Only You by K.T. Quinn

19

Molly

The Day He Left Me Standing There

Did that really just happen?

I came down from my high and melted into his arms. Now that was the Donovan Russo I had been waiting to meet. The man who took control and made me squirm and gasp and scream on the freaking hotel balcony.

But I knew we were just getting started.

I twisted in Donovan’s possessive grasp, and he eased up on his grip so I could turn around and face him.

“Now what?” I asked.

Donovan grinned down at me. There was a mischievous look in his storm-grey eyes, like he was thinking of all the things he was about to do to me. I tingled with anticipation and his smile deepened.

He brushed a strand of hair away from my face and said, “Thanks for the dance.” He kissed me on the forehead, then let go of me.

I watched in disbelief as he stepped over the railing, hopped the gap, and then climbed over to his balcony. He picked up his portable speaker and turned it off.

“Where are you…”

“See you in the morning. Breakfast is on me.” He winked before disappearing into his hotel room.

I stood there, dumbfounded, for a long time.

I thought about it while laying in bed, trying to fall asleep. I don’t know what had come over me. I had never come that quickly before, not even on the rare occasion when I touched myself. Maybe it was the isolation and the loneliness, or maybe the thrill of being with someone who I only just met last week. I was more sensitive than normal, and his touch was intense in new and exciting ways.

Emotionally, Donovan was replacing everything I had hoped to experience on this trip. He was a sexy, muscular placeholder for tours and wine-tastings and fun with my friends.

Whatever the reason, being in a gorgeous man’s arms on a balcony overlooking the city, dancing while romantic music played, letting him caress me in all the right ways with his long, warm fingers until I arched my back and cried out…

But as good as it was, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way it ended. What kind of guy fingered a girl and then just left? I thought I had given him all the right signals that I was ready to do more. I had intended to push him into my room and climb all over him like he was a big, sexy jungle gym.

And it’s not like he wasn’t interested. He was hard as a rock when I rubbed him through his pants, even more than when we had grinded together playing pool.

So what was the problem?

When I woke up the next morning, our balcony dancing felt like a dream. I had a text waiting on my phone.

Donovan: Breakfast is served in the restaurant whenever you wake up.

I showered, fixed my hair, and then went downstairs in a daze. Donovan was in the kitchen, hunched over the flat top while flipping pancakes.

“Was wondering when you’d wake up,” he said over his shoulder. He was wearing a Residencia Al Gladiatore apron. “It’s almost lunchtime. You must have been sleeping very well.”

I cleared my throat and replied, “Breakfast isn’t over, is it?”

“Normally we stop serving it at eleven,” he said. “But here at the Residencia Al Gladiatore Hotel, we want to give our guests the perfect Roman experience. I’ll make an exception for you. Pick a dish and tell me what you want.”

He was pointing at a prep table where there were eight plates of food. There was a plate with an omelet, a plate with a poached egg on toast, waffles and pancakes and bacon and every other breakfast combination imaginable.

“You made all this for me?”

“I just wanted to take the flat top grill for a spin. For practice. I made those hours ago, so they’re cold. But tell me what you want and I’ll make it again.”

I wanted to walk up and hug him from behind. To kiss him, really kiss him this time, and tell him I had fun last night. But he looked busy as he moved from the grill to the prep station and back to the grill, cooking up a storm in his kitchen.

“Pancakes sound lovely.”

“Coming right up! I’ll bring them to you.”

I waited in the restaurant while checking emails on my phone. Donovan brought a big stack of pancakes shortly thereafter, with a glass jar full of warm maple syrup and a tin of soft butter.

“Aren’t you going to eat with me?” I asked.

He waved his spatula like a music conductor. “I already ate. And I’m going to try a new recipe with the pork cutlets in the fridge. I’m going to have a lot of fun in this kitchen.”

You could be having a lot of fun with me instead.

I let him return to the kitchen while I ate breakfast. The pancakes were soft and fluffy and perfect. When I was done, I carried my dishes into the kitchen and eyed Donovan. He was watching a YouTube video about pork cutlets while wielding a butcher’s knife, so I decided to leave him alone and returned to my room.

He didn’t leave the kitchen all afternoon. I went down to check on him around six. The kitchen smelled like delicious roasted meat, and Donovan was rushing from one station to another.

“What’s for dinner, chef?” I asked.

He grinned when he saw me. “I was just about to text you. Tonight’s menu is roasted pork loin in an apple-vinegar glaze, with steamed vegetables. Where do you want to eat?”

The memory of last night was still fresh in my mind so I said, “How about the balconies again?”

Donovan nodded while tossing a bowl of vegetables with salt and pepper. “This time I’ll follow the rules and stay on my balcony.”

“Oh?” I said. “Suddenly you care about the rules?”

He flashed a smile and said, “No, but I know how particular you are about them, so I’m going to try my best. Dinner will be ready in five minutes, so grab a bottle of wine and I’ll meet you up there.”

I hoped he was just joking around, because I didn’t want him to stay on his balcony. I wanted him to come over to mine so we could continue where we left off last night. I wanted him to drag me into my room, throw me down on the bed, and take my body like it was his to play with.

Mother nature ruined our plans. By the time I returned to my room, clouds had rolled into the sky above the plaza. It wasn’t storming yet, but thunder rumbled across the city and promised rain.

So much for another balcony date, I thought gloomily.