My eyes stung with lack of sleep as I focused on the bedside clock. Only six in the morning.
Bill’s plane would land in less than twelve hours.
“I have to leave.” It came out harsher than I’d intended, but all I could think was that I’d have to face myhusbandtonight. That, and how every fiber of my being wanted to ignore that fact and curl up next to David. I didn’t know how I’d be able to leave him knowing I shouldn’t—couldn’t—ever see him again.
I finally let myself look at him. He’d pulled the crisp white sheets up to his muscled stomach, and his head rested back against his arm as he watched me. My matted hair fell over my shoulder, and I imagined that mascara had smeared around my eyes. Meanwhile, he looked perfectly unaffected—and just plain perfect.
“Stay,” he said, no pleading, just flat. If I allowed myself to give in even a little, my worries, my fears, my inhibitions would melt away under his gaze.Iwould melt away.
But this no longer felt adventurous or sexy. It just felt wrong. A dull pain throbbed behind my eyes as I looked for something to cover myself.
David got up and pulled on the same disarming gray sweatpants he had the other night. His sinuous, robust muscles were even more apparent in the daylight. It took every shred of my willpower not to drag him back to bed.
He gathered up the top sheet and offered it to me. I stood, wrapping myself in it as we stared at each other from across the bed. I might’ve expected the electricity between us to diminish now that we’d given in to it, but if anything, it intensified as my body recalled the night before. I longed to submit myself to him again, to feel the weight of him on top of me. I knew without words that he felt the same—by the way he looked at me, and by his twitching but restrained erection.
God, those fucking gray sweatpants hung low and left little to the imagination.
“Can I clean myself up?” I asked, shifting on my feet.
He nodded.
In the sunlit bathroom, I shut the door behind me. It was just as beautiful and immaculate as the bedroom, with a rock and glass shower that overlooked Lake Michigan.
I sat on the toilet and ran my hands over my face. I’d actually gone through with it. I’d broken my vows. I’d betrayed Bill’s trust. And if I kept this from him, I would lie to his face tonight.
Did David normally let his one-night stands spend the night?
Why was I eventhinkingabout that?
It didn’t matter. He’d gotten what he’d wanted, and so had I. It was a moment I’d furtively fantasized about, yet my daydreams were nothing compared to the reality of his skin on mine, his length stretching and filling me. The reality of him working my body as if he owned it.
I pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes until I saw white.
No.
I’d done so much more than acted out a fantasy. I had a husband and a life to answer to. What had I done? Something profoundly wrong. Something bigger than myself. Something that could never be undone.
As I washed my hands, I stole a quick glance at my reflection. I was right about my smeared makeup and tangled hair. The bruise on my face had ripened. Did I look different? How did adulterers look? Would a scarlet “A” brand my skin?
I wiped the smudges from under my eyes and raked a hand through my hair, starting at the roots. My fingers stuck on several tangles that’d formed from dried sweat. I needed a brush if I was going to fix this. I did the best I could, but it was useless trying to scrub this moment clean.
Wrapped back in the sheet, I opened the door and leaned against the jamb.
David waited on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees. “I preferred the bedhead,” he said, jutting his chin at me.
I shook my head. “Left to its own devices, my hair would put me in an early grave. It doesn’t know how to cooperate.”
“Well, I like you that way. Disheveled.”
“David.” It was part scolding, part plea. He shouldn’t like meanyway. He should keep his mouth shut and not make this more difficult.
“Olivia.” No scolding.
“Last night was . . .” I let the sentence hang, wrapping the sheet more tightly under my arms.
“It was,” he said, nodding slowly. “I meant what I said.”
“About my hair?” I joked.
