Page 73 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

I nip the inside of her calf as I work her again. Her head rolls back and forth on the bed, her entire neck and chest blossoming pink.

When I feel her body convulse against me, I unleash. The tightening of her muscles draws every ounce of pleasure out of me.

I revel in the sight of her, eyes closed, one arm crossed over her forehead.

I feel alive with her, whole, complete. I’m pleased in a way I never experience with the random women who cross my path, no matter how much they purr or preen afterward.

I never go this hard, try this much. I hold back, not sharing the full extent of what I want to do or how I want them.

But not with Kelsey. I wanted everything perfect. Cataclysmic.

She should see what she’s capable of.

I can’t even believe she’d doubt herself. She’s more alive than any woman I’ve known.

She opens her eyes. Her thoughts must have gone a similar path as mine, because she says with a shaky laugh, “I guess I’m okay, then.”

I withdraw to discard the condom, then wrap her in my arms. “You’re perfect.” I know I should follow her lead, shrug this off, mark it complete, successful, a point proven.

But I can’t. I hold her, her head pressed to my neck, hair spilling over my arm.

She lets me, for a little while. Our skin melts together, nothing coming between us for the first time. The last time. The only time.

Something cracks in me, but I ignore it. I’ve felt it before, when my mother learned I had taken the gross-out comedy movie deal and closed her door, never coming back through it with quite the same smile for her prodigy son.

I felt it again when my sister left home for college with a parting remark about my new career: “If you were going to steal Mom from me all these years, you could have done something with it other than dick jokes.”

And later, when the romantic lead from my third movie became a lot more, and I thought we were going to beat the Hollywood-relationship curse, but then she moved on to another actor, a “serious contender,” and I learned about it from a tabloid.

I’m deep into my head, which is dangerous. I don’t go here. Kelsey is making it happen. She’s given me a glimpse into the infinite. A friendship fully blown into a life promise. A perfect match.

And yet, she’s already pulling away.

“I should go,” she says. “You really do come through in a pinch, Zachery. That was ... wow.” She picks up her dress and her bra and her shoes, holding them in front of her. “Thank you.”

Then she’s gone, through the bathroom door to her own room.

I want to go after her, tell her no, don’t find some flannel-wearing handyman from Smallville. Don’t trip into his arms or take his bagel order or accidentally-on-purpose switch bags.

But she’s Kelsey, and I’m Zach.

She’s a dream girl from Alabama, looking for authentic love.

And I’m a washed-up Hollywood playboy who never got a girl to stick for more than a month.

She got what she wanted. The experienced charmer who could make her toes curl, prove that Simple Simon was only a momentary problem.

I hear her bumping around her room, rolling her suitcase.

I close my eyes and see her clearly still, the flush on her skin, her hair spread.

It’s going to take a very long time to get that image out of my mind.

Chapter 25

KELSEYCHANGES THESO-CALLEDSHEETS

I had to escape. It was too much.

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