I took a deep, fulfilling breath. I hadn’t felt this good in ages. Maybe I’d see if he wanted to order breakfast or grab a bite at the Egg Slut downstairs. We could order coffee, make our evening plans, then say goodbye for the day.
We were good at this—spending time together.
Satisfied with that plan, I let my eyes roam over him, practically whistling a happy tune. We must have fallen back to sleep after our nookie at the crack of dawn. It was probably nine. Plenty of time to make my meeting.
I glanced at the clock.
Wait. Was that right?
I squinted.
It was eleven in the morning?
I blinked. Checked again.
And the clock still mocked me with its red digital numbers telling me I’d slept far too late.
I sat bolt upright.
Trish.
I had lunch with Trish in an hour. My heart skittered with panic. I had nothing to wear, my home was twenty minutes away if I was lucky, and even if I wore yesterday’s clothes, I didn’t have clean panties. The ones I wore last night were useless.
Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I checked my texts, praying that she’d changed her mind about a check-in meeting.
No such luck.
The text from her was the opposite.
Trish: Hi, Kate! Can you meet a touch early? I have an appointment at one, so if we could meet a few minutes ahead of time, that would be great.
I let out a long stream of muttered curses, my frustration bubbling over.
“What’s wrong?”
I swung my gaze to Jake, who yawned, rubbing his eyes.
I dragged a hand through my messy hair. “I have to meet my boss in forty-five minutes, and I have nothing to wear that doesn’t scream walk of shame.”
He blinked. “Let’s go downstairs and go shopping for you.”
I sliced that notion off at the knees. I didn’t need his help. Jumping out of bed, I hunted for my clothes, finding them in a trail across the carpet. “This is my problem. I need to solve it,” I said as I pulled on my useless underwear. “Besides, it’s quicker and easier on my own.”
“But I can—”
His phone buzzed. He grabbed it, groaning as he read the text. “It’s Carson. I told him I’d go to his soccer match. Evidently, sex makes me stupid too. I need to run.” He scrambled out of bed, pulled on his slacks, and tugged me in for a kiss after I jerked my top over my head.
A boyfriend kiss.
One that said I’ll see you later.
Then he left.
Out of bed in one-minute flat.
I didn’t dwell on his swift departure as I grabbed the room key, hustled to the elevator, and darted to The Cosmopolitan’s shops to buy new panties and a basic black top. Then, after rushing back to the elevator, I zipped up to the room for a shower.
What pissed me off wasn’t Jake or how he’d left.
It was me.
I’d messed up.
I’d forgotten.
I’d gotten swept up in a whirlwind of sex and conversation and closeness. I’d been caught up in what felt like dating, getting to know him, getting to like him.
I soaped my body, scrubbing harder, trying to wash off the dirty.
This was supposed to be a weekend of research, not of lolling like a pussycat in the sun, licking my fur and purring.
And it was definitely not meant to be a weekend of feelings.
Of falling.
Of sliding into romance with a man who was clever, charming, a beast in bed . . . and a gentleman outside of it.
My heart stuttered as I thought about our talk last night.
Thought about the way he’d kissed me at the table.
And thought, too, of the intensity with which he’d taken me.
He was relentless, and relentlessly obsessed with making me feel good.
Yet, the morning after, I felt dirty, like I’d done something wrong by seeking real-world experience.
Like I should have relied on brains and research rather than using the excuse to scratch an itch.
And perhaps I should have.
I knew better—no scratching itches when they interfered with my focus.
Hopping out of the shower, I towel-dried my hair, twisted it in a bun, swiped on some gloss and powder from my purse, and pulled on my new panties.
Once I dressed, I marched out of the room, not even glancing at the carnage of the night.
I didn’t have time for romance.
I clearly didn’t have time for sex.
I hightailed it to the Bellagio, meeting Trish a few minutes late at her favorite Asian restaurant.
“Tell me what you’ve got,” she said with a grin.
I flashed back on the weekend.
Don’t you deserve this?
Every woman should feel spectacular.
Indulge your senses.
But as I shared my marketing thoughts, I didn’t feel spectacular. I didn’t feel like I deserved anything.
I felt dirty rather than decadent.
Especially since I was falling for a man who didn’t want strings.
Sort of like falling for an escort, only infinitely more foolish.
When I left the meeting, I texted Jake to tell him that I was busy the rest of the day and couldn’t meet him that night.
His reply told me everything I needed to know.
18
Jake
“Yes!”
I thrust my arms up in a V for victory as Carson scored a goal for the Cougars.
“Way to go!” my sister yelled, louder and prouder, at least by a little bit.
We high-fived each other as her kid fist-bumped his teammates by the net.
“He’s the man,” I said to Christine when the action in the game resumed.
“And so are you. Thank you for showing up. It’s really good to have you here.” She rested her head briefly on my shoulder. “For him and for me.”
I tousled her hair. “Good to be here. It’s not a chore. I love it—and you.”
“Ditto,” she said.
This was an excellent Sunday. Morning sex, family bonding, and my nephew owning the soccer field.
I couldn’t complain—not one bit.
Well, I could.
Kate had seemed slightly out of sorts when I took off this morning.
But we’d both overslept, and she didn’t have the luxury of living as close to the hotel as I did. I’d grabbed a quick shower, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and still reached the game on time. I should check in with her soon, see if she made it to her meeting, and then make some plans with her for tonight.
As Carson’s team moved downfield, I shouted, “Keep it up, Cougs!”
Christine shot me a glance. “You’re in a festive mood.”
“And why shouldn’t I be?”
She lifted a curious brow. “Why should you be? Does this mean you took my advice for the weekend?”
I held out my right hand as if showing off a manicure. “Yes, I went to the spa. Had my nails done.” I dragged a hand down my cheek. “Indulged in a facial. And then got a hot-stone massage.”
She rolled her eyes. “Smart-ass.”
“Learned it from you,” I said. Then, because I was in a good mood, I tossed her a crumb of gossip. “I took the weekend off. Spent some time with Kate.”
She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.