“Um.”
Her beauty was distracting, and I fought to regather the ends of my wits.
Just as she took another half step, I remembered. “Wait. Yes! We need to make plans, so we know when we’ll see each other again.”
But it was more than just making plans. If we did anything now, I really would drag her out of here, take her with me to the West Coast, keep her in my hotel room, hide her clothes, and eat her out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And snacks.
We have plenty of time, plenty.
The hard-on was winning.
“Yes. Plans. Of course.” Mona twisted her fingers in the hem of her T-shirt, showing me a sliver of smooth olive-toned skin at her stomach.
I’m sure it wasn’t purposeful or meant to make me crazy, but it was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. My body lurched forward, already consumed, while I stood perfectly still, besieged, so close to giving in.
“But—and hear me out—we could make plans over the phone, or via email. However, it’s much, much harder to do other things over the phone.” She paused for a beat, staring at me as though hoping I would read her mind, and then added, “And basically impossible via email.”
I swallowed around the scorching, thick knot in my throat, unable to do anything about the one low in my stomach. Yet.
“Mona,” I started, stopped, winced, closed my eyes, then began again. “Mona, I want you. The things I want to do to you, to your body, they require more than two hours and a ten-by-ten room. As much as I missed you, as much as I crave you, as much as I’ve fantasized about being close” —bare and touching and fucking your brains out— “we need to take things slow. Two hours in the cramped guest room of your sister’s apartment? No. That will only frustrate the hell out of me.”
I opened my eyes, stared at her pants, waited a beat, and then lifted my gaze. Her lips were parted, her eyes hazy, reminding me of that insane, primal moment between us in Aspen, in the pool.
The memory haunted me. I’d imagined so many different endings more than a thousand times. Fantastically filthy, wonderfully selfish endings. But I had zero regrets.
Gathering my self-control and a deep, calming breath, I shook my head. “And these things I want to do, they also require trust.”
Her eyes sharpened, sobered, and she frowned. “I trust you.”
“Do you?”
“Of course.”
“Then why have you been crying?”
Her mouth snapped shut.
“No, Mona. You don’t trust me. And you were right, in Aspen. We don’t know each other.”