Page 45 of Until He Confesses

He watched me leave, and to my surprise didn’t say a single word. When I got out of the room and shut the door behind me, I needed more than a minute to calm myself.

He seemed to have just come out of his shower and so his lower half was wrapped in a towel.

He was towel drying his hair and the way its length flailed all around the place attracted me more than was reasonable. And then there was his muscled torso, strong and inviting and flooding my mind with memories of how it had felt against my bare chest during our time in London.

I ached to run my tongue across it. To taste every bit of him since I didn’t get the chance to last time.

In short, I dreamt of it both during the day and night and it left me constantly overheated, aroused, and questioning my sanity. At this point sometimes I was convinced that I truly wanted to be tortured, but the screams he had wrenched out of me were no small thing to be forgotten. And then there was the comfortable and inviting bed in the middle of the room, and it was truly a feat to not think of all the ways we could put it to good use.

“Are you alright?” his assistant called out, and it was then I turned and realized that I still had an audience.

“Oh, yes I am,” I replied. “I was just making a mental checklist.”

He laughed.

“I do that all the time too, even when I have them written down.”

This all spiraled into a discussion on making lists and keeping up with deadlines that I found difficult to engage with until I was thankfully able to escape.

Back in the galley, I cleaned up as needed and put things away, however, I still had to return to his room to take away the dessert plates.

I took a deep breath before I headed back and only exhaled by the time I arrived at his door.

He allowed me in and without looking at him I headed immediately for the plate.

When he spoke, I came to a stop.

“I talked to Anna,” he said.

I was working and so technically I was allowed to decline any attempts to take things into personal territory, but then again, he was a client, and I was required to see to all of his needs, so I kept listening. These were the reasons I told myself that I couldn’t leave and so I turned around to face him.

“That’s great to hear,” I said, and he smiled.

“You really broke up with me because you thought I cheated on you?”

I wanted to inform him that my decision wasn’t out of blind speculation and that I had seen incontestable evidence that had taken me years to get over. All of this seemed like too much effort. So instead, I asked.

“Isn’t that a valid enough reason to break up with someone?”

“You really believe I did that?” Asking me the question the second time made my confidence falter. Perhaps it was because of the calm way in which he asked it and of course, when anyone was spoken to in this way it made them doubt themselves.

My heart didn’t believe that he was a manipulative person but still, I found myself keeping my guard up and treating his words as though he was.

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” I told him. “There’s no reason to. This was in the past so I hope we can solely focus on the present.”

He stared at me and the longer he did in that arresting way that had always made me want to reassess myself, I felt myself begin to squirm.

“I’ll leave now,” I said, and he didn’t respond. But as I arrived at the door, I found that I couldn’t. At least not yet.

My hand closed around the handle but rather than ask him what I truly wanted, I restricted things to the present.

“Did you request that my company assign this flight to me?”

I wasn’t quite certain what I was expecting but it was for sure not that he would actually and so easily admit to it.

“Of course, I did,” he said, and I turned back to stare at him.

“Can I ask that this be the last time? There is no need for us to see each other.”