Mysterious Desire(10)

He’s surprised. “No? But I thought you – ”

“You thought wrong.” It takes my every ounce my strength to do this. “I’m not some cheap floozy you can pick up and get laid with every time you snap your fingers, Alex.”

“I didn’t – ”

“Oh yes you did.” I take a step back, and I’m very aware that behind me is the bed I have just made. The bed in which his hot body has indelibly imprinted. That very hot body that stands before me now. “And I’m not going to do it.”

I’m going to regret this, I know. Every part of my Id – the primal urge that drives human beings – cries out for his touch and what must naturally occur between a man and woman who are wildly attracted to each other. But I must let my head rule in this. I mean everything I said.

I am not some cheap floozy.

That encounter in the restroom will be the first and last time this kind of stuff will ever happen for me. I’m not the sort of girl who drops her panties at a bat of an eyelash – even if it belongs to a superrich entrepreneur/Harvard alumni/European crown prince.

He’s evaluating my non-consent, and probably debating if he should proceed. The narrowing of his beautiful eyes suggest that he is wary – and rightfully so.

“I don’t think you’re some cheap floozy,” he shoots at me.

“But it doesn’t give you a right to think I’m going to sleep with you every time you want it either.” I’m surprised at how calm I sound. Even though I’m going shit, shit, shit – this is the last time I’m going to ever see him. But I have to be true to myself. Just because the most gorgeous guy in the world throws me a curveball, doesn’t mean I have to catch it every time.

He contemplates this for a long time. There’s a serious light in his eyes, and he parts his lips to lick his lower one. Even in this thoughtful gesture, he’s sexy.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. His beautiful blue-green eyes are stony. “I misread the situation.”

Yes, you did. No, you didn’t. Oh help, I’m a helpless mess.

I move away from him. It’s difficult. He’s so overpowering and in your face, so I have to move sideways and then scramble away guiltily.

I don’t look back. I’m afraid I will succumb.

Did I do the right thing?

Now I’ll never see him in the flesh again. Guys like that don’t come crawling back.

Oh shit shit shit.

Have I made a mistake? It’s too late now. I’m committed.

I can’t look back.





7





I spend the next few days moping. And I won’t tell Deanna why.

She’s all over me, of course. She wants to know why I’m so down, and why I can’t seem to get my spirits up even when she bakes me cupcakes. But I don’t tell her, of course.

Because I’ve been a fool.

I can’t stop thinking about Alex. I can’t stop going over and over the feel of his lips on mine . . . and to be honest, his cock inside me. I can’t stop picturing his beautiful face – the most beautiful face I have ever seen. And his smile. And the way his hair gets lighted up by the sunlight.

OK. I’ve got Alex withdrawal . . . bad. And I hardly even know him.

It’ll pass, I tell myself. I reach for a cupcake in desolation and make myself bite into it. It’s tasteless. Not because Deanna’s baking is bad, but I can’t seem to taste anything these days.

The doorbell rings but I’m too listless to get up. Deanna scampers up. I hear her opening the door and letting whoever it is in.

“Oh my God!” I hear her scream. “Liz, you’ve gotta come out and have a look at this!”

My heart leaps into my mouth.

I scramble to our tiny lounge. Standing at the doorway is a guy carrying the largest flower arrangement I have ever seen. I don’t think I even know the names of half the flowers on that monstrous thing.

“Can I come in?” the delivery boy says.

“Of course,” Deanna says. She seizes the album-sized card on the top.

“Are you Elizabeth Turner?” the delivery boy asks.

“No, but what’s it to you?”

“Because I’m supposed to deliver these flowers to Ms. Elizabeth Turner and make sure she reads that card.”

“Let me see that.” I snatch the card from Deanna.

It says:

‘Alexander Vassar requests the pleasure of Ms. Elizabeth Turner’s delightful company in what he deems an official date at 7 p.m tonight. He would be over a certain planetary satellite’s orbit if she says ‘yes’.”

“Alexander Vassar?” Deanna screeches. “The Alexander Vassar?”

The delivery boy sets the gargantuan flower arrangement down. He’s followed by another delivery boy carrying yet another huge bunch of flowers . . . and another . . . and another.