The sex had been amazing, and he’d done right by her. He’d given as much as he had gotten. That was the line he had to walk, these last two precious days with her. He’d hold his tongue, and he’d be so, so good to her.
Then at the end of them, he’d let her go.
“So,” Rylan called from the other room. “You ready to hear my awesome plan for the day?”
Kate’s hand tightened around the bottle of ink she’d been returning to her bag. In theory, she was out here getting dressed while Rylan shaved, but then she’d gotten distracted by her art supplies and by thoughts of where she might like to go to sketch this morning. His question stopped her cold.
She already had plans for the day. Good plans.
Plans designed to distract her from the twisted-up mess that had become her feelings for Rylan.
Laying herself out for him the night before had left her feeling so much lighter. She’d let him into her body and her heart and even her mind, and it had been amazing.
But it made the reality of letting him go even more impossible to bear.
“What’s that?” she asked, setting the ink aside.
Kneeling beside her suitcase, she fished out the cleaner of her two pairs of jeans. She ducked behind the bed, checking she was out of Rylan’s line of sight before sucking in her stomach and tugging them on.
“Remember how I tried to talk you into going to Versailles yesterday?”
Damn, she did remember that, now that he brought it up. She frowned, pausing with her hands at her waistband.
The simple truth was, she didn’t want to go to Versailles. Sure, the history of the place was appealing, but everything she’d read said it was overpriced and overcrowded. It wasn’t the kind of history she was interested in anyway.
“Vaguely,” she said, shaking out a shirt. She shrugged. It wasn’t too wrinkled.
In the bathroom, the water ran, the sounds of the razor clinking against the porcelain telling her he was almost done. By the time he joined her in the main part of the room, she’d gotten the shirt on and her wet hair combed out. She tried not to stiffen when he came up behind her and put his hand on her hip.
If he noticed the tension in her body language, he didn’t point it out. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. His body was so warm. It sent a shiver through her.
“I’ve been thinking about it some more since then.” He rocked them gently side to side. “Imagine it. Train ride out into the country. Big old fancy rich guy castle. Dinner at a little château somewhere, away from all the traffic and noise. It’ll be romantic.”
That was the last thing she needed. He’d swept her off her feet with the most casual of gestures. If he actually tried to woo her, she didn’t know how she’d survive it.
She let that doubt creep into her voice. “I don’t know. I only have today and tomorrow left.”
It hurt just thinking about it.
“I know,” he said, more serious than she’d expected. “Which is why I want to show you the best time I can. Before you go.”
God. Did his voice sound as wistful as she felt?
Scolding her overeager heart, she squirmed her way out of his embrace. “Rylan . . .”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He shrugged, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I just thought it would be nice.”
He turned around and padded over to his bag, dropping the towel when he reached it. The view of him from behind was as good as from the front. Maybe better. She got lost for a second, staring, remembering herself only once he’d pulled his boxers up to cover his rear.
She snapped her gaze away, taking a couple of steps backward to fall into the chair beside the bed.
“It’s just . . .” She worried the inside of her lip between her teeth. She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t want to go to Versailles; he’d just come up with another, better plan. Admitting she was afraid to spend more time with him wasn’t really an option, either. Which left . . . “I told you all the stuff I have to figure out this week. With grad school and art and jobs and stuff.”
“And I told you. You’d be crazy not to pursue what you love.” He looked at her over his shoulder as he shook a pair of jeans out, his tone all matter of fact. “And what you’re amazing at.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?” He stepped into the pants and tugged them up, fastening them before turning around.
Where should she start? “It’s just . . . not. I’ll have to take out loans if I go to school, and then am I ever going to be able to pay them off? Am I just wasting my time?” Surely he had to understand that. “I have friends who did the grad school thing and ended up at ad agencies afterward anyway, but two or three years older and saddled with these massive piles of debt.”
“They aren’t you.”
She snorted. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Then let it be easy.” He hopped up onto the bed and stalked across it until he was on the opposite edge, right in front of her, their knees close enough to touch. He held out his hands, and she slipped hers into them. His eyes looked so sincere. “Listen. If you really think another day of working in your sketchbook will help you figure out your future—where you should be, what you should do . . .” His throat bobbed, and there was another layer of meaning, one she couldn’t quite grasp. “Then that’s fine. Do it.”
“I just . . .”
“But,” he interrupted her. “I think you already know what you want to do. It’s just battling with what you’re afraid you should do.” The stroking of his thumb across her knuckles paused, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. “What you think other people expect you to do. And all the time in the world spent thinking about it isn’t going to change that.” He shrugged, expression clearing. “In which case, come take a trip with me. Let me show you some pretty things and try to make out with you in inappropriate places.” Squeezing her hands, he smiled. “Choice is up to you.”
He had no idea which choice was killing her the most right now.
Regardless, she wasn’t ready to admit defeat quite yet. She drew her hands back and let out a long sigh. “Let me finish getting ready and think about it, okay?”
He didn’t seem to like that answer, but he nodded anyway. “Fine.”
By the time she’d dried her hair and gotten her makeup on, she wasn’t feeling any better about things. She planted her hands on the counter and stared into the bathroom mirror. Raising her voice so he would hear it, she asked, “Versailles is really expensive, isn’t it?”
He popped his head around the doorframe, fully dressed and looking infuriatingly perfect. “My idea. My treat.”
She frowned. “How can you afford this?”
“Don’t worry about me. I can handle it.” He put his hands on his hips. “Just make a decision, Kate.”
Putting his insistence on treating aside for a moment—she was going to have to find some way to pay him back before she left; no chance she was letting him bankrupt himself for her—she pulled her mouth into a sideways frown, regarding herself again in the mirror. Weighing her choices. In her peripheral vision, she could see his reflection, too, though.
He looked so ready to be disappointed.
And who was she kidding, really?
“Oh, what the hell.” It felt like throwing caution to the wind, like ditching class. And knowing you were probably going to get caught. She pushed the sinking feeling in her stomach aside. “I can always draw from photos when I get home, right?”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Yeah?”
“Sure. Why not?”
She could think of a hundred reasons, but really . . . he was right. She knew what she wanted to do, with her life and with him. What she should do, she could worry about later.