“It was amazing while we were together, but was it just a heat of the moment thing? Something that could only happen in that kind of perfect BDSM environment? Was it like Vegas? What happens on Desire Island stays on Desire Island? Because, the truth is, Nick is a workaholic. And like any addiction, it can tend to override everything else.”
Laura snorted. “Look who’s calling the kettle black? Sometimes I think you should put a cot back here. You’re here seven days a week.”
Sophia shook her head. “It’s different. I love what I do, but I can put it aside. When I was on the island, I knew you were here taking care of things, and honestly, I barely thought about the place. But Nick…”
She paused, reliving for the thousandth time the pre-dawn morning after the best sex of her life, when Nick turned from his desk, his face a study in regret. And while she understood the decisions he’d had to make, there was no getting around the fact that he’d chosen his work over her.
“Nick lives, breathes and is his work. I’m not sure he can have a separate life. At the same time, he is reaching out so… So, yeah—I’m willing to see him again.”
“You’re willing to?” Laura’s comically skeptical expression made Sophia laugh.
“Okay, okay,” Sophia admitted. “I’m dying to. But I have to be careful. I have to remind myself we don’t really know each other all that well. I’m not interested in setting myself up for heartbreak. I refuse to be one of those women who pine after a guy who isn’t available, for whatever reason. I’m thirty now, Laura. I’m too old for that shit. When I fall in love this time, it’s going to be for keeps.”
“I get it,” Laura said, placing a sympathetic hand over Sophia’s. “But we don’t always get to pick how we fall in love. Sometimes it just happens. You step off that cliff and wham—you’re falling, whether you like it not.”
“Yeah, I know.” Sophia sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter 8
Sophia finally finished closing the last of the dozen or so hooks down the front of her waist cincher. She regarded herself in the mirror with satisfaction. The cincher gave her a sexy hourglass figure, along with a nice breast lift. Her crazy curls had decided to obey for once, and hung in pretty ringlets down her back.
She had chosen a black leather skirt with a slit along one thigh. She drew the line at uncomfortable shoes, however, and had opted for her Doc Martens instead. The combination of sexy sub girl and kickass street fighter pleased her. She grinned at herself, eager anticipation at seeing Nick again zipping through her veins.
It was odd she hadn’t heard from him since before he had boarded his flight in Houston, but maybe he’d just been too busy and distracted—or too intent on coming straight to see her!
He was due at her place in a half hour or so. In spite of her promises to herself to remain cool, she let out a little whoop of excitement.
Her phone rang—not the chime of a text, but an actual call. Nick! Maybe he was already downstairs on the street.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she chanted as she raced to find her phone.
Grabbing it from the bureau, she saw the photo of Nick standing on the beach on Desire Island staring pensively out at the ocean—the only picture she had. She’d taken the shot after one of their long, lovely walks along the shore during their brief but intense time together. She’d added the photo to his contact information on her phone.
Now, she clicked on it with excited fingers.
“Sophia.” His deep, sexy voice sent a zing of desire hurtling through her body. “Hi. I’m so glad you were able to pick up.”
A stab of guilt poked her for not taking his previous calls. Why had she been so stubborn?
“Are you back in New York?” Sophia asked. “I’m all dressed up and ready to go. I’m wearing something sexy and new. I hope you’ll like it.”
“About that,” he said slowly, his words and the hesitant way in which he said them instantly dragging her down. He blew out a sigh while she braced herself. “I’m actually not in New York.”
“You’re still in Houston?” she blurted, rising outrage threatening to push past the recent excitement. If he was still working on that fucking real estate deal…
“No, no,” he said quickly. “But here’s the thing. An older gentleman had a heart attack back in coach. They had to do an emergency landing in Ohio. He’s apparently going to be okay, but I have no idea when we’re getting the hell out of here. We’ve been sitting on the tarmac at the Columbus airport now for over an hour. You know how they do—first they say they expect it’ll just be a short delay, and we’ll soon be in the air and making up for lost time, yadda yadda. Then ten minutes becomes twenty. Then the gate they thought they had is no longer available, etc. I know you were really excited to go to Impulse tonight, and I was too. The thing is, I have no idea when I’m getting back to the city, or how long it’ll take me to get to you once we do land. It’s not fair of me to expect you to wait around. I was thinking—if you want, I can have my driver pick you up and you can go to the club without me. You know—just to check it out. I could let my manager there, Elizabeth, know you were coming and make sure you get the royal treatment.”