Page 32 of Choosing the right Man

But he doesn’t head straight to the bed. Instead, he moves to the couch and unceremoniously dumps me on it. I flop down, nearly falling over. When I’m sitting straight again, I glare at him. He glares right back.

“You don’t want me.” I fight how much this hurts.

He leans down, his hands resting on the back of the couch, fury in his eyes. I try to look away, but the power of his gaze makes it impossible. I have to fight tears. My boyfriend doesn’twant me, and now the man who told me he wants me, doesn’t either. There has to be something wrong with me.

“I want you so bad I’m burning up inside. My cock is so fucking hard I’m surprised it isn’t snapping in two,” he growls. My shock at his words has to show in my eyes. I can’t lean away from him. I don’t want to. My eyes automatically drop down and he groans. He grabs my hand and places it on his bulge. Oh my, he truly is hard. I give a slight squeeze before he curses and pushes my hand away, making me feel insecure again.

“Why then?” I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound.

“I don’t take advantage of women. Just as I don’t coerce them. You’re far too drunk to make this life-altering decision. When we make love for the first time, and we will be making love even if it’s not tonight, I refuse to allow you to blame it on alcohol.”

“I’m notthatdrunk,” I mutter. That’s a lie as I can see two of him.

He leans back, anger seeming to drain away as quickly as it came. He closes his eyes for a moment, then closes the gap between us and gives me one more breathtaking kiss before he lets out a sigh, and again, pulls back. He then walks away from me, and I fight to not call out to him. Is he going to leave just like that?

But he doesn’t leave. He comes back a couple of minutes later with a bottle of water, a cup of coffee, and two Advil. “Take the pills, drink the entire bottle of water, and the whole cup of coffee,” he says. Well, he demands it, actually.

“I’m not thirsty.” I sound like a pouting child.

“I don’t care. Do it.”

He leaves after I swallow the pills, and I wonder if he’s gone to his own room. But I hear him behind me. He comes back, his own cup of coffee in hand. He sits down and picks up the phone. It takes a moment for me to realize he’s ordering pancakes and eggs. He’s really confusing me.

“Are you trying to sober me up?” I hate the hope in my voice. Have I decided to sleep with him? I don’t remember when or if I’ve made that decision. But if I’m waiting to sober up maybe I have decided.

“Yes,” he answers. I look at him, knowing there’s desire in my eyes. I hate it. I hate that he sees me this damn weak.

“I’m not sleeping with you tonight. Tomorrow, don’t drink,” he warns. It’s definitely a command. I wonder if we’re sleeping together tomorrow. Is this what I want?

The food arrives, and I nibble on some while I drink my coffee and water. I’m feeling much better, grateful he insisted on this. The times I went to sleep after drinking as much as I drank this night have led to some pretty miserable mornings.

I grow tired as the food is cleared from the room. Mason sits with me. We don’t speak, and soon I can’t hold my eyes open. I fall asleep, feeling safe with Mason taking care of me. For someone who’s turned my world upside down, he sure seems to be able to comfort me, as well. What does this mean? There’s no way I’m going to analyze it to find out.

Chapter Twenty

Chloe

The hotel room curtains aren’t shut, letting in the brilliant desert sun as I open my eyes. I blink several times, trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes and come back to reality. I’ve been dreaming... dreaming of the past. Why in the world have I been thinking of Cynthia?

She isn’t the world’s most horrific mother-in-law-to-be, but I bet she’s in the top ten. The thought makes me smile as I stretch. My hand hits something on my pillow, and I turn to see what it is.

I come fully awake when I see a purple lily and a note. I pick up the flower and inhale its sweet scent, a sigh escaping me. My fingers tremble as I lift the note.

I don’t like to say I told you so, but I’ll bet the house that you feel one hundred percent this morning. Okay, I actually don’t mind at all being right and telling you. By the way, you were breathtaking when you let out a little sigh and snuggled against my chest as I carried you to your bed. It took much more restraint than I realized I possessed to lay you down and walk away. You’re the most stunning, intriguing, fascinatingwoman I’ve ever met. I want to know so much more about you. See you in a few hours. — Mason

My heart skips a few beats as I reread Mason’s words. He carried me to bed, found a flower, and wrote me a note. How long did he stay while I slept? Would I have beckoned him if I’d woken?

Even in my sleep I turned to him. He’s, of course, right. I don’t feel any effect whatsoever from my drinking the night before. As a matter of fact, I haven’t woken up feeling this good in a very long time. I’m glad he ordered the food and made sure I drank water and coffee.

I want to lie in bed, enjoy the flower he left me, and read the note a few more times, but my bladder won’t allow it. I grab the flower and take it in the bathroom with me before I get in the shower. I peer through the glass door at the perfect lavender color as I wash myself.

My body tingles with unfulfilled awareness. I ache all over. Now that I’m sober again, I realize that nothing can happen between us on this trip, not until things are officially over with Paul. The scary truth is that I’m not sure I can convince myself to keep this promise. Mason may be right. We may end up together.

This means I really do need to tell Paul it’s over. I need to leave my boyfriend first. He certainly can’t fault me for it. We aren’t happy together. But there’s another part of me that says we aren’t miserable either. And we’ve been together for ten years. Do I really want to throw all of that away for a fling?

And yes, I know it will be nothing more than a fling. Mason has made this more than clear. He doesn’t do relationships. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t be propositioning me when I’m actually available to be his.

I look at the flower again.

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