I shower hurriedly¸ tempted to remain beneath the flow of water and give it a chance to wash all my pain and memories away, but even if that would work, there’s no time. I dress quickly in a white cotton blouse and a beige patterned skirt, then brush my hair, despairing when my mind goes again to Landon, telling me how much he loved the color. “Sometimes it’s red,” he’d said. “Sometimes gold, and sometimes it’s both.” I breathe shakily, unable to suppress the memory of his fingers in my hair.
Frustrated, I drop the hairbrush and clip the strands away from my face. I forego any attempt at makeup, even though my eyelids show evidence of all the crying I did last night. I wince at my reflection but decide that there’s nothing I can do.
Laurie has already left for work,
which is fine with me, because I’m not eager to talk to her after her reaction last night. I hurry out of the empty apartment, hoping, as I go downstairs, that I’ll find a cab before too long.
Outside, there’s the sparse morning crowd from my street. A few people on the tree-shaded sidewalk hurrying to work, others pushing little kids in strollers, and a few cars parked on the street. I clear the steps from the building entrance, and then the small paved area between the sidewalk and the building before I notice the familiar black sedan parked on the curb.
My steps falter. Something builds in my stomach, a mixture of dread and anticipation that seizes my body and makes me unable to keep moving. I watch, barely breathing, as the rear door opens and Landon steps out of the car.
A soft breath escapes from my lips, and my eyes close, almost reflexively, a protective measure to prevent me from going to pieces just from looking at him. Yearning courses through my body like a tidal wave, drowning my heart and weakening my knees. I’m suddenly shaking, my whole body drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
What is he doing here?
I take a deep breath, and when I open my eyes again, he’s still there. His eyes are burning with that familiar cobalt intensity, provoking an answering flame deep in my belly. I blink back a sudden wave of tears. The last thing I need is to be so close to his devastating beauty. Already, my eyes are greedily devouring him. The burnished gold of his hair is gleaming in the early morning sun, the waves framing and emphasizing the raw perfection of his face, and he’s dressed to conquer the world in an exquisite deep blue suit, one that does nothing to hide the powerful body beneath.
In the few seconds I spend looking at him, I get the feeling that if I walk into his arms, last night wouldn’t matter anymore, only how much I want him, and how much he wants me. For a moment, I’m tempted to do just that. To forget all my doubts and just be with him.
But for how long?
It takes an effort to tear my eyes away from his perfection, to break the spell he has me under. He takes a step towards me. “Hello.” His voice is low, and washes over me like a familiar, much-desired caress.
Suddenly the back of my throat feels raw. I swallow hard. I’m not going to start crying again. I chose to walk away, I remind myself. It was my choice.
There is some oncoming foot traffic on the sidewalk, so I have to step out of the way, I move towards the curb, closer to where Landon is standing. “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice thick and rough.
He looks closely at my eyes, and I wonder how obvious it is that I spent the night in tears. A small frown touches his brow, and I can tell that he hasn’t missed a thing. He starts to come closer to me, and the slight movement instantly raises my heart rate. I flinch, and he stops himself, instead thrusting his hands into his pockets and rocking on his heels.
His voice is low and quiet. “I wanted to talk.”
I shake my head. My commitment to staying away from him is so shaky that I don’t trust myself to spend enough time with him to ‘talk.’ “I’m late for work,” I tell him, hoping that would be sufficient for him to leave me alone.
He takes a step towards me, closing the small distance between us. I pull in a breath, and my senses are assaulted by all the familiar scents. The faint whiff of his cologne, the delicious hint of soap and shampoo… I breathe, concentrating on the small frown he still has on his face. “I’ll take you to your office,” he suggests. “We can talk in the car.”
I contemplate sharing that small space with him, and I shake my head again. “No. Thanks.”
His quick intake of breath is followed by a frustrated hand running through his hair. “Rachel,” he says, his voice a study in patience, “Why are you making this so hard?”
It became hard the moment I fell in love with you, I say silently. Behind me on the sidewalk, people walk past us, and it makes me think how awkward we must look, just standing on the street.
“Fine,” I concede, walking past him to the car. I slide to the far side and adjust my skirt while I wait for him to join me. Landon’s preferred chauffeur, Joe, is behind the wheel, his crew cut visible from the back.
“Good morning, Joe,” I greet, my voice sounding churlish even to me.
“Good morning, Miss Foster,” Joe replies cheerfully.
The door closes with a barely audible click as Landon joins me at the back, and before the car starts to move, Joe plugs in a pair of earbuds. I fix my gaze outside the window, determined to resist the urge to feast my eyes on Landon’s perfection, but every nerve in my body is aware of him, right beside me, so close, so gorgeous, so… everything I want.
You’re in love with him, I tell myself, trying to be sensible. He doesn’t feel the same way, and there’s absolutely no chance he ever will. He can’t give you what you want, and you know, he’ll only hurt you in the long run.
What could ever hurt more than leaving him hurts now? Temptation whispers the words in my head, and I do my best to ignore them. I’m doing the right thing for me, I assure myself. Why postpone the pain that will surely come? Why keep holding on to a man who’ll only want me for a short while?
The car joins the traffic heading Midtown, and I’m so acutely aware of Landon, of the waves of sensual energy coming from his body, and of the desire growing low in my belly. I’m almost afraid to move. The silence stretches, along with my nerves.
“You’re still going out with Weyland tonight?”
The question makes me turn to look at him. He’s facing straight ahead, his fingers splayed on his lap. His body looks as stiff as mine feels. I close my fists, fighting the ache in my fingers from my desire to touch him, to feel the skin of his face, to smooth the silk of his hair… to allow my heart to win over my head.