Her hand lay across his abdomen. Low on his abdomen. His flat, chiseled, hard abdomen that made her fingers tingle.
She licked her lips.
Then winced.
She jerked her hand back before she did something else. Like move lower to discover just what the sheet riding low on his narrow hips hid.
Or had she already discovered that?
Grimacing, she took stock of the fact she lay in a hotel room bed. She glanced around. His hotel room bed. She wore nothing but her underwear. Thank goodness she’d worn pretty matching blue silk numbers. But why did she still have them on?
Surely she hadn’t taken time to get dressed afterwards?
Afterwards. Had she and Cole made love?
Maybe if her head didn’t hurt so badly she could remember. Somewhere amidst the pounding was the knowledge she desperately needed to recall.
What did it say if they’d finally had sex and she couldn’t even remember? That she was having to rack her brain in hopes of recapturing the moments?
It said she’d drunk way too much after night after night of not sleeping well from stress.
She’d known what was going to happen between them, known Cole would pursue her, would take what he wanted. What they both wanted. But she’d felt guilty knowing she and Cole would make love, that before the sun came up she’d have given herself fully to him and taken every morsel of affection he’d give to her.
She’d drunk her guilt away, but she had still wanted to remember!
She squeezed her eyes closed, willing the memories to come to her.
She thought back, remembered being in the cab, remembered walking through the elaborate hotel lobby, going up in the elevator. Cole had run the back of his hand along her neck, forcing every hair on her body to stand at attention. He’d leaned in, blown hot breath against her nape, his lips so close yet not actually touching her sensitized flesh.
Her nipples had puckered. Her knees had knocked. The elevator door had slid open. Cole’s hand had moved low on her back. He’d guided her two doors down past her room into his own, pushed her inside and kissed her.
No, not kissed. He had devoured her mouth.
She remembered his lips on hers, remembered thinking he was the most marvelous kisser, him moving lower, kissing her throat, telling her how beautiful she was as his hands and mouth moved lower, and then…and then…nothing.
Opening her eyes, she glanced toward Cole, studied his sleeping perfection. From the top of his gorgeous head to where the narrow ribbon of hair disappeared under the sheet, he was perfection. Pure male perfection.
Had she had sex with that male perfection?
“Morning, beautiful.”
Her gaze shot to his. Sleep gave the blue of his eyes a lazy hue, but she didn’t mistake that hue for lack of complete awareness. After all, he knew what had happened between them.
Why was he smiling?
Panic rose up her throat. Disgust? Regret? Shame? She couldn’t stand not knowing.
“What happened last night?”
He rolled onto his side, regarded her with an indulgent expression. “You don’t remember?”
She wished she’d jumped up, brushed her teeth, combed her hair and washed her face before he’d awakened. This would be a lot easier if she didn’t feel so grungy.
“Obviously sex with you isn’t that memorable,” she quipped, determined not to make a bigger fool of herself than she already had.
“Obviously,” he surprised her by agreeing, laughter dancing in his eyes. “Only we didn’t have sex.”
Surprise number two.