No Attachments

chapter 2: The big head versus the little head

Nathan

I couldn't help contemplating my actions that evening as I carried her motionless body into the small cottage in the woods. If lightning struck me at that moment, I could see where it was justified. The moment I entered the bar, I seemed to ignore every rule I'd ever set. My rules were simple enough that a f*cking two-year-old could follow them. Find my target, evaluate the situation, contact the parties concerned, find my target, evaluate the situation, contact the parties...I never deviated from this routine for a reason. I had a job to do. A job I was good at. A job free from personal attachments. It was a routine that suited me well. Of course, the delicate brunette I held in my arms contradicted all of it.

I shifted her slightly in my arms, suppressing a chuckle as she let out a loud snore when her head rolled backward over my arm. I pulled her more securely against my chest as I carried her through the only doorway into the cottage. I didn't want to admit to myself how much time I'd invested that evening thinking about what she would feel like pressed against me. Of course, carrying her like this wasn't the kind of pressing I had in mind. Her delicate frame made it easy to shoulder her weight, and she had a firm body, I could feel that even through her clothes. It'd be embarrassing as f*ck right now if she woke up and saw the hard-on I had just from holding her. Unable to resist, I inhaled her heady perfume one last time before gently placing her on the bed. For a brief crazy moment, I considered crawling into bed next to her. It had been years since I'd felt the urge to actually stay in a bed with a woman any longer than it took to have sex with her. You couldn't call it "making love" since it was never intimate enough for that. Hell, it wasn't even "f*cking" since even that required emotion. It was just sex. Nothing but two bodies coming together to scratch an itch.

I backed away from the bed and left the room before I could cave to the urge. She was an assignment, not a means to scratch an itch. Besides, it was a dick move to mix business with pleasure, and a threshold I never crossed. It was time for me to leave anyway. I had made contact with my target, and by tomorrow my job would be done. Instead of heading for the front door though, I walked to the far side of the room where a small functional kitchen was located. I'm not sure why I bothered going to the trouble, but I filled a glass with water and palmed the bottle of aspirin off the top of the refrigerator where it was sandwiched between a bag of powdered mini doughnuts and a stack of magazines. I focused on remaining professional as I returned to the room where the spitfire temptress was still snoring. Helping her through her given hangover would only make my job easier in the morning. It would help expedite the job. Glancing down at her unconscious body, I decided I might as well make her as comfortable as I could, so I sat the water and aspirin on the nightstand and got to work pulling off her jeans and shirt. "You're not a perv," I kept telling myself. "You're just trying to make her more comfortable." Of course, tell that to the other particular part of my body that was responding to her creamy smooth skin and brutal curves. With one last reluctant look and an apology to my painfully throbbing boys, I pulled the quilt over her and exited the room.

I locked the cottage door behind me and headed purposefully toward my trusty Range Rover before I could change my mind and climb between the crisp sheets with her.

The drive back to my hotel was short given the town's size. Two stop signs after pulling off the dirt road that led to Ashton's small but charming cottage, I pulled into the parking lot of the only hotel in town. It was actually more of a motel, but I guess they figured slapping the title of "hotel" onto the sign made it more legitimate. As long as the room was clean and the staff stayed out of my way, it suited my purposes. The last thing I needed was for some nosey maid to riffle through my papers and find out why I was really in town.

The hotel was cemetery quiet as I climbed out of the Range Rover and locked it behind me. The late hour combined with the stillness around me provided a ghost town-like aura. It felt strange to be out here in the middle of nowhere. Ever since I arrived here I'd been wondering why a rich girl like Ashton had picked this town to hide. I would have expected the glitzy lights of New York or the party atmosphere of Chicago to appeal to her, but instead she'd chosen Woodfalls. I'd seen her type over the years: rich, easily bored, with big time diva complexes. Woodfalls was too tame for someone like that.

I pushed the motel room door open with my foot after sliding the key into the lock, making sure the "Do Not Disturb" sign remained on the door. Once I switched on the lights, Ashton's face greeted me from the multiple images hanging on the wall. Each image depicted her in a different setting and pose, all courtesy of my client. Studying the pictures of her smiling, I couldn't help noting how the images didn't do her eyes justice. They couldn't capture the same sparkle I had witnessed earlier that evening. Just remembering how she'd smiled at me with her bright shiny eyes made me want her even more.

"This is ridiculous," I thought, shaking my head in disgust. I backed up to the edge of my bed and sank down onto the sagging mattress. What the hell was I doing? Lusting after a target was unacceptable. I was hired to make contact, observe, and report back to my client. That was it. I wasn't hired to sniff at her ass like a dog in heat—no matter how appealing that might be.

Striding to the bathroom, I stripped off my clothes in aggravation and cranked the shower to its coldest setting, hoping a cold shower would shock my system. Five minutes later, I stood with a towel around my waist, glaring at the traitor between my legs. It's not like I was sexually deprived. Something about Ashton just appealed to me. Well, not just something. It was everything. She was smoking hot.

My cellphone vibrated on the nightstand, pulling my mind from the gutter I couldn't seem to get out of. It was a little late for this call, but considering I neglected to check in today, I wasn't too surprised.

"Yes, sir," I answered.

"Did you find her?" the voice on the other end asked, offering up no greeting.

The words of affirmation were on the edge of my tongue, but I surprised myself by answering negatively. "Not yet, sir. I have a lead though. It should only be a matter of time before I locate her."

"You gave the impression the last time we conversed that you were following a lead."

"It's the same lead," I lied. "It's only a matter of time before I pinpoint her location."

"The sooner, the better," he grumbled, hanging up without any further words.

I returned the phone to the nightstand and slid back against the pillows. That was unsettling. I'd never lied to a client before. For three weeks I'd been on Ashton's trail. I should have been happy to finally close up the case and head back to my condo in Tampa for some much needed R&R. Just that morning I'd been dreaming about taking several months off to catch up on some fishing and scuba diving. This case was ready to be wrapped within twenty-four hours, but now, suddenly, I was dragging it out. All for her. From the moment I laid eyes on Ashton I've been acting like a complete jackass, letting my little head outthink my big head. As soon as I walked in the bar tonight, I was taken in by her. I'd scanned the smoke-filled room, spotting her with her friends, joking and carrying on in the far corner. It was obvious the moment they noticed my presence as their voices came out in short bursts of excited chatter followed by whispering. I figured it was only a matter of time until I was approached. Bar scenes didn't get their hook-up stigma for no reason. Eight years ago, it would have been my buddies and me in the far corner of the bar playing the game. All of us banking on getting laid that night. More times than not, we'd all gone home alone. We were young, dumb, testosterone-crazed maniacs that most chicks wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.

Then I met Jessica and fell head over heels in love with her. She was poised, polished and challenged me to be better. Jessica wasn't into the whole club scene, so I gave it up, without a fuss. My buddies were pissed, claiming I was p-ssywhipped, but I didn't care. What did I need the clubs for anymore? I'd found the perfect girl. A year later, I realized perfection was nothing but an illusion. She shredded me to the point I swore I'd never let a woman have that power over me again. I jumped back into the bar scene a changed man. I couldn't have cared less about trying to get any girl's attention. Instead, I made them come to me. The guys thought I was crazy, but my aloof attitude worked better than any of the stupid one-liners or any other shit we used to do. I always laid my rules out in the open to avoid any future complications, and most of the time, the relationship would end amicably. Only one had called me a bastard, but I held steadfast to my rule. No attachments. Take it or leave it.

I kept my eyes on the trio in the corner through the mirror over the bar, waiting to see who would make the first move. I had several game plans in place. If I was approached by one of them, I would suggest buying a round for her and her friends so I could get close to my target. If they chickened out and never made their move, I'd order a round anyway and see if I could strike up a conversation that way. One thing was certain. I would not walk away tonight without making contact.

It took fifteen minutes for the group of girls to finally make their move. Much to my astonishment, it was Ashton instead of her heavily-endowed friend who approached me. After listening to her boisterous friend, I would have bet money that she would be my first contact with the group. The night was shaping up to be filled with surprises. My good fortune continued as Ashton awkwardly began to flirt with me. Seizing the opportunity, I ordered a round of drinks to see if that would loosen her tongue further. Much to my pleasure, the whiskey not only loosened her tongue, providing me with information, but it also provided a glimpse into something more. Her voice washed over me like a seductive caress, laced with an equal share of innocence and wisdom that hinted at a hidden inner pain. Something was bothering her, but regardless, whatever it was didn't concern me. It wasn't my job to rescue her. She was just an assignment, nothing more.

With each round of drinks though, that fact continued to dissipate. The more she talked, the more I was pulled in. Even her fumbled attempt at sexual banter was endearing and erotic at the same time. When she asked if I wanted to put my trunk in her, I got rock hard and wanted to hoist her up on the counter and take her right there in front of everyone.

I reached over for my cellphone to check the time and was shocked when I realized I had been lying there, thinking about her for the last hour. I reached over and flipped the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. As I contemplated my next move, the sane part of me knew I should call my client first thing in the morning and hand over Ashton's location, but the slightly insane side considered the possibility of waiting a few days to see if I could flush out why she had run away. The irrationality of this thought wasn't lost on me. It shouldn't matter why she'd run off. I was paid to locate her, plain and simple. It wasn't my business to ask questions. The fact that I had the sudden urge to hunt down my client instead, and bury my fist in his face for ever hurting her, shook me to the core. It had been years since a woman had this effect on me.

Insanity. That's all it was. I would turn her in tomorrow. It was the only way to get my mind back on track. I had no problems keeping the women I dated at arm's length for the last six years. I wasn't about to screw that up over some girl I'd been tracking for the last three weeks.