Hearing Carrick say my father’s name jolts me, reminding me why I shouldn’t be here in his bed. My heart starts to pound.
“Hey, you okay?” His fingers touch my cheek.
“Fine.” I force a smile, trying to calm my racing heart. “Can I have a look at your tattoo?” I need him to stop touching me, stop looking at me the way he is. It’s too much.
“Sure.” Carrick rolls onto his stomach, so I straddle his back, sitting on him.
The tattoo is of a fallen angel. A man is bowing down, head lowered, his wings shielding his body. There’s script right above it, spanning the length of his shoulder blades.
PAIN IS TEMPORARY. VICTORY IS FOREVER.
It’s beautiful.
I trace my finger over it. “It’s beautiful, Carrick.” Just like you.
He lifts his head from the pillow and looks back at me, chuckling. “Never tell a man that his tattoo is beautiful, babe. Tell him it’s badass but never beautiful.”
“Sorry.” I laugh. “It’s totally badass.” I put on a gruff voice, trying to sound dude-like. “It’s the most badass-ist tattoo I’ve ever seen.”
“Badass-ist?” He raises a brow.
“It’s a word.” I grin. “Well, in my world it is anyway.”
“You’re crazy.” He laughs, making me smile. Reaching back, he wraps a hand around my wrist and tugs me forward. I fall off his body to the mattress, lying beside him. Lifting up, he pulls me to him and maneuvers me beneath his body. He frames my face in his hands. “But I really, really like Andressa Amaro’s crazy world—a lot.”
My heart and head collide, causing panic to ripple through me, but it’s all swallowed up by his kiss. And the exact moment his tongue slides against mine, everything disappears, except for him.
He kisses me for what seems like forever. Gentle and tender. And I don’t ever want him to stop.
When he finally does stop, lifting his face from mine, he gives me such a look of want that my heart actually aches.
I can’t fall for him. I can’t.
“I should get some sleep if I want to win tomorrow,” he says on a stifled yawn.
“Of course.” My voice trembles. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
He reaches over and turns the light off. Then, he pulls me to him. Tucking me into his side, he tangles his legs up with mine. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Night, babe,” he murmurs, his voice already sounding sleepy.
“Night,” I whisper, my eyes still wide open.
I AWAKE WITH A START. It’s still dark out, but the sun is starting to rise. And there’s a warm solid body wrapped around me.
Carrick.
I’m in his bed.
And we had sex.
Amazing hot sex.
Images flash through my mind of the night before, making me tingle in all the right places. But what also comes with those images and tingles, now that the champagne and sex-crazed hormones have worn off, is a mixture of regret and concern.
I slept with Carrick.
A driver.
I broke my cardinal rule.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I can’t believe I did that. Well, I can believe it…but you know what I mean.
And worst of all, I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be. Like how amazing his body feels wrapped around mine and the desire to never leave.
Wanting more. Wanting him. Again and again.
Oh God.
I can’t think this way. Not that Carrick would ever want to be with me long-term. He’s a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy. But this is about me, what I’m feeling for him. That’s the problem. I can’t be crushing on him.
And right now, here in his arms, I’m way too comfortable. It’s time for me to go.
Carefully, I slide my leg out from between his. Holding my breath, I wait to make sure that I haven’t woken him. When I’m sure he’s still asleep, I lift his arm and slide out of bed like I’m some kind of ninja.
Staring down at him in the dark, I resist the urge to brush back the hair falling across his forehead.
He’s beautiful.
And I really need to get the hell out of here.
I step away from the bed, and being as quiet as humanly possible, I tiptoe around, picking up my discarded clothing.
Taking them with me, I go into the living room and dress quietly and quickly.
Remembering that my clutch is still in Carrick’s jacket pocket, I retrieve it from where we left it in the entryway last night in my haste to get it off him.
Memories of last night flood my mind. Carrick kissing me in this very spot, touching me…how much I wanted him. My body starts to ache to go back to him, to curl myself around him and never let go.
It would be so easy to take this dress back off, go in there, slide back into his arms, and wait to see what would happen when he wakes up.
But I can’t.
So, I hang his jacket up on the hook. And with my heels and clutch in hand, I quietly let myself out of his suite.
I go to the elevator. The hotel is dead. I check the time on my phone—6:03 a.m.
When the elevator arrives, I get in the empty space and press the button to my floor.
Padding barefoot down the hall to my room—thankfully not seeing a soul—I slot the key card in the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, so not to wake Petra. But the sound of the lock clicking open sounds really loud in the quiet.
Closing the door softly behind me, I move through the room, placing my shoes on the floor in the entryway. I put my clutch and key card down on the dresser.
“Seeing as though you’re coming home at the crack of dawn, I’ll take it that you had a good night?”