Page 20 of Remembering Passion

“They might have been intoxicated,” Damien said, “but they knew a beautiful woman when they saw one.” He ran his thumb over my cheek. “You’re more than they saw, Ella. Tonight, at the gala…damn, you’re spectacular to watch. You’re a star.”

“Like the ones watching us?”

“No, like the brilliant light that shines through galaxies. That’s who you are.”

“Damien, please don’t call me when we’re back home. I’ve worked hard to build a life—one that doesn’t include you.” I inhaled and took a step away, freeing myself from his embrace. Although my eyes stung, I kept my voice strong. “I won’t answer. Tonight was…” I couldn’t read his expression. “Tonight was our goodbye. No more of this…”

His expression fell. “Fuck, Ella.”

I lifted my hand. “It was a mistake. I’d forgotten the passion. But now I remember how completely overwhelming it is. I’m drawn to you and when that happens—when we’re together—I forget who I am. I can’t do that again.”

“Sex…fuck, we’re good together.”

I nodded. “We’re great together. It can’t happen again.”

Damien inhaled, his chest widening. “We could talk?”

I shook my head. Going to the closet, I pulled out the large white terrycloth robe with the hotel emblem. After freeing it from the hanger, I wrapped it around me and tied the sash. In the time it took me to do that, Damien had removed the condom, tied it off, and thrown it in the trash. Now, wearing his boxer shorts, he was stepping into his pants.

“Thank you,” I said.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“I know that. I also know you will.”

Damien’s shirt was on and unbuttoned. I wrapped my arms around my midsection as he gathered his things. He had his tie and cufflinks stuffed into his jacket pocket. Once he collected everything, Damien walked to me, stopping mere inches away. “You’re wrong, Ella. This wasn’t goodbye.”

“Please.”

“I told you that you wouldn’t be a one-night stand.”

“I’m not. You are.”

His lips pressed together in a straight line. And even in the dim lighting, I saw the way his jaw clenched and a vein in his neck pulsated. Nevertheless, Damien didn’t say another word as he nodded and exited the suite.

I stood in place for a full minute.

If I peer through the small peephole, will I see him?

Or is he gone?

Shaking my head, I bolted the door and turned away without looking. I managed to keep the tears at bay until I stepped under the hot spray of the shower and let them flow.

“Not again,” I said between gasps for air. “I can’t be with him again.”

When I woke the next morning, my head ached from crying. Beyond the unhindered windows, the sun shone, breaking through the morning smog. From my angle I saw the smudge on the window from the night before. Turning my head left and right, I recalled exactly how it was created. It was a work of art. But like all masterpieces, the enjoyment of the creation can only be imagined by the beholders. Only the artists themselves understand the immense passion.

After calling for room service, I took another shower.

It was odd the way our senses retained stimulations.

Aroma.

Even after two showers, lotion, and a dab of perfume, I swore I could still smell the erotic and intoxicating scent that was Damien Sinclair.

Gabriella

Holding my breath, I entered the airplane that would take me on the first leg of my journey back to Indianapolis. My muscles were sore in the best of ways—in ways they hadn’t been sore in too long. My eyes were focused down the aisle, rolling my carry-on through first class. My palm slipped on the handle and the temperature inside the vessel seemed overly warm. I’d avoided the gate until I couldn’t any longer. I didn’t know if Damien would be on the same flight. This one had a layover. Nevertheless, I wasn’t taking any chances.

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