LENA
I stood in the library for a long time after he left.
My hands were still fisted at my sides.My mouth was still tingling.And somewhere deep in my chest, a fury was building that had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with the way he’d walked away from it.
What the hell was that?
I’d asked him.He hadn’t answered.Just said “tomorrow” and left, like I was some appointment he could reschedule at his convenience.
I unclenched my hands.My nails had left crescent marks in my palms.Good.Let me feel something other than the way his mouth had felt against mine.Hard.Demanding.Taking what he wanted like he had every right to it.
Because I’d let him.That was the part that made me want to scream.
I hadn’t pushed him away.I hadn’t slapped him.I’d grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, kissed him back with a fury that matched his own, and when he’d broken away, some desperate part of me had wanted to drag him back down.
What was wrong with me?
The fire had burned low in the hearth, and the library was cooling fast.Outside the windows, snow fell in thick white curtains, muffling the world.I could still smell him.The scent clung to my sweater where I’d pressed against him.It clung to my hair where his hand had cupped the back of my neck.
I needed to shower.To scrub his scent off my skin and pretend this evening had never happened.
But when I reached my room and stripped off my clothes, I stood under the water for twenty minutes and still couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d kissed me.Like he was starving for it.Like he couldn’t help himself.
And that sound he’d made when he kissed me.A growl, low and rumbling, that had vibrated through my chest where we’d pressed together.Men didn’t make sounds like that.Not normal men.It had been almost… animal.Like something barely leashed.
I was reading too many romance novels.Or he was just intense.That was all.
I couldn’t not be.
That’s what he’d said when I asked why he was in the library.I couldn’t not be.What did that mean?That he’d tried to stay away?That something had dragged him back despite his intentions?
Stop it.Stop making excuses for him.
Turning off the water, I wrapped myself in a towel.Not his robe.Nothing of his tonight.I wasn’t going to lie in this too-soft bed in his borrowed clothes and think about the way he’d kissed me like I was something he needed to survive.
Sleep didn’t come easily.
The bed was too big.The room was too quiet except for the wind rattling the windows.And every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face in the moment before he’d kissed me.That flicker of something that might have been pain, might have been hunger, might have been both.
My father used to say “tomorrow” too.
The thought surfaced unbidden, dredged up from somewhere I usually kept locked.When I was twelve and asking to learn about the hotel’s finances.When I was fifteen and begging to sit in on a board meeting.When I was seventeen and ready to prove I could do more than smile at guests and look pretty in the lobby.
Tomorrow, sweetheart.We’ll talk about it tomorrow.
Tomorrow never came.There was always a reason to wait, to delay, to keep me safe in my gilded cage until I was old enough to realize the cage was all I’d ever been meant to have.
Raphael’s “tomorrow” felt the same.Another man deciding when and how I got what I needed.Another promise that would evaporate the moment it became inconvenient.
Turning over, I punched the pillow into shape.Fine.If he wanted to play games, I could play too.Tomorrow I’d go back to my hotel.Back to my territory.Back to the life I was building without anyone’s permission.
He didn’t own me.Not really.A contract could be broken.A debt could be paid.And a kiss, no matter how devastating, didn’t mean anything if the person who gave it walked away without a word.
I finally slept, but it wasn’t restful.
In my dreams, he kissed me again.And again.And I kept reaching for him, and he kept walking away.
When I finally woke, pale winter light was creeping through the curtains.
