Because I’d felt it. All night. Not just the obvious, although,Jesus, the obvious, but the way he’d looked at me like I was something rare. Like I’d surprised him. And maybe that’s what made it worse.
I knew how this went. I knew how quickly men changed their minds once the mystery wore off. Once the lights were on, and your makeup was smudged, and your hair wasn’t perfectly swept over your shoulder anymore. Once they saw the full picture of all the parts you’d disguised the night before.
I didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just lay there and let the thoughts claw their way in like they always did. And then I felt the bed dip beside me. ?
“Morning, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and warm as he pressed a kiss to my forehead.
I cracked one eye open. He looked freshly showered, damp hair dripping onto the collar of a T-shirt, skin still pink from the heat. Devastatingly handsome in a way that should have been illegal before sunrise. His grin was sleepy, but satisfied. Almost like he didn’t want to leave.
“Early start?” My voice came out rough with sleep. ?He rubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah. Club by seven. Media stuff, stretching, recovery. The works.”
That disappointment in my gut eased, just a little. He didn’t look like a man trying to escape. He looked like a man being dragged away from something he hadn’t finished.
“Stay as long as you want,” he said gently. “I’ll leave a key. There’s coffee in the cupboard. The good stuff.”
His words landed sideways. None of what he was saying sounded casual.
I opened my mouth to say…something. To ask about last night. But before I could, he leaned in, kissing me again slowly, making my insides flutter, grounding me before my brain could race too far ahead.
Then he was gone.
The door clicked shut, and the room felt empty without him. The air grew cooler, and the silence was amplified. I was acutely aware that I was alone, in someone else’s house. Someone I’d barely known a day.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, my heart thudding far too fast for 6:00 a.m. The doubts came creeping back, sharp-edged and familiar.This isn’t real. He’s just nice. You’re just a convenient distraction.
I kicked my legs over the side of the bed and pulled the nearest thing over my head—his T-shirt. It was oversized and soft, still holding his warmth and scent. Just that alone was enough to make my chest ache, and it was dangerous how much it did.
Right. Pull yourself together, Kate.I hadn’t even made it out of bed before Gwen had demanded details over text. I’d caved and sent one line:
Me
He ripped my underwear.
It was enough to earn me three missed calls and a string of messages I ignored until I had coffee in me.
I went into autopilot in the kitchen. Bare feet on the cool tiles, searching for a mug, scooping coffee, and telling myself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just sex.
My body still remembered him, though. The way his fingers had dug into my hips, the scratch of his stubble against my neck, and that incredible stretch that had left me undone.
Back in the bedroom, the air still felt thick with memory. The duvet was rumpled, sheets twisted, the smell of sex and skin clinging to the space. My gaze landed on my torn lace thong, half-tucked under the bed. Fuck.
I stared, biting my lip as I replayed the moment he’d torn it away. Then, a dark thought ignited. I picked it up, spun it around my finger, and placed it squarely on his pillow. Just for good measure, I added the T-shirt I’d worn, draping it there like a challenge. Or a threat. I wasn’t sure which.
Let him remember. Let him feel it.Ball’s in your court, Taylor.
I locked the flat, slid his key into my pocket, and pulled out my phone.
Me:
Headed back to Gwen’s. Thanks for the coffee…and the other stuff.
Not leaving your key outside. Too many psychopaths in London.
I’ll leave it with Gwen.
Sent.
In the Uber, I saw myself in the window. In last night’s dress. My hair was a disaster, cheeks were flushed, lips were still swollen, and my body ached from the aftereffects of being, well, adored by Jordan Taylor. God, I was a wreck. This wasn’t just a fling, I could feel it. I just didn’t know if he felt it, too.
