“I’m glad you think so,” he continued to stare at her in that way that made her feel very hot and aware of herself, but left her with no idea what he was thinking. She shifted uncomfortably on the spot.
“Dean-”
“I thought I would drive you home, you must want to get some clean clothes on after last night.”
She watched him, studying his face for a sense of what he felt. Unable to work out if he was giving her the brush off or trying to muddle through the complexity of what they had done together.
“Yes, that would be nice thank you.”
He nodded and stepped back to let her leave the room. She glanced at the notepad in her hand and tore off her notes, folding them up and gripping them tightly in the palm of her hand. As she walked past him, she caught a hint of his scent and had to stop herself from reaching for him. She went downstairs and grabbed her clothes from the back of the chair by the fireplace. Then took off his robe, laying it over the arm of the couch and put her dried clothes on. When she was dressed, she found him in the kitchen looking out onto the terrace.
“Ready,” she said, and watched his shoulders tense, muscles bunching under his thin t-shirt. He nodded before striding across the kitchen, grabbing his keys from the island, and only flicking his eyes over her briefly before heading for the front door. Her heart sank, he was giving her the brush off, which she had to remind herself was fine, because this was just casual. They couldn’t be together, she lived in another part of the country, and she didn't think she could ever trust someone enough to settle down anyway. It was better this way. But she couldn’t deny it hurt a little to think last night was the best night of her life, and she would never experience it again.