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He glances up at me, his eyes simmering with the kind of relentless passion every woman wants to see in “the” man’s eyes; the one she wants. The one she needs. The one that is trailing his tongue down my belly, and oh God, yes, he closes his mouth down on my nub, and suckles.
I grip the blankets and a panting, wild sound I don’t recognize myself being capable of slips from my lips. He licks, teases, strokes, using his fingers, mouth, and of course, his tongue, until I’m right there on the edge.
Everything fades but pleasure, and I don’t come back up for air until I’ve trembled with release, and Cole has pulled me into his arms. My head rests on his chest and the steady thump of his heart is like a drug mixed with wine, food, and no sleep, I can’t fight. My lashes lower and I just need to rest my eyes a few minutes before I leave.
I wake with heavy lids, blinking into a dimly lit room, the sound of a muffled male voice touching my ears. “I need the car here in exactly one hour. Right. Yes. That works.”
Cole’s voice.
I sit up, to find myself under the hotel bed sheets, naked beneath, and alone. The bathroom door is shut, a light peeking from beneath it. Light is peeking through a nearby curtain. It’s morning and I’m still here. I don’t even remember deciding to stay. It’s morning and either Cole and I say an awkward goodbye or we don’t, in which case, I have to tell him that I’m not an attorney. Then he’ll find out what my life is and think I’m now staying for his money. Or I’ll fall for him, I’m already falling for him, and I’ll get distracted, screw up my plans, and end up heartbroken.
I have to leave.
I throw off the blankets and grab my phone from the nightstand, checking for messages that don’t exist, before dashing for my clothes. In a rush of movement, I’m dressed, though I can’t find my panties, but that is just going to have to be okay. I settle my briefcase on my shoulder and stare at the bathroom door. I don’t want to leave, but that is exactly why I have to leave. I need my Cinderella with a spanking fantasy to be fantasy-worthy. I don’t want to ruin it with real life.
Regret settles in my belly; I plan to just leave, but a pad of paper on the nightstand catches my eyes. I walk to it and grab a pen, before writing:
Hello and everything that followed was perfect. I didn’t want to ruin perfect with a bad goodbye.
—Lori
I set the note in the center of the bed right when the shower turns off. Heart racing, I rush for the door, hurrying down the stairs. I picture him exiting the bedroom and reading the note, wondering what his reaction will be. Regret? Relief? Anger? Disappointment? By the time I step onto the elevator and sink against the wall for the ride, my only thought is that despite my certainty I will never see Cole again, I will never forget him either.
Chapter eleven
Cole
Iwalk out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist to check on Lori, and grab the doorframe at the sight of the empty bed. I don’t have to call out her name to know that she’s gone. I feel it and I can’t fucking explain why I feel it any more than I can explain why I want her more than I did before I fucked her. She’s different. I wasn’t wrong about that. I flip on the bedroom light and my eyes catch on a note on the pillow. I know what it says: Goodbye, but still I cross the room with too much eagerness, and grab it, to read:
Hello and everything that followed was perfect. I didn’t want to ruin perfect with a bad goodbye.
—Lori
I toss the damn note on the bed and consider my options for all of thirty seconds before walking back to the bathroom and picking up my phone. I punch in my assistant’s number. “Hey, boss,” Ashley answers, always quick on the draw and an asset I’ll miss when I start calling New York City home. “Don’t tell me,” she continues, “you need your flight moved.”
“Actually, no,” I say, more motivated than ever to wrap up things back south before I move north. “I need you to find an attorney for me.”
“Did you kill someone and it’s not made the news yet?”
“She practices in New York City,” I say, ignoring the joke, “and her name is Lori. Brunette. Pretty. Late twenties.”
“That’s all you have for me to go on?”
“How many brunette, attorneys named Lori can work in New York City?” I ask, and I don’t wait for an answer. “Get me photos of any hits you find. Send them to my email and text me when you do. This is urgent.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’m on it as soon as I get to the office.”
“Now,” I say. “I’ll buy you that damn Gucci purse you’re always talking about if you find her. Hell, I’ll buy you two. I need those photos before I leave for the airport.”
“You can’t miss your flight,” she warns, as if she knows that’s exactly what I’m considering, which is to push back my flight. “You’re in chambers with Judge Conners at four o’clock and he’s unforgiving.”
And capable of granting my client, an innocent man who had the wrong attorney before me, a new trial. She’s right. I can’t miss my flight. If I get the answer my client deserves, I’ll continue living between cities for months on end, but I can’t walk away from him or Lori.
“Cole,” she warns when I haven’t replied. “You land at two. There is no give here unless you go private, and you’ll miss your plane before I can confirm I can make that happen this late in the game.”
Game.
This isn’t a game, but last night was, and more than I knew. “Get me those photos,” I say and remembering the note I add, “She spells her name L-O-R-I.”
