One More Kiss (Affair Without End Book 2) by Susan Ward Read Free Book Online Page A

desk?”
    I frown. Jack called twice? That’s not like him. “Go ahead and read them,” I say, since clearly the jerk already knows what they say. No privacy here.
    “The first message was at 9:45 p.m. ‘I’m sorry.’ That’s it. Entire message.”
    Everything inside me turns to liquid. Damn, that sweet wonderful man. I take my lower lip between my teeth. “And the second?”
    “Second message was at 2:45 a.m. ‘On my way back. Damn, you’re asleep. Love you.’”
    I start to laugh, though I really shouldn’t. “Thank you.” I click down the phone. 2:45. It’s now 3:05. Jack should be back any minute depending on where the after party is located.
    I stand up and stare at the room. So the man doesn’t want me asleep when he returns, huh. Make-up sex mixed with after performance unspent adrenalin. Double fantastic. A contrite man full of restless energy is a marvelous thing. Maybe everything will fall back into place comfortably again between us.
    I quickly go to the bag I forgot to unload after I arrived. Technically, I didn’t forget. I was a little distracted. I start to smile and I dig to the bottom for the cooling container. I should have put all this in the fridge. I open the insulated bag to find the ice melted, but the food still good.
    Perfect! I pull out the things I need for the private party I’ve decided to have and grab my makeup bag, hairbrush and spray. I run into the bathroom to see how awful I look. I don’t have that kind of hair you can get wet, let dry naturally, and just roll with it. Great. Part frizz and part curl.
    I quickly brush my teeth and wash off my earlier makeup. I jerk out a tissue from the container and remove the last smudge of mascara. Opening the case, I decide on only a touch of mascara, nothing more. Jack loves the natural look. I do a quick perk up of my eyelashes, run some water on my hands, and do a fast scrunch of my curls trying to mold the disobedient sections into the ringlets. OK, not bad. I do a light spray, and go back into the bedroom.
    At my suitcase, I debate whether to put on the sexy little black negligee or the sarong. Decision made. I pull on a low cut, spaghetti strap t-shit, the sarong and nothing underneath. After fixing the tie on my hip and making sure the slit of the sarong is in just the right spot over my thigh, I go to the hotel closet. There’s got to be an extra blanket, there has got to be.
    Fudge, top shelf. Grrr, Mr. Hyatt, there are women under five-foot-eight in Southern California. Lots of women that are five-foot-three and brunette just like me.
    I struggle and finally get the blanket.  I look at the room. Where to have my picnic? I go into the living room and push back the coffee table until it’s beneath the window. I spread out the blanket.
    I gather the things I brought from home—containers of cut cheese and fruit, olives, salami, fancy crackers, a baguette, some pretty plates, an abalone shell, and a box of those short, one inch scented candles.
    I sink on the blanket and start to set out food. It’s one of the quirks I have. I can artfully arrange anything and make it look good, even a strange collection of this and that, brought from home for a picnic. The abalone shell, what do I put in the shell? I fill it with strawberries and put a candle in the center. I light the candle. Nicely done, if I do say so myself.
    From the sofa I take the throw cushions and carefully toss them down on the blanket. Strategically, I place the box of candles around the room. After they are lit, I turn off the lights.
    I smile. Jack will like this. I’ve never met anyone who likes simple things more than Jack. Now, where is that man?
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    I hear voices in the hotel hallway and I sit up on the blanket. Pushing my curls from face, I arrange my body in a posture I hope conveys I’m done with fighting. I just want to love you.
    The door opens and Jack steps in. His eyes take in the room and then fix on me. He hangs back, staring at