One – I've Done This Before
Her body was still languid with post-orgasm bliss and her mind starting to fill with thoughts of sleep when he slipped out of the bed with a murmured excuse. Daring to move, she hissed at the tenderness that had taken over her body. She tried her best to return to limpness, a smile pulling from her lips as the bathroom door clicked shut. She literally ached from head to toe. She'd had a feeling that he would be an excellent and thorough lover, but she hadn't realized just how good he would be.
Sated, she stretched her arms above her head as she rolled onto her back. Her body protested the movement. Hadn't she put them through enough already? She had to stretch, though, or face more soreness after sleeping. It was so late she knew she wouldn't get more than a few hours of sleep before her alarm started to blare. Or was it early? The lines of late and early blurred for her when the clock began showing three and four. She was used to being up at that time, anyway.
Not because of the activity she'd just indulged in, though. This night was an anomaly.
A wonderful, beautiful anomaly that she would hold onto for the rest of her born days.
Melodramatic much? she thought with a derisive snort. You've had your head in books too much.
She shifted, wriggling her left leg to free it of the tangled sheet and, unencumbered, she slid to the edge of the bed, gingerly stretching her toes to find the floor. Once she was sitting upright, she hissed again, body radiating pain from being twisted and extended beyond its usual threshold. She needed a hot shower.
Her gaze landed on her discarded clothes, artlessly heaped where she'd thrown them earlier. The expensive silk top, a splurge when shopping that morning, was now crumpled beneath her favorite jeans. She bit her lip, thinking of how long it would take to steam the inevitable wrinkles from the delicate cream-colored fabric. She glanced to her shoes, then to the bra and panties lying closer to the bed. Neither of her items would be comfortable to sleep in. She supposed she could sleep naked, but…
The muffled buzz of running water pulled her from her thoughts of slumber. It brought with it reality, which crashed down on her, dashing away the dreaminess of her post-coital state. Of course.
Idiot, she thought. Standing, she ignored the soreness in her thighs and gathered her clothing.
How could she think that he'd want her to stay the night? He'd gotten what he wanted, she supposed. For all intents and purposes he was done with her. Oh, he probably had some considerate spiel to give as he escorted her to the door. He did have a few gentlemanly qualities. But invite her to stay until morning? Preposterous. After all, he was leaving first thing. He'd mentioned that downstairs. Something about his career involving a lot of travel.
Hurriedly, as quietly as possible, she got dressed. She thought of scribbling a quick note of thanks, deciding against it while taking her purse from the top of the dresser. She cringed when it dragged several coins along with it, their gentle thuds on the carpet sounding to her like booms from a cannon. Stepping into her black ballet flats, she was aware of the water still running as she scanned the room for her sweater.
It was draped over the back of the armchair tucked in the corner. He'd done it; she recalled the whisper of his lips against her ear when he'd slipped the bulky garment from her shoulders. Drawing in a deep breath, she yanked the sweater from the chair. It caught on something – the button of his jacket. Yanking harder, she freed it and was at the door in seconds. The creases in her top were evidence that she was doing a late-night walk of shame, but there was nothing she could do about it, and she only had to go to another floor of the hotel.
Eyes moving to the bathroom door, she sent up a prayer of thanks for the marvelous time. She eased the door open just as the water shut off. Her heart jumped into her throat and, fearing his rehearsed speech, she left. There was conclusiveness in the way the door shut behind her.
Down the corridor, around the corner. There was no waiting for the elevator. Once inside, her floor selected, she slumped against the wall with a sigh.
She followed the firm guidance of the hand at the small of her back. Drawn closer to him than before, she grasped the front of his shirt, heart pounding. Her breath caught in her throat when he brought his fingers to her chin. The closeness of his body, the warmth of a few drinks, and the gentleness of his touch worked together, pushing her usual inhibitions aside. Further emboldened by the sound of his ragged sigh, she lifted her chin and met his gaze.
Her stomach did a funny little twist and her eyes closed briefly as his fingers moved to push a lock of hair from her cheek. Still, her nerve didn't waver. She had promised herself that she would seize every opportunity on this short trip. And by God, was he an opportunity. Dance forgotten, she eased her grip on his shirt.
Pure muscle, she marveled, vaguely aware of his hand returning to her back. She wanted to see him shirtless. Scratch that, she wanted to see him naked. No matter how inadequate doing so would make her feel. For the first time in too long she was attracted to a man she actually had a fraction of a chance with. And for the first time ever, she did more than hope and wish and daydream. She made the first move.
"Would you like to go upstairs?"
His lips curved into a smile. The hand on her back slid lower, then cupped her hip. The gentle squeeze he gave, coupled with the heat that darkened his eyes, was enough to take her breath away.
Stupid, really, how easily she had fallen. Her self-imposed moral code had gone out the window. She hadn't even feigned disinterest. Nor had she rebuffed him. Not that she'd had a chance to, considering she had been the one doing the offering and suggesting. Hell, she'd outright asked. And in such a way that left no room for him to think she meant anything other than sex.
Her room was dark; in the furor of arriving and changing, she'd turned off the light without thinking. She felt her way through the room, switched on the lamp, and sank down on the edge of her bed. Sleep beckoned, but one glance around her and she knew that rest would be postponed.
Clothes spilled out of her suitcase. Some were on the bed, some on the floor. Her brown leather satchel was open, the papers she'd stuffed inside earlier peeking out. It would be so easy to crawl under the covers and forget it all. Straightening out the arm that held her sweater, prepared to toss it aside until morning, she froze upon seeing blankness.
The hand-knit cardigan was a deep emerald green. Made by her grandmother, it matched very little of her wardrobe. Despite that, she wore it often. Many a long night had been whiled away with the beloved garment keeping her warm. It was an object of comfort, much like her favorite blanket had been so many years ago.
Something was missing, though.
"No," she whispered, trying her best to recall when she'd last seen the piece of jewelry that had been fastened to the front of the sweater. She only removed it when washing the sweater. Almost a week now. She was certain she'd seen it when going through security at the airport. She began squeezing the sweater with the hope that the small pin was caught inside.
Thirty minutes of fruitless searching later, her belongings scattered everywhere, she plopped down on the bed. She wrapped the sweater around her shoulders. She hoped against hope that the pin would miraculously appear in the morning.
"It's a what?"
"A mourning pin, I believe." He smoothed his thumb over the jet-black stone set the middle of the small, square pin. He made sure to avoid touching the tiny braid of hair that bordered the stone.
"How the hell did you get one of those?" Seth asked, plucking it out of his hand so he could hold it up for close scrutiny. "Is that a dead person's hair?"
"I think so. And considering black is the traditional color of mourning…" He gave a light shrug, eyes on the little brooch he'd found that morning. "At one time it was common for those in mourning to commission jewelry in memory of a dead loved one."
"This is fucking macabre. Guy's been rotting in his grave for probably two hundred years and we're holding his hair." Seth looked almost gleeful. "Where'd you get it?"
"Would you believe me if I said I found it?" He took the brooch back, fearful his friend would lose it. Or damage it in some way. Or perhaps slip it into his pocket to keep for himself.
"You got it from that girl you had last night, didn't you?"
"Not exactly." After tucking the brooch into the inside pocket of his jacket, he picked up his coffee and followed Seth outside.
"You stole it?"
"I'm not Ambrose," he scorned, grinning when he recalled their coworker's tale of making off with a new iPod. Despite the shining sun there was a chill in the air and he reached to pull his cap down over his ears while crossing the parking lot to their rental.
Seth waited until they were in the car before speaking again. "How was she, by the way? From what I saw of her she was… Well, she looked boring, man."
"It was enjoyable. That's all you need to know," he added before he could be plagued with more questions.
"Tony, man, you're one of my best friends, but sometimes your moral code is a fucking bitch."
"A gentleman does not kiss and tell." Antonio wrinkled his nose. "And stop calling me Tony."
"A gentleman doesn't skimp on details to his best pal, either."
"I'm sorry that your own sex life is a barren wasteland, pal, but I will not give you more specifics about my private oasis."
"Asshole," Seth muttered, reaching for his coffee, eyes on the stoplight. "So I'm guessing she was good?"
"You could say that," Antonio murmured, gazing at the flickering blue lights of a police car as it sped through the intersection.
Luckily for him, Seth got distracted by putting on music. The volume made it impossible to talk, so Antonio settled in for the short drive to the next city.
And continued to wonder why she'd left in such a hurry.
A/N: Yes, a new story. Sorry not sorry. :)
