Page 23 of Impossible Love

He’s going to kiss me.

“Come on, Miss Backlund.” He spins me around and presses his large hand to the small of my back. He directs me down the hallway to my room.

Somewhere in the recesses of my alcohol-soaked, altitude-challenged brain, I wonder if he might be pulling the old switcheroo on me and is really taking me to his room, where he’ll ravish me until the sun comes up.

He’s not. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Cal urges me through the doorway to my room, flings the comforter back, and deposits me on the edge of the mattress. I stare straight ahead, which means I’m looking at the front zipper of his jeans.

“Lie back, Business Lady,” he commands. This time, his voice is more gravelly than velvety.

I do as he says. I swing my legs over and lie back on the comfortable mattress. I know this mattress. I’ve shopped for one of these, and they cost more than a Honda. Everything in Cal’s house is at the highest end of high-end. I wonder just how successful his side gig is. It’s privately held and allegedly classified, so I couldn’t find much on it. Or maybe he just has a big fat pension from the Navy.

Then, I wonder no more. Because my head sinks down into the dreamy pillow. I feel Cal tenderly taking my socks off. Then, he puts the covers over me and literally tucks me in. He sits by my side on the bed.

I haven’t been tucked in since my mother was alive. I was just six when she died. That’s a very long time to go without someone tucking me in.

“Sweet dreams.” The velvet is gone. It’s just gravel now that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

He’s sitting on the bed?

Cal looks down at me and we lock eyes again. The room’s too dim for me to see their color.

Just the desire behind them.

Hell yes! He’s going to kiss me this time. I’m sure of it. But I want more than a kiss. My skin is on fire. I should take off my pants so that he can touch me. He needs to take off his pants too.

I’m just about to reach for him when…

“Hey!”

In one smooth motion, Cal rises, leaves the room, and shuts the door. Not a word. It’s a shock to my system: so close, yet so far. One second we’re on the bed, gazing into each other’s eyes, and the next second, he’s gone, gone, gone.

I hear myself groan. That was cruel. And there’s no way I’ll be able to rest. It’s completely impossible. I’ve never been able to fall asleep while turned on. It’s a lesson I’ve had to relearn every time a man finishes with me, rolls over, and starts snoring. All without bringing me to orgasm.

What I’m feeling right now is way worse than that. My core is as hot as the engine of a Formula One race car. Sleep? Forget it. Or…

It might be the alcohol. The altitude. The heavenly comfort of this mattress. Or maybe it’s the security of being well-fed and tucked in. Whatever is causing it, my eyelids flutter, then close, and I get the sensation that I’m drifting off into the softness of a lovely dream.

My eyes fly open. I sit up in bed. Where am I? I’m still dressed. I didn’t brush my teeth!

Suddenly the events of the day replay like a movie trailer. I’m in Cal MacLaine’s house. I had too much to drink. I fell asleep in his guest room. I reach for my phone and it’s not on the bedside table. I turn on the light and search on top of and under the covers. Nothing.

I must have left it on the table after dinner. This is bad. What if my father tries to reach me? Or Millicent? I put my bare feet on the floor and go to the door. I can’t go out there if he’s awake. I’ve already made a fool of myself. If I see him, I’m sure I’ll find a way to make a fool of myself again.

I press my ear to the door and listen. The house is silent. Cal’s probably fast asleep in his room, which I think might be at the opposite end of the house.

And then I remember that hot tub I saw on the back deck. Sinking down into the rolling hot water would feel pretty damn great on my body right about now. The dip might even clear my brain enough to get back to finishing what I came here to do.

I strip and grab a towel from the bathroom, wrapping it tight around my body. I open the sliding doors that lead from my room to the deck, grateful that I won’t have to go through the house to get to the hot tub.

I slip outside. I close the door behind me with a soft click and take a deep breath of the crisp, cold night. The air is fresh. Not a hint of pollution.

Even better, there’s no traffic noise or ships’ horns or the rattle of trains. All I hear is the slight rustle of the breeze in the trees, the hum of insects, and what could be tree frogs, though what do I know? But I do recognize one sound—the bubbling of hot tub jets. I follow its siren song.

I move slowly. It’s really dark, so I keep my hand stretched out in front of me. The wrap-around deck is substantial, and when I turn the corner, I see my way illuminated by the soft flicker of a string of tiny fairy lights along the railing.

There’s the hot tub, large and inviting, the bubbling water sending steam up into the cool air. I reach the stairs that lead to the water, take a quick look around the patio, and drop my towel.

---