was perfectly clear, but the first time she’d got a bit distracted admiring his handwriting and remembering the feel of his hands on her body.
But when she read it a second time the bottom fell out of her stomach and disappointment flooded through her.
Gone to Athens? Laura didn’t know what to think. Matt hadn’t mentioned anything about a trip so what on earth was he doing in Athens? Especially when they’d scheduled a meeting for this afternoon to discuss the budget for the restoration work.
And why hadn’t he wanted to wake her? She wouldn’t have minded. Surely he hadn’t had to leave so suddenly there hadn’t been time for a quick goodbye. Surely she was worth more than eight words, one apostrophe and two full stops.
And after what they’d shared she deserved a kiss at the very least.
Laura’s throat tightened as the note slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the bed. That wasn’t fair. She wasn’t forgettable. She wasn’t dispensable. And she wasn’t going to have another man walk all over her.
SO MUCH for assuming that out of sight out of mind might actually work, thought Matt grimly, striding along the corridor to his suite and scowling. Attending the conference in Athens had been a complete waste of time in that respect.
From a professional point of view it couldn’t have gone better. He’d networked, held discussions and drawn up agreements.
People had congratulated him on his new role and he’d been able to answer their questions about his plans for the country, for the first time feeling confident that he knew what he was talking about.
But while all that had been going on he hadn’t been able to get Laura out of his head and it was driving him demented. Much more of this tension and this aching, this clawing kind of need, and he’d snap. He’d start making mistakes and the Sassanians would wonder what the hell they’d done in voting in favour of him to restore their battered country.
Maybe he should just give in and suggest a fling. A fling didn’t mean a relationship, did it? A fling just meant lots of the mind-blowing sex he’d been missing and very little conversation.
Matt stalked into his dressing room, yanking his tie off and undoing the top button of his shirt. He flung his jacket over the back of a chair and kicked off his shoes. A cold shower. That was what he needed. And then he’d seek her out, put his proposal to her and see what she had to say.
He undid the buttons of his shirt, tugged it from his trousers and marched through to his bedroom.
And stopped dead.
Laura was standing by the French doors that opened onto his private terrace, the sun streaming in behind her giving her a blazing kind of corona.
For a second Matt thought he was hallucinating. That somehow his feverish imagination was playing tricks on him.
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