It came out a rough, painful growl.
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes...”
And then, at last, he started to move.
He did it carefully at first, gently, with slow deliberation. Bracing up his hands to give himself better control, he kept his thrusts steady, even.
But she was more than ready by then, more than eager. She lifted her hands and clasped his big shoulders and held on good and tight as she moved in rhythm with him.
She tried to keep her eyes open to see his face above her, to imprint every burning, beautiful second of this wonder into her memory, to seal it in her heart.
But the pleasure was too overwhelming. It was raising her up, making her dizzy with the flood of sensation. There was nothing to do in the end but surrender to it.
She closed her eyes. And once again she was whirling up and up—and over the edge of the world into an explosion of light and sensation as she felt her body pulsing around him, felt him surge into her deeper, fuller, harder even than before.
And by then she could only hold on and keep sighing, “Yes, yes, yes,” as the pulsing faded down to a lovely glow of happy satisfaction.
* * *
At seven o’clock on Sunday morning, Dami gave her a robe to wear and led her to the kitchen, where he made her coffee and served her croissants from Justine’s café. She ate two. They were so good and she was hungry.
Then she returned to his bedroom and put on her clothes from the night before as he stood in the doorway, big arms across his broad chest, watching her, his expression unreadable.
Yeah, it was a little sad. A little strange. To be leaving him so soon after the complete fabulousness of last night.
But she remembered what she’d promised herself at his studio. Not to cling. Not to linger. She scooped up her evening clutch and went to him with a bright smile.
At the door to the outer hall, she kissed him. His mouth touched hers, tasting of coffee, making her long to lift her arms and pull him closer. It was early yet. They had time.
To share more kisses. To make love again in the morning light.
But no. That would only hurt more in the end. She was on her way now. Better to keep moving, go back to her room, get her things packed, call a cab....
She kept her arms at her sides and when he lifted his head, she said, “It was perfect, Dami.”
He framed her face between his hands and there was such an ache within her. The end had come way too soon. Already she missed the beauty and rightness of all they had shared. “Travel safe, Luce.”
She pressed her lips to his once more. “Have the best Christmas ever.”
“You, too.” His hands fell away.
She turned from him.
He reached around her and pushed open the door for her. She went out into the wide, beautiful hallway and started walking.
She didn’t glance back to find out if he watched her leaving him. She didn’t need the temptation of seeing him there staring after her—or worse, not seeing him.
Better not to look. Better not to know.
“Lucy, wait up!”
Her arms full of groceries, Lucy backed against the entry door, holding it open as Brandon Delaney jogged up the building steps toward her, wearing heavy running pants, a winter-weight hoodie and cross-trainers, his cap on backward.
Once he cleared the door, she let it swing shut. He was panting pretty hard, his handsome face red, his blond hair sweaty where it stuck out from under the cap.
“When did you get back?” he asked between breaths.
“Sunday.”
“Good trip?”
“It was terrific, thanks.” She flashed him a smile, wondering how he knew she’d been gone. She hadn’t told him she was going away for Thanksgiving. Maybe Ed, the super, had mentioned her trip, or Viviana Nichols, who lived in the larger apartment on her floor, might have said something to him.
Flashing her a broad smile that showed off a dental hygienist’s dream of straight, brilliantly white teeth, Brandon reached for her groceries. “Here. Let me carry those for you.”
Okay. Weird. Brandon had been avoiding her for a couple of weeks, ever since she’d put that pitiful excuse for a move on him. Why was he suddenly so friendly now?
Then again, what did it matter why he was being nice? If he wanted to carry her stuff, wonderful.
The elevator had stopped up on five. Rather than wait for it, they took the stairs. Lucy’s apartment was on the third floor. As they trudged up the two flights, he said, “I had no idea that you knew the prince.”
He knew she knew Dami? She was certain she’d never told him that.
On second thought, it probably wasn’t such a stretch that he would know. Pictures of her and Dami were not only all over the internet but they had made a few of the tabloids, too. Brandon could have seen them. “Yes. We’re good friends.”
“Wow.” He shook his head. “Amazing. Thanksgiving at the Prince’s Palace. That must have been something.”
“How did you know I was in Montedoro?”
“Marie. She had a copy of the National Enquirer. She showed me the pictures of you and the prince. You know how she is....”
Marie Dobronsky, the super’s wife, was a sweet woman. She did like to gossip, however. Lucy made a mental note not to be so chatty with Marie in the future.
They reached the second floor and started up to the third. Brandon said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him here— I mean, I heard that he does own the building. Is that right?”
“Yes, he does,” she said, and left it at that. They reached her floor. Brandon fell in behind her as she approached her door. “Thanks. You can just set the bags down. I’ll take it from here.”
“Oh, come on. Let me carry them in for you.”
She started to refuse—but wait a minute. A week ago she would have been walking on air to have Brandon carrying her groceries for her. “Hey, if you insist...” She unlocked the door and ushered him in first, pointing down the short hall that opened into her small living room and the kitchen beyond. “That way.”
He carried the bags in and set them on the retro chrome-and-red laminate table she’d found on eBay. “This is nice.” He took off his cap and looked around her tiny narrow kitchen, which had a small skinny window with a view of a brick wall. Her cat, Boris, sat in that window, watching them with a bored expression on his broad face.
