came.
‘I got what I came for.’ We’re on the same page. This guilt is misplaced. So too is my desire to prolong the time we do spend together.
Spend together?
I scowl, scanning the documents, analysing that. It makes it sound like I want this to become a regular thing. I imagine not seeing Cora again and my body practically jerks in revolt. What the hell? Once is enough. Twice? More than.
But it’s not.
What I need is to get her out of my system—properly. Not ten minutes. Not necessarily even one night. A proper fuck fest so I can say goodbye and mean it next time.