Page 48 of Third Time’s a Charm

Regardless of anything else, I need to send that proposal to Tate. Today. Make this right. Because I can’t go on having sex with Louise whilst being dishonest. And as much as we might like to try and convince ourselves it was a one-and-done and won’t happen again, well, I suspect we’d be kidding ourselves.

I’m settling the breakfast bill when a message comes through from Buddy saying Trevor has arrived with the windscreen and they should have the car ready to pick up in a couple of hours.

We walk back to the motel in silence. We don’t touch, but I’ve never been more aware of the physical presence of a human being in my life.

“We should probably talk about what happened last night, and I guess what happens from here.” I’ve waited till we were back in the privacy of our room to broach the subject. No need for waggling ears to pick up gossip, even if we’re unlikely to ever see any of these people again.

The problem is, we’re now slap bang—yeah, poor choice of word—in the middle of the scene of the crime. Which, despite the memory gaps, feels more like a revelation than a crime.

“I guess so.” Louise sits on the end of the still unmade bed, where the smell of sex lingers. She tucks her hands between her knees and looks up at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher. A kaleidoscope of images starts up in my head.

“I get the impression we had a very good time,” I start. Louise nods. “But …”

“We shouldn’t do it again,” Louise finishes my thought. One which is even more painful than I expect.

“No.”

Even to my ears it sounds far less declarative than it should. Because that’s not the outcome I want. The images in my mental kaleidoscope become short videos. My fingers gripping her smooth thigh. Moonlight filtering through the gap in the curtains to paint the curve of her breast with silver. Her lips and hair trailing across my chest. The tight bud of a nipple rolling between my fingers. I’m powerless to control my physical response. And sitting on the bed in front of me as she is, with my crotch at eye level, she can’t fail to notice it.

“Because it’s …” She breaks off. Is she searching for the right word, or allowing me to supply the answer?

“Inappropriate.” At least that’s how it should feel. But it doesn’t. It feels right. Not just that it happened, but that it will happen again.

“Yes. Inappropriate.”

Did I just take a step towards her? The tumbled sheets behind her seem to writhe, inviting me back.

“I don’t want to be seen as the woman who …” I hear the rest of the sentence without her needing to say it. She doesn’t want to be the woman who sleeps her way into a promotion. Sadly, her fears are valid. Especially given what I suspect about John Mackelden.

“Of course. You’re too talented to risk …”

Louise stands. There’s barely a breath between us, but the air is hot and humming.

“And you don’t want …”

“Exactly.”

Without another word, we’re tumbling back onto the narrow bed, hangovers forgotten, lips and hands tearing at each other.

“But once more wouldn’t hurt.”

“Especially since we can’t remember …”

“That kind of makes it even, really.”

“Nobody needs to know.”

“They won’t find out.”

We mutter against each other as our mouths roam from lips to necks to shoulders, our clothes falling away almost by magic, along with our hangovers and my guilt.

The satiny texture of her skin, the smell of her hair, the sound of her gasps, unlock some of the memories the alcohol and my tangled conscience suppressed.

I could come from the memories alone, but when Louise wraps a slender hand around my erection, I don’t need the memories. I’m there again, in real time.

“Are you sure?” I ask, working my lips across the slope of her breast, past the purpling bruise complete with teeth marks, towards a pale pink nipple.

“Oh, yeah,” she sighs, tightening her grip on my cock, working her fist up and down in a rhythm that will undo me like a teenager if I’m not careful.