Page 32 of Second Act
“We moved to Boston two days ago.”
“I—but—that’s a long way to go for dinner.” He’d traveled to New York because she was here. That probably wasn’t a big deal for him. His assistant had undoubtedly chartered a helicopter or jet or something.
“I wanted to see you.” His simple statement burrowed into her heart, a place she no longer wanted him. “We’re filming virtually nonstop for the next few weeks. They aim to get the movie out for next year’s Christmas season, given the theme. So I foresee quite a bit of air travel in my future.”
Did he mean air travel in order to see her again or to get to the different locations? “Where else are you shooting?”
“DC. Miami. Prague. Dubai. Singapore. Palau.” He ticked each one off on his fingers. “I’ve missed one somewhere, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way to get back here as often as I can.”
“I...Hugh...” She didn’t know how to explain. “I thought this was a one-night-stand kind of thing.”
They were so close together that she felt his body go rigid. “I know you,” he said, “and you’re not that kind of woman.”
“I just...I mean...you’re you and I’m me. If anything, the differences between us have only increased.”
“So what was this?” His voice was a growl.
“A day out of time and reality.”
He untangled himself from her in swift, efficient movements before he swung his legs off the bed and stalked away, his bare skin all light and shadow in the glow from the buildings outside. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, making the powerful muscles of his shoulders ripple, before he pivoted toward her. “Isn’t it possible that we’ve both changed?”
She sat up, clutching the covers tightly to her chest with one hand, and swept her other hand around the huge room with its glittering view. “It would take a seismic shift to accommodate this.”
“I don’t care about this,” he snapped. “It’s just a way to buy the privacy that other people take for granted.”
“Exactly.”
He let his head fall back and blew out a long breath. “I’d forgotten how stubborn you can be.”
“Not stubborn, practical.” She rolled to the side of the bed and stood up, dragging the coverlet with her. “We’ve had this conversation before, and we both know how it ended. I think it’s time for me to leave.”
“No. Please. I’m sorry. Let’s not part this way.” He held out one hand, palm up. “Come back to bed. Just to sleep.”
Regret and sorrow showed in the stark angles of his face. A sting of guilt pierced the flood of old emotions that swamped her better judgment. She hesitated. She didn’t want to leave on an unpleasant note, either.
He seized the sheets in one hand and flipped them back in an invitation. “A few more hours.”
“All right, but I’ll leave when you do.” She unwound her makeshift sarong and dropped it on the bed before slipping between the covers. Hugh slid in beside her, his weight rolling her toward him, even as he snaked an arm around her waist and snugged her back against his chest.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice rumbling by her ear. “I...thank you.”
She settled back against him, laying her arm over his and tucking her hand there.
Just a few more hours.
