Hearing my name and feeling a hand heavy on my shoulder, I wake with a start and sit up, almost bopping Maxim in the nose with my forehead. “Stop scaring me.” I fall back to the bed and rest my hand over my pounding heart, cursing tequila when my head pounds.
“Sorry,” he says, and I focus on him—or try to, but it’s difficult with how dark my room is, even with a little light coming in from around the windows. Feeling the strange vibe in the room, I sit up and turn on the lamp on my side of my bed and see he is fully dressed, wearing slacks and a button-down shirt. His shoes are off, probably downstairs near the front door, his hair styled messily and his fancy watch on his wrist. The watch he only puts on when he’s leaving the house.
“You’re leaving.” It’s a statement not a question, and a sinking feeling settles inside me.
“Got a call about an hour ago that I’m needed back in Vegas. I didn’t want to wake you but didn’t like the idea of leaving without you knowing I was going.”
“Oh.” My nose stings, and I curse my stupid voice, because I sound as upset as I feel. I knew this would happen, knew he would leave. I thought I did a good job of protecting myself from the inevitable, but I obviously didn’t. I drag my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around my shins as I try to come up with something to say.
“I should only be gone a couple of days,” he says softly, resting his hand on my knee before moving it to my cheek. “You going to be okay?”
“Absolutely.” The lie slides off my tongue with ease.
“We’ll talk when I get back.” I want to ask about what; I want to ask why, but I don’t. I tuck those questions away, swallow them down, even though it feels like glass cutting me open.
“Have a safe trip, and I’ll let you know when I find out what your closing date is on your house,” I say, because I need the reminder that even if I wanted this to be more, it’s not. He’s a client. Nothing more than a client and a few days of really, really amazing sex.
He stares at me for a long moment, then curses under his breath, slides his hand still on my cheek back into my hair, forces my head back, then covers my mouth with his. The kiss is not sweet; it’s punishing and claiming. A reminder.
When he rips his mouth away, his face is an inch from mine when he growls, “We’ll talk when I get back.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. I’m too stunned.
“Nod if you understand.”
I swallow and nod, and then without another word, he lets me go and prowls from my room. I stare at the open door for a long time, trying to figure out what just happened, but my mind is completely blank of everything but the fact that my lips are tingling.
Chapter 8
April
I GLANCE AT the photo of a beautiful charcuterie board on my phone, then down at the one I put together and sigh. Even with all the same items as the picture, mine looks nothing like it. The meat rose I made actually looks like a pile of meatballs, all my cheese is cut wonky, and the nuts and crackers have decided to do their own thing.
“Well, all that really matters is how it tastes,” I mutter when the doorbell rings. After quickly washing my hands, I head downstairs and smile when I open the door to my sisters July and May, my friend Matt, and his husband Kirk, who are both realtors.
“I love you. I hate the drive out here,” July greets, giving me a one-arm hug before walking past and kicking off her shoes.
“I had to listen to that the whole way.” May rolls her eyes, making me laugh while following July inside.
“The traffic is atrocious,” Kirk agrees before smiling at me and kissing my cheek. “Hey, pretty girl.”
“Hey.” I give his shoulder a squeeze, then look at Matt and laugh when he picks me up off the ground.
“I’ve missed you.” He drops me to my feet, then kisses my cheek.
“Me too.” I shut the door once he clears it, then we all head up to my kitchen.
“Oh, look how pretty,” Kirk, ever the nice guy, says as he stops at the board I made, snagging a piece of cheese and tossing it into his mouth.
“It looks nothing like the photo I tried to copy,” I inform him as Matt goes to the fridge to pull out a bottle of white wine I had chilling, then to the drawer where I keep my wine bottle opener.
“Who cares how it looks,” July says as she takes a seat at the island next to May, who reaches around her for some of the grapes on the board.