on the inner curve of her left breast. She ran the tap and used her fingers to try to comb her hair into submission. The only thing that seemed to work was weighing it down with water, so she kept patting her wet hands on her hair until it clung to her scalp in a sodden cap. She pumped liquid soap from the dispenser on the vanity into her hands and scrubbed her face clean, wincing when it stung her eyes.
When she’d finished, the woman in the mirror had been transformed from the slutty walking dead into a red-eyed, pale-faced drowned rat, about as far from the sultry vixen of last night as it was possible to get.
She mouthed a four-letter word. She looked terrible. Really, really terrible. Without Gina’s clever makeup and saucy clothes, she was reduced to plain old Charlie—emphasis on the plain—and any minute now, the perfect god sprawled across the bed in the next room was going to wake up and she was going to have to watch the disappointment register on his face as he figured out who he’d really come home with last night.
She couldn’t do it.
Didn’t want to do it.
Last night had been one of the headiest experiences of her life. She’d felt sexy and confident and desired and bold. She didn’t want that memory tainted with the cold reality of today.
And she definitely didn’t want to hang around while Rhys said all the right things while ushering her toward the exit. The very thought made her stomach roll with nausea.
She moved to the door and opened it a crack. Rhys was still sleeping.
Thank. God.
She pushed the door open only enough to slip into the bedroom. Then she crouched down and started collecting her clothes.
She found her panties all rolled up in the corner, a darker shadow on the graphite-gray carpet. The mesh top was near the door, her satin pants at the foot of the bed, her purse next to the nightstand. For the life of her, she couldn’t find Gina’s stilettos, and she scurried around the bedroom on tiptoe, the bundle of clothes pressed to her chest as she searched for them. She was about to admit defeat when Rhys stirred. She froze in a half crouch, naked and utterly exposed, eyes riveted to his prone form.
Please, please, please, please, don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up.
He frowned, his mouth working. Then he pushed at the pillow before rolling onto his other side, his back to her.
She remained frozen for long seconds after he’d stopped moving, keen to ensure he really was still asleep. When his breathing evened out, her shoulders dropped with relief.
She turned toward the door and nearly stumbled over Gina’s shoes. Scooping them up, she stepped into the hallway and pulled the bedroom door shut behind her. She walked briskly into the living room and dropped her clothes onto a seen-better-days leather couch. Grabbing her panties from amongst the pile, she pulled them on, then reached for the trousers. Predictably, they fought her every inch of the way as she dragged them up her legs. She was almost sobbing with frustration by the time she’d yanked them over her hips, and she had to lie on the floor to get the fly zipped. She tugged the mesh halter over her head, grabbed her handbag and the shoes, and headed for the door.
She had her hand on the knob, ready to make her escape, when she remembered Rhys’s ruined shirt. Grinding her teeth at her own stupid conscience, she went back into the living room. A quick scan of the messy space located a memo pad by the phone. By some miracle a pen rested beside it and she scribbled a quick note.
Thanks for last night. I had a great time. Sorry about your shirt, and good luck with everything.
Charlie
She reread it, displeased with the overly effusive tone. She tore the note free and crumbled it into a ball, stuffing it into her purse. She tried again but stalled halfway.
For God’s sake, what is wrong with you? You’re never going to see this man again. Write the note and get the hell out of here.
She scrawled a quick note. Then she pulled two fifty-dollar bills from her purse and left them and her missive on the coffee table. She had no idea how much a shirt cost these days, but if she gave him any more she wouldn’t have the taxi fare to get