My mind is reeling that I’m being dumped by the only woman I considered worthy of more time. Sure, I’ve had girlfriends, but I didn’t feel like this . . . how I felt before she just rejected me, that is. What the fuck is happening?
As if her idea energizes her, she sits up and faces me. “You don’t have to pretend this is the best sex you’ve ever had.”
“It is.”
Giggling, she says, “Me too. Well, you don’t have to lie to me in the morning about an early flight or that you’ll call me. I’m letting you off the hook, Harrison. It is what it is. A one-night stand. I’m so glad we’re on the same page.”
“What if—?”
A finger silences me. “No what-ifs. Those will only get us in trouble.” As her hand takes hold of my dick under the sheet, her eyes close, and her mouth presses to mine.
She’s just given me a free pass to move on without guilt if I don’t call or text her. Ever.
Great tits. Firm ass. Fan-fucking-tastic mouth. Likes sex. A lot. All without commitment. She’s a wet dream come true for most guys. But if it’s such a good deal, why do I feel like I just got punched in the chest?
Holding out her hand, she asks, “Deal?”
Is it the early morning hour messing with my head? This is an offer I can’t resist and one I shouldn’t refuse. I should be celebrating, but all I can think about is that I’m going to be leaving this room in a few hours, and I’ll have no way of ever contacting her again. Fuck.
I take her hand, and she begins to shake it.
Her brows pull together. “Are you okay?” I am not okay.
This not only surprises me but also hurts my ego. Yet I don’t care because there’s no way I’m going to become the clingy one. Fuck that. I cup her face and move in so close that my breath is hers, and hers becomes mine. The faintest hint of wine still lingers from the bottle we finished hours ago, her lips full from the impact of kissing most of the night. “I’m more than okay, baby.”
Just as she grins, I kiss her. I kiss her so fucking hard that an inferno burns inside, a blaze that only an orgasm can tame. Fuck it.
If I only get one night with her, it’s going to be the best night of our lives.
1
Tatum Devreux
Four and a half years later . . .
“I came as fast as I could,” I say, barreling forward as soon as the front door opens and hitting a wall of solid muscle dressed in a black button-down.
“That’s not how I remember it.” The voice—deep and seductive—causes my insides to tighten. The scent of the man I spent one night with years ago fills my nostrils, my entire being never forgetting. Slowly looking up, I’m greeted by a day’s, maybe two, worth of growth covering the drift of a defined jaw and that Southern California tan I remember so well.
Only six words were spoken, but Catalina comes racing back to my thoughts like it was last night. It happens every time I see him. Damn him.
“If I remember correctly, and I remember every one of your orgasms, your body betrays your words, Tate,” he says.
“It’s Tatum to you.” I hate that my cheeks heat. Only Harrison Decker can do that to me. And I think he knows it. I cross my arms because each time I see him, I swear he gets better looking, and he was sexy as hell to begin with. Hence the vacation fling hookup in Catalina.
I wanted Harrison from the moment I saw him, although he was a complete stranger, within ten minutes of our introduction I ran off with him.
If the sight of him before me wasn’t already unnerving, the fact that I still have such a strong reaction to him is. It was one dang night. And one broken promise.
But I haven’t been able to look him in the eyes since—not at my best friend’s wedding or the few times he’s flown to New York to visit Natalie’s husband, Nick—his best friend.
I will never understand why he gets under my skin. Why can’t he be water under the bridge like any other one-night stand? Like the others since him have been.
I’m usually better at hiding my emotions, but I should have been given a heads-up that he was here.
Daring to look into his Mediterranean blue eyes, I snap, “I didn’t know you were visiting?” Ugh. Why’d I let my voice lilt at the end? The last thing I want is to show how he affects me.
Leaning against the doorframe, he crosses his arms, wholly amused by the interaction, like he always seems to be around me. I swear he gets off on making me mad or blush, which I do both too easily around him. His biceps tug the fabric tighter, and I can’t help but notice that his muscles have gotten bigger. Wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around my body? “You mean you weren’t warned?”