Page 76 of Counting Down To You

I try to swallow it down. Try to tell myself it doesn’t matter. But I can’t quite make myself believe it, even as I get ready for bed in the bathroom, bracing my hands on the basin and staring at myself in the mirror. He doesn’t want you, Ali. So it was, what, a momentary slip on his part? Just something he always does? Giving in to temptation because I was there, and I made the first move?

I have a bit of a reputation.

I take a deep breath. What was I hoping for, anyway? It can’t go anywhere. I’m here for two more weeks, that’s it. Then I’ll go back to London, and in a few months he’ll be nothing more than a memory. Why does that hurt so much to think about?

I focus on the practical, washing my face and brushing my teeth before heading to the bedroom to change into my pajamas, now feeling ridiculous that I packed my sexy ones.

I’m about to turn off the lamp on the bedside table when there’s a knock at the door. Despite myself, my heart leaps at the sound.

Stop it, Ali.

I open the door to see Leo standing there, shirt unbuttoned one or two holes but otherwise still in the same clothes he was wearing. Whereas I’m in nothing more than shorts and a lacy vest top. His gaze drops to my bare leg. My nipples harden, all because of a look, and I know he’ll see it, under my flimsy top. When his gaze rests firmly on my face, I try, really hard, not to blush.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I left my overnight stuff here after getting changed.”

“No problem.” I play it as cool as I can as I open the door wider to allow him inside. I refuse to cross my arms self-consciously, even if I’m aware of how the top clings in all the wrong—or right, I suppose—places.

He bends to pick up the simple black bag, straightens. “Thanks,” he says, crossing back toward the still open door. That’s literally all he says. So, what, we’re just going to pretend that downstairs didn’t happen? I feel a spike of anger at the fact that he’s trying to do just that, chasing away the embarrassment and rejection.

Leo moves to step back into the corridor. But do you know what, screw that. Before he can, I shut the door, practically in his face, then cross my arms for an entirely different reason. “What are you doing?” I demand.

“Ah…” He lifts his bag.

I make a derisive sound, somewhere between a snort and a huff. “No, I know that. But what are you doing?”

“Ali…” His voice is a warning. But so what? He kissed me, didn’t he? He wanted me. I know what I felt on the porch. And maybe he’s worried about hurting my feelings or something. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything more for me than attraction—but he could tell me that, couldn’t he?

“Don’t ‘Ali’ me,” I snap. “You kissed me.”

He runs his free hand through his hair. His gaze is still firmly on my face, but I suspect, from the tick in his jaw, that he’s trying hard not to look elsewhere. “I know,” he says. “I was there.”

“But you regret it, is that it? So you don’t even want to talk about it?”

“I don’t regret it,” he says quietly. And, Jesus, even through the anger, his voice, low and sure like that, sets my nerve endings alight. “But it’s not a good idea.”

“Because we work together?”

“Because of a whole host of reasons.” Ouch. I try to keep my reaction to that off my face, though I’m not sure I succeed when his expression twists. “Ali…” But I can’t look at him now, angling my head down instead. I wanted an answer, and I got one. Yes, he kissed me. No, he doesn’t think it should go any further.

“It’s not you,” he murmurs.

I laugh, though it turns into a sigh. “Right. Sure.”

“It’s just there’s so much we don’t know about each other. So much you don’t know about me. And you’re here because of your friend and clearly still processing that and—”

“And, what—I can’t think for myself?” I push my hair back from my face, see the way his eyes dip to my collarbone. “Give me some fucking credit, Leo. I get it. We kissed, but you don’t want anything more. It’s no big deal.” I shouldn’t have brought it up, for Christ’s sake. If I was embarrassed before, it has nothing on me now.

Quiet falls between us. Still he doesn’t leave, and I hate that I can feel the space between us spark with static. Hate that my body feels tense, somehow incomplete, with the fact that he’s not touching me.

Then, “It’s not that I don’t want it, Ali.” His voice is a low caress, the type that sends a shiver down my spine. I can’t help it—I look up at him. Something in my stomach coils. And I know, then, that I have a choice here. I can let him walk out of the door, put this evening behind us and carry on with a fake breakup as planned. Or I can take a chance. I’m not an idiot. I know this can’t be a long-term thing. But, right now, I don’t want long term. Right now, all I want is tonight.

“It’s just—” he begins.

Do something that scares you.

So I do. I close the distance between us with a single step, placing my palms on his stomach over his shirt. The muscles there tighten, and his gaze finally drops to my chest. When he looks back at me, his pupils are almost black.

I can feel my heart beating in the back of my throat. “Leo.” I’m relieved my voice sounds somewhat normal. “I don’t want you to sleep downstairs.”