Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
M ichaela woke to harsh sun streaming through the window. What time was it? Long past dawn, she knew that. The glaring light burned through her eyelids with the hard brightness of the morning after. Too much wine, too many cocktails, too much reality. Everything was different the morning after.
Oh God, what had she done?
She’d slept with a client.
She’d slept with Troy .
And it had been the best sex of her life. The best sex ever . She didn’t exactly scramble out of bed and run before he could touch her. But she knew exactly where touching would lead. And she couldn’t go there. It was too terrifying. It made her too vulnerable.
Pretty much crawling out of bed, she hoped she wouldn’t wake him.
But as she stood, butt naked, by the side of the bed, he said, eyes still closed, “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back.” Then she went straight to the bathroom, where her robe hung on the back of the door. When she had it on and felt sufficiently fortified, she stepped out, and, as calmly and coolly as he had, she said, “I’m desperate for coffee.”
All she really wanted was to climb back into that bed and have her wicked way with him over and over. She wanted to store up the sensations, the sighs, the whispers, the shouts of their bliss.
But he was smiling. “How do you like it?” Then he winked. “I mean your coffee.”
She couldn’t help answering, “Rich and creamy.” It sounded like a sexual innuendo. Or an invitation. God help her, it was probably both.
She rushed from the room, moving so fast she almost tripped on the stairs, grabbing the railing before she tumbled to the bottom. In the kitchen, she filled the filter, then dumped it in the trash, completely forgetting what she was doing.
She had visions of spending all day in bed with him. Which could never happen, because he was a client, and she never slept with clients. Especially not billionaires who thought they could have anything they wanted.
Her head knew Troy was nothing of the kind, but the fears filling her heart couldn’t help shrieking at her. She’d known way too many frogs. But she’d never kissed a frog like Troy.
For the first time, she wondered if a frog could truly turn into a prince.
But that was the most frightening thing of all—to have hope, only to find out that, no, frogs never turned into princes. That was only in fairy tales.
The second attempt at coffee had brewed, and she’d set out mugs and creamer and sugar because she couldn’t remember how he took his coffee, when he entered the kitchen, fully dressed.
She sure as hell hadn’t expected that. What had she expected? Boxer briefs and a T-shirt? Naked? But she pasted on a bright smile, poured him a cup, and shoved it at him across the counter.
After stirring in a little cream, he sighed. “Ambrosia of the gods.” He drew a finger lightly across the back of her hand, sending a shiver through her. “And you are the ambrosia of the goddesses.”
She blushed. Especially when it reminded her how he’d feasted on her several times last night.
He set his mug on the counter. “The absolute last thing I want to do now is leave.”
Her fear-ridden heart shriveled even more.
“But there’s a meeting I’ve rescheduled to this morning, and I can’t miss it.”
She couldn’t stop the words from flying out of her mouth. “But it’s Sunday.”
She wanted to kick herself, but in her bare feet, a kick wouldn’t have done any good. He took two steps closer, the scent of sexy man and their lovemaking wrapping around her.
“I know.” His voice was so soft, so tender. “But they’re in Hong Kong, and after I had to cancel the last meeting, today was the only time that worked for all of us. I want to make the deal for those boots you loved.”
He made it sound like she’d been the deciding factor.
But he had to leave. Shouldn’t she want that? So she could regret and regroup and rebuild her battlements? Yes, that’s exactly what she wanted.
Even if her whole body was screaming for him to stay, even her fear-shriveled heart. Because last night had been so good, so perfect. Because her body still buzzed with all the sensations he’d instilled in her. She could smell him, taste him, want him.
And those were all the reasons he needed to leave.
She picked up her coffee mug as though it made a wall between them. “I understand completely. I’ve got a million things to do too.” She turned and headed toward the front door, assuming he would follow, saying over her shoulder, “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
She thought he said, “Wait a minute,” but she didn’t stop her headlong flight and stood with the door open, her hand on the knob, when he reached her.
“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got a few minutes.”
But she waved a hand, the coffee sloshing in her mug, “I don’t want to make you late. This is a big deal for you, the shoes and boots. You need to close it.” She had to add, “And I’ve got a million important things to do.”
He tipped his head, studying her. “You just said that.”
She wondered if he saw through her act.
When she didn’t answer, he said, “I’ll call you later.”
She waved the coffee mug again.
He was on the threshold, almost out the door. All she had to do was close it behind him. Then she could breathe, she could think, she could strategize, she could decide.
Except that he wrapped one warm hand around the nape of her neck and reeled her in.
She didn’t have time to pull away. Maybe she didn’t even try.
His lips were warm and supple and sweet like cream and rich like coffee.
She opened her mouth to him before she could even think about it, and he delved deep, reminding her of how deeply he’d filled her last night.
Reminding her of all his kisses and all the things his delicious tongue could do.
He pulled her flush against him, and she felt exactly where his mind had gone, felt him hard against her.
She clutched his arm to keep herself upright, because she wouldn’t fall at this man’s feet.
He kissed her like he couldn’t get enough of her. He kissed her like he would surely be back for more. He kissed the breath right out of her. He kissed her until all her bones were melting, until her body was liquid for him. Ready for him. Needing him. Wanting him.
Just when she thought she might beg him to stay, he stepped back. Still holding her by the nape, he murmured, “Something for me to remember you by.”
Then he walked away, got into his car, and drove off.
She was too stunned to move.
He hadn’t said “something for you to remember me by.” Which would have been cocky and arrogant.
No, he’d made it about her.
It could have been five minutes before she realized she was still standing in the doorway, wearing only her robe, her feet bare, her grip so tight on her coffee mug that it might break, her mouth open, her fingers to her lips. Still tasting him. Still breathing him in. Still wanting him.
Then, as if her limbs couldn’t move fast enough, she slammed the door, set her mug on the foyer table, raced up the stairs.
And stopped in the bedroom doorway to look at the mussed bed.
The room still smelled of their loving. Still smelled of him, that unique manly scent that was only Troy Harrington.
She stood looking at the bed, wishing he were still in it, wishing she were still in it with him.
What was the old saying? If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.
She was not a beggar. And he was not a horse. And it was possible that she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.
Her mind was a blur of thoughts.
I know I wanted it. I know I kissed him. I know I invited him to the house in the first place. I knew this was going to happen. I even planned it. I threw that last game so I could kiss him.
But the fear was overwhelming. What did she do with the man now?
She couldn’t handle an affair with him. Yes, he’d said all those pretty words.
But Troy Harrington was a playboy. He’d hired her to match his sister because he knew he would win the bet.
He certainly knew about women, about sex, about romance, about seduction.
But what could he possibly know about love ?
Then the thought struck like a hammer inside her head.
Good Lord, she could be falling in love with him . Falling in love with a man who’d made a bet that he would never fall in love.
It wasn’t possible.
Falling in love wasn’t a gentle plop onto a soft mattress. No, it was a fall from a great height onto solid concrete. It could wreck you.
With her mother off having a fabulous time, with no one else in the house, with Troy gone and that mussed bed reminding her of everything she’d done, she could finally admit the truth.
She was afraid. Afraid he was out of her league. Afraid a relationship between them could never work. Afraid to try after too many frogs who hadn’t been princes.
But then, she’d never kissed a frog like Troy.
Never wanted so badly for her frog to turn into a prince.
But was she a princess worthy of him? No, not that word.
She knew her own self-worth. But she’d always known she could never be part of his world.
What if she went to parties with him, and all the bigwigs cold-shouldered her?
What if he started feeling like she was a millstone around his neck?
What if there were princesses out there who would appeal to him more than she ever could?
What if he got tired of her?
She’d always figured out the frogs she’d kissed before she fell for them completely.
She’d never had her heart broken. But with Troy, it was a very real possibility.
And once her heart was broken, it would probably be another thirty years before she could ever trust it to anyone again. Just like her mother.
After last night, she would never survive watching Troy walk away when he tired of her.
Which meant she would have to walk away first.
She was freaking out, Troy was sure of it.