She was gone.
One minute in his arms, and the next… silence.
He hadn't moved. Couldn't. His fingers were still twitching like they remembered the shape of her waist. His mouth still tasted like her gloss; that soft, barely-there vanilla she always wore like armor.
"She left," he muttered.
He wasn't sure if he sounded shocked, amused, or just downright offended.
How do you get kissed like that and then left like some afterthought?
He looked at the door. Still closed. Still mocking him. His jaw ticked.
"Unbelievable."
He ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard. His whole schedule for the night was ruined. His brain? Scattered. His chest? Warm. His ego? In therapy.
He sat down, checked his watch like a fool; like time would tell him what just happened. But all it did was tick, loud and useless. Just like his pride.
You asked her to stay.
She didn't.
He didn't like that. At all.
&&&&&&
Meanwhile…
Mara stepped into the elevator with the calmness of a woman who had just set an entire penthouse on fire and walked away without a single burn.
She didn't smile.
Didn't frown either.
Just leaned against the wall, heart racing, chest tight, lips tingling.
That shouldn't have happened
But it did.
And the worst part?
She didn't regret a second of it.
What she did regret, was how he made her feel something she wasn't ready for.
Something dangerous.
Something like... real.
&&&&&&
Back upstairs, he was still sitting on the edge of the couch like a man who'd been personally betrayed by gravity.
He grabbed his phone. Opened her contact. Hovered over the keyboard.
"You forgot your dignity," he typed. Then deleted it.
"Come back."
Deleted.
"We need to talk."
Deleted again.
In the end, he just locked the phone, tossed it on the table, and
muttered:
"Damn her."
But deep down?
He already knew:
He was going to chase her.