This was her fault, and now the person she cared most about in the world was off somewhere feeling like she’d betrayed him.
She did a quick sweep of the beach and the nearby cabanas, though she knew she wouldn’t find him there. Her heart was heavy, as she sulked back to the villa. He’d have to go back there eventually.
Wouldn’t he?
Her emotions threatened to burst as she approached their cluster of buildings. But a fifty-something couple in matching Hawaiian shirts approached from the opposite direction, clearly heading to one of the other attached units, and she was forced to keep her tears at bay.
She imagined Dan sitting in a cabana somewhere, drinking himself numb, trying to wash away the sight of her letting Armando make a move. She hated herself for ever thinking what she’d done would be a good idea. For foolishly thinking that Dan would immediately understand exactly what she wanted from him.
Warm yellow light spilled from the main entrance of the compound and the matching couple laughed quietly together. She followed slowly behind, still barefoot and still in shock. But as soon as the suite door closed after her, she was going to break.
Ahead of her, the man put his hand on the small of the woman’s back and waited patiently while she fobbed open their door. He leaned in and murmured something in her ear and Maddie’s heart lurched.
Last night, that had been her and Dan. Tonight, she was going to bed alone.
A soft sob escaped her throat and the couple turned.
A deep crease bisected the woman’s brow. “Honey, are you okay?”
No. “I will be.” Digging her keycard from her purse, she forced a smile, despite her shaky hands.
“You sure?” the man asked.
All Maddie could do was nod her head and quickly escape into the privacy of her room.
The warm dam of tears burst in her eyes as soon as the door closed and, leaning back against it, she slid to the floor, letting the uncontrollable sobbing take over.
The suite was dark and quiet—too quiet—and it smelled excruciatingly like Dan’s aftershave. God, she’d messed up. In a big way.
Head hung in her hands, she cried until she couldn’t anymore. Until her face felt dry and itchy, and her mouth felt like she’d chewed on tissue for dinner. But this? This would be nothing compared to how she’d feel if Dan didn’t—
No. No, she wouldn’t allow the idea to even formulate in her head. He would come back and she would make this right.
A sound in the hall had her scrambling to her feet, sniffling and wiping furiously at the evidence of her breakdown.
The roll of a late night room service cart squeaked outside the door and she sagged against the sink, tears she didn’t think she had in her slipping down for another round of woe-is-me.
After what felt like hours, she padded into the bedroom, flung herself on the bed and, by some small miracle, fell fast asleep.
“No offense, man, but you look like shit. And I’m pretty sure I’ve served you way more whiskey than you’re gonna like in the morning. Let’s make this the last one, huh?”
Dan grunted and raised his middle finger as the bartender set the final glass of Jameson on the bar. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as he wanted to be, so there was no way he’d let the guy cut him off just yet. “I thought it was your job to cater to losers like me, not insult us.”
The man, a twenty-something American with orange tips in his dark hair, snorted. “You’ve been sitting at my bar for over two hours, turning that wedding ring around on your finger like it’s cutting off your circulation. My guess is there’s a pretty little woman somewhere who isn’t going to appreciate you stumbling home all schnockered. Maybe you don’t care right now, but you will tomorrow. I promise you that.”
“Just take my goddamn money and bring me another.” Dan slid his credit card toward the guy and downed the numbing liquid without a flinch.
“No can do, man. You’re done drinking here tonight.” He took the card, rang up Dan’s tab without the extra drink, and didn’t look one bit sorry about it. The fucker. “Come back tomorrow with your wife, and you both drink on me. Sound good?”
Now it was Dan’s turn to snort. “My wife, huh? By tomorrow night, I might not even have a wife.”
The bartender rolled his eyes and leaned back against the rail, because apparently he had nothing better to do than deny paying customers their requests and act like a prick about it.