Outside the world is stirring, but here, in this shadowed room, in this warm, rumpled bed, I’ll make time stand still for as long as I can.
Tabby is a soft weight beside me. Her head tucked into my shoulder, she slept deeply all night. Now with the first of the day’s light, her breathing changes. With a quiet sigh, she shifts against me. Her eyes drift open. Sleepily blinking, she looks up at me, and I experience a tightness in my chest at the simple pleasure of watching her come awake in my arms.
Her shy smile unwinds the knot of worry in my stomach. I didn’t know how it would be, if she would bolt in horror or be filled with regret, but she’s smiling at me so sweetly, I let the anxiousness go and gently press my lips to hers.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Her voice is drowsy and warm. “I suppose I have you to thank for my incredible night’s sleep.”
The tightness in my chest turns into an ache that I’m astonished to realize is happiness. I can’t think of anything to say but a husky “You’re welcome.”
She gazes at me in silence for a long moment, and then curls a finger around the chain on my neck and uses my dog tags as a leash to pull me down.
Then we’re kissing. Slow, amazing kisses that ignore the clock, the rising sun, everything we have ahead of us. Her arms slide around my neck. Our legs tangle together. I grow hard.
With a soft laugh she says, “You’re insatiable.”
“Yes.” The word is raw in my throat. “For you.”
She traces the outline of my lips with her fingertip. Her touch is tender, thoughtful, and sends a rush of hope through me. Hope that’s smashed when she says, “So our one night is over.”
I swallow. There isn’t a word for what I’m feeling or a way to deny the obvious truth of her statement, so I say nothing at all.
Softer, with such innocent hesitance it nearly breaks my heart, Tabby asks, “And…what did you think?”
Groaning, I drop my head and hide my face in her neck.
Mistaking my longing for something else, she tenses. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me—”
“I loved it. Every minute.” I say it roughly, against her neck so she can’t see the wild hunger in my eyes. I’m afraid of what she might do if she sees how much I want to keep her. How much I want her to be mine.
A shade of the tension fades from her body. After a while she says quietly, “It’s still early.”
I lift my head and stare at her. Color suffuses her cheeks. Her lashes sweep downward.
She clarifies her meaning by wordlessly pressing her pelvis to mine.
“And I’m the insatiable one? You’re downright greedy!” I tease, enormously pleased. I’m even more pleased when she echoes my words from moments before, with a smile made all the more beautiful because it’s genuine.
“Yes. For you. Now make love to me before you say something stupid and ruin the moment.”
With a glad heart, a hard cock, and a head full of possibilities, I oblige.
Afterward, I drowse. When I awake several hours later, I’m dehydrated, disoriented—
And alone.
“Fuck,” I mutter, leaping out of bed. I grab my watch from the dresser and check the time. It’s late, much later than I thought. I jump into my pants, drag a clean T-shirt over my head, strap my watch to my wrist and shove my feet into my boots. I’m about to call Tabby’s room when I notice a note on the floor near the door.
Heart pounding, I snatch it up. When I read its contents, I groan.
Jarhead,
In order to avoid what is sure to be an even more awkward drive together to LA, I left first. You’re welcome. And thank you. Even writing this is ridiculously awkward, which convinces me I’ve done the right thing by going. My cell phone number is below. You probably already have it, having done your “research” on me, but just in case. It won’t be turned on until I arrive in LA. Text me the address of the job.
As you said, we’re both professionals, so I know I can trust you not to mention this again.
For the record, I won’t either.
T.
It could only be worse if she’d signed it “Friendly regards.”
I curse again, passing a hand over my face, and then crumple the note and throw it on the floor. Fuming, I stare at it for several seconds, but then expel a hard breath and pick it up. Smoothing out the creases, I carefully fold it and tuck it into my wallet.
I pack up the rest of my things in my duffel bag and head out.
I arrive in Los Angeles eleven hours later, overcaffeinated and jumpy as hell. True to her word, Tabby has had her phone turned off all day. I’ve dialed her number no less than ten times, my frustration growing each time I hear the toneless electronic voice on the recording directing me to leave a message. I never do.
Finally, on the eleventh try, she picks up. Her voice is mild, businesslike, impossibly impersonal.
“You were supposed to text me an address.”
I don’t bother to ask how she knew it was me. “Are you all right?”
That might have come out more brusquely than I intended, judging by the surprised pause on the other end of the line.