“So… what does that mean? That we’ll be doing this again?” I point between us as he releases my face.

His hold is still on my waist, and his right cheek tugs upward, lips curling. “I don’t exactly want things to change between us right now. Believe it or not, I could use you with business… and personal things.”

I battle a grin, looking away. “Don’t just say that, Griffin. I don’t need you feeling guilty later just because you’re trying to make me feel better now.” I pause for a brief moment, looking him over. “Do you even feel guilty… about what happened?” I question.

His mouth twitches. “Honestly… I don’t feel a damn thing.” He laughs dryly. “How wrong is that?”

“I feel terrible,” I whisper, dropping my head. “I put you in a sticky situation.”

He tilts my chin back up, head shaking. “Don’t do that. It’s me who put you in this situation, Angelina.” I start to look away but he catches my eyes again. “Hey. Look at me,” he murmurs. “I’m okay. We’re okay. If you’re worried someone will find out, then don’t be. The only way they will know is if we say it out loud… and that, I’m sure, will never happen.”

“I just hate the fact that you carry baggage, Griffin. If you are so unhappy with her, why not call it quits?”

His face changes, a slight frown now present. “Because it’s not that simple with her and me, Angelina.”

I narrow my brows. “What do you mean?”

“It’s… a lot to explain.” He releases me, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.

He takes a look around the busy street, squinting his eyes when he looks to his left. I wish he’d go into further detail, but I know he won’t.

“This won’t happen much,” I say. “Because even though you aren’t happy, you are still married and I am not playing anyone’s mistress.”

He looks down at me and pitches a laugh, sticking his hands into his front pockets. “You are no one’s mistress, Angel. You’re too good for that.” He leans in to kiss my cheek and I swear I tingle from head to toe, fire tunneling through my veins.

I don’t get it.

I don’t understand how I can be so angry with him one second, but within the next I want him to rip my clothes off and take me on the backseat of a crummy taxi. I don’t care if the driver or the entire city watches, just as long as Boyd is on top of me, pleasing me in every way.

Gosh, I’m so backwards.

I ignore my childish thoughts and return a peck on his cheek. Then I turn for the cab and duck in, shutting the door behind me but rolling the window down as Griffin backs away to stand on the curb.

“I’m keeping you to that promise, Mr. Boyd.”

He crosses his heart and kisses his fingers. “I am a man of my word, Miss Clark. Talk to you soon?”

I smile through the window. “Yeah, soon.”

We hold gazes, and as each millisecond ticks by, Griffin’s smile slowly slips from his lips.

With haste, he strides towards the cab again, bends down, ducks his head in, and kisses me right there.

Right through the open window.

Right in a cab that smells like mothballs and Indian cuisine.

I gasp at first, not expecting it at all, but then I melt and sigh, my hand reaching up to trace his chiseled jaw, gluing him closer.

I hear the cab driver agitatedly groan and smack his teeth in the front seat, but I don’t care. He’s not ruining this moment for me.

Griffin’s tongue coils with mine effortlessly.

Smoothly.

He tastes like orange juice and syrup. Someone called room service this morning.

I smile behind the kiss, my core aching as he groans.

When the kiss is finally broken, he focuses on my eyes, lips raw and wet. I smile up at him, lean in once more, and kiss him gently.

My lips flatten on top of his and then I bite his bottom lip gently. When I pull away he moans with defeat, almost like he wants to drag me back up into the hotel room and never let me go.

Hell, that’s what I want too.

I’m clenching like hell, so I know he’s throbbing in his pants like a splitting headache.

“Later, Boyd,” I whisper, our lips so close they still feel connected.

My eyes point down to his full mouth as his focuses on mine, and with a deep, soulful voice, Griffin says, “Have a safe flight home, Angel.”

THIRTEEN

Colette

The first thing I smell is the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, thick in the air.

The first thing I see is the sun beaming into the bedroom, nearly blinding me. My eyes struggle to stay open as I stare up at the chandelier. But, when I realize it’s the place that is wrong, I push up straight.

I’m still in his bed, his thick, fluffy white comforters and pillows surrounding me. I move my legs, swinging them to the edge of the mattress with a soreness running from my womanhood to my asshole.

By how tender I am down there, I don’t even want to know how many times we had sex last night.

I take a look around the spacious bedroom.

His bed is set up a few feet away from a long, rectangular window, the view of the ocean not too far away.

The streets are busy and rushed. The sun is high in the sky and people are already crowding the beaches.

I yawn, stepping out of bed and getting my shit together. I can’t believe I’m still naked. Seriously. This is ridiculous.

My clothes are puddled in front of the bathroom door. I hurry to collect them, slipping into my dress and scouring around for my other high heel. It’s nowhere in the room which means it’s in the living room, and I sigh because I’m not in the mood to face him.

I hate when I have to bid my farewells, but he’s not the person that will let me go without asking me a thousand and one questions.

Pinching the bridge of my nose while gripping the doorknob, I release a heavy breath, knowing I have no choice right now but to go out.

Might as well get this over with.

I walk out of the bedroom, tip-toeing across the marble floors. There is clattering in the kitchen, and the scent of coffee is stronger, along with the sweet scent of pancakes.

I love how the coffee smells, my body instantly craving a quick mug, but I can’t have it. I can’t have coffee until after the salsa competition is over.

I make it into the living room, noticing my other shoe in front of the coffee table. My phone and clutch are on the table too.

I peek around the corner, spotting him in the kitchen whipping up breakfast. Not only that, but he has jazz music playing. Oh, God. When will he learn that I am not that kind of woman?

Deciding to rip the Band-Aid right off, I rush across the room, go for my shoe, slip into both of them, and then gather my personal belongings.

His back is facing me. He’s dressed clean and fresh in a grey button-up, and navy-blue slacks, ready for a long day of work. His suit jacket hangs on the back of one of the chairs at the dining table.

I clear my throat and when he hears it, he turns with the carafe of coffee in hand. “Oh, Colette. Up already?” He smiles. “Wanted to surprise you.”

“Yeah… That’s okay. I’m going to get out of here. I can’t stay.”

His brows dip. “Not even for one cup of coffee?”

I’m walking towards the door as he asks. “No. Sorry. I have a lot of work to catch up on today.”

He places the carafe down on the counter, looking me over in my haste. It’s like he can see all of me, the raw definition of who I am. A selfish, inconsiderate woman… or should I say bitch?

Yeah. I’ve been called that one too many times in my life.

From my father.

My sister when I slept with her boyfriend when we were teenagers. Even from Griffin, which just happened recently. That was his first time calling me a bitch out loud right before he stormed away.