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CHAPTER8
Her plan had been to shower together, give him a blow job to remember, then make love, because all they’d done was fuck long into the night. They’d talked and laughed, too. But the sex had been fucking, not making love, and she sighed longingly, like a dope. She knew he had work to do, but wished he could accompany her to the reunion so she didn’t have to do it alone.
Like she did everything.
But she’d slept, and he was up. So she watched him while lying in the bed, a pile of goo. She’d just spent the best night of her life with a man she could see herself spending the rest of her life with. What was Honduras like, she wondered? She knew he didn’t plan on living there the rest of his life; he’d told her as much, but surely, she could visit him?
He was dressing, covering the rich expanse of tanned muscle with stupid clothes—his black slacks and dress shirt, his usual attire, although yesterday he’d had on black jeans. She sighed at the memory of yesterday. Again at memories of last night.
And this morning. God, waking up with him between her legs, giving her orgasms, was almost too much.
“You’re addictive,” she murmured.
He spun around, a surprised look on his face, which quickly turned to regret.
Her stomach sank. None of the last twenty-four hours should put that look on his face.
“You’re awake.” He backed up a step, putting distance between them. She sat up, tugging the sheet over herself. She felt vulnerable suddenly, all the warm and fuzzies evaporating.
Antonio sat in the chair on the opposite side of the room with a pair of socks and his shoes.
Normally, she would watch him with the menial tasks like putting on shoes. That would fascinate her, to see the sex machine doing something so everyday, watch the sexuality exude from him while he handled his footwear.
But the sense of foreboding was too strong.
“What is it?” she demanded. “Your body language is yelling at me.”
He sighed and dropped his socks, leaning back in the chair.
“I can’t see you again.”
He might as well have backhanded her. She blinked, desperate to get her thoughts in order.
Last night had been amazing sex. Five minutes ago, she’d even go so far as to say it was transcendent.
Had she been wrong? If he was just in it for the sex, why travel to a different hemisphere and spend so much money on a hotel room? Why spend months of foreplay? Why even get to know her in the game in the first place?
Katie had been broken up with before. She didn’t fight it, knowing if one party wasn’t happy, no amount of cajoling would help. So she didn’t scream and rail at him like she wanted to, knowing it would only hurt her in the long run.
Katie swallowed, not willing to cry in front of him either. She blinked back tears.
“Okay,” she simply said, feeling utterly foolish. She’d been all in. Ready to travel to see him next time.
“My life is difficult right now. There are too many—”
“Don’t. Just don’t. Don’t try to trivialize this with one-liners. What happened last night was real for me, and you can’t take that away by making yourself feel better. If this is it, then just go.”
Wait. She was in his hotel room.
Standing, she yanked the sheet around her and practically ran to the bathroom to lock herself in. Thank God his toiletries were out of it already. Apparently, he’d been packing before she woke up, probably planning to leave while she still slept. That hurt even more for some reason. Would he have even left a note?
A soft knock at the door sounded, and she watched in the mirror as tears silently ran down her cheeks.
“It was real for me too, Cariño.”
Then she heard a heavy sigh, a thump on the door, a whispered I’m sorry, and he left.
