In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
Hoppsan! Denna bild följer inte våra riktliner för innehåll. Försök att ta bort den eller ladda upp en annan bild för att fortsätta.
We're no sooner in the door to our hotel room, and Blake sweeps me into his arm, his lips connecting with mine.
"All night I've been thinking about how good this dress is going to look on the floor," he murmurs as his fingers find the zipper and the teeth open along my spine.
Instead of bantering with him, I go with the strip down, throw my own enthusiasm behind removing each piece of his medieval suit. Any suit, even one like this, only enhances a man's appeal, and Blake didn't need that help in the first place. He's always been attractive, but now that I know him, he takes my breath away. A single glance across the room tonight, and I melted.
Focusing on the details of his suit helps me to forget about tomorrow, about what's staring us down in a matter of hours. When he's naked, he spins me against the wall, his breath hot in my ear as he undoes the body shaping wear I squeezed into.
Everything between us is frantic and fast, as though we're both warding off sadness with sex. I should remind him that we were going to talk, discuss what comes next, but I'm almost too nervous to bring up the potential job. The idea of not being with him beyond tomorrow causes my stomach to clench and then sour. It's easier to sink into this than to wade into that.
We're kissing and moving and then we're at the bed. He hovers over me for a beat, slowing things down. There's such tenderness in his kiss while we mold ourselves together.
"I don't want to waste one second with you," he says, cradling me close with one hand while urging my body to the brink with the other.
The words I haven't dared to say are on my lips, but I feel them so hard it's almost painful. He means everything to me. Absolutely everything. I cannot imagine saying goodbye to him in the morning.
I grip his face and kiss him, hard. He goes with the change in pace, driving us faster and deeper until both of us are gasping and then crying out, pressed so tightly together I can feel every minuscule movement he makes.
When he tries to draw away, I cling onto him. "Don't go," I plead.
He nuzzles my neck. "I'll just be a minute." Then he slips away to the bathroom.
As soon as he's back in the bed, he draws me tight to his side, and he sighs into my hair. We lie in the dark room, holding onto each other, saying nothing, when I'm sure we should be saying a lot. The seconds become minutes become hours become goodbye.
Waiting for him to bring up what he implied in the church earlier today is torture, and I can't hold my tongue any longer. Maybe the job interview next week won't go anywhere, but Blake might be able to nudge Doctors International toward hiring me. Once I'm in, figuring out how to make a relationship work seems less complicated. I won't be a tourist in the DRC; I could be right there beside him.
"I think I might have a way for us to stay together," I whisper. Everything I'm about to say relies on me getting the job, which is far from a guarantee.
