“I’m going to go hide in the bathroom,” I moaned. I turned to climb out of bed, realizing I was naked and I would have to walk the short distance across the room. Jake must have seen my brow furrow; the mattress dipped as he shifted.
“Here,” he said, handing me his white shirt. “But will you promise to come back if I rescind my snoring comment?”
After I pulled the shirt over my head, I walked across the room, feeling his gaze on me. I could get used to pulling on his shirts in the morning. I smiled over my shoulder, sweetly. “We’ll see.” As I walked, my muscles protested, sore from last night’s workout, and with each step I remembered the ways we’d contorted our bodies on the bed, in the shower, up against the wall. I groaned and then gaped at my reflection in the mirror—my hair was going in every direction and my lips were swollen. I looked happy, too, a small grin pasted onto my face when I remembered the look on his face when I’d woken up. He heard me snoring and still didn’t want to leave. I was sick at the thought of never kissing him again. And that isn’t going to work, girl, because he’s leaving . . . and he’s married . . . and he’s career suicide.
I washed my hands and tried to flatten my hair with my palms, which was as successful as my attempt at getting my emotions back in check—both ended up just as messy for my trying.
I took a deep breath and returned to the room, gripping the hem of the T-shirt and tugging it down.
Jake was sitting on the edge of the bed when I emerged. His hair was mussed, and he smiled, brows lifting. “I like you in my clothes, but you know, I’ve seen you naked a few times now.”
“I know . . . It’s different in daylight.” Stop being so awkward.
“Do you want me to go?” The way his eyes locked with mine, I felt exposed far beyond my body. I didn’t know how one glance could communicate that or could scare me in a way that made my heart jump.
“No!” I walked toward him, letting go of the hem of his shirt. “No, I don’t want you to go. I’m just bad at . . . flirting and being cute. Can we start over?”
He tilted his head, the smile returning to his lips. “Good morning, Naya.” He gripped my waist and pulled me between his spread knees. The skin on his shoulders was smooth and lightly freckled, the muscles solid under my palms.
“Good morning, Jake.”
His smile widened when I said his name, and my anxiety tapered off.
“You seem nervous,” he said, looking up at me, his thumbs rubbing small circles over my hip bones. “And, for the record, I think you’re incredibly skilled at being cute.”
I didn’t answer and, instead, changed the subject. “How did things go yesterday with your—um—with Gretchen?” I couldn’t bring myself to say wife, especially after hearing their conversation yesterday morning.
“As awkward as you’d expect, but it’s over, and I don’t have to see her for a while.”
My heart squeezed at his earnest expression.
“You still believe me, right? I swear it’s over. I’m not cheating. I would never.”
“I believe you.” I threaded my fingers into his hair, scraping my nails along his scalp the way he liked.
A low moan escaped his lips, and his thumbs stopped their circling to migrate down to my thighs.
“You get on a plane in six hours,” I said, voice breathy.
His mouth was a resigned line as he stroked my backside, then pulled me against him, still kneading in a teasing and delicious way.
I couldn’t help but wonder what the line of his mouth meant. What do I want it to mean? “I’ve only got two or three hours to make sure you don’t forget me,” I said.
I took in the look on his face, to store the details. No matter how much I wanted this to be more, I knew it couldn’t.
“Naya, I’m not going to forget you. What if—”
I kissed him, a hungry, deep kiss that stopped his words but didn’t quiet my thoughts. Don’t give me the option of “if.”
Jake’s tongue rolling with mine, the firm grip of his hands on my body, his arousal, undeniable between us—I cataloged it all, knowing I’d want to recall every moment later when I returned to the closed comfort of my office. Somewhere between waking and climbing on top of him, I’d tried to convince myself that my work would sustain me. If I kept telling myself I didn’t need silly jokes and soft touches and kisses that left me breathless if I had my research and my teaching, would I begin to believe it? I knew it was no use. No amount of hoping would change who he was or who I was, so I memorized how it felt to live this kind of life, and when we pulled apart, I cupped the side of his face. “Three hours.”