He lay there—letting her.

He lay there until he sat up just enough to take another drink from the glass in his hand. She went down like the amber liquid, and said, “I’ll make you feel so good.” The sound of his zipper was the only noise he heard after that as he felt a loss in the pit of his stomach he knew Clara Stevens couldn’t fill. Closing his eyes, he could imagine another, so easily.

A loud knock interrupted them. “Clara, dinner is being served. Your mother has requested Mr. Barrett’s and your company.”

Clara huffed, but then smiled. “Don’t worry. We can pick up where we left off after dinner. Maybe you can spend the night.”

Taylor sat up. “Maybe,” he lied. When he stood, he adjusted his cock and pulled the zipper up. He set the empty glass on her dresser as they left the room. That would be all he would drink tonight. He was losing his senses, his better judgment. Almost drunk was not a feeling he liked.

They entered the dining room and greeted everyone already seated. Fourteen guests and two empty seats near the far corner, the kids’ end of the table. Taylor held Clara’s chair out for her and then took the empty seat next to her. He took his napkin from the table and spread it across his lap right as Clara’s hand joined it.

Conversation at the other end of the table picked back up and he finally looked up at the company that sat across from him. His breath collapsed in his chest as he looked into the blue-green eyes that had demolished him. Her ruby lips were parted just enough for him to hear a harsh breath escape. He leaned in and inhaled. When her eyes left his and looked at Clara, he felt sick.

Her gaze drifted back to him and Jude ran her finger subtly over her mouth, and he knew. Knocking Clara’s hand away, he grabbed his napkin and scrubbed at his mouth until fuchsia lipstick was smeared across the white cloth. The blonde to his right had marred him so deceitfully. She knew what she had done. She had staked claims where she had no right. And now he sat in front of the only person he would never want to hurt, hurting her.

Clara, bubbly, completely unaware, introduced them, “Taylor Barrett, this is Judith Boehler and her cousin Isla Boehler. Judith and Isla, this is Taylor.”

Isla spoke first. “It’s very nice to meet you, Taylor.”

He stood, reached across the table, and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” He remained standing, turned his full attention on Jude and reached his hand out for her, palm up. It was the only offering he could give, and he hoped she accepted. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Boehler.” His voice might have cracked, his nerves sneaking out, but he wasn’t sure.

She placed her hand in his and when their hands embraced, her lids dropped closed, the heat, the memories, the attraction almost too much. The long greeting was not awkward for them. It was needed. It was wanted. But Clara did not appreciate the extra attention shown to Jude.

Clara asked, “Have you met before?”

Taylor waited for Jude to answer, not sure why they were pretending.

“No,” she said, releasing him and leaning back in her chair. She raised her glass of water to her lips to hide the quiver of her bottom one.

A distraction was needed and one was provided in the nick of time for Jude. Bigger than life Rufus Stevens walked in, apologizing for his lateness. He’d been working. His grandiose entrance garnered smiles and happy chatter as a chair was added to the head of the table along with a place setting.

There was a time when Taylor liked Rufus, but many years had passed and dirty deeds had tainted the relationship. Rufus was a womanizer of the worst kind—he paid for sex with jewelry and expensive dinners and treated all women as if they were subservient. His expectations never exceeded a good blowjob and fuck. Taylor had spent more than a few nights comforting the women he’d abandoned at parties where they had been picked up, used, and dumped for the next conquest. There was something about a woman in tears that Taylor had trouble ignoring, even if she did know what she was getting into.

But more than any other woman, Rufus was the same “friend” that had slept with Katherine when Taylor was in the hospital. An engagement had been looming, the pressure from both families firmly planted on Taylor’s shoulders. When he told his friend, his “friend” did what any enemy would do: pursued Katherine, and when he got her, when he broke the happy couple up, he dumped her.

Her tears were the only ones Taylor never consoled. Would never console.

His mind was occupied on other things. He had his illness to deal with. A broken heart was just another part of him that he hoped to find a cure for one day.

Rufus and Taylor greeted each other with faux-civility. The former friends had not been in contact since Taylor’s disease had been diagnosed, and since the betrayal had made the rounds of social gossip circles.

Their salads were promptly served and their glasses topped off. Taylor ordered a Whiskey on the rocks, knowing there was no way he could make it through this dinner without something to slow the bombarding thoughts bouncing around his head.

Not wanting to focus on his foe, he turned back to the brunette who sat directly across from him, suddenly his heart feeling exposed. When she dared to look up, she was met with a fury of emotions, all seen so clearly in his eyes, and she looked away.

He didn’t.

Her hair was pulled tight, up in the back. Her bangs hung down to her eyebrows then fell softly across. Her lashes were darker, her lids lined with a thin black line. Pink graced her cheeks, but this pink was unnatural to the blush she had given him. This pink was the opposite of when she was tired, worn out from making love, and sated with their love.

Her pearl necklace covered the divot in her neck that he loved to lick, to suck, to caress. Small, delicate pearls adorned her ears and matched her pale silk dress.

Taylor stared at the brunette across from him, not recognizing her at all. He watched her over the soup course, over the salad course, over the main course. Over dessert. He watched her all night hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl who had ransacked his world.

She ignored his eyes. She ignored the animated conversation going on around her. She ignored the nudges from her cousin. She ignored most of the food in front of her. But she couldn’t ignore him. He’d given her seven days of happiness. He’d given her seven days of acceptance, of love, of trust. She could avoid his eyes, but no, she couldn’t ignore the man that had consumed her days and nights. That consumed her memories.

And she looked up, straight into his hazel eyes and smiled just for him, for her, for them, and the memories they had made.

In the eye of the hurricane, only the two of them existed, the others lost in the deadly winds that swirled around them. It became hard to breathe as she stared into the eyes of the one person she couldn’t have. She couldn’t destroy him. She wouldn’t. She had to let him go, for good.

His hand slowly reached for her and her fork fell, clanging against the plate. The hurricane was gone, everyone sitting in silence and staring at her. Everyone but Taylor, who stood. “You’ve gotten something on your dress. Here,” he offered, along with his hand, “I can help you.”

She took his hand and lightning struck twice, her heart failing to fend off the currents. “Okay,” she replied, barely audible.

Clara laughed at the ridiculous notion. “Sit down, Taylor. The help will get that out. Just go into the kitchen, Judith.”

Taylor ignored the snob seated to his left and held tight to the only woman that mattered to him. Their arms were raised above heads as they walked out of the room refusing to let go of the other. Through the swinging wood door, they entered the kitchen, and kept walking until they exited the other side and walked down the hall into the conservatory. They stood in the dark room, the rain beating down loudly on the glass that surrounded them. The harsh weather drowned away the world outside their bubble. And for a few seconds in time, he saw his Jude again.