How could I let him play me like that?
Step.
How could I let those unrequited everythings I feel when it comes to him resurface?
Step.
How could I be so weak?
Even worse, how can I stand here trying to put my key card in the door and question how I’m going to carry out my dad’s professional wishes when they clash with my personal desires?
This is bad.
So very bad.
“This can’t happen. You can’t let this happen,” I mutter as I move into the room. “We’re not good together. We can’t be good together. Not even for a night.” Shit. Shit. Shit. “This was a huge mistake. Christ, the last time . . .”
I kick my heels off and fling them carelessly into the hotel room as my mental chastisement for what I almost let happen reigns.
For what I wanted to happen.
The last time . . .
I undress with trembling hands, and my need to take back everything that just happened owns my every thought.
But I can’t. I know, I can’t.
And I hate that a small, unprofessional part of me doesn’t want to.
The last time . . .
Those three words keep repeating in my mind as I climb into the shower.
As I crawl into bed.
As I try to clear my head and not think about him when the taste of his kiss still lingers on my tongue.
The last time . . .
The last time almost broke me, because it was only after I walked away that I realized I’d fallen in love with him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DEKKER
3 years earlier
“DEKKER.” HUNTER GROANS MY NAME and every part of me aches as he pushes his way into me.
Our fingers link and our bodies churn with a deep-seated burn that neither of us can put out. Time after time. Hookup after hookup.
We may be in a new hotel, in a different city than usual, but dammit, Hunter knows exactly what I need, and how I need it.
It’s been a shit day. An even shittier week. And the only thing I looked forward to was this.
Him.
That thought scared the shit out of me but didn’t deter me from showing up, and it sure as hell didn’t prevent me from holding myself back when my heart constricted in my chest when he opened the door.