It smells of clean linen. It does not, unfortunately, erase the memory of his oh-so-masculine, knee-weakening scent.
I fling the pillow aside and swing my legs over the bed. My feet hit the cool parquet floor. I wrap the hotel bathrobe around myself and stalk to the minibar.
Let’s see…Juices. Water. Snacks.
And—oh, thank God!—a tiny screw-top bottle of red wine.So classy.
I twist it open and drink straight from the bottle, not bothering to check the label. I’m past caring. All I want is to silence my thoughts so I can fall asleep.
A long swig. Then another.
I pick up my phone from the nightstand. Millie’s reply from earlier stares back at me.
So cool!!! When are you back?
I scroll up to my message to her.
I might have to spend the night here. Will call and explain soon. All OK. Kiss
After sending that text and receiving her reply, I told Alex I needed to call Millie and the housekeeper, too. He gave a neutral grunt. I couldn’t even look him in the eye.
“Well,” I mumbled. “See you around.”
And then I scurried away like a would-be killer inMinority Report,fleeing the scene of my yet-to-be-committed crime before Tom Cruise and his team arrived.
I gulp down the last of the wine and lower myself into the armchair by the window. It’s one of those plush things that looks better than it feels. I curl my legs under and suck the remaining drops from the bottle.
This is ridiculous.
I’m thirty-five. My sixteen years with Geoffroy were a fairy tale at first, then hell. I’ve survived a marriage no one should have to endure. I should be immune to this. Tohim.
But my hormones disagree.
I press the bottle to my forehead. It’s cold and sticky. Not helping.
I am officially too horny to sleep.
Hey, I could ask Alex if he has sleeping pills!
What a preposterous idea! First, he might be fast asleep. Second, I don’t even know where his room is.
And maybe he’s not even here. Maybe he’s out in some exclusive dark-velvet club with dim lighting, drinking overpriced vodka and surrounded by strippers and hookers.
That’s what Geoffroy would’ve done.
The thought slams into me harder than it should. I slide my feet into the hotel slippers and start pacing back and forth with short, sharp steps. It does nothing to help me shake the image of Alex surrounded by latex and sequins.
It shouldn’t bother me. It’s none of my business. I don’t want him.
I don’t want him.
I ball the sides of my bathrobe in my clenched fists, and then stop in front of the minibar again and glare at the bottle I drained.
Why am I still awake?Still restless? Still… bothered?
I whip around and pace again.
A door creaks open down the corridor, followed by footfalls. Then silence.
