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Or maybe a lifetime of them.
“You’re magical.” She turned her head and kissed his ear, running her fingers through his thick hair. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
No one had ever told him he was magical.
At least, not in bed. He’d never thought of what he did between the sheets as the equivalent of making someone disappear. Though he could admit that he wasn’t 100 percent present at the moment.
Each time she’d pointed out what she loved about him, his chest had caved in a bit more. Now it was dented and dinged. Another blow might shatter it completely, and then she’d find out what was inside.
Whatwasinside?
He wanted to watch her come again. He wanted to whisper dirty words into her ear and watch her expression while he did it. That’s why he’d wanted her to look at him. Then she did, and he’d no longer been in control, but careening out of it.
He’d been overcome. Overwhelmed. Who was this woman? He’d thought he’d known. She was the four-night stand wedding planner. Lover of peach Bellinis. Wearer of uncomfortable shoes. But Rylee had become more than a quick lay or a temporary fling.
What the fuck didthatmean?
“You used a condom, right?” she murmured. “I seem to remember hearing a packet being torn but my brain isn’t firing with all cylinders.”
He had to look down to double-check, but yeah, there it was, thank Christ. “I got you, Peaches. You just lay there looking like every wet dream I’ve had in my life. I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t feel as light and playful as he sounded. Though he could appreciate how hot she looked, naked on the hotel bedding, her breasts a pair of tight peaks in the room’s cool air. When she tucked a hand under her cheek and batted thick, dark lashes, his heart literally skipped a beat.
Shit. He was losing it.
He offered her what he hoped was a smile before he stepped into the bathroom. He splashed his face with cold water and then eyed his dripping reflection.
“You’re okay,” he assured himself. “Nothing has changed. Go back out there, curl up next to her and go to sleep. When you wake up in the morning, blow her mind all over again.”
He nodded. His reflection nodded back. It was a good plan. Solid. He and Rylee had two more days together. He was going to make every moment count before he never saw her again. Staying the night was the best decision. He didn’t want to miss that sweet, sleepy look in her eyes first thing in the morning.
“Solid plan,” he reiterated. Then he dried his face with a hand towel and opened the door.
Despite having convinced himself to stay, when he reached the bed, he heard himself tell her he couldn’t. He pulled his clothes, muttering excuses about how she needed to sleep and how he’d had a long night as well. It sounded like bullshit to him, so he could only imagine how it sounded to her. Ultimately, he kissed her goodnight and left.
He refused to categorize what he’d done as running away. He simply wasn’t prepared for the heavy emotions that had ridden sidecar with making love to Rylee. He didn’t want to think about the future. He liked plans with an “ish” attached. Dinner at six-ish. Nightcaps at nine-ish. He liked surprises. He liked things up in the air. He preferred to act on instinct, whim.
Rylee wasn’t that way. She was a planner. She made plans twelve, eighteen, hell, twenty-four months into the future. He’d convinced himself that he’d won her over to his way of life.Don’t think too far ahead. Go with the flow. Let it ride. Relax and enjoy.She’d loosened up, but what if she’d also rubbed off on him?
Was he ready to be a planner?
He’d die before he turned into a rigid cyborg like her ex, Louis. That sort of pinned down, propped-up lifestyle didn’t appeal. Trick didn’t want to be a drone. Was that what a woman like Rylee expected? God knew her father did.
This was why he didn’t have romantic relationships. They hampered his lifestyle. He couldn’t make last-minute plans and do whatever he wanted when there was someone other than himself to consider.
He stepped into his dark hotel room and sat on the edge of bed, mindlessly checking the footage on his camera. Amidst the interviews of the guests tonight there were shots of Rylee. Faraway. Close-up. Sometimes she smiled, other times she looked pensive. Still others, unsure. Her smile was a bombshell that rattled his chest walls.
“Patrick MacArthur,” he muttered. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
He shook his head. Not because he didn’t know, but because he did. He was in deep with a woman he didn’t want to walk away from. A woman hehadto walk away from. There was only one word to describe his situation, so he said it out loud.
“Fuck.”
Nineteen
Rylee should’ve woken feeling light and happy. She should be floating through her day without a care in the world. But after Trick’s hasty departure last night, she’d barely slept. Instead, she’d lain awake and thought over around and through what had happened.
Coffee in hand, she made her way to the hotel lobby, expecting to run into him and carpool over to the TCC for another busy day, but she didn’t see him in the elevator or in the lobby. Or the parking lot. She hesitated, her thumb over the text message icon on her phone, before deciding not to contact him.
