Page 12 of As You Crave It

CHAPTER FOUR

WHENQUINROLLED over in the strange bed, his eyes fluttered open as he inhaled a floral scent on the pillow. It took several seconds before he realized where he was. He looked around at the opened moving boxes that lined the walls, and he remembered he was in Celia’s bedroom. It all came back to him—meeting her at the club, sitting with her on the beach, walking her home, kissing her like he might die without her. He thought it might have been the result of the sexiest dream he’d had in a long time. But it had all been real. He located his cell phone and watch, which he’d left on the bedside table, and saw that only a couple of hours had passed since they’d gone to sleep. He reached over to find Celia’s side was cold and empty.

Where was she?

He stood from the bed and found his pants and pulled them on. Carrying his shirt, Quin followed the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen. From his spot in the entryway, he watched Celia, standing with her back to him, looking out the window into the backyard. Her dark mane was pulled up into a loose bun, and he saw the fine hairs on the back of her neck; they begged to be touched. She looked so peaceful and deep in thought that he didn’t want to disturb her.

“Hey,” he said, finally getting her attention.

She turned. “Oh, hi.”

He pointed to the coffeemaker. “Mind if I have a cup?”

“Not at all,” she said, reaching into a cupboard and grabbing a mug for him. “Do you still take it black?”

“I do. Thanks.”

The navy-and-gold logo on the mug made him do a double take. Seacoast Prestige. Weird. He was too sleep-deprived to give it much thought as he poured coffee into the mug. It reminded him that he had to get home and get some food before quickly packing and heading to the airport. But not before he and Celia had an important conversation.

He could see that she was distracted. “Are you okay?” She may have changed her hair color, but she was still the same Celia he’d known years ago. Her mind was occupied by something, and he knew exactly what that something was.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He nodded. He wished like hell he could take away the awkwardness between them. He’d had lovers, but leaving shortly after they were done was his specialty. He never stayed the night—or for a few hours in the morning—but this stunted post-sex conversation was new and frustrating for him. He had no idea how to gracefully extricate himself from the situation, and still maintain the friendship. He’d waited eight years to see her again, and he wasn’t going to let her slip away now. Hell, Quin would even give up sex with her forever, if they could just go back to being friends. He hoped that they hadn’t ruined everything the night before. “Last night was great,” he told her. “I guess this morning would be more accurate.”

She nodded. “Yeah, it was. Honestly, it was a long time coming,” she said.

“I think so, too.”

She took a deep breath. “But you know it probably shouldn’t happen again, though, right?”

That was disappointing to hear. He and Celia had been great together in bed. But, of course, she was right. He drank from his mug to hide his frown. “Is there anything we need to talk about?”

She shrugged. Her gaze was caught on his chest, so he put down his mug and put on his shirt. “Probably. But what else is there to say?”

“Are you sorry it happened?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

“No. I wouldn’t have invited you in, or invited you to stay, if I didn’t want it.”

“I’m glad. I’d hate to think I’d imposed in any way.”

“But I meant everything I said to you last night, though,” she told him. “I can’t let myself fall for you again. But I do want to be friends. We were always good at that. And we never had any of this awkwardness,” she said, waving her hands back and forth between them.

“You feel that, too?” he asked with a chuckle, feeling more at ease already, now that they’d addressed it.

“Maybe it’s for the best that we never had a romantic relationship, no matter how much I’d wanted it back in the day.”

“Sex can have the potential to complicate things.”

“Yeah. Let’s not let it complicate things any further, okay?”

“Maybe we should leave this as a one-night thing,” she said. “Chalk it up to just eight years’ worth of unfinished business that we had to get out of our systems. And let’s just try to be friends again.”

“No more than scratching an itch,” he agreed.

“Exactly.”

“Sounds good to me.” He drained his mug. “Thanks for the coffee. I should be running. I’ve got to get breakfast and then pack.”

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