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He jerked his steaming, glistening cock out of the heaven of her pussy and pumped, ejaculating on her ass and her back, until his essence pooled on her skin.

He just stood there for a full minute after the cyclonic storm had passed, his cock gripped tight in his hand, gasping for air, and staring down at the powerful image of her nude body dripping with his semen. He thought of how ruthlessly he’d punished her, of how he’d forced her to swallow her pride and bring herself off on his hand, of how he’d fucked her like a madman.

Regret flickered into his awareness. Then it roared.

He helped her to stand, then went to the bathroom to retrieve a towel. He gently dried her, then unbuttoned his dress shirt and draped it over her nakedness. It’d been wrong of him to expose her so greatly.

He met her solemn stare with supreme effort as he buttoned up the shirt, covering soft skin that he wanted to linger over . . . to cherish. He opened his mouth to speak, but what could he say? His actions had been harsh and selfish and probably unforgivable.

He’d intended to prove her foolishness for believing she’d fallen in love, but now that he’d likely succeeded, he felt nothing but a bone-deep regret.

Unable to stand her dark-eyed gaze a moment longer, he turned and walked out of the bedroom.

* * *

Ten days later, Davie stood in her closet wearing a tuxedo and whisking hangers along the rack while Francesca looked on listlessly from where she sat at the edge of her bed.

“What about this?” Davie asked, coming out of the closet holding a dress.

She blinked when she saw that he held the boho dress she’d so foolishly worn to her celebratory dinner at Fusion several months ago—the night she’d first met Ian. It seemed impossible that her life had changed so drastically in such a short span of time. It seemed unlikely that she’d fallen so profoundly in love, and then lost at it with Francesca-like expertise. But then when she considered everything, it made depressing sense.

Davie noticed her less-than-enthusiastic appraisal of the dress. He held it up and examined it. “What? It’s cute.”

“I’m not going, Davie,” she said, her voice sounding hoarse from not being used.

“Yes, you are,” Davie said, giving her an uncharacteristic fierce glance. “You’re not going to hole up in your room for your entire Thanksgiving vacation.”

“Why not? It’s my vacation,” she said dully, picking up a decorative pillow and picking at the tassel. “I haven’t bailed on anything I was supposed to do. Don’t I get a chance to veg out in my room, if I want to?”

“So . . . the truth finally comes out. Francesca Arno is the very type of girl that she used to despise, who sulked and refused to eat after breaking up with a guy.”

“Ian and I didn’t break up. We just haven’t spoken in a week and a half.” And we’re likely never going to speak again. She thought of the way he’d looked before he’d left her standing in the plane’s bedroom suite—his regret, his bewilderment . . . his hopelessness. She believed he had something to offer her beyond sex, but he didn’t. And wasn’t it a two-way venture? What did it matter if she had all the faith in the world, yet he doubted? “Besides,” she continued, “breaking up implies that we were together to begin with, and we weren’t. Not in any traditional sense of the word.”

“Have you even tried to contact him?” Davie said, hanging the dress in her bathroom.

“No. I can still feel his fury. It’s like it’s emanating all the way from the Chicago River to our house.”

“It’s not fury,” she thought she heard her friend mutter under his breath.

“What?” she asked, puzzled.

“It’s your imagination, ’Cesca. Why don’t you call him?”

“No. It wouldn’t matter.”

Davie sighed. “Both of you are so stubborn. You can’t engage in a standoff forever.”

“I’m not in a standoff.”

“Oh, I see. You’ve given up entirely then.”

For the first time in days, anger flickered into her hopelessness at Davie’s words. She shot him an irritated glance and he grinned, holding out his hand.

“Come on. Justin and Caden are waiting. Plus, we have a surprise for you.”

She exhaled in frustration, but stood. “I don’t want to be cheered up. And even if I did want to be, why would you guys drag me to a stupid singles meet-up—a black-tie event, no less—in order to do it? You knew I didn’t have anything good to wear. I hate these events. You used to as well.”

“I’ve changed my mind. This is for a good cause,” he said as she passed him on the way to the bathroom.

“What, saving my ravaged heart?”

“I’d settle for getting you out of this house,” Davie replied, unaffected by her dripping sarcasm.

* * *

The singles black-tie event was at a new, trendy club on North Wabash, downtown. Caden and Justin were in rare form in the car on the way to it, Friday-night buoyant and brashly handsome in their newly purchased tuxes. Francesca, on the other hand, was already ready to leave, and they hadn’t even gotten there yet. Horrible, wonderful memories had started to barrage her when she put on the boho dress and recalled in vivid detail the last time she’d worn it.

The woman wears the clothes, Francesca. Not the other way around. That’s the first lesson I’ll teach you.

She shivered at the memory of Ian’s rough, quiet voice. How she missed him. It was like an open wound deep inside her, a place she couldn’t reach in order to soothe.