Wrecked (Stories of Serendipity #8): #8 by Anne Conley

senseless. He was nearly blind with desire by the time he came again, and this time he cuddled her in his arms, vowing to hang on and not let go of this magical creature who made him forget his worries. She was worth sticking around for. Suddenly, staying in Serendipity didn’t seem so bad.

    When Jason woke up, hours later, it was with feelings of anticipation he hadn’t felt in a long time. Her cinnamon scent filled his head, lingering on his sheets, overpowering the antiseptic hotel room smell. He was looking forward to taking her to breakfast, to talking to her more, to taking her to meet his dad. He hadn’t brought home a woman from a bar in years, and normally, at his age, that sort of thing would seem seedy, cheap. But something about Renae was different. She seemed innocent even though she was obviously in her thirties, and the ring indentation on her finger indicated at least a little experience. Thoughts of an affair had crossed his mind when he’d first noticed it, but she didn’t exhibit any other signs of cheating on her husband, and her shyness and lack of experience with picking up men had erased the thought. And last night had been explosive. The way she reacted to him at the bar and back at his hotel room. Wow. He wanted more. He needed it.
    Laying there in bed, looking at the back of his eyelids, he thought of Renae and the possibilities of staying a little bit longer just to see what could happen. At his age, connections like that were few and far between. He owed it to himself to explore it.
    Slowly, he opened his eyes and reached toward her side of the bed only to find it empty. A sinking feeling slowly formed in the pit of his stomach, and he listened for the shower. Emptiness met his ears.
    She was gone.

Chapter 9

    S o that was what a walk of shame felt like. Renae turned on the shower in her bathroom and stepped under the hot spray, trying to wash off last night’s lovemaking.
    No. They hadn’t made love. It was amazing, mind-blowing sex. Not love. Men didn’t pick women up in bars and take them to their motel room for lovemaking.
    She’d woken up this morning early with a pounding headache and evidence of their lack of control dripping down her thighs. She felt stupid and more embarrassed than she’d felt even after Les’s public announcement of giving her over to Jason before singing Let’s Do It .
    Oh Christ. What if she was pregnant? No, she couldn’t be. She was forty-four for crying out loud, nearly menopausal. God wouldn’t be so cruel as to make her pregnant now, would he? Ancient Depeche Mode lyrics floated through her brain about God having a sick sense of humor, and when the singer died, he expect to find Him laughing. Renae groaned. Nothing to do about it now. Kelly’s favorite saying replaced the song: It is what it is.
    Yup.
    Initially, she’d tried to leave a note on the tiny pad provided by the motel. Each note sounded ridiculous, so she’d crumpled them up and taken them with her, not even willing to let him find them in the trash can. She’d stuffed them in her purse when she’d got to her minivan and driven home. Maybe she would read them later during a moment of weakness.
    Besides, she wasn’t sure of the correct procedure of a one-night stand. Was she even supposed to leave notes? There was no point in extending contact, certainly not if he was leaving in two weeks. He would think she was clingy, needy even, if she left a note.
    Nope. She wasn’t needy or clingy. She was doing just fine by herself. At least she hoped if she just kept telling herself that it might be true. As if her body relished contradicting her mind, a surge of need swept through Renae, and she decided to call Kelly after her shower.
    She got out of the shower and toweled herself off to hear her phone ringing. Wrapping her towel around her, she looked at the display: a number with a 281 exchange she wasn’t familiar with. She knew the area code was Houston, so she assumed it was Jason,