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And he wanted to do it again. In a bed this time. Again and again.
That was unsettling. He had a very healthy appetite for sex, but sex was sex and women were women. He never, ever thought things like, I want her.
Probably best to walk her back to her room and cut this short.
Avoiding his own gaze in the mirror, he closed his pants, but left his shirt open. One damp hand lifted to rub away the itch of drying sweat on his chest as he walked back to the lounge. His muscles still felt quivery and weak...
Where was she? Her coat was still there on the sofa, so...
“Natalie?”
In the bedroom? A strange relief flicked through him. The night wasn’t over after all. He ought to be uncomfortable with her making assumptions, but all he could think was that he could sate this disturbing desire to have her again. How could he be this restless and hungry when he was still buzzing with orgasm?
She wasn’t in his room.
Of course, she wouldn’t know which one was his.
“Natalie,” he called, pushing open all the doors as he went, even the ones to the room the children used, but she wasn’t in any of them. Kitchen?
As he went through the lounge, he glanced at the table by the door and noted her purse was gone. A sick lurch hit the pit of his stomach and panged a little higher when he saw the scrap of black lace he’d snapped and discarded on the floor.
Oddly uncomfortable with the evidence of their passion lying where housekeeping could find it—really not like him to have such a sudden and acute need for privacy—he stuffed the lingerie in his pocket and glanced into the hall outside the suite.
Empty.
Grabbing his room card, he went all the way to the elevator and hit the button. The doors opened immediately, so the car hadn’t moved since they’d left it less than thirty minutes ago.
Baffled, he went back into his suite and did another search.
Had she taken the stairs?
He dialed her room.
She answered with a brisk “Hello... Bonjour.”
“Natalie?”
A tiny pause, then, “Yes?”
“It’s Demitri.”
“I know. I recognize your voice.”
Another pause, this one longer. He was waiting for her to explain why she’d left, but there was an expectant curiosity on her side, as though she was waiting for him to tell her why he’d called.
It dawned on him that she hadn’t expected him to call.
When had he last called a woman in a timely fashion after a tryst, let alone within minutes of their parting?
“Oh, I forgot my coat!” she groaned in realization. “Rookie mistake. I’m sorry. That could be awkward, couldn’t it? Can you sneak it into the small meeting room on the second floor first thing tomorrow morning? That’s where we’re doing the group training sessions. I’ll pretend I brought it so I wouldn’t have to go to my room before leaving for lunch.”
“Sounds elaborate,” he commented with false calm, feeling like the rookie here as a hot, spurned sensation followed the word sneak. He told himself to go along with her plan and count himself lucky she hadn’t read more into their evening than was warranted, but he still found himself speaking in a low, uncomfortably dry voice. “I could bring it to you now. Or you could come back.”
“People are going to talk enough after seeing me go to dinner with you. I’d rather pretend nothing else happened.”
Ouch. He scowled across the empty lounge of his quiet suite.
“Is that why you left without saying good-night?” he asked. “You were afraid of being talked about?” Repercussions were not something he worried about. What she needed, he decided, was a demonstration of how quickly his credit card could swipe away any worries she might have. There really wasn’t much that couldn’t be resolved that way, and he was realizing that he’d happily pay whatever it took to get her back to his room and into his bed.
“I sure as heck didn’t relish doing the walk of shame in the morning,” she replied, delivering a second, startlingly efficient kick to his gut. Most women regarded sex with him as a badge of honor. Having her treat it as if it was something dirty was surprisingly demoralizing.
“I’m sorry if it was rude to leave like that, but it is a work night so I should, um, get some rest... I had a really nice time, though. Thanks.” Click.
Seriously?
He set down the phone and stared at it, tension increasing by the second.
“Let it go,” he said aloud, but his brain yelled, Seriously?
He looked at her coat draped over the back of the sofa. Defiance took him across to pick it up. Her scent wafted into his nostrils, confusing him with a swirl of misgivings and conscience and sexual hunger.
He put it down as though it was soaked in combustibles. His hands continued to tingle even when he closed them into fists.
She was doing him a favor, he told himself. They’d had no business taking a professional relationship to such a personal level. Leaving it as a one-night stand was absolutely the best thing to do.
Hell, the best thing he could do would be to put on a fresh shirt, go back to the club and pick up another woman. He would, he decided.
But didn’t move.
In his head, he heard that movie star say, I thought you were finished with her.
The graveled anger returned to the pit of his gut and he didn’t understand it. Yes, he picked up social climbers and took them to suites and nightclubs and lost them to celebrities. It was all part of catering to Makricosta’s elite clientele. But Natalie wasn’t part of that world.
The inconvenient integrity he’d shoved aside when she’d told him she wanted an affair returned with a twist of vengeance. Exploiting the innocent was one of the few things he tried not to do. The vulnerable were meant to be protected. His upbringing had taught him that much.
That was why he worked so hard to prove he wasn’t innocent or vulnerable. He was jaded and impervious.
Why was he dwelling on any of it?
He crossed to the bar and poured himself a drink, scowling at Natalie’s coat, thinking, I’m finished with her.
While her voice repeated in his head. Walk of shame, walk of shame, walk of shame.
* * *
Natalie was proud of herself for thinking to take the stairs last night. She’d run down them as though she’d been pursued, and had told herself she was shaking and breathless from the exercise, not as a reaction to intense lovemaking and a kind of shock.
That wasn’t supposed to have happened!
Dinner, okay. That was fine. Going to the club had been ill-advised, but not terrible. A kiss good-night? Generally acceptable after a date, even if kissing that particular man was a bad idea.
Sex? She honestly hadn’t planned that and couldn’t believe she’d been so swept up that she’d gone through with it. In the front room!
At least anyone watching the elevator lights would have seen it stop at her floor then stop at the penthouse without any sign of it returning down to hers. And people would watch for little signals like that. As much as she loved her job and the people she worked with, she knew they were the usual assortment of society. Most were wonderful and generous, but some lived for gossip and drama.
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