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God he needed her, too. He unfastened the buckle, and pulled at his zipper, dragging the expensive black fabric down his hips and thighs. She blinked as she watched him, her eyes drinking him in like he was a glass of Jack, widening when she saw the evidence of his need pressing against his shorts.
“Do you have something?” she whispered.
“Yeah.” A condom he carried more to appease Rich than with any intent to use it. He grabbed the foil packet from the wallet in his pants pocket, before placing it on the bed next to her. Reaching behind her to unfasten her bra, he swallowed hard as her breasts spilled out.
Leaning forward, he captured a nipple between his lips, tasting her, worshipping her, pleasuring her. And when she arched her back and pulled down her panties, before she grabbed at the band of his shorts, he knew there was no going back.
For the first time in forever he lost himself to the pleasure, and forgot about the darkness in his life.
* * *
James wasn’t sure when he fell asleep. Not that it was a restful slumber – he’d woken covered in sweat with a racing heart. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he turned to see her curled on her side. Her pretty hair spread across the white pillow, her lips pursed together as she dreamed deeply.
A feeling of regret washed over him. He shouldn’t have done this; shouldn’t have opened himself up to a stranger. Shouldn’t have let his desires overtake his good sense. Shouldn’t have had sex with somebody he had no intention of seeing again.
And yet it had been amazing. Touching her, laughing with her, watching her eyes roll back with pleasure. He’d made her come again and again, just to hear her soft gasps, feel the pleasure of them as they caressed his ears.
God, she was pretty. And funny. And crazily easy to talk to. If he were any other kind of man he’d find it easy to fall for her. But he knew what falling meant. It meant landing on shards of glass and twisted metal, feeling them slice you up until you bled.
It meant pain and hurt and everything else he’d avoided these past three years.
After one last, rueful glance at her, he rolled over and slid his feet out of bed, reaching down to pick up his boxer shorts from where she’d thrown them earlier. He padded across the rug and onto the cold marble floor, keeping his steps light so as not to wake her. He grabbed his pants, sliding them on, and then his shirt, doing up the buttons and slinging his jacket and tie over his arm, turning one last time to look at the angel laying in the bed.
“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling on his socks and shoes. He didn’t want to leave, but he knew he couldn’t stay. Yeah, it would be easy to sleep here for the rest of the night. Maybe wake up in the morning for round three, and take her out to breakfast and shoot the breeze with this woman.
But he couldn’t. Because he knew what would happen. He’d hurt her and he’d hurt himself. He was that kind of an asshole, and she didn’t deserve that.
He opened the door, stepping out into the silence of the early morning. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but there was a threat of it in the air. Slowly he closed the door, checking the handle to make sure it was locked, and walked down the pathway toward the parking lot.
* * *
“What do you mean you don’t know his name?” Caitie asked as she and Harper carried their cardboard coffee cups to a table overlooking the Pacific, taking a deep breath as she faced the view. Part of her therapy for overcoming her phobia of the ocean was to be exposed to it in small doses. Harper checked to see if she was okay before sitting down to join their friends, Ember, Brooke, and Ally who were already at the table.
“Whose name?” Ember asked as they sat in the two empty seats beside her. “What are you talking about?”
“Harper hooked up with a guy last night, but he disappeared after they… you know…” Caitie widened her eyes as though to give them a hint. “And she can’t even remember what his name is.”
Harper sighed. “I can’t remember because he didn’t tell me. I called him Frank, he called me Grace.” It had been weird waking up to find him gone. She’d felt somewhere between sad and relieved. No embarrassing talk, no empty promises, or scribbled phone numbers they knew would never be used.
And yet she’d felt horribly empty, too.
“Well it’s a small town,” Ally said, leaning forward. “If he lives around here he probably comes in for coffee. Describe him.”
Harper took a sip of coffee, swallowing down the warm liquid. “Um, he’s tall. About six two or three. Short dark hair, cheekbones a model would kill for. Brown eyes. He’s muscled, too, like he surfs or something.”
Brooke laughed. “You’ve just described half the male population of Angel Sands. Lucas is tall and dark with muscles,” she pointed out, talking about Caitie’s brother and Ember’s husband. “So is Aiden. And I know where they were all night so that rules them out.”
“Did he tell you where he works?” Caitie asked.
“No. I don’t remember talking about his job at all.” Harper wrinkled her nose. “We talked about serial killers and Hollywood and clothes.” Why hadn’t she asked him about his job? Maybe she’d been too busy wrapping herself around his body to care.
“Maybe he’s a cop. Or works for the FBI,” Ally suggested.
“Or he’s a massive Hollywood star playing a serial killer in his next movie,” Ember added with a smile. “What if it was Hugh Jackman or Zac Efron?”
Harper laughed. “I would have recognized them. He didn’t seem like he was from Hollywood at all. I know a lot of actors, and he wasn’t like one of them.” He hadn’t cared about his clothes or his looks or anything else. Just her pleasure and her needs.
The thought sent a tingle down her spine.
