“How do you mean it?”
He stared at her. Rowan swallowed hard, a door opening. All at once she couldn’t lie. Here, drunk, at eleven o’clock on a Thursday night, maybe she could tell the truth.
“I mean it . . .” She shut her eyes and turned away. “In every way.”
James’s lashes lowered. Then, with one confident movement, he pulled her toward him. His mouth closed around hers. He ran his hands through her hair. She touched the back of his neck. She drank in the smell of his soap, his strong grip, the deftness with which he touched her. God, she had wondered about this for years. Every time he met another girl, every time he told Rowan he’d slept in someone else’s bed, she’d wondered.
In minutes they were in her bedroom. “This isn’t right,” Rowan murmured as he laid her on the mattress.
“Yeah, it is, Saybrook. This is probably the most right thing we’ve ever done.” He kissed her neck. “I knew you wanted me. I wanted you too.”
Rowan stared at him. “No, you didn’t.” But the look on James’s face said that perhaps he had.
James caressed her face, his breath quick. “I think even Poppy knew how we felt, deep down.” He sank onto one elbow. “You are so smart. And beautiful. And cool.”
“Stop,” Rowan said bashfully, but he pulled her in again before she could say anything else. His words washed over her, again and again, until they were the only refrain in her mind, the only thing that existed between them.
For a few precious hours, she finally got everything she’d ever wanted.
ROWAN OPENED HER eyes. She was lying on top of her duvet in a merlot-colored silk camisole she didn’t remember buying. The ceiling fan whirled over her head; outside, she could hear the soft hiss of the city waking up. Judging by the dull light streaming through the window, it was probably right before dawn. Her head pounded from the Scotch and wine. James lay beside her, unconscious. A figure stood over the bed. It had hollow eyes, a downturned mouth, a shapeless body. “Shame on you,” a raspy voice whispered.
Rowan cowered back. But when she lifted the covers from her eyes again, the figure was gone. The digital clock blinked 5:50. Sunshine streamed in from the tall casement windows.
Rowan heaved a breath. A dream. There was nothing in the corner except for a pile of clothes. Her jeans. Her T-shirt. And black men’s loafers.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. James was here.
But he wasn’t in the bed, as he had been in the dream. Rowan rose, walked to the door, and listened. James’s muffled voice floated out from the living room. He stood in his boxers, his strong, tanned back facing her. His cell phone was to his ear.
“I know, I know,” he whispered. “But I told you, something came up.” He shifted. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
Rowan tried to escape silently, but she stepped on a creaky plank in the floor. James turned. His eyes widened, and he hit the END button on the phone.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan whispered, a lump in her throat. He had to have been talking to Poppy. Lying about why he hadn’t come home last night, consumed with regret.
Rowan couldn’t even think about her guilt, it was so overpowering. She couldn’t look at her hands, knowing that they’d touched James everywhere. What had she done? She thought about how the future would unfold: she’d blurt it out to Poppy for sure. There was no way she could face her cousin as though nothing were the matter. Poppy might forgive Rowan, but there would always be an abyss between them—at every dinner, during every holiday celebration, every time they saw each other, they both would remember what Rowan had done.
And then, quietly, Poppy would tell the other cousins, explaining that she understood why it happened, in a way—poor Rowan had been single for so long, and James had been her friend, and really, could anyone blame her?
She backed out of the room. James dropped the phone on the couch and ran toward her. “Hey. Where are you going?”
He tried to wrap his arms around her waist, but Rowan arched away, almost feeling as though the future scenario she’d mapped out in her mind had already happened. “Oh, God, James. What the hell happened? What did we do?”
He leaned back and stared hard at her. “Calm down. It’s going to be okay.”
Tears filled her eyes, hot and salty. “How can you say that? Nothing will be okay.”
He tried to kiss her, but she ducked her head to the side so that he got her ear. “I have to get out of here,” she said, glancing at the clock. It was 6:03; she had a conference call with the Singapore office at 7:30. She dared to glance at James. Just looking at him, she felt an undeniable pull toward him. “You should go home,” she ordered. “Work things out with Poppy. Please.”