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find that I want to stay the night, my body curled around hers, my arms wrapped around her, my lips on her shoulder. I find that I am already imagining the way it would feel to wake up beside her, to take her again. To watch her eat breakfast, read the paper. To see her as she steps out of the shower, all soft and warm, wrapped in just a hotel robe.
To strip it from her.
Fuck.
I was supposed to have lost interest by now, but every time I see her it makes me want more and more.
I ease myself out of the hotel bed, taking one last look at her, imprinting her on my mind. She shifts a little and I hold my breath.
If she wakes, I will kiss her. If she wakes and asks me to stay, I will.
She doesn’t, though. She rolls onto her side, her beautiful back visible to me. I watch the shift of her breathing and then step into the bathroom, softly, quietly dressing myself.
I’m almost at the door when I hear her.
‘Hey.’ A soft, gentle voice that has me turning almost guiltily.
‘Hi.’ Her eyes are heavy, her hair is a mess. Knowing I’ve done that to her—exhausted her and tangled her fine blonde hair—appeals to me on a savagely male level that I should probably be ashamed of.
‘Going somewhere?’
‘Yeah.’ I move back to her, drawn like a magnet, standing over her with my arms crossed.
She pouts. It’s almost my undoing. ‘Where?’
‘Home.’ I hold a hand out and she places her smaller one in my palm. Such an insignificant gesture and yet it signifies everything. Her trust, her faith, her goodness.
‘Why?’
‘I have an early start tomorrow. I need some class notes.’ It’s a lie. I’m testing myself again. Telling myself that I can leave her at any time I wish—see? See? I’m not addicted; this isn’t serious.
Only I can’t. Because I’m sticking to the side of the bed as though my feet are glued. She pushes up to kneel in front of me, her body naked and glorious, her hair falling over her shoulders, all golden and glowing.
‘No.’ Her eyes meet mine challengingly.
‘No?’ I grin, not resisting when she lifts her palms to my shirt front, splaying her fingers wide across my chest. She unbuttons the shirt, just at the top, and her eyes hold mine.
‘What does this say?’ She presses a kiss against the swirling Celtic script that runs the length of my collarbone.
‘I got it done years ago.’ My words take on a husky softness. It’s after midnight and there’s a witching hour quality in the air, enhanced by Olivia Amorelli and her beautiful body and glossy hair and bright blue eyes that stare through me, seeing all my hidden sinkholes.
‘It’s beautiful.’
My smile is more of a grimace. ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever called it that before.’
A flicker of something crosses her face. She kisses the words again. ‘What does it say?’
‘An té a luíonn le madaí, eiroidh sé le dearnaíd.’ The Celtic words come easily to me.
‘It sounds like Elvish.’ She sighs romantically.
I think of my penthouse and the empty bed there. I am suddenly no longer convinced I should leave the perfectly good bed here at the SleepInn Holborn, the bed with Olivia’s naked body in it.
‘What does it mean?’
I clear my throat. I don’t know why I’m hesitating. I live by the words—I say them to myself often, knowing how vitally important it is that I remember them.
‘It means...’ I pause and lift a hand to her cheek, rubbing my thumb along her soft, smooth skin ‘...that if you lie down with dogs, you’ll stand up with fleas.’
