Twenty-four hours later, he could admit that Hark was right. His best bet was to avoid Rue. Get her out of his—
“Eli.”
He looked up. She stood less than three feet away.
“Hi,” she said.
The green dress and complicated hairdo from the night before had been punch-in-the-gut, spank-bank-directory material. Tonight she was a completely different person: plain white T-shirt tucked into jeans, no makeup, and . . .
Still a punch in the gut. Still spank-bank directory. He wondered if there was a version of her that wouldn’t be.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I . . .” She shrugged.
“Couldn’t make up your mind?”
“Something like that.” She climbed onto the stool next to him, lips curled in her small non-smile. “Then I did. Figured that if you were still here, maybe it was fate.”
“You don’t believe in fate.”
“Never have. You?”
“I think it’s all bullshit.”
She was quiet, that silence full of stares and pulled strings simmering between them. “Tomorrow. Are you still going to play golf with Eric Sommers? Try to convince him to . . .”
He nodded, and she glanced away, lips thinning.
“It’s wrong. What you and your friends are doing is wrong, and cruel, and—” She stopped, collecting her anger, and he’d never been more tempted to justify himself. You don’t know everything, Rue. In fact, I suspect you know nothing at all. Let me tell you a few things.
“Listen, we don’t have to go upstairs,” he told her softly. Because suddenly, even more than he wanted to fuck her, he wanted to explain. If Rue understood, maybe the two of them could have a fighting chance at . . . A fighting chance at what, Eli? “We can just stay here and I can—”
“No. I’m already betraying Florence. If we stay here and talk, it’s even worse.” She bit her lip. “I don’t want any misunderstanding: I despise Harkness and what you are doing.”
“Right.” He tried to keep his tone light and amused. Are you hurt? a Hark-sounding voice taunted. Because this woman you barely know doesn’t like you?
“It’s just sex,” she continued. “If it’s just fucking, there’s no need for moral dilemmas.”
Oh, Rue. Are you sure?
“We do this once,” she continued, voice firm, as if laying down important rules. “It’ll be as though Vince didn’t interrupt us that first night. We . . . pretend. It’s still Tuesday, and this is happening before I found out that you work for Harkness. We work it out of our system, and never think about it again.”
I hope you’re right, Rue, because I’m not sure my self-respect can take much more of you.
Maybe she was right. They needed to expel each other from their heads, quickly. Novelty was a powerful stimulant—take that away, and maybe there would be little left between them.
Eli lifted his hand, hotel key card between index and middle finger. “Ready to go?”
“I have been for a while.”
They were silent in the elevator, at first staring ahead at the closing doors, then turning to face each other. Eli considered closing the distance between them, getting an early start, pulling her in to let her feel his eagerness, but he just drank her in. Delayed gratification, he thought. There weren’t going to be repeats. He had to file away every moment.
When he smiled at her, she didn’t smile back, but neither did she avert her wide, studious eyes. The doors swished open, and he gestured for her to go first. His heart, remarkably steady until then, began racing.
He followed her into the hallway. Opened the door for her. Watched her step inside the room and glance around indifferently. Before he could touch her, or kiss her, or even take her hand, she faced the window. Giving him her back, staring at the urban glow of the Austin skyline, she began taking off her clothes, and Eli lost his ability to breathe.
There was nothing sensual, or purposefully titillating about it. It was the most utilitarian striptease he’d ever witnessed. Nevertheless, he had to lean back against a section of bare wall. Take a moment and a steadying breath as her shoes, shirt, pants, bra, and underwear were not quite folded, but neatly set aside on the wooden desk. And as she undressed, still facing away from him, she began talking. “My first time, I was a freshman in college. With some boy whose name I either forgot or never learned. My roommates, they wanted to throw a party before the winter holidays. They invited a bunch of guys, who invited other guys, and one of them was the one I had sex with. He was actually not bad at it. He knew what he was doing. Made it good for me. I think I was really lucky. But I fell asleep after, and by the time I woke up, he was gone. Didn’t leave a note, didn’t ask for my number. My roommates kept saying how much of a dick move it was, how terrible that my first had been such a jerk. Even Tisha, when I told her on the phone, was enraged on my behalf. I performed the disappointment that was expected of me, and never had the courage to tell anyone that I was so relieved. That guy and I had gotten what we wanted from each other, and then had a clean break before things could go south. Seemed ideal to me.” She removed her earrings, and as her head tilted in Eli’s direction, their eyes met again. She turned his way, and he could only stare.
It was her.
Rue.
Naked.
Eli’s cock got so hard, so suddenly, he was sure it was all over for him.
He was her servant. Anything she wanted, Eli would do it. He had to slide his hands behind his back, trap them between himself and the wall, just to stop himself from touching and gripping and taking.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He couldn’t compute her body. She was full in a way that reminded him of the movies his grandmother used to watch, of the actresses he’d think about when sex was just a hazy notion in his head. Mediterranean, he thought. With rounded hips and a rounded stomach and rounded shoulders and some rounded, truly luscious, magnificent tits. Her legs were smooth, nicely shaped, and maybe it was because of the anticipation of the last few days, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything this lovely in all his years on this damn planet. He’d enjoyed looking at a lot of women, and they were all made different, and they’d all been beautiful, but there was something here, with Rue, that felt almost . . .
Poignant, he thought, and laughed at himself, soft yet loud in the quiet room. A few days of being horny, and he was ready to write a fucking sonnet about her ass. Her lush, spectacular ass. It bounced slightly as she took a side step—a fucking work of art.
“What?” She came toward him, eyebrows lifting inquisitively.
Her body was on full display, unfaltering, and her effortless confidence kicked his arousal up another notch, even when he’d thought it had nowhere else to go. “Nothing. You look . . .” Amazing. Sweet. Enchanting. Fuckable. “Good.”
“Thank you.” Her mouth curled upward, as though she enjoyed the compliment, and he wanted to give her a million more. Scribble them in the fucking burning Library of Alexandria. “On the app you wrote you’d be fine with my limits?”
He nodded, remembering the message he’d been pulling up at embarrassingly frequent intervals in the past few days. He had it memorized, but all those clinical words felt so at odds now with her pink, soft glory. He would die one day, and med students would find the sentences carved in his brain.