She spread her legs wide beneath him—a silent plea for what she really wanted.
She watched as he reached over to the nightstand and withdrew a small foil packet. She thought she could see his hands shaking as he unrolled the condom down his impressive length. She reached out to steady his hands and in response to her gentle touch he entwined her fingers in his, moving her hand and arm over her head, pressing her into the pillow above.
He once again settled between her legs and in one precision movement filled her. The spasm of her muscles around him echoed in the grip he reinforced on her hand.
She cried out with a pleasure she had never experienced before. She wasn’t a virgin, but nothing had ever felt like this before. She wrapped her legs around him, anchoring him to her as he moved within her, pushing her further and further into ecstasy with each thrust. She didn’t get a break as each movement in and out of her triggered every nerve in her body to fire, until she felt she was on the verge of shattering from within. Without warning she was past the point of no return and she cried out, clutching him to her as her muscles contracted reflexively around him. One more stroke and Tate was with her, his own convulsions joining hers.
He collapsed against her and she could feel the dampness of his skin and the warmth of his breath against her neck. She couldn’t resist the feel of him, satiated and relaxed against her, and gently ran her fingertips of her free hand up and down his back. It was an act of intimacy beyond the passion they had just shared.
She lost track of time, savoring the feeling of closeness, of Tate inside her, until he lifted himself away. He was staring down at her, levered above her, still deep inside her. He was looking at her for answers, for an explanation of how they’d got to where they were and what to do next. She had none.
His hand brushed her hair away from her face. “I can’t talk about this right now,” he said, and she heard enough regret to break her heart.
“Okay,” she replied, lost for any other words. He withdrew from her body and left to go to the only closed room in the loft—the bathroom.
She sat upright and covered herself with one of the oversized pillows. She wanted to move—needed to move, needed to gather her clothes and what was left of her heart and dignity and get the hell out of there. But she couldn’t move. Every muscle in her body was paralyzed by the surrealism of what had just happened. Tate—she’d had sex with Tate. But it hadn’t just been sex. It had been the most cataclysmic physical and emotional experience of her life and in that moment she realized she loved him. And he regretted it. Did she? She had vowed never to act on her feelings, but now that she had how could she dream of taking it back?
The sound of the door opening brought her attention back to reality. Tate strode naked to the platform, with no embarrassment or attempt to hide his nudity. He was spectacular. She had never appreciated the draw of the naked male form until now. She was sure in the knowledge that the sight of him and the memory of how he’d felt inside her would be forever burned into her body, mind and soul.
He turned down the covers on his side of the bed and gestured for her to get in. It was an offer she shouldn’t accept, but it was too hard to say no. As she crawled beneath the sheets he walked to the other side of the bed and did the same. He turned off the lights from a master panel on the nightstand, leaving only the amber glow of the fire and the reflection of the city’s lights through the windows. She lay there still, not knowing what to say or do, until she felt his strong arm snake around her and pull her against him.
“Go to sleep,” he whispered, his lips only inches from her ear and the length of his naked body pressed against her back and bottom.
Impossible was the last thing she thought, before she closed her eyes and her mind gave way to the complete physical and emotional exhaustion of her body.
Tate woke from a deep sleep and felt his body stir and harden. He wasn’t alone—could feel himself pressing against soft skin and tight curves. He opened his eyes to the early-morning light and saw it: red. Red hair covered the pillow that lay beside him. Red hair that was unmistakable.
Chloe. As he acknowledged her identity in his head a replay of last night’s events rolled through his mind. He could see her tremble with his touch, her nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her tank top, the way she’d let him undress her and then reached out for him. And there was the way she’d felt, tight and uncontrolled beneath him so that he had barely managed to hold on for her release.
It was painful to think about it as he felt himself engorge further, pressing deeper into her tight, rounded bottom. He wanted to kiss her neck, caress her breast and slip back inside her—in part for release, and in part to prove to himself that they hadn’t been as explosive together as he remembered. But the cold light of day streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows stopped him.
How had he let this happen—and why? He hadn’t just taken any ordinary woman to bed, he had taken Chloe. Chloe—the beautiful, smart, no-nonsense, caring woman he had known for years. It wasn’t as if he had just realized Chloe’s beauty. He had always felt an attraction to her. But by the time they had met he had already started pursuing Kate, and he’d classified his feelings for Chloe as those of a normal red-blooded male. What had happened last night? Damned if he knew. All he knew was that the attraction he had suppressed for years had boiled over—with considerable consequences.
He ran his fingers through the tumble of red hair adorning his pillow. This was going to end badly. He wasn’t naïve about the nature of the medical profession. Women still had to work harder to prove their equality, especially in fields dominated by men. Women like Chloe—though he couldn’t think of any woman like Chloe—had it the hardest. Looking at her, no one would imagine that she could be as smart and gifted as she was beautiful. Worse, few believed that her success was due to hard work alone.
He had heard the rumors about her and resented them. Unfortunately coming to her defense would only fuel the fire. Personally, Tate could care less what people thought or said about his personal life. He made his own decisions—for himself and no one else. But as a woman and as a resident Chloe didn’t have that luxury.
The rumors would be vicious. The effect on her career would be unpredictable. And for what? What did he have to offer her? He had tried to settle down for a life of commitment and had it thrown back in his face. He wasn’t prepared to go down that road again, but he also wasn’t prepared to hurt Chloe just to satisfy a need in him he hadn’t known existed until last night. He had crossed a line last night that he’d had no business crossing and hated himself for it.
He needed to end this before it started—or went any further.
Chloe stirred, her eyes opening to unfamiliar surroundings as she took in the flood of natural light and the expanse of the room around her. She blinked and the scenery remained unchanged. She looked down, acknowledging her nudity before confirming to herself that last night had not been a dream. She was in Tate’s loft and they had made love.
Slowly she turned towards the other side of the bed—only to find disappointment at its emptiness. The feeling did not last long as her eyes caught sight of him sitting across the room in the kitchen, staring back at her. He appeared to have showered and was already fully dressed in black pants and a crisp navy blue button-down shirt with a pewter tie at the collar. An uneasy feeling came over her.
“Good morning.” She waded into conversation cautiously.
“Last night was a mistake.”
His words broke through her and her perfect dream instantaneously changed into a nightmare. He remained across the room, still making no effort to close the distance between them.
“I think it would be best if we forget it ever happened and moved