powered up in unison, driving each other higher. Towards climax. Locked in ecstasy. She came first. His release followed seconds after.
“Alex!” The cry that had been building inside her escaped in a groan of supplication and satisfaction. “I have to leave.”
They relaxed their hold on each other. Shadows darkened his eyes where blue light had danced moments before. He stepped out of the shower. She watched him from beneath lowered lashes, admiring his physical perfection.
For the last time.
He held out a plush bathrobe. She stepped dripping onto the tiles, slipped her arms into it and tied the belt. She grabbed a towel and made a turban. He undid it again, dried the ends of her hair, and threw the towel on the floor. He ploughed his hands into the long, damp strands and massaged her scalp, moving his fingers in sensuous circles. He touched her chin, his fingers firm, forcing her not to avoid his eyes. “Look at me.” His deep voice sent tingles rippling down her spine. He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth, lingered, and she ached to let it deepen. Except he broke away. “There’s no ‘have to’ about it.” His tone was direct, his mood electric. She opened her mouth to insist. He cut her off. “We’re going out.”
“I’m not going anywhere but the airport. I need to rebook my flight.”
He put a finger on her lips and replaced it with a light kiss. His mouth moved upwards, feathering first her nose then her forehead. Thrown by the tender gesture Maggie froze.
“Stay,” he insisted huskily. “You’ve missed one flight today already. What’s the hurry? Besides, there’s somewhere I’d like to take you.”
“Wh-Where?” All too ready to cave, she knew that staying would be like putting skates on her heart and allowing it to take off across the thinnest ice.
“Broadway,” he announced. “I called in a favor. I’ve got us comps for a show.”
His big break-your-heart-smile spread across his face so that creases hollowed his cheeks, like brackets. “You’re not leaving New York without taking in a show on the Great White Way. I won’t allow it.”
She was topsy-turvy with doubt and desire. She’d had her one-night stand. She really didn’t want to leave, but she didn’t know if she could stay without blathering about her feelings all over the place. And that would make a terrible mess.
The temptation was too much. Alex wasn’t going to happen to her again in this lifetime.
“Oh, you won’t?” She rose to the challenge. “We’ll have to see about that.” She ran her hands over his broad, golden chest, skimming tauntingly downwards to where he’d tucked a towel around his waist. He groaned and halted the downward progress of her hands, circling her wrists with the gentle force of his big hands. His erection stood proud under the white towel.
“You’ll pay for that later.” He spoke raspingly. The effect she had on his gorgeous body delighted her.
“I’ll settle up now if it’s all the same to you.”
With that she jumped into his arms, and wrapped her body in a tight tangle around his. Leaving wet towels scattered on the floor, he carried her back to bed. Living in the moment, she squealed with delight and gave herself over to a bout of delicious Alex-style pleasure.
Resigned to the fact that she was about to set off for JFK, Maggie swooned a little as Alex shoved the big, stupid penguin with the silly fixed grin on its beak into the back of a yellow taxi outside the hotel where they’d spent another blissful night. The show had been great, but rather than risk any more run-ins with photographers, or worse still, would-be paps with their phone cameras, instead of heading for an upscale restaurant where New Yorkers go to see and be seen, they’d gone back to their suite and ordered room service.
It was fine by Maggie. She was much happier alone with Alex than being seen out and about with him. After a night of passion and intensity, things had been left unsaid. What would have been the point in telling Alex how she felt about him? He couldn’t say he loved her back if he didn’t.
Alex swept Maggie into his arms in a strong hug. It felt as if she’d melt there and then on the New York street and trickle down a drain, never to be seen again. She inhaled the freshly showered scent of his warm skin as his cheek brushed hers. It was over. She was clinging on to her self-control by a thread. If he asked her to stay any longer, she’d fall so hard for him that she’d never recover. She needn’t have worried. It was over for him too. He had a full day of press stuff scheduled and his taxi was waiting, engine running, an impatient driver drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Bye, Alex. It was nice …”
“Nice?” Both eyebrows shot up.
“Better than nice.” She climbed into the cab. “It was …” She searched for a word. Why did this have to be awkward? She sounded so prim. He watched her closely, mesmerizing her with his eyes.
“… Wicked?” he supplied. His Jago hint of an almost-smile slotted into place.
Maggie didn’t reply. She quivered inside, suppressing a bubble of emotion. She wanted to do this goodbye thing with the poise of an actress in a black and white movie.
An irritable blast on the horn came from the taxi behind. “Time to go.” Alex closed the door of Maggie’s taxi and slammed his hand down on the roof, signaling to the driver that he could set off. “See you in London.”
The words stung. She couldn’t bear to go down the road of imagining him in her life, loving him, relying on him being there. Through the open window she heard his voice boom theatrically. “I want you at my first night. And, don’t forget, I’m counting on you for a makeover.” As the taxi drove away he signaled with a thumb to his ear and his little finger to his mouth that he would call.
London had been grey since she’d flown back from New York. Grey sky. Grey river. Grey buildings. There hadn’t been a blink of sunshine in a whole week. And to make things more glum, the crazy stories about Maggie and Alex in the gossip mags and on the internet had had the opposite of the desired effect on her work. Instead of being more in demand, a television presenter who’d booked her for style advice prior to a big awards ceremony had cancelled. Maggie refused to let the greyness get her down.
In the galley kitchen of her Battersea studio apartment she located her big jar of duty-free jelly beans. She took it down off a shelf crowded with assorted, pretty, mismatched crockery and shook it. She’d already picked out all the peachy-pie flavor. She started hunting out kiwi, extracting them carefully between an orange-tipped thumb and forefinger.
She was steadfastly ignoring her mobile phone. Every time she picked it up it reminded her that she had three missed calls from Alex – deliberately missed.
She cursed herself for failing dismally to separate emotion from sex in New York. She’d been a thrill-seeker to the hold his body had over hers, and entranced by the effect she seemed to have on him. She’d been a complete idiot. She’d allowed herself to become so wrapped up in him it hurt.
She could delete his calls, go on avoiding him, but it wouldn’t make her feel any better. Facing up to Alex would be better than hiding from him, so after popping a small selection of jelly beans to fortify her she picked up her phone and pressed call.
“Hey. How’ve you been?” Alex’s deep, smooth tone gave her butterflies.
“Fine,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Doing this and that.”
There was a moment of lead silence.
“Any baby news?” He sounded like something was stuck in his throat, as if he too was scoffing jelly beans and had swallowed a handful in one go. “Have you had a scan? Or anything?”
“Nope.