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She felt foolish when the man pulled off his helmet, revealing he was not Cole at all.
Of course.
He didn’t know where she lived and didn’t seem to care to find out.
It was over.
She’d chanced it and lost. And it hurt. If Cole had dropped to his knees, asked her to marry him, she would have. Without question.
“And then I would havethreeex-husbands,” she muttered, resting her chin atop one of her knees as she settled back on the window seat.
“You said something, Miss Rossi?” one of the movers asked.
She glanced at the young man with skin as dark as midnight. He really was attractive. “Ms.,” she corrected with the hint of a smile. “I have two ex-husbands making me anything but a Miss.”
“Their loss,” he said with an appreciative eye.
He was young and fit with a beautiful smile. Just the type to have a wonderful afternoon of fun with—if Cole didn’t already occupy her thoughts, keeping her from letting any other man occupy her bed.
No matter how much she missed a man—one particular man—in her bed.
She gave him a shake of her head to gently curtail any attempt at his garnering her attention. He gave her a regretful look and another flirtatious smile before leaving the apartment.
She was thankful when the movers were done in the apartment, having finished setting her belongings where she liked and enjoying the chili she’d prepared. The space was so small that she’d felt cramped with the two men in it. As soon as she closed the door behind them, she turned to lean against it in relief as she looked around.
This was her new life.
A small apartment. Single. Heartbroken.
And lonesome.
Again.
She kicked off her fuzzy slippers and tucked her bare feet beneath her bottom as she sat on her leather sofa. She scrolled through photos of her and Cole. Smiling at some things. Laughing at others. Getting heated at a few that were X-rated.
She was so tempted to call him. Question him. Push back against his misconceptions about her.
Jillian looked at a photo she’d sneaked of him as he’d stepped out of the shower.
Plead with him.
Her eyes dipped down to his package. Sex was the only thing they could do right.
But she wanted more.
“I need more,” she said, dropping the phone and once again—for what seemed the millionth time—wrestling the urge to call him.
Love was in the mix and there was no more going back to casual sex when her heart was on the line.
She stood and walked over to her kitchenette to pour herself a glass of red wine. “Hewas wrong.Heended things.Heshould call me,” she said before taking a deep sip.
He broke my heart.
She turned and leaned her buttocks against the counter.
He accused me of wanting more with Warren.
She took another sip.
