As he ran his hands along my neck, my arms, my chest, a warmth permeated me. Protection washed over me, and I felt at peace with the universe.
And in the flash of an instance it turned black, cold, ugly. Scared the crap out of me. I can only imagine what it did to him.
I hug myself. The sun doesn’t feel so warm now. The breeze carries a chill. If this were just about me, I might go after him.
But it’s not.
I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. I wouldn’t be surprised if he checked out– left early. The vacuum of his absence saddens me already, but I think it’s for the best. Maybe not for him, but for me. I feel like crying as I walk back to my cabin.
I haven’t been touched like that for months now. And I’m a touchy person. I’ve never had any problems with PDA. I hug my friends, my family. I don’t mind comforting strangers even. But since my pregnancy, I’ve spent the better part of my day behind a desk.
Since Brent left, I’ve been alone.
No one to touch at night.
Nobody touching me.
And over the past two days, I’ve gotten a taste of what I’ve been hungry for.
When I close the door to my cabin behind me, I give in to my tears. Just for a while. If I try hard enough, maybe I can convince myself this is hormonal.
The next morning,I don’t check the guest register. I don’t want to know if he’s left. I’ll learn soon enough.
Despite the overcast weather, I’m determined to have a good day. I’ve embraced my morning routine even more fully than usual. My exercise. My meditation. I applied a little more makeup than usual and even curled the ends of my hair. My favorite sundress and my cowboy boots finish the effect. I feel good. I feel pretty. Heaven forbid, at almost eight months pregnant, I feel sexy.
I’m determined to keep busy. We have a family reunion group. An oil executive has reserved nine cabins for the next five days. I flip through files and double check itineraries for all twenty-seven guests. This many guests in one party is a little unusual. The man has to be a millionaire several times over.
Our cabins aren’t cheap.
As I close the last file, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. He’s still here. I feel him walking through the front doors toward my desk. I gird myself against his charm when he sits down in front of me.
It doesn’t work.
“Hey.” His voice carries his normal greeting in an easy manner.
He would be gone soon enough, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel relief when he shows up to harass me.
I drink him in. That messy but perfect sun-kissed hair, his stormy gray eyes, the… rest of him.
I’d imagined him gone. Lost to me forever. Which makes no sense, I barely know him. Strike that. I probably know him better than any of the people who’d called themselves his friends. The kind of loneliness emanating from him is hard for a person like me to shake.
Still…
Any thought I had of playing it cool, fly out the window when I see the pain behind his eyes. “Hey,” I respond. “I wasn’t sure you were still here.”
He’s not as cocky today. I’m as attracted to him as ever. Maybe more so.
“I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
His gravelly voice sends a shiver through me.
“So, are you?” I need to know. “Leaving?” I can’t get a read on him this morning. Sometimes when I’m overwhelmed by my own emotions it’s hard to feel somebody else’s.
He glances around. A few employees and guests are milling around the lobby. “I need to talk to you.” He’s not asking. He’s telling me. He may be feeling a little insecure, but he’s still Colt Forrester.
“I’m working.” I sigh. He’s a guest, but this is personal. I know it. I felt it yesterday. A special connection like I’ve never known before. I’m not sure I can deal with this and then happily go back to work.
“Tonight?” he presses.
