The room we’re in is huge, one wall almost completely glass with the trifactor view of river, park, and the city at night. While I can’t ignore that this is a bedroom, the immediate space is meant for other more civilised things. A pale sofa, a glass table, and a pair of designer Barcelona chairs. The other side of the room is dominated by the biggest bed I’ve ever seen; a modern take on a four-poster, golden framed. Dozens of pillows cover the thing with cream-coloured gauzy fabric falling from all sides. This kind of room would be a perfect feature in a design magazine, though not one titled Orgy Pads of the Rich and Famous.
The door clicks closed behind me, though I don’t turn. But I feel him, oh God, do I feel the heat coming off him in burning waves.
“My phone.” I almost fall on it as I spot it on the glass table, grasping it to swipe the screen. No missed calls. I breathe a sigh of relief. “How did it get here?”
“I arranged it.” Footsteps resound, a switch snaps, and a low light suffuses the room. “I knew you wouldn’t want to be without it.”
Carson Hayes isn’t the kind of man who’d ignore a fundraising tin.
I turn, finding him leaning indolently against a credenza. Legs crossed at the ankle, the singular button of his jacket undone, his hands sunk into the pockets of his pants.
It’s strange how the only truthful part of this performance is his gaze, a gaze that feels like the brush of caressing fingertips.
“Do you want to know why I turned on the light?” His question catches me off guard. “Because I sense this is you stepping out of your life for one night.”
“That might be true.” I dip my head as a wave of melancholy washes over me. One night is all I can allow myself.
There are too many uncertainties; what Rose means to him, what this night means to him. I can’t be involved with a man who’s at home at a party like this—a man who might be in charge of a night like this. I could ask him to explain, but I don’t want to take the risk. I just want him to kiss me again and make me forget everything.
I fought my attraction to him for long enough.
I startle a little as he pushes off the credenza, my heart surely beating out of my chest as he closes the space between us.
“The light,” he repeats, one finger carelessly flicking over his shoulder. “As much I enjoyed the aesthetic in France, moonlight won’t work for me tonight.” He captures my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my gaze to his. “Because I don’t intend on missing one thing.”
“You might regret that.” The truth is out of my mouth before I can temper it. “I’m not that girl I was back then.” Physically, emotionally, not that I could explain the differences to him.
“You are so much more.”
I am . . . more. Larger. Certainly less waif-like. Fuller in the hips and breasts as well as flatter in the rear end. The fact is, it doesn’t matter how hard you work to get back the pre-pregnancy you, you’re never the same. Having a child leaves you forever changed, physically and emotionally. But then I realise Carson isn’t looking at my body. He’s looking into my eyes, looking at me. And something tells me, as he presses his palm to the base of my spine, he sees more than I’d ordinarily be comfortable with.
“Wait.” I tilt my head as his mouth begins to descend. “What you said out there. I’m not single because I prefer watching others . . .”
“Fuck?” The way his lips form the hard fricative makes my knees weak. “But you did enjoy. Watching.”
“Yes.” My tongue darts out to lick my parched lips, my voice a little stronger now, a little less ashamed, because he of all people should understand. Maybe? “Yes, I did.”
“Then I was right on that score.” He angles his head, but I move back once more. I suddenly understand why Rose has never seen him with a woman. He isn’t celibate. He might well be the complete opposite.
“You were also right about tonight. This can only happen once.” My voice sounds stronger than I currently feel, but this is something we both need to hear.
“One more for old times’ sake?” The gleam in his eye is a little frightening though I find myself nodding. “Then we’d better make it good.”
Good enough to last a lifetime, I tell myself.
He doesn’t try to kiss me again as his hand glides across my shoulder, taking with it the thin strap of my dress and exposing my breast. I bite back a gasp as his knuckle skates down it in a shiver-inducing caress.