Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I close my eyes. Even hours later, I can feel him inside me. The taste of his sweat is fresh on my tongue. The strength of his arms as he scooped me up and carried me to bed and lavished kisses against every inch of my body is at the forefront of my brain.
The safety of his gaze. The gentleness of his touch. The absolute control in which he executed every second of last night will be the bar that every man after him is compared to. But the longer I lie here and relish Holt’s hard body next to mine, the more difficult it will be to extricate myself from this situation scot-free.
Lifting his arm off my stomach, I slip quietly out of bed. The silk sheets are decadent, and I have a notion to cancel the room my family got me across town and get another one here, but I don’t.
My dress slips across my body, and my shoes and purse are in my hands in a couple of seconds flat. I tiptoe toward the door but stop when I see a notepad sitting by the little lamp on the table near the window.
Holt,
Thank you for a wonderful evening.
Blaire
I place the pen next to it and go to leave but stop again. Fishing through my purse, I find the red panties I removed inconspicuously during dinner and lay them next to the note.
With a final look at a man I’ll never see again, I let myself out.
Seven
Holt
Ring!
I shake off the dream clinging to me and swipe my hand against the nightstand. It collides with something where my bedroom lamp should be. I reach farther in my sleep-induced haze to silence the incessant ringing of my cell phone.
My fingertips hit something smooth, knocking the item—a clock, maybe—onto its side. I sit up in bed, jolted awake by the sound.
“What the fuck?” I ask as I peer around the room.
The sheets bunched around my waist are not mine. The mattress under my ass isn’t mine either. What is mine is the ringing phone that’s sitting next to a lamp that isn’t in my bedroom.
It takes a full minute to piece together where I am. And why.
Blaire.
Just like that, I’m wide-awake.
I scan the suite as I reach for the phone. The floor-to-ceiling drapes on either side of the open doors leading to the balcony flutter in the breeze. Soft streams of the morning sunlight filter through the room. The pillow next to me has a single strand of dark brown hair but no head to go along with it.
“Hello?” I ask as I bring my phone to my ear.
“Mr. Mason?”
“Yes.”
“This is Sherrie from the front desk.”
I rub a hand down my face and try to clear my head. “What can I do for you?”
“We found a credit card in the Radar Room after your visit last evening. I believe it belongs to someone in your party.”
My eyes flip to the bureau along the wall. Folded next to a statue of a half-dressed woman are my clothes from last night. Next to them, the spot where I laid Blaire’s clothes after she fell asleep, is empty.
I glance at the clock.
“I’ll pick the card up at the front desk before I leave this morning. Thank you,” I say. Before I can end the call, she speaks again.
“It’s not your card, sir.”
My forehead crinkles. “Is it Miss Gibson’s?”
Sherrie sighs. “I shouldn’t divulge that kind of information. But, yes. Gibson is the name printed on the card.”
My body feels like I went a couple of rounds with Boone in the boxing ring as my feet hit the floor. I stretch my free hand over my head and try to work some life back into my limbs.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason. May I put you on hold for one moment, please?”
“Sure.”
I switch the phone to my other hand and walk around the suite. There’s no sign of Blaire anywhere … except on my back. I stop in front of a mirror and spot scratches from her nails etched in my shoulders.
My gaze sweeps through the room again as my brain deciphers my current situation. She’s gone. That’s clear. And while my ego is a little bruised, it’s a total boss move on her part, and I can’t be pissed about it.
I run my hand over my jaw and fight a grin.
“I apologize for making you wait,” Sherrie says. “Is Miss Gibson available to pick up her card?”
I turn—mouth open to speak—when something catches my attention. It takes all of three steps to reach the piece of red lace illuminated in the sunlight. I lift the piece of paper beside the panties to find her goodbye written beautifully in black ink.
I want to laugh at her choice of words. Thank you for a wonderful evening.
First of all, I should be thanking her. Men don’t often get the pleasure of being with a woman of her caliber without jumping through a lot of hoops. And, second, who uses the word wonderful to describe what happened last night?