Page 18 of Reckless Desire

I hold her tight, enjoying the warmth of her body, the way she fits against me. Lowering my head, I bury my nose into the crook of her neck, inhaling her essence. She smells of citrus and something very feminine.

I don’t think she meant this when she suggested dancing because we have barely moved, locked in each other’s arms, swaying to the rhythm of the sensual music.

A realization hits me, shocking me to the core. I don’t want to sleep with her. I don’t want to ruin the tender connection by jumping into bed with her. It’s a strange concept for me, but I want to spend time with her.

I don’t want her to think she is just a client. Because somehow over the course of the last few hours she stopped being one. And that’s not a plausible scenario in my case.

Since I checked out from the dating scene, I’ve been doing just fine. Tonight is the first time in three years that I’m regretting how little I have to offer this woman. Who would want to date a gigolo, after all?

Another song starts and I twirl Sydney around, push her away and then pull her back, moving around the room and creating a subtle distance between us. I need to snap out of my attraction so I’ll give her the dance she missed, rather than hanging onto her like this is a real date.

She seems to enjoy herself, which scares me because my needy side—one I didn’t fucking know I have—interprets it as her interest in me. She was close to bolting at first, yet here we are. I’m treading on ice too thin for anyone’s good. I need to let her lead. And keep her in a playful, safe zone.

“You’re a wonderful dancer.” Sydney laughs as I pivot and dip her, her hair brushing the carpet. I get a vision of those brown strands splayed across the pillow as I fuck her and I almost drop her. Shit.

“Not as good as you.” I pull her back up, but step away immediately. We can’t dance. “I need a drink.” I dash for my glass and walk to the window. As far away from her as possible.

The lights of the city sparkle below me, teasing the promise of fun and entertainment, the never-ending joy of life. I wish I could absorb some of it.

The double door to the bedroom slides open and I stiffen.

“You don’t have to stay the night, but you can if you want to.” Sydney’s voice tickles my ears and my stomach. I don’t know what she is doing, the soft carpet not revealing much, but another door clicks open and then closed, and soon water runs in the bathroom.

I close my eyes. Perhaps, I should sleep with her. Get her out of my system. She practically gave me the option. Why am I thinking about it?

I watch the nightlife below, realizing this situation is going to end poorly regardless of my or Sydney’s next move. Any way I slice it, we can’t see each other ever again because I can’t offer her what she deserves. I can’t win her trust, and not only because someone before me already made that into an uphill battle.

Why am I even analyzing it? I’m desperately trying to find a win in this losing situation, but there isn’t one.

I gulp down another glass of champagne. A cone of light shines from the bedroom as Sydney opens the bathroom door. Her silhouette moves around as she pulls the bedcover back. She’s a vision. A towel covers her body, a secret waiting to be unraveled.

The light from the wardrobe casts a warm glow on her and I step into the doorway, scanning her beautiful figure. Droplets of water are scattered across her shoulders and I want to lick her dry. The curve of her neck is begging to be kissed. She pulls the bathrobe from the hanger and drapes it over her shoulders, sliding her arms into the sleeves.

The towel drops and I inhale sharply. I want to pounce on her and not move at the same time. Fastening the sash, she walks around the bed and climbs in. She doesn’t say anything, just curls into a ball, pulling the cover over her ankles.

For a woman who claims not to trust men, she’s just put a lot of trust in me. The question is, what does she trust will happen? That I’ll take good care of her? Or that I’ll leave her alone? The former conviction to not sleep with her weakens and grows stronger at the same time.

Dressed, I get into the bed beside her. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t initiate anything. Like in the elevator earlier, she is stubbornly waiting for me to decide. For some reason, whatever I decide makes me feel like an asshole, so I go for the golden middle path.

I turn to her and pull her closer. She stiffens but relaxes when she realizes that spooning is all we’ll do.

I don’t plan on sleeping because there is no way I’ll loosen up enough with her against me, but her breathing is like a relaxant for me, and as I feel her drifting away, I close my eyes too.

I wake up with a start. We didn’t draw the drapes last night and a newly-awakened Manhattan sun is piercing through the window.

I’m curled in the same position, my limbs rigid from the weirdest night I’ve ever had. What is it about this woman that has me all conflicted? I should just get going right now. In the light of day, my lapse in judgment is growing exponentially.

Sydney lies on her back. The morning rays render her hair a mahogany hue. Her robe fell open, unveiling the swell of one breast, and my cock immediately springs to attention.

She is beautiful, and so peaceful. I gently pull her robe to cover her and can’t resist leaning in to brush her temple with my lips. She utters a soft moan and wiggles closer, wrapping her arms over my shoulders. Fuck.

“Good morning,” I whisper to make sure she is fully awake and aware.

Her eyelids flutter open and she smiles contently, only to realize where she is and who I am. She jerks up to sit, pulling her robe tighter. “Good morning,” she blurts and it sounds like an accusation.

A blush spreads over her face. I better give her time to recover. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Would you like me to order breakfast?”

“No, I’m good.” She shakes her head vigorously, and then she freezes. “I mean, unless you want something.” She glances at my raging boner and bites her lip.

---