Wanted Distraction(20)
My little speech made emotion well within me again, but I fought it. I wouldn’t cry in front of him ever again. I wouldn’t beg and plead. I’d willingly come up with this one-night-stand pact, and I would stick to it. I refused to force more upon him when he’d been so open about where he stood.
Even if it did appear he’d changed his mind.
Climbing off the hunky man of my dreams, I scooted off the bed and collected my dress, lingerie and shoes.
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. “Hey,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“The right thing,” I said as I ducked into his bathroom. Though it took all the willpower I possessed, I not only tamped down my tears, I quickly freshened up and slipped into my clothes and peek-a-boos. He was heading into the bathroom as I was coming out and I jumped back, miraculously not stumbling.
With his arms folded over his expansive chest, he demanded, “Where are you going?”
“Home,” I said, though that one little word made my stomach plummet to my knees.
“What happened to the ‘one night’ part of our one-night stand?”
“It’s a figurative term, Carter.”
He shook his head. “No. I want you to stay.”
“Why?” I asked. “You said it yourself. We’ve just made our lives hell.”
“That doesn’t mean I want you to run off.”
“I’m not running off,” I insisted. “I just realized—as did you—prolonging the inevitable will only hurt us more in the end.”
The tension in his shoulders lessened and he uncrossed his arms, instead clasping my waist in his large hands. “Cherish, I don’t want you to go. Stay the night, please.”
“What would be the point?” I asked, though it killed me to think of leaving his hotel room. Ever.
“We have an arrangement. We both agreed. And I don’t want to end our evening together. Especially not like this.”
“It’s going to end badly, Carter, no matter what. It’s a fool’s deal. A bargain you’d make with the devil. It can’t be rescinded now, but it can’t progress either.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “I can change my mind. I am allowed.”
“No, you can’t,” I insisted. “As much as I want you to—as much as I want you to tell me kissing me and touching me and making love with me has convinced you we should try to be together—I can’t follow through with that. Not after what you told me earlier.”
I pushed past him and stalked into the dining room to retrieve my things. Tears burned my eyes and it was a bitch keeping them at bay. My bottom lip quivered, but I wouldn’t cave. When Carter had made his dismal announcement about the complication we’d created by making love, I’d suddenly realized how grave the situation was.
He was right behind me, saying, “Cherish, I’ve always wanted you. It’s always been you.”
Turning back to him, I said, “And for me, it’s always been you. And, yes, I wished in the back of my head that you would make love to me and suddenly decide you wanted to give us a try.” The admission choked me up, but I continued. “However, consider this. If your season tanks, for any reason, or your surgery or rehab don’t work, you’ll resent me for breaking your concentration and I’ll never forgive myself for disrupting your life and your career. I can’t live with any of that, Carter. It’d be even worse than living without you, because I can at least walk out this door tonight and know you still want me.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face as agitation and frustration flashed in his eyes. Finally he said, “At the very least, we should sit and talk this through.”
“I really can’t take that either. I’m sorry.” I whirled around and yanked the door open, slipping out quickly. He couldn’t follow me, given his state of undress. I rushed down the walkway and to the valet, not making eye contact as I handed over my ticket.
I impatiently tapped my toe on the cobblestones as I waited for my car. When it arrived, I slid into the driver’s seat, tipped the valet and sped off, needing some distance between myself and the most incredible night of my life.
I also needed the privacy of my bedroom, where I cried myself to sleep.
* * * * *
“You look horrible,” Taylor said as I shuffled in the next morning.
Dropping my bag on my desk, I said, “Thanks. That’s what a girl likes to hear.”
Pushing herself out of her chair, my friend sauntered over and propped a hip against the corner of my desk. “Please tell me I was wrong about the quarterback. He didn’t make a move on you, did he?”