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“You were sublime, sweetheart,” I heard him whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
I wished I knew what he meant because by the time he came back…I was dead to the world.
* * *
Waking up, I already knew I was alone in bed. I didn’t have ESP, nor did I reach over to feel the other half of the bed—it was simply a sense. Blinking my eyes open, I realized I was right. John was gone, and, sitting up, I realized the room was empty of his possessions.
Well, at least he had not kicked me out at daybreak, where, from the blinking time on the bedtime clock, seven-thirty had to be the time he had left me.
Sitting up, I rested my back on the tufted headboard and took a long breath, ruffling a strand of hair that dangled over my eyes. “Well, that’s that, I suppose. At least I didn’t lose it in some dingy motel. Five stars, pretty good for a one-night stand.”
I reached over and realized my phone was on the nightstand, and I checked for messages about my flight to Waco and my drive to Hill Country. I’d let John think San Antonio was where I was headed because it seemed easier than telling him my life story.
He’d been quite right in guessing I had a job lined up, and it was the best job I had wanted for years. Being a guidance counselor for an elementary school had finally come around, and that was where I was headed.
A text said my flight was scheduled for one pm that day, so there was no reason to rush out of his hotel—even if staying felt cheap.
I stared at the cream sheets while processing what I’d just done. I’d just had sex with the hottest man I’d ever met, and now he was gone, but my body still remembered his touch. It had been too good to be true, but nothing could come from it. Even when I knew that, I was still disappointed. We were worlds apart.
Sighing again, I looked around the room, realizing that I’d been so frazzled yesterday, I hadn’t taken the time to notice how luxurious this place was. The hotel room had crystal-dripping chandeliers, thick carpets that I could sink my feet into, and crystal shot glasses on the wet bar.
“John has to be stinking rich,” I muttered while looking at the paintings on the walls. Slipping out of bed, I went to look through the bay window that formed an entire wall, showing me the whole skyline over the city.
I wanted John back, but…
God, I couldn’t stand myself.
There was nothing to regret. We had a good time. It was a friendly conversation and incredible sex. What was there to be sorry about, that John hadn’t given me a commitment or even told me his last name?
It was a good time, Rayna. Let sleeping dogs lie.
Turning, I headed to the bathroom but stopped as I passed the bedside table on the side he had slept and saw the note on top. John had a strong, masculine hand.
Rayna, you have no idea how hard it was to leave you here, but I had to get to my flight, and I didn’t want to wake you. You’ve given me a night I will not forget any time soon, and I hope you’ll take advantage of the hotel until you have to leave as well. Anything you want is available to you; call down and ask. I don’t think we’ll cross paths again, but I wish you all the best.
John.
I…did not know what to feel after that.
I found the bathroom fully fitted with a tub big enough to seat three people, a glass door, and a walk-in shower with a rainfall shower head and side jets; then, I stepped inside, still feeling pitiful.
I hoped by the end of the shower I’d get over it, over him. I had to.
Washing generously, I let the hot water sluice away the tension in my body while I forced myself to think about my new job in Hill Country.
I stepped outside, wrapped up in a thick towel, and then went to dress while calling down for a breakfast tray. I didn’t want to linger in the room too much after I ate, and while I waited—for some reason, masochistic, I reckon—I tucked John’s note into my handbag.
I glanced around the room at all the luxurious things around me. It was all good and well, but it was not for me. I sighed and turned to the nearest mirror. “Time to get back to the real world.”
ChapterThree
John
Six Weeks Later
After another long, international business flight, malfunctioning interpreting software—I’d come so close to calling Umamashi Hisoke’s wife hisjackass—I was back home on my ranch.
With a relieved grunt, I left for the house, eager to see my daughters later on but not so eager to catch up with the paperwork I was sure was piled up in the office, waiting for me.
