I nodded as I signed the bill, but my mind wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. It was thinking of the romantic hotel room, the small bed that would put her within easy reach, and the permission that I’d given myself to treat tonight like this was real.
Despite talking all evening, we didn’t stop on the walk back to the hotel.
“I think my favorite trip was to Seville,” she said, her hand linked with mine. We strolled back to the hotel down a nearly empty street, and I kept glancing over at the relaxed smile on her face. “The food was just incredible. I love Spain.”
“I do too,” I said. “The architecture in Barcelona is one of a kind.”
“You know, I’ve never been to Barcelona. Not sure how I missed it. I’d love to go one day.”
I almost said I’d take her there for her birthday, then I remembered her birthday was in July.
Our marriage would be over by then.
Funny how the timeline that had given me comfort at one point now filled me with nauseating unease.
There would be fallout when I got the marriage annulled. And really, what did she want that I couldn’t offer her? If she wanted to make pottery, that was fine by me. If she wanted to take some classes in college, I’d make it work. She’d have some of that freedom she’d been dreaming about, and I’d get a woman by my side that I knew I could trust.
But there was one thing I couldn’t give her.
Love.
Love made even the strongest men weak. Men like my father.
She hadn’t said she wanted it, but I knew. She was the kind of person who wanted things like that, and I was the kind of guy who thought of it as the ultimate mistake.
And what the fuck is it that you feel for her now?
I cracked my neck. Obsession. Attraction.Want.
Not love. That couldn’t be it.
Our conversation stalled when we reached the hotel. I unlocked the front door with the key the receptionist told us to use after hours, and the click of the lock cut through the silence that had stretched taut between us. Fabiana’s hand was slightly clammy in mine as I led her up the stairs to our room. Was she nervous?
Our room seemed even smaller now.
I shut the door and placed the painting we’d bought at the festival on the coffee table.
Fabiana took my coat off her shoulders, hung her purse over the back of a chair, and let out a low breath before turning to me. “Should we go over our route tomorrow?”
My gaze dripped down her body, over the curves wrapped in a cream-colored sweater and a simple pair of jeans. She wasn’t trying to be sexy, but she was still the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
The wine, the conversation, and the fantasy of this being real had worn down my restraint.
I wanted her.
And I would have her.
“I can explain my rationale for which ceramic workshops I think will be the best ones for us to visit,” she said.
I walked toward her.
“They’re all located close to each other so?—”
I backed her against the wall.
She stopped talking.
“I’m listening,” I said as I slid my hand under the hem of her sweater. My palm moved over her waist and settled on her back. Her skin was smooth and supple, and I was addicted to the feel of it.
