This only happens once. It definitely won’t happen again.

ELEVEN

Griffin

I collect my white, button-down dress shirt and khakis, hanging ironed and crisp in the closet.

I set it all up on the bed, and after I take a shower, I come back out to get dressed.

Not once has Angelina left my mind.

I’m still confused about her departure.

Is she going to avoid me now?

Did I say or do something wrong?

Or did she finally come to her senses and realize, like me, that perhaps we shouldn’t have given into the sudden desire.

I walk to the bathroom, adjusting my tie as I stare at my reflection. I was drunk, so fucking drunk and so fucking stupid.

She is my associate. We make a great team—hell, I work better with her than I do with Scott. So why fuck that up? With business, we are great together, but I don’t know what will happen now that I’ve left my trace inside of her.

I should find out if shit is okay between us. I should go check on her—hope she doesn’t actually regret fucking me.

After giving my pilot Ted a call and telling him to get the jet ready within the next hour and a half, I grab my room key, march for the door, and listen to it click shut behind me when I get halfway down the hallway.

I stop at her door and don’t hesitate to knock. I hear the loud whirring of a blow-dryer, but it stops immediately after my heavy knock.

Her footsteps pitter-patter across the floor and when they stop I know she’s looking out of the peephole. Several seconds pass and when the door doesn’t open, I sigh.

“Open up, Angelina. I know you’re still in there.”

There’s still silence on her side, but after a few seconds pass by, the handle clinks and the door swings open.

She’s wearing a silky pink robe, her hair damp and curly. Her face is clear of makeup, and when she notices my gaze dropping to her cleavage, she pulls the fabric across, uncomfortably concealing herself.

This woman looks just like the name I can’t help but call her.

Just like an angel.

A pure, raw angel with a body to fucking die for. My palm tingles, dying for a feel, and my throat thickens with need when I realize there is absolutely nothing beneath that robe at all.

Easy access has never seemed so delicious. I know she feels this too—this connection that can’t be denied or avoided.

I know because beneath her thin, silky pink robe are now a pair of pebbled pink nipples.

“What?” She folds her arms across her chest.

“What?” I repeat, stunned by her aggravation.

“Yeah, what is it? You need something?”

I frown at first, but to pretend I’m not bothered by her attitude, I ask, “I was just coming by to ask about your flight.”

“What about it?”

I inhale before exhaling. She’s testing my patience now. “Is it confirmed? Do you have a way home or will you need my pilot to come back and fly you out?”

“I have a way back. My flight is at three.”

“Oh. Okay good. Just checking.” I shift on my feet, narrowing my eyes at her. She matches my stare. I don’t know what’s up and honestly I don’t even think I want to know right now.

I start to turn and walk back to the room, but then I realize I need to know.

Did she not like it? Was I too rough? Too eager? Too demanding?

Everything seemed fine until this morning… when soberness settled in.

I spin back around and she’s still standing between the frames of her door. One of her eyebrows shoot up but I overlook the guard she puts up, marching ahead and stopping less than an inch away from her.

Her breath hitches, and her nostrils flare with desire as she stands up straight… and then I know. I know now that those questions I asked before have nothing at all to do with this.

I wasn’t too rough, or too eager, or even too demanding. I was just right, damn good if you ask me, and she hates that I was.

“What is your deal?” she snaps.

“What is yours?” I retort.

She blows a breath, head shaking.

When she doesn’t respond, I say, “Be a mature woman and say what’s on your mind, Angelina. Stop beating around the fucking bush. There is obviously something wrong—something I did—so tell me what it is I said… or did—whatever.”

I mean, seriously. One minute she’s sucking me off, and the next she’s out the door so fast I don’t have enough time to finish. I didn’t even get a chance to release my load. I had to finish with my damn hand and the watery hotel lotion.

Angelina drops her arms, squaring her shoulders and holding my glare. “You mean to tell me you don’t remember what you said this morning? All after I gave you the best wake up call of your life?”

My face warps with confusion. “No, I don’t know. What the hell did I say for you to react like this?”

She huffs a laugh and shakes her head. “This is unbelievable.”

“Christ, Angelina, I was half-asleep.” I rake my fingers though my hair roughly.

“Yeah,” she huffs again. “You know what? I don’t even know why I’m getting so upset about this. You said this is just sex, nothing more, and you are right.” She steps back and grabs the door handle again. “Later, Mr. Boyd.” She begins to shut the door but I prevent it, fingers curling around the doors edge.

“Tell me what I said,” I say through clenched teeth.

She yanks the door back, stepping so close I can smell the honey wash on her skin, the vanilla saturated in her silky brown locks.

“It’s funny, Griffin, how you act like you are so unsatisfied and fed up with your wife, yet you still can’t help but call her name.” Her eyes bore into mine as my heart sinks. “But who am I kidding, right?” She shrugs. “I know how men like you are. You get what you want and then forget, which is fine by me, but at least have the decency to say my name when I am the one you can’t keep your eyes or filthy hands off of. At least show some respect to the woman that has shown nothing but genuine respect for you.”

The seconds tick by, and with each of her words echoing through the hallway, I can’t help but feel a little awful about this. Her frustrations are clear to me now, her anger towards me for a solid purpose.

Now I see the damage I have caused. I hurt her feelings. What was I thinking?

I said Colette’s name while Angelina was sucking me off? Why would I do that? Why was I even thinking about Colette in that moment? How could I not realize that it was Angelina with me in the bed this morning, not Colette?

Angelina is right, but unfortunately I can’t allow her to know that. I can’t because we are, business associates, and I made it clear last night that I am still a married man and that we are only doing one thing: fucking.

I hate that I have to be the one to burst her bubble, but…

“I’m sorry, if I offended you, Angelina,” I start, looking her straight in those upset blue eyes. “That wasn’t my objective. Really.” My face solidifies, eyes going hard. “But that is all I will apologize for. You will have to get over it, regardless, because next week we will have a lot of work to do and the future is much more important than me making a minor name mistake.”

Her mouth gapes, a horrid look of disbelief masking her face. I expect her to say something, but she doesn’t. She only gapes—only hates me a tad bit more.

“I suggest one thing to get past this, Angelina: We promise never to let it happen again. That way I can never offend or belittle your ego and you can be happy with our business relationship.” I study her with absent eyes.

I feel fucked-up for saying this, but it’s true. We can’t. It was wrong from the start. It wasn’t even supposed to happen. But, despite my guilt, I remain firm. I don’t leave her much time to respond—to sponge it and grasp what I’m saying.