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He watched her unzip the bag she carried and dig into it. And through it. And into it again. If she was searching for her keys, it looked as if it might take a while.
He leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest.
“Really,” he said.
“Really.”
“One does not acquire a cold from being out in the rain?”
“No. One does—” She looked up. “Have I said something amusing?”
What she’d said, though not in so many words, was that she was nervous. That maybe it had just occurred to her they were about to be alone in her apartment. That maybe she was as aware of him as he was of her.
“Lieutenant?”
“Doctor?”
“I told you. I am not a doctor. Not yet.”
“Yeah. Well, I’m not a lieutenant. Not when I’m dressed in civvies and on a date with a woman.”
Color surged into her face. “We are not on a date.”
He nodded. “You’re right. We’re not. Well, we’re just going to have to do something to remedy that situation.”
She opened her mouth and shut it again. He wanted to bend down and kiss that mouth. That soft, sweet mouth.
How come he couldn’t stop thinking about that soft, sweet mouth?
Yes, he’d come east for serious reasons, to find out if she was okay and to apologize for the way he’d behaved. Not for having sex with her. For the way he’d acted afterwards. She’d been upset, and instead of trying to calm her, he’d let his ego get between him and common sense.
The thing was, he’d never had a woman want to get away from him after sex.
Just the opposite.
Most of his sexual encounters involved him trying to be polite even as the lady in question tried to get him to go for an encore. Well, yeah. Sometimes he’d go for an encore, but never after a session of hard, fast, unexpected sex. Times like those, he got his rocks off, so did the woman, and that was it.
Sex with a stranger had its benefits.
Other times, in bed, he’d roll over, hold the woman he’d just fucked for the requisite ten, fifteen minutes and then he’d get up, get dressed, get out. Okay. Not that abruptly. A quick kiss, a promise he’d be in touch, and he was gone.
And he would call. Usually. A couple of times until the relationship—and, man, what a terrible word that was—grew stale or the warning bells began to ring.
But he’d never been on the receiving end of what was basically a Thanks, but no thanks situation.
This had been a first.
Ever since, it had bothered him.
Why hadn’t the sex been as incredible for her as it had been for him?
Had he remembered it wrong? Had he prettied up the memory for himself? Had what he’d experienced been a hallucination?
Or had she lied about what she’d felt that night? Jesus. It was driving him up the wall…
And she was still pawing through that stand-in for a suitcase she carried. Chay rolled his eyes.
“Give me that thing,” he said, grabbing the bag’s handles.
