voice of the woman in my arms. ‘It must have been hard for you, the other day, hearing Graham mistake me for her. He was remembering a time when you two were happy together, wasn’t he?’
‘Perhaps.’ The reminder of my father, of how his mind is stuck in the past and seems to have no recollection of the way Sadie behaved at the end of our relationship, snaps the door open on everything I want to forget but can’t. I want to enjoy this moment—the aftermath of great sex, the pleasure of taking the time to hold Blair, to string tonight out as long as possible, to get to know her better—but instead I’m dragged back to the wide, gaping chasm of uncertainty in my life.
She runs her hand through my hair as if she’s drawn to touch me, almost as if comforting me, but we don’t know each other well enough for that. I stare deeper into her eyes, seeking the blissful escape of the pleasure we found in each other, and my cock stirs as if it’s nineteen again. But I’m thirty-five. I have responsibilities. There’s no margin for anything else.
I press a final kiss to her mouth, rolling away before my dick gets any more ideas.
‘Where are you going?’ The lingering understanding in her eyes gives me pause, where it should scare me off. Because we’ve both been hurt, but getting close enough to care, to feel the protective stirrings building inside me, is a big red flag waving in my face.
‘I’m going to run that bath. And then I’m going to let you sleep for a couple of hours before I drive you home.’ I silence her objections with another brief kiss. ‘All part of the fantasy service,’ I add where she would have interrupted with some assurance of her independence. I wink for good measure, the uncertain quality of my pounding heart reminding me of my tattered and forgotten casual rule and how close I’m skating to the fine line of caring too much. Perhaps it’s the age difference that inspires such urges towards her—completely ridiculous, because I’ve never met a woman more capable, or more determined to go it alone, than Blair.
‘Thanks, Reid.’ She accepts my change of subject with grace and a small, sexy smile that leaves me aching to climb back into bed and wring a bit more numbing pleasure from us both. ‘I had a good time.’
I smile too, the finality of her statement and the absence of my answering relief scooping out my insides and leaving me hollow.
Blair
A FEW DAYS later I’m working on some last-minute preparations at the Faulkner, and, despite the fact that it’s Sunday and not only is Reid unlikely to be working, but is even less likely to walk into the hotel where I’m occupying the deserted seating area with my laptop, my eyes stray to the front doors every five minutes.
I close down my emails, stretching out the kinks in my back and recalling the astounding night I spent in Reid’s bed—the very reason said kinks are there in the first place. Wow, did I get more than I’d asked for? Talk about overachieving... As I’d known he would be, Reid was as phenomenal between the sheets as he is at the Faulkner helm. It took two days before I stopped feeling the after-effects between my legs, not that the erotic dreams prolonging the experience even while I sleep show any sign of abating.
I stare at the insipid watercolour prints on the walls, my gaze blurring out of focus as I contemplate what other fantasies I can request. I might have to come up with one or two fresh ones, perhaps even a bit of kink, just to keep him on his toes... Don’t want him becoming complacent, have him thinking he’s too good, especially as he seems to have embraced my teasing him about our age difference.
The only downer was when he gently probed about Josh. I opened up to him where I’ve barely told anyone—friends or family—the full details of the split. A surge of acid burns my chest, reminding me I’m not quite as over his betrayal as I’d assumed. But I’ve worked so hard to put all that behind me, to focus on rebuilding what Josh stole and move on, there’s no way I’m allowing what I have with Reid to be tainted.
Thinking of Reid’s well-endowed prowess drags my mind off into fantasy land again. Which is presumably how I miss his approach.
‘Off in your imagination again, I see.’ His scent envelops me, warm and spicy, and his breath ruffles my hair. I stand, concealing the instant incendiary effect he has on my body with boring old fright as I clutch one hand to my chest. I hide my delight at seeing him, although it makes my breath catch.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to make you jump. I thought you’d seen me come in.’ His smile kicks up one corner of his mouth and I wish he’d kiss me, remind me of the exhilarating thrill I feel every time we touch, but he stays at a distance designed to leave me achy and craving.
‘No... I was...working.’ Then an alarming thought occurs—perhaps he’s done. Perhaps one night was enough for him. Perhaps we racked up enough orgasms between us that he’s reached his casual threshold. I probe my own feelings, nowhere near done with him. I have years of yearning and crushing to sate. I’ll just have to convince him to play out a few more fantasies...
He glances down at the blank screen of my laptop, one eyebrow arched. ‘Ah...work...that’s what we’re calling it these days. More like daydreaming...off in fantasy land again?’ He grins as if he has a front-row seat to every graphic play-by-play in my head—as he pretty much does, because I’ve told him—his eyes dark with his particular brand of intensity, seemingly equipped with laser beams, for all the protection my clothing offers.
I breathe a sigh of relief—he’s not done yet either.
The teasing tone of our banter reminds me how much we laughed together on the ride back to my place after the incredible night of mind-blowing sex. Reid has a tinder-dry sense of humour, with glimpses of self-deprecation that make me want to snuggle up to the massive man, as ridiculous as that sounds. It’s then that I register he’s wearing a grey T-shirt and relaxed black jeans. It’s been years since I’ve seen him in anything other than a suit. He looks edible, and I can’t help the shudder that originates in my core and passes through my entire body. Because I know what he looks like under those clothes—his big frame covered in toned muscle and a manly smattering of dark hair. I know what he’s packing beneath his fly—the biggest, most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen. And no matter how naively I believed this would just be sex, neatly compartmentalised sex, things can never go back to the way they were between us. Because I’ve experienced forbidden, and it has the potential, if unchecked, to ruin me.
‘Why are you working on a Sunday?’ he asks, his hands slung casually in his pockets, dragging my willing eyes south.
‘I’m just catching up on last-minute checks, and ensuring everything is ready for tomorrow. You’re here too,’ I counter his gentle reprimand.
He steps closer and I glance around. We’re still occupying a professional or friendly space, but the air is tense as if any second one of us could close the distance, reach out and touch, making it clear to anyone who noticed that we’ve crossed a line and can no longer be considered acquaintances or even friends.
‘I’m meeting my family for lunch. They’re moments behind me.’ He looks down at my hand hanging by my side, and I wonder if he intended to reach for it but stopped himself. My fingers twitch, the entire limb taking on an awkward, alien quality as if I’m a shop mannequin that’s been posed in an anatomically impossible position, because I wish he’d taken my hand.
Of course. It’s Sunday. Faulkner family tradition.
