Page 18 of Mercy Me

Flick took them from his hands. “Thanks.”

Placing his hands on his hips, he looked down at her, his mouth twisted into a wry smile. It was as if he knew what she was thinking because his eyes deepened and started smoking again. Then they filled with regret, and not a little frustration. “Can’t. No time and, even more importantly, I’m out of condoms.”

And wasn’t that the mental equivalent of having a large bucket of ice water tipped over her libido? The last thing she needed was a baby as a lifelong reminder of the best sex of her life.

Kai walked into the en-suite bathroom and Flick shook out her clothes, quickly pulling on her bra and panties, shirt, and faded jeans. She stood up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the large chest of drawers and grimaced at her tousled hair and raccoon eyes. There wasn’t much she could do about either and it was a bit too late to fuss over her appearance since she was heading out the door.

Out of his life. One afternoon of crazy sex. A one-afternoon stand. They were supposed to walk away—they had both agreed, Flick reminded herself. But it was crazy how much she wanted to stay.

She shouldn’t want to stay at all.

Kai stood in the bathroom, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. This was crazy, he thought. He should be eager for her to walk out that door, but all he wanted was to take her back to bed, make love to her again, fall asleep, and make breakfast for her in the morning. He wanted to know whether they could connect on some sort of intellectual level as well as they did in bed.

She intrigued him and he didn’t like it. Her laughter, heard when he’d inadvertently tickled the back of his knee with his tongue, had his breath catching in his throat. She’d shouted his name as she’d climaxed and she smelled of lemons. He couldn’t remember when, if ever, he’d smelled lemons on a woman’s skin.

Bottom line: he shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. He shouldn’t be thinking about her at all. Mentally, he should be a million miles away already.

She’d been a good lay, a fantastic way to spend an afternoon...end of the story.

Except that this felt more like an opening chapter than an ending, and he didn’t remotely understand why. Kai splashed water on his face and rubbed his jaw.

He didn’t want her to leave, not really, not yet. But he knew he had to because he suspected that the longer he hung around her, the more he might want her. And tomorrow would roll around regardless and he’d just be postponing the inevitable. It was better this way.

And they’d only agreed to an afternoon, nothing more.

Nothing. More.

Flick had left the bed and dressed and Kai was thankful for the small mercy that she wasn’t still naked; that would remove some of the temptation to take her back to bed, condoms or not. He sent her a quick look. She stood by the door, leaning her shoulder into the wall, her face deliberately blank. He walked towards her and dropped his head to kiss her temple, knowing that if he touched her mouth with his he wouldn’t leave anytime soon. “Thanks, Flick. I might see you in a couple of months.”

Flick sent him a naughty smile. “My ‘pretend I haven’t slept with you expression’ will be perfect by then, I promise. Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll walk you out.”

“Don’t bother. I’m good.”

Kai heard her light footsteps on his stairs, then his front door opened and closed, and he shook his head, confused.

It still didn’t feel like an ending.

Chapter Five

DocMolly: Flick is in a happy mood. You can taste it in her chocolate croissants.

BoredWife: Good sex will do that for you. And I have to say, girlfriend, you have spectacular taste in men. He’s wicked hot! Mmm, maybe I should have an affair.

The next morning Flick bounced out of bed at four a.m., ran down the stairs, and walked the mile to the bakery in the early morning chill with a huge smile on her face. Great sex, she decided, made her feel like a million dollars.

Mmm, if she had a million dollars she’d spend it on feeling like this again; all loose and tingly and bubbling with endorphins. She felt amazing and creative and buzzed. Thank God that Manning was out of town, or on his way out of town because she might just be tempted to run—walk, crawl— to him and beg him for a repeat performance.

Hours later, she was still feeling giddy when she ran, okay, half-jogged, up the stairs to Pippa’s office and flopped into the broken chair to the side of her organized desk. She lovingly sniffed the red velvet cupcake she held in her hand and reverently peeled the paper back, prolonging the anticipation. Pippa, she noticed, didn’t bother to lift her head at her arrival and kept her attention on her screen. Flick cocked her head and wrinkled her nose when she saw the columns that indicated that Pippa was working on one of her beloved spreadsheets. She’d rather eat a cupcake.

Or trim her nails with a chainsaw.

“The way you’re acting, anyone would think that you got lucky last night,” Pippa said just as Flick took the first bite of her cupcake.

Flick coughed and a morsel of cake slid down her windpipe, causing her to gag. She coughed violently and pounded her chest while tears ran down her face. She was going to die, she was quite sure of it.

Leaning forward, she snagged Pippa’s bottle of water and took a long sip. After another bout of coughing, she thought she might just live. More water and more coughing and she was certain. Not that Pippa cared—all her concentration was still directed at her screen.

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