Nick groaned and rolled to his back. He awoke to an extreme feeling of loss and an unforgiving hard-on. After hours of making love, he’d fallen asleep content with Rebecca in his arms. But in the light of a new day, he’d awakened alone. He sat up and pushed his hair out of his face. He rubbed his eyes and glanced over at the abandoned spot next to him.
His face warmed from a morning after guilt that overwhelmed him like a bad hangover, as opposed to the night before. Because as soon as she walked into the bathroom, guilt was the last thing he’d felt.
He couldn’t figure out what made him feel guiltier, the fact that he’d slept with a woman other than his wife, or the fact that he didn’t regret it in the least. He couldn’t. When he was inside her it felt as if her body had been created just for him. When she held him, when she kissed him, it felt like home. Maybe what he’d done was wrong. And if it was, he was okay with that. Because he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t erase the night, even if he could.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
Damn!
It was already nine o’clock. His plan had been to check on Vera before he went to work, but since he’d woken so late, he wouldn’t have enough time. He’d have to visit her during his lunch hour.
He sighed and peeled back the covers, vowing to get through the day without obsessing over the extremely erotic night he’d spent with Miss Rebecca King.
KING
Rebecca looked up, admiring at the priceless Monet while she waited for Ken, a maintenance supervisor for the museum, to pull it from the display.
“What else do you need?” he asked.
“The Jackson Pollock from the modern art display.”
He nodded. “We’ll have it in your studio by three.”
“Thanks, Ken.”
“No worries. I gotchu.”
She disregarded the museum patrons and returned her attention toThe Keys, Pollock’s colorfully abstract painting. It was bright, bold, and eye-catching, a work of art indeed.
“Miss King?”
She sighed upon hearing the familiar voice. It was super early when she’d snuck out of the bed. She was dressed and out of the house before he woke up. The night before, she’d fallen asleep in his arms, totally content. But when she woke in the morning, the fact that she’d just slept with a married man whose wife was on life support was too much for her to handle.
Though she understood that his wife was brain dead and being kept alive only to birth their child, her guilt rested on the fact that he was already suffering from a great loss. He simply had enough to deal with. She didn’t want to add her death to his already full plate. So, she ran. But there he was in her place of employment. And to make things worse, he was looking like a giant snack in jeans and a t-shirt that fitted to perfection.
“Hey.”
“Do you have a minute to talk?”
Ken climbed down from his ladder. “I’ll have the paintings moved to your studio within the hour,” he assured with a smile.
“Thanks a bunch, Ken.”
He nodded and walked away, leaving her to deal with the issue she had tried to avoid when she’d snuck out of his bed.
“Walk with me?” she asked with a nervous smile.
“Lead the way.”
They walked silently down a corridor, passing admirers of the painting-covered walls. Soon, they entered a restricted hall that led to her studio. She unlocked the door and held it open.
“Come on in.”
When they stepped inside, Nick looked around. He nodded, taking in the room as if he finally understood what it was she did for a living.
“Do you wanna sit?” she asked, gesturing toward a small sofa on the far side of her studio.
“Sure.”
