Page 120 of One Night Only
“Well, I don’t want to talk anymore.”
I rise from the chair, my intentions clear, but he doesn’t move a muscle.
“Sit down,” he says like I’m an errant child.
“Okay.” And I do just that. On him. Again. He laughs, holding me steady. “Sarah,” he warns but I shush him.
“I take it back,” he says as I lean over him. “Will’s not confusing. You are.”
“I won’t be anymore. I promise.”
He frowns up at me, tucking a loose bit of hair behind my ear. He doesn’t try to stop me as I lower my face to his. I place a hesitant kiss to his lips and then another and another until his mouth opens and he gently kisses me back.
It’s different to the hurried, eager ones we’ve shared before. It’s softer, sweeter even when he deepens it, his arm snaking around my waist as he pulls me into him until I can feel all of him. He makes a low noise when our bodies meet, a delicious sound that sends tingles through every inch of me, and in the back of my mind I wonder how much hotel rooms cost in a place like this anyway when all of a sudden, his grip on me loosens and he pushes me gently away.
“I’m not doing this again, Sarah,” he breathes.
“Doing what?” I mutter, confused. I shift on top of him and he grabs my wrists gently, pinning them to the armrests.
“I’m not going to have sex with you.”
“Confident much?”
“It’s what will happen,” he says calmly. “And then you’ll get some crazy idea into your head.”
“No, I—”
“Yes,” he says. “You will. And we’ll go back to ignoring each other or to fighting or whatever it is you consider foreplay.”
“I won’t,” I say, going in for the kiss again.
“I’m going out of town for a few days.”
I straighten, looking down at him. “When?”
“Tomorrow. Or today, I guess. So, you see why I don’t want to be with you right now. I really don’t want to give you that much space so you can decide to start keeping things professional again.”
“I won’t,” I insist but even as I say the words, I realize I probably will. “You seriously don’t want to do anything?”
His laughs hoarsely. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says. “I think you know that. Pretty sure you can feel that too. But…”
“What?”
“I need you to go sit in your chair.”
“You’re kidding me.”
This time he’s the one who shifts, almost knocking me to the roof. “Go,” he says. “No means no. You’re the one who wanted to be professional.”
I mutter something incrediblyunprofessional under my breath, returning to my seat. I make a show of arranging my skirt. “Where are you going? On this big trip you suddenly have?”
“Chicago.”
“When are you back?”
“A couple of days. Will you miss me?”
“Yes.”
