Chapter Four
The sound of a bell invaded Galen’s consciousness. Maybe not quite a bell, but like a triangle in an orchestra, a
ting! ting! ting!
that made him think of an elevator chime just before the doors slide open. He smiled to himself as a barrage of images from the night before blew up in his mind. The softness of her lips as he kissed her in the taxi, her legs wrapped around his waist in the elevator, her taste as he licked her swollen bud, her nipples teasing his chest as he moved above her. The way she clenched tightly around him as she came, and then his own orgasm . . . His body responded to his thoughts, more than ready to resume where they’d left off last night. Galen wanted to take his time with her, go slow, coax those sensual mewling sounds from her again and again. Learn every inch of her body, committing the details to memory.
Galen was surprised at himself. Intimacy was a word that he’d erased from his personal lexicon a long time ago. His dad had shattered any illusions he’d had about relationships, family, love. He’d lost all respect for his father when he’d gotten old enough to understand what it was his mom and dad fought about all the time. And when his dad had finally grown the balls to own up to his many affairs and leave them, the pain had driven his mom over the edge, leaving his nineteen-year-old sister as his appointed guardian—because he refused to go within ten miles of his dad—and Galen a sixteen-year-old kid who already had a jaded outlook on life and love. He never opened up to anyone. Refused to put his trust in anyone except for his sister and maybe Landon. But last night, he’d trusted. Opened up. To
her
.
She stirred beside him, seeking out his body’s warmth as she cuddled closer. Galen pulled her against his chest, absently stroking her arm in the gray morning light. The sun wasn’t up yet; he guessed the time was about 6
AM
. He could reschedule his flight, maybe fly out tomorrow or the next day. The chief deputy would cut him some slack if he came up with a good enough excuse to postpone. All he knew was that the thought of leaving the woman sleeping soundly beside him made his gut twist up with an anxiety he’d never felt before.
Was it possible to feel so connected to someone he barely knew? As soon as she woke, he was laying it out on the table. His name, his job, the position he’d taken in France. He was already committed to the SOG assignment, and he couldn’t turn back now, but maybe they could work something out. He’d pay to fly her over to visit. They could talk on the phone, Skype, whatever. It could work. His stint overseas was only a year. Twelve measly months and he could come home if he wanted to. All he knew was one night with her wasn’t enough.
Galen’s thoughts were interrupted again by the
ting! ting! ting!
of a bell. He rolled toward the sound and the nightstand where she’d left her cell. The screen lit up as another text message came in, followed by a vibrating buzz, and yet another message. He hadn’t meant to look, but the screen was stacked with conversation bubbles labeled “Chris.” Against his better judgment, Galen tipped the phone up and glanced over the messages, each one more frantic than the last.
Where r u?
Babe, answer ur phone!
I need to see you.
Call me!
Coming over.
Galen’s heart dropped into his gut like a stone pitched off a thousand-foot cliff and he clenched his teeth hard enough to grind the enamel. Shock turned quickly to bitter anger, burning his throat as if he’d guzzled acid. Even though they’d agreed to no names, they’d likewise agreed to total honesty in all other things. She’d asked him last night if he was single, but it had never occurred to him to ask her if she was seeing anyone. A lie by omission was still a damned lie. Christ, what an idiot he was, acting like some sort of lovesick puppy. He’d saved her ass from being drugged last night and she’d given him the thank-you of a lifetime. End of story. He was nothing but a fling. A one-night stand she could talk to her girlfriends about the next day. Awesome.
This was the reason why Galen didn’t do relationships. There was no such thing as a grand connection between two souls, no deep respect to be treasured and nurtured. People lied, end of story. He’d let his own hero complex paint the events of last night in some ridiculous romantic light. What a joke. He didn’t have the time or patience to play games—he had a flight to catch. He’d busted his ass for his position on the SOG team, and it was time to cut bait and get back to Louisiana.
Galen flipped the switch on the side of her cell to vibrate, lest the asshole in desperate need of a visit from the grammar police wake her up before he could make a stealthy retreat. Yeah, it was a total dick move to sneak out before she woke up, but as far as Galen was concerned she was reaping what she’d sown. In fact, she was lucky he didn’t wake her up now and tell her exactly how he felt about being played. She wasn’t worth his time or the effort it would take to tell her off, though. Shit, she probably wouldn’t even care. She hadn’t cared enough last night to be honest with him. Fuck her and every cheater in the world like her. He didn’t appreciate being made a fool of and there was no way in hell he was going to waste another minute of his time in this apartment.
Slipping his arm out from underneath her, Galen slid off the bed without even jostling her. She sighed, the sound a caress in Galen’s ears that he forced himself to ignore as he threw on his clothes. He was missing a shoe, and dropped to the floor to look under the bed, finding it buried under a pile of her clothes. He’d come here with nothing but the clothes on his back. A quick pat-down confirmed that his own phone was still tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. Unlocking the screen, he noticed he had a text from Landon and a missed call from his supervisor at Camp Beauregard. He’d call everyone back in the cab on his way to his apartment. After that, he’d grab his shit and head for the airport with plenty of time to spare to make it through security checkpoints.
As he headed for the door, Galen chanced one last look back at the bed. Even in the innocence of sleep, her face bore a soft, seductive quality that made his stomach clench tight with lust, longing, and most of all, loss. He knew he had no right to feel that way. Was it even possible to lose something that he’d never truly had? The doorknob turned under his hand and the door whispered open as if aiding in his quiet retreat. When the elevator doors slid open at the end of the hall, he ran to catch the car before it went on without him. Once inside, he closed his eyes, unwilling to remember anything that had happened in this exact elevator the night before. His trek through the lobby was equally quick, and he hailed a cab as soon as he shot through the door. He chanced a quick look back at the awning with
REGENCY
A
PARTMENTS
scrawled across it, but he fought the urge to gaze higher toward the fourth-story window. Only minutes before, he’d been ready to take a chance. To open up for this first time in his life. What a joke. Now he was reminded why he needed to keep his mind on the job and stay on track. Forcing his gaze away, Galen jumped in the cab and gave the driver the address to his place.
The sound of someone banging on her door caused Harper to bolt upright in her bed. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and gathered the tangled mass of her hair and twisted it up in a bun, tucking the end of her hair into the knot to keep it secure. The details of the previous night came rushing back to her, and she looked to her side to find the bed empty where there should have been a naked male body that would have made Adonis feel self-conscious.
Another round of frantic knocks came on the heels of the first and Harper’s brow furrowed. Maybe he’d gone out for coffee and locked himself out? His clothes were gone. She quickly wrapped the sheet around her body like a toga, tripping as she made her way toward the door. Her pulse quickened at the thought of opening the door to see his face on the other side and her body warmed at the prospect of a repeat of last night’s performance.
“Hey . . .” The word died on her tongue as she threw the door open only to see her ex, Chris, standing on the other side. Harper’s heart jumped into her throat and she swallowed down the lump of disappointment that nearly choked the air out of her lungs. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been texting you since last night, Harper. What the hell?” Chris pushed his way past her into the apartment, looking ready to come unglued.
Thoughts raced through Harper’s mind, too fast for her to grasp onto a single one. She’d broken it off with Chris over three months ago, yet he still insisted on inserting himself into her life as though nothing had changed. He craned his neck as he entered the apartment as if looking for something—or someone—then poked his head in the closet. “I can’t find my running shoes and I’m pretty sure I left them here.”
“Bullshit, Chris. You didn’t leave
anything
here. This place is marginally larger than a shoe box, and the chance of me overlooking any of your things is slim. What do you want?”
Chris leaned against the kitchen counter, looking her over from head to toe. “I just want to talk, Harp.”
The contrast between Chris and the man she’d been with last night was almost laughable. Chris gave the impression of a skinny child in comparison: a little too short, dirty, and unkempt. His hipster vibe was a big hit with the college set. It had been what attracted her to him in the first place. But the thick black-rimmed glasses that framed his dark brown eyes were where the measure of Chris’s ambition and intelligence ended. Chris didn’t even have his own place; he camped out wherever he ended up after the sun went down. He was a vampiric hipster mooch, leeching off anyone he could talk into giving him a free ride. Harper was done with him and boys like him. Running shoes, her ass. He didn’t run anywhere. Ever. What a loser.
“There’s a reason why I haven’t been returning your calls or texts,” Harper said, standing at the door still held wide open. “
We broke up
. Three months ago. I don’t want to see you, talk to you. We’re through.”
“Harp. Come on.”
“Leave, Chris,” she said, indicating the door. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I find your shoes.”
He pushed himself off the counter, his lip curled in a sneer. Brushing past her, he walked through the doorway and then turned to face her. “I talked to Sophie this morning. She said you had a good time out at Score last night. But it still looks like you woke up alone. See you around.”
Harper slammed the door in his face, the bite of Chris’s words slicing through her like myriad razor blades. Had she imagined everything that had happened last night? Maybe her mystery man had been a drunken fantasy come to life. Because the guy she’d brought back here never would have walked out without even saying good-bye.
Oh no?
A niggling voice mocked in her mind.
You asked for it, Harp. Played the whole secret-identity angle, refusing to give him your name. And then you jumped into bed with him like you made a habit of hooking up with strangers. He probably ran out of here this morning, thankful you hadn’t killed him in his sleep.
No. There was no way she’d imagined the connection between them. He’d felt it, too. He had to have. He’d treated her with such gentleness that she’d never once felt like what happened between them was simply sex. They’d made love last night. And it was the most intense, most intimate experience of her life.
Then why did he walk out on you?
Harper shuffled through the apartment like a zombie and flopped down on the bed. She closed her eyes, but it did nothing to block out the memories of the previous night that buffeted her subconscious like a spring hailstorm. His touch, his mouth on hers, the way he’d wrung pleasure from her body with just the flick of his tongue. The intensity of his navy-blue eyes as he looked down at her. The heat of his body as he entered her.
Tears stung at Harper’s eyes as a chasm of grief opened up inside of her. If she’d done something differently, told him her name, taken things more slowly . . . would it have changed the outcome of this morning? Maybe he would have stuck around for breakfast, hung out with her for the rest of the day. Or maybe he simply would have left with an awkward kiss to her cheek and an empty promise of “I’ll give you a call” spilling effortlessly from his lips.
Or maybe he still would have snuck out in the middle of the night, just like he did.
Her cell vibrated several times and Harper rolled over to retrieve it from the nightstand. Funny, she didn’t remember turning the ringer off last night. It always bugged the crap out of her mom if she turned the sound off so she made it a habit to always keep the volume up. She checked the caller ID to see Addison’s picture pop up on the screen. Harper grinned. No doubt Addison was checking in to make sure she hadn’t been chopped into bits, her body disposed of in the Columbia River.
Rather than answer, she fired off a text letting her cousin know everything was good and she’d give her a call later. Addison’s response came a few seconds later in the form of a colon and capital D, the wide smiley face an obvious assumption as to why Harper was too occupied to answer the phone.
Harper lay in bed staring at the ceiling for what felt like forever. The sun crested higher in the sky and she sighed. She had too much to do to mope around her apartment all day. She needed to follow up on the résumé she’d dropped off at
The Oregonian
last week. If she didn’t find a job pretty soon, she’d be moving home whether she wanted to or not. At least a busy day would take her mind off of her heartbreak. Heartbreak she had no right to feel for a perfect stranger.
But he hadn’t been a stranger to her last night.
He hadn’t.
Her phone vibrated again in her palm and she brought it up to check the ID. Sophie. Unlike Addison, Sophie wouldn’t quit calling until she answered. Text messages or not. With a sigh, she slid her finger across the screen and brought the phone to her ear.