else at the magazine?”
She pushed away from him, sitting on the bed next to him. “I can’t work for you anymore?”
He got to his feet and found his pants, pulling them on quickly. “Of course you can continue to work for me. But I wondered if you’d ever considered an editorial job, or sales?”
“Tristan?”
“Hmm,” he said without turning to face her.
“Look at me please.”
He turned, hands on his hips. “Yes?”
“I don’t expect anything from you after this. This was just two people who hooked up at a wedding reception.”
He doubted she was aware of how transparent her face was, or how she’d flinched when she said hooked up. He scrubbed his hands over his face. The morning sunlight seeped in under the wooden blinds that covered the windows, painting the room in cheery colors. But instead of seeing the promise of a new day, all he felt were last night’s regrets.
He knew better than to take Sheri to his bed. She wasn’t like the women he usually dated. “We were friends before this.”
“We were acquaintances,” she amended. “And we’ll go back to being them again. Don’t worry about me. I might not be as used to this situation as you, but I can handle it.”
He had no doubt that Sheri could handle anything that came her way. She was strong like that. “Very well. Would you like to take a shower while I see about breakfast?”
“You can cook?” she said, with the cheeky grin he’d come to know so well.
He flushed at the way she said it. “No, but my housekeeper can.”
“What’s on the menu?”
“Whatever you like,” he said. Mrs. Thonnopulus was very skilled in the kitchen and he had no doubt she’d be able to fix anything that Sheri asked for.
“Raisin Bran and some coffee would be great.”
He nodded. “We’ll have breakfast on the balcony. I’ll use the guest bathroom down the hall.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I can use that one.” Then she turned bright red and looked around his room. “I’m going to need something to wear.”
“I’ll bring in some clothes for you. You wear a size six in the States?”
“Yes, I do. But…whose clothes are they?”
“My sister’s.” Thanks to Blanche, he had grown up in a household where discussions had routinely centered on fashion. He knew equivalent sizes. “Go and shower. I’ll leave the clothes on the bed.”
She nodded and tugged the top sheet completely free from the bed, wrapping it around her. She looked small standing there, and vulnerable.
He turned away before he did something else he’d regret, or said something he knew he couldn’t possibly mean, because he never dated a woman for more than a week. He usually only took them to his bed for a night or two and then moved on.
Sheri was no different.
He wondered exactly how many times he was going to have to say that before he started believing it.
Sheri stood on the threshold between the living room and the balcony. Looking out, she saw the place where she’d made love with Tristan for the very first time. Her body was sensitive this morning, remembering the feel of him against her—inside her.
She shook her head, trying to force the images of Tristan making love to her from her head. She wished she could forget him easily. Get the distance she knew she’d need before they were both back in the office on Monday morning.
Yet, at the same time, she didn’t want the feeling of having his body inside hers to fade.
Tristan stood by the railing. He was on his cell phone, and he gestured for her to sit at the wrought iron table that was set for breakfast for both of them. He wore a pair of black dress pants and a short-sleeved, casual shirt. He looked suave, debonair, and she felt… Well, even in the sophisticated clothing he’d provided for her, she still felt a bit frumpy.
There was a plate of croissants with jam and butter, the cereal she’d requested but in European packaging with a different name than she was used to in the States, and a small French press coffeepot.
She fiddled with her hair, tucking it behind her ear, waiting for him to look back at her. And when he did, she wished he hadn’t. There was too much knowledge in his eyes. It was clear that he knew she wasn’t herself this morning.
Tristan put his hand over the phone. “I have to finish this call and I’ll join you in a moment.”
“No problem. I can take care of myself.”
He gave her that steely-eyed look of his, but she ignored him as she seated herself.
“I’ll be right back. Wait for me to eat?”
“If you’d like me to,” she said, but inside a panic was starting. She wanted to forget about breakfast and get away as fast as she could. She also wanted to linger. Wanted him to be sitting here waiting for her. Maybe kiss her when she’d come out instead of being on the phone.
But that was just more of the fantasy she’d always wanted, and this was reality. One-night stands weren’t the beginning of a romance. They were temporary.
Temporary.
Maybe if she said the word enough times she’d start to realize that her reality wasn’t with Tristan.
Too bad she remembered the way he’d held her last night even when they were sleeping. There was some kind of closeness between them that she didn’t want to let go.
“I would.”
She nodded as he walked away. Watch him, she told herself. Watch him walk away and know that he’s not the kind of man who’ll stay. Temporary, she reminded herself again.
But dammit, she wanted him to be. Last night she realized that she’d been trapped in a box of her own making, that she’d let the men in her life dictate how she moved through life.
Last night she’d stepped outside of that box.
Instead of feeling unworthy of a man’s attention, she’d felt as if she deserved to be with Tristan. She wasn’t kidding herself that he might be the man for her. Their lives were too different. But he had changed her, and as she poured a cup of black coffee she realized she didn’t want to go back to being the woman she’d been before.
It was time she started living.
She took another sip of her coffee and felt that nervous anticipation that came from waiting. It reminded her so clearly of the times she’d sat in front of Aunt Millie’s house, waiting for her dad to show up. And he never did.
God, she was pitiful. She pushed to her feet and walked away from
