Carlos cursed inwardly, hating himself for wanting Roni
permanently. What he wanted was impossible. Insane. But here he was in a snare.
A snare with time slipping away like sand through a glass. “I want you to miss
me.”
“You know I will. I’ll hold onto the memory of tonight. Not
only our romps in the sack. You.” Tenderness
in her blue eyes held sincerity.
“We both will,” he said, and for the first time meant it.
It’d taken him years to perfect the illusion of having no feelings. He slipped
his fingers through strands of her silky hair. “I like seeing you in my shirt.”
“Can I keep it as a souvenir?” Her accented New York voice
was light and sexy. Roni lacked the protective shell he carried.
“Si, Roni,” he whispered, and when she extended her long
fingers in his direction, her warmth traveled over his skin. He took her hand
and bent to meet her gaze.
“When will I see you again?” Roni was soft, sweet, and at
the same time strong and full of fire. Beautiful, and he wanted to be inside of
her so badly he hurt.
He didn’t know. “Love hurts. I’ll die each time I read one
of your articles.”
“Hey! Every year I have two weeks of vacation. This summer
I’ll fly down.” She spoke with a tremor.
“How about coming for long weekends?” he asked. “Surprise
me.”
“What if you’re busy?”
“You can crash my party anytime. Wreck my plans.
That’s all right.” He kissed her. Once more. Again.
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