Now, in the harsh morning light, reality was setting in.
She stirred, and my body responded as it had last night. And every other time I'd been anywhere near her.
Six months of wanting her and one night of having her, and somehow I wanted her more, not less. I'd been afraid of that. Turned out I'd been right.
Her eyes opened. For a second she looked at me with a focus that told me last night had meant as much to her as it had to me. Or was I deluding myself?
Then she blinked, and I watched it hit her: where she was, whose bed she was in, what that meant for a woman who'd been saying no for six months. I could see her putting the pieces together and not liking the picture.
"Morning," I said, not daring to move in case I spooked her.
"Morning," she whispered, her tone measured.
The drywall was already going back up. But before I could figure out how to stop her, she was sliding out of bed, hunting for her clothes.
"What are you doing?" I asked, though it was obvious.
"I have a vendor delivery at six," she said, finding her bra and panties tangled with my jeans on the floor. "I need to go."
"Nadia—"
"Last night was..." She pulled on her underwear with her back to me, and I tried not to get distracted by the view. "Daemon, it was a mistake. I got caught up in the excitement, the champagne, and I shouldn't have?—"
Rather than continue, she struggled into the monogrammed jumpsuit that was her uniform, running her hands over it as if trying to take care of the worst of the creases.
"Don't you dare." I was out of bed before I'd thought about it, reaching for my boxers, because having this conversation naked felt like a disadvantage. "Nadia, don't say that. Not after last night."
She turned, zipped herself up, and then braided her hair as if to confirm playtime was over. She stood poised, shoes clutched in one hand, ready to flee.
"Daemon, we both know this shouldn't have happened. You know my situation. The business, my family. I can't afford to be linked with someone who?—"
"Who, what?" I already knew. "Say it."
"You know what people say about you," she whispered. "I can't risk my reputation on someone who?—"
"Who's slept with half the women in Coogan's Break?" I finished for her. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? Because that's my reputation. Daemon Booth, the construction guy who can't commit. The man who's good if you want to get nailed."
"I didn't say that?—"
"You didn't have to." I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building. "And maybe that reputation is fair. But last night wasn't like that. You know it wasn't."
She looked at me with luminous green eyes that saw too much. More than I wanted them to. "What was it then, Daemon?"
The truth was too big, too soon. Months of wanting her and last night had only made it worse. The itch was scratched, and I still wanted her. More, if anything.
And for the first time in my miserable life, it was about more than sex. That alone was enough to scare the shit out of me. I wanted mornings like this without the panic of her leaving.
I wanted to know what she looked like when she woke up every day. To be the guy she called when things went wrong, not the guy she regretted sleeping with.
But I couldn't say any of that. Not when she was doing her best to escape.
"It was real," I said at last. "Whatever else it was, it was real. And you felt it too."
"Daemon—"
"You felt it," I insisted. "I know you did. So don't stand there and tell me it was a mistake, like it was the champagne talking."
"I have to go," she said, but she didn't move toward the door.
