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how you take your coffee.”
    She sat up, stretching. “Black is fine.” She accepted the cup, took a sip of the strong brew. He’d already dressed and shaved, and his still-damp wavy hair indicated he’d showered as well.
    As good as he looked, she preferred him tousled, the way he’d been last night.
    “How old are you?” she heard herself ask and blushed at how abrupt she sounded.
    His eyebrows rose a bit at the unexpected question, but his smile didn’t waver. “I’m thirty-eight.”
    Doubt pinged her. Okay, she’d assumed he was younger, but six years?
    Guy’s mother must have taught him that a gentleman never asks a lady her weight or her age, because he didn’t turn the question around on her. Blaise bit the bullet all the same. “I’m forty-four.”
    Again, there was no diminishing of his smile. “Then I guess we’re both plenty old enough to know what we’re doing.”
    And what are we doing? What am I doing?
    With a shaky smile, she set her unfinished cup on the nightstand, stood, and gathered up her clothes. “Think I’ll grab a shower myself.”
    She made it a quick one, then scrambled into her clothes. She had no toothbrush, so used her finger and the tiny guest tube of toothpaste to clean her teeth. Better than nothing. Running a comb through her tangled locks, she sighed, already missing Guy, although they hadn’t yet said goodbye. Now she remembered why she’d never liked hookups. She wasn’t very good at them. She always got a little too emotional, then too sad when they were over.
    It would be particularly hard saying goodbye to this man. Their connection had not only been sexual, but personal. Their conversations between romps had been eye opening and thoughtful. She’d been sure he’d felt the pull, too.
    Based on what, Blaise? Your wishful thinking? Just because you feel something doesn’t mean he does.
    When she emerged from the bathroom, her coffee cup had been refilled. Not only was he an intelligent and downright sexy man, he was a considerate one. She picked up the coffee, grateful for something to do with her hands in their last few awkward moments together.
    Time to say goodbye as gracefully as possible. “It’s almost check out time, isn’t it? I should be going.” She set the cup down, then took her purse from the top of the dresser. “Maybe we’ll see each other again sometime on the bus.”
    Oh, hell. Why did she say that? Now he’d think she was angling for a repeat performance. Desperate older woman looking to get laid again.
    She wanted to let go lightly. She had to get back to her real life, to being the sober and responsible Mother of the Bride. She’d had the best night of her life, and that was fine. She had no further expectations.
    And yet—
    “Blaise, I’d like to take you out for breakfast.” He took a quick glance at the digital clock-radio. It read ten forty-seven and check out was eleven a.m. “Or brunch might be a better option. What do you say?”
    Excitement fizzed inside her. If he’d wanted to be rid of her, he could just let her go with a “Thanks, it was great.” But offering to prolong their time together? Maybe he felt the same pull that she did.
    He caught her momentary hesitation. “We don’t have to say goodbye just yet.”
    She surprised herself for the second time that morning. “But maybe we should.”
    His startled look gave her the determination to go on. Last night she told herself she wanted more. Well, that hadn’t changed. She didn’t want to wait like a schoolgirl and “let the boy decide” what course to take. “If this is all we’re going to have, then I don’t think I want to prolong the goodbyes.”
    “I see.” His eyebrows lowered, and his mouth firmed, an expression she took as anger. Blaise’s stomach tightened into a knot. She’d been too pushy, and he wasn’t having it. Well, at least she’d made her feelings known.
    He picked up his jacket and shrugged into it. “In that case, let’s not say