Postcards At Christmas

At the door to the outer hall, she kissed him. His mouth touched hers, tasting of coffee, making her long to lift her arms and pull him closer. It was early yet. They had time.

To share more kisses. To make love again in the morning light.

But no. That would only hurt more in the end. She was on her way now. Better to keep moving, go back to her room, get her things packed, call a cab....

She kept her arms at her sides and when he lifted his head, she said, “It was perfect, Dami.”

He framed her face between his hands and there was such an ache within her. The end had come way too soon. Already she missed the beauty and rightness of all they had shared. “Travel safe, Luce.”

She pressed her lips to his once more. “Have the best Christmas ever.”

“You, too.” His hands fell away.

She turned from him.

He reached around her and pushed open the door for her. She went out into the wide, beautiful hallway and started walking.

She didn’t glance back to find out if he watched her leaving him. She didn’t need the temptation of seeing him there staring after her—or worse, not seeing him.

Better not to look. Better not to know.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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