Free Montaine by Ada Rome Page B

Trent’s heart. I
wanted to be the girl who secretly held Trent’s heart.
    “She’s gone,” he answered
simply.
    To my great surprise, his
fingers reached toward me and began plucking open the buttons of my blouse. I
held my breath. My heart raced out of control.
    “You should get
comfortable.” His voice was low and husky.
    I sat up and slipped my
blouse over my shoulders. The fabric puddled at my wrists. I wore a thin peach
camisole that barely covered the swell of my pushed-up cleavage. The cool night
air prickled the skin along my arms. Trent slipped one hand under the border of
my camisole, pulling me to him as his fingertips pressed firmly into the bare
flesh of my back.
    “Goodnight, Kat,” he said
softly, his eyes traveling hungrily over my lips and my chest.
    Before I had a chance to
respond, his mouth was on mine, kissing me deeply and forcefully. His lips were
strong and supple, his sinuous tongue twisting and winding. My mind reeled with
desire. I returned his kiss with a passionate intensity, biting and sucking his
lower lip. He groaned lustily, pressing his body against mine. I felt the rigid
strength of his erection between my legs. I arched my back as his fingertips
gripped me with a bruising pressure.
    Then, just as suddenly,
he pulled away. With a final delicate kiss on my still-throbbing lips and a brief
fingertip caress that skated along the tops of my half-exposed breasts, he lay
back and closed his eyes.
     “Goodnight, Trent,” I
whispered, my pulse still pounding in my temples. I think I’m falling in
love with you.
    At some point between
midnight and sunrise, we both drifted off to sleep under the great dark sky.
     
    ***
     
    I awoke to clean morning
sunlight slanting across my body. My sleepy brain, confused and disoriented, tried
to piece together the events of the prior night.
    I sat up and scanned the
roof. Much to my surprise, I was completely alone. Trent was nowhere to be
found. I felt chilled in my flimsy camisole and immediately donned the blouse
that was spread neatly on the cushion beside me. I grabbed my shoes by the
heels and picked my way barefoot across the cement roof.
    As I descended the
winding staircase, part of me expected the succulent aromas of a fresh-cooked
breakfast to waft in from the kitchen. Instead, the stove stood cold and bare.
The apartment was desolate as a tomb.
    “Trent?” I called into
the silence with the shaky and timid voice one might use when summoning a
ghost.
    I heard no response. I tiptoed
through the halls and peeked through open doorways. I checked the kitchen counter
for a quickly jotted note that might explain his absence. Maybe he went to the
store to buy milk or to the newsstand to grab a paper.
    There was no note. The
duffel bag was gone from the floor. I had the eerie sensation that the previous
night’s events were a mere figment of my imagination and that I was now an
unwelcome intruder. The reality of the situation struck me with a shocking blow
that nearly knocked the air from my lungs and brought hot tears to the corners
of my eyes. How could I have believed, even for a second, that Trent possessed
any kind of feelings for me? My brain spoke a cruel truth that my heart was not
yet willing to accept. I mean nothing to him. I am just a joke.
    I stepped into my shoes
and bolted through the door, hearing it slam shut behind me. A few minutes
later, I hurried toward the uptown subway, the fresh morning breeze swiftly
drying the tears from my dampened cheeks.

Chapter 8
     
    The next week passed in a
miserable blur. As each day shaded into the next, I resigned myself more and
more to the fact that Trent was not only ignoring me but actively avoiding me.
    On Tuesday, I glimpsed
his broad-shouldered figure walking fifty paces ahead on the sidewalk and bounding
up the stairs into the magazine building. I quickened my stride, not sure what
I would say if I did manage to catch him in the lobby. He was gone by the time
I surged through the