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Her eyes flared as she began to slide onto him. It felt like magic, like heaven on earth, and he knew in that split second he wasn’t going to be able to give her up any time soon, if ever. He saw his life flash before his eyes, and in every frame, she was there, exactly where he wanted her to be. Contentment bled with fierce arousal, and he gripped her harder. She was over him all the way now, he was seated within her to the hilt. Lust ripped through his insides. His arms wrapped around her and he was unable to control his voice. “Ride me.”
She let out a tiny mewl and lifted herself, sending a stroke of anticipation down his spine. She slid back down and ecstasy hit his brain cells. He found her hips and began jerking her up and down, gritting his teeth and dragging oxygen in and out of his lungs. “That’s it,” he panted. “That’s perfect.”
“Yes, perfect.” she moaned.
His hand slid back into her hair and he pulled her head back until she was looking straight into his eyes. “Never again. Just me. Only me. You fuck me and only me, nobody else will ever touch you again for as long as I live, you understand me?”
He felt her breath catch in her throat and then her eyes closed as euphoria engulfed them both.
****
Later that evening, they were sitting at a table in a restaurant overlooking the river. They’d finished their entrees, and Maria was absently picking at a chocolate dessert she’d been unable to resist, but now, under Garrett’s relentless observation, she found she couldn’t eat much of it. A bottle of wine sat between them, but they’d barely touched it.
He picked up her free hand, and twirled her fingers through his. “So, I was thinking . . . “ he trailed off and Maria’s stomach tensed. She kept her eyes firmly on her plate, her messed-up feelings causing an imbalance that was sending darts of apprehension down her spine.
As she stared down, slowly moving the chocolate around, avoiding his eyes, he began again, his fingers trailing over the hand he still held caught in his. “Why don’t you stay here . . . with me?”
Her fork fell from her fingers with a clatter as she glanced up. “I’m sorry . . . what?”
“It would be good—there’s plenty of room for both of us at the lake house.”
“You want me to move in with you?” No way. Well, sure, maybe, if he loved her. But the ‘L’ word hadn’t come up between them, and she wasn’t about to throw it out there first. What did she want from him, exactly? Surely it was too soon to expect a declaration—but without one, she needed to get home, back to the hotel.
“Why not?” He shrugged, and a look came over his features as if the conversation meant little to him. His dispassionate reaction gave her no confidence.
“Because I live in Miami,” she said. “And run your hotel there, that’s why.” Give me something definitive to build on, please.
“Shit changes, Maria. Nothing ever stays the same. We can get somebody else to run the hotel.”
Shit changes? That was hardly the declaration of love she was only now admitting to herself she was looking for, although she had to give him points for using the ‘we’ pronoun, as if the hotel belonged to them both. “I can’t just pick up and move here, Garrett.”
“Why not?” he asked again, his expression set in stone.
“I think a better question would be . . . why?” Please, please, please. Just say it, say something.
“Why?” He repeated as he released her hand and crossed his arms over his chest. “Because distance sucks, that’s why.”
God, that was romantic. “That’s why airplanes were made,” she said defensively.
“I don’t want to get on a goddamn plane every time—” He stopped himself as if he was about to say something that was too crude.
Maria held his eyes for as long as she could before looking away. She swore to God, she wasn’t going to let a single tear fall. Wasn’t going to happen. She steeled her spine and composed herself, and then looked at him once more. “Well, I don’t see any other way. You could move to Florida, I guess.” Right. Like that was going to happen.
“I can’t move to Florida, Maria,” he said sharply.
“Well, I can’t move to St. Louis, Garrett.”
A sudden rush of anger sent a flush of heat over his face. “You could if you fucking wanted to,” he accused.
“That’s undoubtedly true. If I had a good enough reason—but I don’t think hot sex is a good enough reason, you know?” There. Take that.
He stared at her but had no comeback. He began drumming his fingers on the table as if pissed, and when the waiter passed by, he raised his hand and signaled for the check, making her stomach plummet in disappointment.
