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The knot in my stomach twists tighter.
She turns to the pool and settles back against her lounge chair. “Face it sweetheart, we’re not that different.”
I don’t bother waiting for my piña colada. I leave $30 on my chair (ridiculous) and walk away before Ms. Extensions can keep picking my life apart. How dare she assume I’m anything like her? She might be happy lounging around all day waiting for her husband, but this isn’t the sort of life I want. My goal for the next five years hasn’t changed.
…
James wraps up his day at the conference earlier than I expected, and I’m napping in my room when I hear the door to the suite open and close quietly. He walks in and I listen to his footsteps as they head in the direction of his room, and when he doesn’t find me there, they turn toward mine. I keep my eyes pinched shut, pretending to sleep. He opens the door a crack and stops in the doorway, watching me. I’m hyperaware of my breathing, of how bad I am at acting.
Still, he doesn’t call my bluff. He pulls off his jacket and tosses it onto the chair in the corner. He circles around the back of the bed, tugs back the covers, and lies down beside me. His cologne washes over me just as his arm wraps around my midsection. With a gentle tug, he pulls me back against him, and I try hard not to make a sound.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispers against the back of my neck.
I wonder how he knew I was awake.
We sleep like that for an hour or two, wrapped around one another. I can feel him hard against me, his muscular thighs tight against mine. I know if I gave even the slightest sign that I was in the mood, we would have sex, but I can’t. I haven’t been able to shake this twisted feeling mounting inside me all day. I’m scared of what will happen if we have sex again, of how much worse it could get.
I push away from him and climb out of bed, anxious for a shower. I turn the water scalding hot and don’t step inside until steam is rising up and fogging the bathroom mirrors. I tip my head back and let the water run over my forehead and down my cheeks.
When James speaks, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“I’d like to take you to dinner.”
I reach up and try to hide every part of me worth concealing, but it only makes him chuckle under his breath. I guess he’s already seen me, but this feels more intimate. I was under the influence of lust and wine last night. Now, I feel vulnerable and raw. I turn over my shoulder and look back to find him leaning against the door, watching me through the fogged glass. Maybe he can see everything, or maybe he has to imagine what I look like in here, but either way, his dark eyes are heated, and I hurry to finish bathing before he can join me.
Apparently, he wants to take me somewhere fancy, so I pull out the other dress I packed for such an occasion. It’s black and more modest than the one from last night. The hem hits just above my knees, but the back is low-cut and exposes most of my spine. James takes full advantage of that when we stroll out of the hotel. His palm finds my lower back and he holds it there, leading me toward the waiting car. His touch feels so good that for a moment, I give in to my desire to lean into it. Then I remember the woman from the pool and step away.
“Vue is one of the best restaurants in the world. The chef won the James Beard award last year,” James tells me, bringing the back of my hand to his lips and kissing it gently.
I hum in appreciation as I take in the strip whipping by our window. He goes on about the menu and how good the food will be, and I make a point to act like I’m listening. A few minutes later, the car pulls up outside a restaurant that has cars lined up around the curb. A suited attendant runs forward to open doors and glamorous people spill out. It’s funny how much I want to stay put and direct the driver to the nearest McDonald’s, not because I’d rather stuff my face with a Big Mac, but because maybe then I wouldn’t feel so much pressure building in my chest.
When we walk through the restaurant to find our table, I’m aware of the women in the room eyeing James. They just can’t help themselves. Tonight, he’s wearing another bespoke suit. This one is navy blue, and he’s paired it with a white shirt, no tie, the top two buttons undone. The look it supposed to be more casual than what he wears for work, but it’s more tantalizing than anything I’ve seen him in so far. Instead of telling him that, I sip my water.
