“What a nice way to wake up,” she whispered.
He kissed her cheek, lost in a wave of tenderness he’d never felt for anyone before.
“You make me feel wonderful,” she whispered.
“You are wonderful,” he said, pulling her close as sleep urged him back into the darkness.
* * *
SHE AWOKE ALONE.
From behind a curtain of sleep, she stretched her arm out, seeking his heat, and finding instead only a cold indentation on the sheet.
With a start, she sat bolt upright, lost and disoriented.
“Michael?”
She glanced around the room, listening, but heard no sign of him. Wrapping the sheet around her, she slid out of bed, stepping onto a soggy towel. She stepped over the curious thing, then padded to the door and opened it. She peered outside, hoping to find him walking barefoot on the beach, but already half-expecting that the beach would be silent and empty.
It was. Everything was quiet, her breakfast tray sitting on the table on the porch. She pressed her lips together,tighter and tighter, determined not to cry. Instead, she kicked at the doormat, trying to convert a bone-deep sadness into anger.
No use. And when the mat flew an unsatisfactory few inches, her willpower dissolved and she collapsed onto the porch, pulled her knees up to her chest, and cried.
She wasn’t even sure why she was crying, but she couldn’t stop. Maybe she was crying about her life back in Texas, maybe for what she’d found on this island, but couldn’t hold on to. She didn’t know and she didn’t care.
All she wanted was to purge herself, to get rid of these feelings, and she let the sobs wrack her body. She didn’t even try to hold back, just let the tears come and come until her stomach ached and her eyes burned and she had a nasty case of the hiccups.
They’d shared so much last night, and when she’d fallen asleep in his arms after the second time they made love, she’d foolishly allowed herself to believe that sharing somehow made it real.
But it wasn’t real. She’d known that going in, and she needed to keep repeating it. This was a fantasy, and by definition, a fantasy wasn’t reality.
It wasn’t like she had anything to complain about, anyway. She’d wanted to share a night of passion with Michael, and she’d certainly gotten her money’s worth. She was just being silly and stupid if she’d expected that she’d wake up in his arms and they’d spend theday sightseeing together. That wasn’t the way the world worked.
She should be ecstatic. Already, one portion of her Fantasies, Inc. request had been fulfilled in spades. She could go back to her marriage to Harold knowing that she hadn’t missed out on passion. That she had these memories to sustain her.
Still…just because she could now ticksexual adventureoff her list, she hoped that didn’t mean it was all over. She’d sort of planned on a week of passion-filled nights.
But maybe he didn’t feel the same way. After all, he’d left without even saying goodbye.
With a sigh, she stood up and wiped her eyes. Whereas only hours before she’d felt full, now she only felt like a shell of herself.
She wanted to be angry, to cut loose and yell at the top of her lungs, to curse him for leaving her. But she couldn’t. She had no one to blame but herself.
She grabbed the coffeepot. Cold. For some stupid reason, that started the tears coming again. She sank to the ground once more, tears streaming down her face as she gazed out over the calm ocean.
Damn. She really wasn’t cut out for this fantasy stuff.
