Page 1 of Just for Tonight

Prologue

Mackenzie

I roll over and see the clock. My heart jumps.

5:42

I can’t believe I’m still here. I can’t believe I slept at all, but then… mmm. But then.

It wasn’t supposed to be more than an hour. It wasn’t supposed to be awesome the first time, and even better the second. I wasn’t supposed to feel like he understands me.

We weren’t supposed to have a connection.

I admire the back of the guy sleeping nude beside me. Gorgeous. Ripped. And a perfect gentleman. After you. I smile at the memory of his murmured promise. And oh, he made good on it, every time. My expectations have been changed forever, and I have a feeling I’m going to be disappointed a lot more in the future.

I know what I want. I know the choices I need to make, the sacrifices I’ll make for my ambitions, and I’m good with that – but in this moment, when the light is soft and shadowy and this incredible lover is sleeping beside me, I feel a teeny doubt about the wisdom of my choice. I watch him for a long minute, telling myself that I’m just making sure he’s asleep before I move. It’s not true. I’m memorizing this moment and this feeling so I can hold onto that at least.

He’s asleep, but that won’t last. I reluctantly ease out of his bed, making sure I don’t shake the mattress at all.

He doesn’t seem to notice.

Perfect. I move silently to the bathroom and take care of the minimum details. I twist my hair up into a ponytail which is nothing like my updo of the night before, wriggle back into my evening dress and carry my shoes with me to the door. My purse is still abandoned on the kitchen counter and by some miracle, my sunglasses are in it. My eye make-up is a wreck, but I’ll be in disguise.

At least there’s no chance of me seeing anyone I know.

It’s already getting light, the edges of the blinds glowing faintly. The condo must face east from the bedroom and south from the living room and kitchen. It’s a nice apartment, nicer even than I thought last night, all creamy beiges and caramel leather, with a big red Persian carpet worth curling your toes into. Not soulless – there is art on the walls and I’m tempted to linger for a closer look. Clean, too, which is always impressive for a single guy.

Maybe Jake Cavendish isn’t single. It’s a stray thought, but I know better than to indulge it. There are no cosmetics in the bathroom at all. No shoes, purses, or girly pillows. A bottle of single malt, two of good red wines, and just about nothing in the fridge. He looked there last night after our first round, and could only offer dark chocolate from Belgium.

As choices go, it was a good one.

I take one last look at him, still sleeping blissfully but now on his back. His hair is tousled, dark brown and a little wavy. He has a short beard, perfectly trimmed, and I shiver in memory of how it tickled. His mouth is firm, even in sleep, and his lashes are dark. He has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and when they twinkle, well, I could forget my own name. I sigh then kiss my fingertips goodbye. He was exactly what I needed, but what’s done is done. There can be no more.

I’m out the door, closing it silently behind myself, then slipping on my evening shoes while I wait for the elevator. Even it pings softly on arrival, as if the building wants to keep my secret, too.

There’s no one around this early on a Saturday morning and I send a text for a cab from the building foyer. Thank goddess for map applications, as I wouldn’t be sure of my precise location otherwise. There’s no one to see that I’m very over-dressed for breakfast. The cab picks me up at the end of the block, as instructed, but I don’t breathe a sigh of relief until we’re around the corner.

My hotel is only three blocks away. I’ve already booked myself onto the first train back to Havelock, which leaves in two hours. I’ll order room service in my room to have breakfast while I pack, then get back to routine. I can nap on the train.

I should find out whether we at Rhodes Vineyards won an award last night. Jake and I left the reception early, but people would be surprised at the office if I didn’t even know whether we won. The awards ceremony was the whole reason I was even in Toronto.

Here’s my real life showing up right on time. I’m in the hotel lobby, it’s not even 6:30 on a Saturday morning and I’m compiling lists, just like usual. As head of viticulture at our family vineyard, I work long hours and pretty much every day of the year. It’s not a burden. I love what I do.

I enter the hotel room I didn’t actually use and wonder whether Jake has any idea that I recognized him. (No, he wasn’t a stranger.) I wonder if he has any clue that my name isn’t Isobelle and I’m not from Montreal. (My French accent was pretty good, if I do say so myself.) It would be fun to see his expression when he found out, but he’ll never know.

Je ne regrette rien, I remind myself, and order a hot breakfast.

It was one night. It was fabulous.

And it’s over.

It would, actually, be easy to be sad about that, but I remind myself of my own mantra. One and done. Keep it simple. Any deviation from habit and things could only get complicated: I don’t have the bandwidth for complications.

I check my phone and smile at what I find. We won in our category. I fist-pump in my room, kick off my shoes and start packing.

I have a vineyard to take to the next level, and that’s going to demand everything I’ve got.

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