herself to look away and climb off the bed as carefully as possible so as not to wake him.
The night was over now and she needed to go home. He’d asked her about extending their fling, and as much as she yearned to wake him up and accept the offer she wasn’t going to. She couldn’t take the risk. While she might want to believe she could be smart and sensible about a brief fling with Jace and just concentrate on enjoying lots of really amazing sex for the next week or so, she didn’t entirely trust herself. Those silly clutches in her heartbeat, last night and this morning, were proof that her delusional tendencies hadn’t quite died the death she’d hoped in the last nine months … And she wasn’t ready yet to tempt fate with someone as devastating as Jace Ryan.
It was cowardly and fairly pathetic, but she could live with that. What she couldn’t live with was the thought of making a fool of herself all over again with yet another man who had nothing to offer her. Her brow creased as the pulse of awareness rippled across her nerve endings.
Well, apart from lots of really amazing sex, that is.
She gathered up her tunic and underwear from the other side of the room, determined not to give in to the tempting thought. But she couldn’t quite resist returning to the bedside to study him while he slept as she slipped on her clothing.
As she sat in the chair by the bed, and rolled on the luxury silk tights he’d bought her, it occurred to her that, unlike the other men she’d known, Jace didn’t look any more vulnerable in sleep than he did when he was awake.
Was that part of his allure? she wondered. Was that the quality that had made him so irresistible last night but made her so wary of him in the cold light of morning? That, unlike her, he seemed so sure of himself? So controlled? Even in the throes of lovemaking, at the height of passion, he hadn’t lost the commanding, almost ruthless self-confidence of someone who knew exactly what he wanted out of life. And was more than prepared to do whatever he had to do to get it.
Standing up, she smoothed damp palms down the beaded tunic, then leant over the bed and pressed the lightest of kisses to the rough stubble on his cheek. The tantalising musk of vanilla soap and man filled her senses.
‘Goodbye, Jace,’ she whispered.
Then she turned and hurried from the room, trying exceptionally hard not to think about missing out on the sexiest, most exhilarating Christmas of her entire life. Or the painful ache under her breastbone that she refused to interpret.
She’d done the smart, sensible thing. She was now officially a grown-up.
Cassie’s ink pen jolted as the doorbell buzzed, sending a thick black line slashing through the Sugar Plum Fairy’s nose and ruining two hours’ work.
She cursed and dropped the pen into the cup she kept at the side of her drawing easel. It was her own stupid fault. She shouldn’t have attempted to design her Christmas cards today. She’d been jumpy ever since she’d got back from the West End, her hormones refusing to settle down despite all her best efforts.
The doorbell buzzed again. Wiping her hands with a washcloth, she got up and walked from her bedroom, through the tiny living room to the front door, ruthlessly quashing the hope that it might be Jace. He didn’t even know where she lived. And anyway, she didn’t want to see him; the endorphin withdrawal he’d caused was quite hard enough to deal with without the added stimulation of seeing him again.
Unlocking the deadbolt, she pulled the door open.
‘Hey there, what’s up?’ Nessa grinned, holding up a grease-spotted bag from the bakery downstairs. ‘I brought apple Danish to bribe you into talking about your new man over morning coffee.’ She breezed past Cassie into the flat, her extensions arranged in corkscrew curls that bobbed around her shoulders as she waltzed into the kitchen.
Cassie stifled a groan. She loved Nessa like a sister. But the last thing she needed
The night was over now and she needed to go home. He’d asked her about extending their fling, and as much as she yearned to wake him up and accept the offer she wasn’t going to. She couldn’t take the risk. While she might want to believe she could be smart and sensible about a brief fling with Jace and just concentrate on enjoying lots of really amazing sex for the next week or so, she didn’t entirely trust herself. Those silly clutches in her heartbeat, last night and this morning, were proof that her delusional tendencies hadn’t quite died the death she’d hoped in the last nine months … And she wasn’t ready yet to tempt fate with someone as devastating as Jace Ryan.
It was cowardly and fairly pathetic, but she could live with that. What she couldn’t live with was the thought of making a fool of herself all over again with yet another man who had nothing to offer her. Her brow creased as the pulse of awareness rippled across her nerve endings.
Well, apart from lots of really amazing sex, that is.
She gathered up her tunic and underwear from the other side of the room, determined not to give in to the tempting thought. But she couldn’t quite resist returning to the bedside to study him while he slept as she slipped on her clothing.
As she sat in the chair by the bed, and rolled on the luxury silk tights he’d bought her, it occurred to her that, unlike the other men she’d known, Jace didn’t look any more vulnerable in sleep than he did when he was awake.
Was that part of his allure? she wondered. Was that the quality that had made him so irresistible last night but made her so wary of him in the cold light of morning? That, unlike her, he seemed so sure of himself? So controlled? Even in the throes of lovemaking, at the height of passion, he hadn’t lost the commanding, almost ruthless self-confidence of someone who knew exactly what he wanted out of life. And was more than prepared to do whatever he had to do to get it.
Standing up, she smoothed damp palms down the beaded tunic, then leant over the bed and pressed the lightest of kisses to the rough stubble on his cheek. The tantalising musk of vanilla soap and man filled her senses.
‘Goodbye, Jace,’ she whispered.
Then she turned and hurried from the room, trying exceptionally hard not to think about missing out on the sexiest, most exhilarating Christmas of her entire life. Or the painful ache under her breastbone that she refused to interpret.
She’d done the smart, sensible thing. She was now officially a grown-up.
Cassie’s ink pen jolted as the doorbell buzzed, sending a thick black line slashing through the Sugar Plum Fairy’s nose and ruining two hours’ work.
She cursed and dropped the pen into the cup she kept at the side of her drawing easel. It was her own stupid fault. She shouldn’t have attempted to design her Christmas cards today. She’d been jumpy ever since she’d got back from the West End, her hormones refusing to settle down despite all her best efforts.
The doorbell buzzed again. Wiping her hands with a washcloth, she got up and walked from her bedroom, through the tiny living room to the front door, ruthlessly quashing the hope that it might be Jace. He didn’t even know where she lived. And anyway, she didn’t want to see him; the endorphin withdrawal he’d caused was quite hard enough to deal with without the added stimulation of seeing him again.
Unlocking the deadbolt, she pulled the door open.
‘Hey there, what’s up?’ Nessa grinned, holding up a grease-spotted bag from the bakery downstairs. ‘I brought apple Danish to bribe you into talking about your new man over morning coffee.’ She breezed past Cassie into the flat, her extensions arranged in corkscrew curls that bobbed around her shoulders as she waltzed into the kitchen.
Cassie stifled a groan. She loved Nessa like a sister. But the last thing she needed
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