He straightens the amulet at his neck and then drags a hand through his dark hair. I can’t see his face, but I feel the change, the energy fading, leaving. After sex, men get up and go, and women lie in bed and wonder what the hell just happened.

Or at least that was how it used to be for me back in my twenties when I was still dating. Back before I married.

“You’ve gone quiet,” Kai adds, leaning over the table to scoop up his keys.

My chest is so tight, each sound seems so loud. The whisper slide of fabric, the rough zip of a zipper, the scratch of keys on the table.

Why didn’t I think ahead to this part?

Why didn’t I remember this is how it ends after you’d had sex on a first date?

Shit. The tears are burning my eyes, and I reach up and with a knuckled fist brush one eye and then the other, keeping the tears from falling, showing. It’s bad enough that I slept with a younger man. Can’t start crying and falling apart like a demented old woman.

But I feel demented. I feel emotional, fearful, fragile. Of course nothing could happen here. Of course this could go nowhere. Island romance, island fling, I chant silently but it doesn’t help. Doesn’t help at all. Not when everything felt so good and I don’t want it, the good, to go. Don’t want the energy and warmth to fade.

Kai leans over the bed, cups the back of my head, and kisses me on the forehead. “Be good, girl.”

“Okay.”

He kisses me on the mouth this time. “Okay.” And I hear a smile in his voice as he straightens. And then he leaves.

I sit in the middle of the bed, sheet wrapped tightly around my knees as I watch him walk out and hear the door click—loudly—closed.

Damn.

And the tears fall. I bury my head against my forearm and let the warm skin touch warm skin, trying to find whatever warmth is left. But it’s not helping. I feel cold. And empty. And ripped wide open.

Making love had seemed like such a good idea. I’d been so attracted to him, so turned on. But after the itch is satisfied, he goes and I discover I’ve been kidding myself. I’m not looking just for sex. I want love, true love. Not that it exists, but that doesn’t seem to stop me from hoping. Searching. Even in a sexy young surfer named Kai Carson.

And it’s not until I’m worn out from crying that I remember. Tomorrow’s my birthday. Big fat forty.

The next morning, I don’t know what to do with myself. It doesn’t feel like my birthday. It doesn’t feel remotely festive. I turn on my cell phone. No messages.