Warrick entered the main bathroom area and flipped on the light in the outer bathroom area. She saw it brighten the base of the door she hid behind. She heard water running. She wiped her eyes and nose one last time, wishing for a mirror.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she put on a happy face, whipped open the door, and met an obviously shocked Warrick in the middle of splashing water on his face at the far sink.
He smiled at her. Surprisingly his happy mood looked genuine.
“Hi there. I thought you’d already left with Colton for some reason.” He turned the water off, grabbed a hand towel, wiping a myriad of water droplets off his face. He then approached her as if he hadn’t just wrenched her heart from her chest with his bare fist and promptly shoved it into a wood chipper.
“Almost. I’m on my way out.” She walked quickly to the closest sink and turned the faucet on, not even feeling the water on her hands when she shoved them beneath the warm stream.
She squirted soap in her palm, rubbed her hands together, barely paying attention to her actions, and instead focused on getting away as fast as possible without admitting she’d heard every word of his recent phone conversation or breaking down into a sobbing heap.
Warrick sauntered closer, deposited his towel on the counter, pushed himself against her back, wrapped his arms around her waist, and whispered, “You don’t have to run off. It’s early. Maybe we could get back in bed and…I don’t know…snuggle for a bit.” His luscious mouth landed on the back of her neck. She was not unaffected by his embrace.
It took every bit of stamina within her not to stiffen when he snuggled up to her. Once he touched her, it took even more resilience not to lean back and let him do whatever he wanted.
“As amazing as…snuggling sounds right now, I do need to get going. I have some things to take care of at home. Plus, I have to work tonight.” Thankfully, she’d be spared having to get through an evening trying to keep her emotions in check or worse, explain why she was crying nonstop.
“When is your next day off?” He kissed the sensitive space beneath her ear. He knew how much she loved it.
Weakening in the knees a bit, she said, “Not for three more days.”
“That’s an eternity. What if I can’t wait that long?” He nibbled her earlobe, tugging it between his teeth, then licking the spot once, and sucking it between his lips for a sensuous finale.
The sandpaper feel of his one day’s beard growth rubbed her in exactly the right way. She loved what he did to her. She loved the way he made her feel. He was intoxicating to all her senses. She was seconds away from succumbing to his overtures.
He’s looking for a wife, and it’s not you. Why? Because you aren’t a worthy enough contender.
She stiffened. “I’m sorry. I truly need to get going. I’ve also got several errands to run before work.”
“You said that.”
“It’s true.” She broke away and practically sprinted to the bedroom. Her purse rested haphazardly on an overstuffed chair. She grabbed the straps, slinging it over one shoulder, and headed for the door.
“Wait.” Warrick’s commanding prosecutor voice startled her.
She looked over one shoulder, putting the fakest smile in place that she could muster. “What?”
He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder into the bathroom doorframe. “When will I see you again?” One eyebrow lifted.
Isabelle shrugged. “I’m not sure.” Yes I am. Never. “Give me a call later on if you want to make plans.” It’ll be easier to say no over the phone.
He grinned. “I will.” No you won’t. I just gave you an out. Use it. I may not be strong enough to turn you down even over the phone.
Isabelle turned and raced from Warrick’s lovely house. She was proud of herself for making it all the way home and into her own bed before the incredibly long crying jag began.
The old adage, basically telling folks that “loving someone and then losing that love was better than never having loved in the first place,” was a complete load of shit.
The pain in her soul surely would have been a lot less had she not given in to lust and promptly allowed her heart to get involved allowing more serious feelings. Hopeless love.
Isabelle was miserable that she’d fallen in love and in her mind had already lost them. There was no future to be had.
He’d spent quality time in her arms and obviously found her lacking. Not wife material. Not a contender. Not even worthy.
And that hurt worst of all.
Her phone rang, jarring her out of her lengthy pity party. She didn’t recognize the number.