My Killer Vacation

But then we meet eyes in the glass of the shower stall. It’s fogged up, so I can barely make out her features, but I can see her mouth open in an O. I can see she’s present, being fulfilled. Her eyes open and I can’t tell if she’s looking at me, but Jesus, just the possibility that she might be watching me when I’m this vulnerable, this stripped bare, on the verge of ejaculating harder than I ever have in my fucking life, is enough to fire me off the map. Completely off the grid. My balls empty with so much force that I forget my own name.

“Work it tight, baby. Baby. Perfect for me. Jesus Christ. Don’t you ever get hurt on me again. Don’t you ever.” I’m moaning words into her wet neck that don’t even make sense, but she’s hit a third peak, she’s coming with me, and there is nothing in this world that makes better sense than Taylor squeezing around me, gasping, calling my name while her knees squeak up and back on the marble floor because I’m still pumping away. Can’t stop. Can’t stop even though I’m almost on empty. “Taylor.”

I don’t recognize my own ragged voice, but she seems to know what I’m saying. What I’m asking. And she turns, climbing into my lap. Clinging to me with her arms around my neck, her still trembling legs around my hips. I’m too stunned by the intensity of what just happened to do anything but fall back onto my ass with her safely in my arms, trying desperately to organize my thoughts or at least breathe correctly, but it’s pointless. All I can do is sit there in a daze. This second grade teacher just rocked my fucking world.

Minutes pass before our breathing goes back to normal.

I’m incapable of figuring out what happens next. What I would like to do is keep her in bed for a month. Or maybe a whole calendar of months. But should I sleep with her again? Wouldn’t that be leading her on? We decided this would just be about sex and if I can just pretend there isn’t a landslide of unfamiliar feelings happening inside of me, maybe I can stick to that—

“Yeah.” Her arms drop from around my neck and she sits back, yawning, more drowsy and gorgeous than anyone has the right to be. “Yup, that’s definitely how I like it.” She kisses me on the cheek. A peck. On the cheek. “Thanks for helping me confirm.”

She’s off my lap before I know what’s happening, turning off the shower and disappearing into the bedroom. Thanks for helping me confirm? What exactly is going on here? I don’t know, but I’m damn well going to find out.

I push to my feet and haul my jeans back up, cursing when I stumble slightly to the right. Jesus, she really did a number on me. Everywhere. Even my chest hurts. “Taylor,” I bark, joining her in the bedroom. Finding her already in some dress that looks like a long T-shirt. “Thanks for helping me confirm? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She wrinkles her nose at my question, as if the answer should be obvious. God, she’s very, very pretty, glowing after her three orgasms. “I mean exactly what I said. Thank you for not treating me like the future head of the bake sale committee. You trusted me to know what I wanted and you gave it to me. I appreciate that. But we agreed to no strings.” There’s no deception in her eyes. No guile. She’s not playing a head game with me. She really means it. We almost altered time and space in that bathroom and she’s content to walk away. And now here I am, the first man alive wishing a woman was playing a head game with him. What is wrong with me? This is exactly what I wanted. To experience her without anyone getting attached or hurt. When I say nothing, she prompts me with a raised eyebrow. “Remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” I shout, but it comes out funny. What’s wrong with my throat?

She keeps going. “I’ll be more confident in asking for what I need now.”

“It’s not going to be…” I stop myself before I can say the rest. It’s not going to be like this with anyone else. Saying that out loud makes me a bastard. I’m not offering her a relationship. How dare I ruin her optimism when it comes to having one with somebody else? How dare I want to track down everyone who might hold her hand in the future and lock them in the lion cage at the zoo? And watch them be devoured while they scream for help?

I don’t have that right.

I have no rights to her.

Feeling utterly numb, I watch her sail past me.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs. “I need to find Jude.”





Chapter 17





Taylor





* * *




One foot in front of the other. Down the stairs.

I can do this. I can have a fling and not get emotionally involved.

Yes I can.

I’m not going to acknowledge the pressure building behind my eyes or wrestling outward from my ribcage. It’s ridiculous. I went into that bathroom with realistic expectations, didn’t I? Myles was very clear that he didn’t want serious. The very idea of a private school teacher from Connecticut dating a bounty hunter is totally absurd. I told myself when we got the lust out of our systems, I could walk away with some perspective on my sexual preferences. And whoa. I got a lot more perspective than I bargained for. A lot.

Comparing what I just did with Myles to the awkward, no-frills sex in my past, I have to laugh. I laugh right there on the staircase leading down into the living area. Did I have a feeling sex with Myles would blow my other experiences out of the water? Yes. Unfortunately, I didn’t anticipate this absolute conviction that I’ll never in a thousand years be able to replicate what it felt like to be with the bounty hunter. Never.

There is nothing I can do about the situation, though. He’s going to solve the case and go back to his job. I’m going to return to Connecticut. Just like he said. So I need to be a big girl about this. No strings. That was the expectation and nothing has changed. I have no reason to expect anything more from Myles and I won’t. We slept together. People sleep together all the time. I’m not going to make a mountain out of a molehill.

Even if he is definitely a mountain.

A big, powerful force of nature.

I almost trip on the bottom step and there’s a hissed breath behind me.

Myles is following me down the stairs, his T-shirt slung over one brawny shoulder. Of course he’s trailing after me. He has to leave through the front door, doesn’t he? I give him a polite smile over my shoulder, but he only frowns back. “Taylor—”