About Last Night (10 page)

“All right.” He took a step back. “You know where I live. Anytime you want to drop by, you’re welcome.” He gave her a smile, slightly strained. “And I do mean anytime.”

“Don’t hold your breath, City.” The statement came out all trembly.

“If you don’t turn up, I’ll be thinking of you,” he said, running his palm down her cheek. “But I’d rather you turned up.”

He winked and walked away.

The doorbell rang at half past one, waking him from an unpleasant dream about jury service and long, echoing hallways. It took him a moment to understand the sound, but once he did, he knew it could only be Cath.

Don’t hold your breath
, she’d said. He’d taken her at her word, but he’d hoped she would
come nonetheless. And now she was here.

After buzzing her in, he left the door ajar and went looking for something to wear. Probably best not to greet her starkers. He found an old pair of tracksuit bottoms. When he returned to the hall, she stood in the entranceway, fidgety and smaller than he’d remembered.

She wore a black T-shirt and shorts. Always black. But now he knew to wonder what color her bra and knickers would be.

“I woke you up,” she said, with a hint of surprise, as if she’d expected he might be awake and puttering about the flat.

“I don’t mind.” Should he make her a cup of tea? Play this slowly and carefully, as befitted a delicate situation?

No. Just as well to lay his cards on the table. He didn’t have much of a hand, anyway. “Want to come back to bed with me?”

She smiled a little, then looked down at her feet. “I can’t date you. I’m sorry. I’m just too— It’s complicated.”

“All right.” It was bad news, but he wasn’t daft. Clearly, Cath had intimacy issues. Just as clearly, she hadn’t come here in the middle of the night to tell him to keep away from her. “So do you want to come back to bed with me?”

“Yes.”

He reached around her to push the door shut, took her by the hand, and led her to his room.

He undressed her, tucking them both under the sheet. Her bra and knickers turned out to be pink, her skin already flushed and damp from the walk over. She smelled of oranges and licorice—sweet, tangy, and dark. She’d arrived locked down, but when he kissed her she swung open, so smoothly and easily he could almost forget she’d been otherwise. She was an enigma, this woman. Bold and reticent, passionate and distant. Open and shut. Completely fascinating.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, tracing the shape of her shoulder with his index finger.

She smiled, and it made him slightly stupid, as it always did. “My roommate.”

He’d imagined her living alone. “Oh?”

“She has this boyfriend who comes over, and they disappear into her room for hours. I can only assume they’re having sex in there—sometimes they come out in robes, all messy—but it’s completely silent. Like, her mattress is creaking, and maybe her bed is even banging against the wall that’s right next to my head when I’m trying to sleep, and I’m lying there, totally unable to do anything but listen, and they’re both
completely
silent.”

“I see.” He didn’t, but he loved listening to her talk. The words poured out of her at a rapid clip. She had so much energy, it seemed to come off her in waves. It turned him on.

“I’m not sure you do. I’m lying there thinking,
Are they quiet because the sex is really bad?
But if so, why have so much of it? Once a night would do, right? If it was that bad? But then if it’s really great sex, are they biting the pillows or something? Do they gag themselves? Are they trying to be considerate? Do they think I might not know what they’re doing in there if they stay silent? Because it’s not considerate. It’s creepy.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And then I’m getting angry, because why should I be losing sleep thinking about my roommate’s sex life? Her sex life is an insult to sex. If it were any good, she’d be making more noise, pillow biting or no pillow biting.”

He kissed her then, unable to resist that mobile mouth for another second. She tasted minty, like she’d cleaned her teeth before she came around. “So you thought to yourself, I could be having excellent sex right now,” he said against her lips. “Really excellent, really loud, proper sex.”

She sighed, a performance of resignation. “Exactly. And after that, there was no hope of resisting.”

“You had something to prove.”

“I did.”

“You need my help.”

“I do.”

“I’ll help you, darling.”

He did.

She wasn’t quiet. Neither was he. While it lasted, they were as close as two people could be. But afterward, she didn’t stay the night.

Chapter Nine

Cath got off the train at Canary Wharf, impulsively deciding just before the doors closed that she needed cookies. The Marks & Spencer at the mall attached to the station had these chocolate-orange ones she loved, and it had been a cookies-for-dinner kind of day.

It was all City’s fault. She couldn’t get him out of her head. Bad enough that she’d gone over there last night, but this morning she’d looked for him at the park on her run and had been disappointed when she didn’t see him. She’d thought about him in the shower, and things had steamed up so fast in there, she’d had to use her fingers to get some relief.

She’d lingered over her breakfast, telling herself she needed extra cereal and orange juice for what was bound to be a long day when really she was stalling so that she’d be on the train City always took.

Then he wasn’t at the station.

All day at work, she’d been distracted by thoughts of how his eyes crinkled up when he smiled, the feel of his hands on her hips, gripping her tight as he moved between her thighs.

She recognized the signs. This was Classic Cath Mooning Behavior, and she knew she’d suffer for it like she always did. Sure, Nev seemed wonderful now, but he’d turn out to be a jerk or boring or stupid or mean. He’d turn out to have a secret drug habit or to need a quick loan. He’d turn out to have a thing for blondes with big tits or two women at a time. He’d turn out to have a thing for guys.

He’d turn out
not
to have a thing for her.

She’d done this before, over and over and over again. She had no judgment when it came to men. Mom had considered her a bit of a hoochie, but the truth was that Cath always opened her heart when she opened her legs. She just had this unfortunate tendency to fall for guys too soon—long before she knew their secret flaws or had any reason to trust them. No doubt some
women had one-night stands simply because they loved sex. Cath had them because she loved men. Two beers and two hours with some dark-eyed, lyrical stranger, and she was ready to be his good-time gal for the long haul. Until she woke up the next morning and discovered his apartment smelled like overripe kitty litter and there was a note on the fridge from his mother reminding him to buy groceries.

It was why she’d told herself to be glad when she left Nev’s place Saturday morning, the reason she’d congratulated herself for turning down his lunch offer and his dinner offer and his offer to walk her home yesterday afternoon and his request for her phone number. Finally, she’d learned something from her mistakes.

Not so much.

Because even knowing better, she’d gone and rationalized her way into sleeping with him again, convincing herself in the wee hours of the night that sex was sex, and she could totally have sex with City without letting it affect any other aspect of her life. She would compartmentalize him. Work would be work, City would be City, and never the twain would meet. They wouldn’t date. They wouldn’t share their feelings. They’d just have lots of really fabulous sex.

Rationalizing the sex was Stage Two of the Classic Cath Mooning Pattern. What she always managed to forget was that Stage Three immediately followed: infatuation. And she was in Stage Three now, big time.

Cath found the cookies and plucked a package off the shelf with a sigh. Maybe it was just her destiny to make bad choices about men. She wanted to be different. She was trying. But it was written in the stars.

Or not. Either way, even she couldn’t kid herself into believing she’d be spending tonight alone. Wild horses couldn’t keep her from knocking on Nev’s door in a few hours.

She was standing by the checkout, trying to decide whether
Hello!
or
OK!
magazine would make a better accompaniment to the cookies in the meantime, when she heard him.

“Tell me that’s not your dinner, Mary Catherine.”

Her arms broke out in goose bumps at the sound of his voice. Seriously, goose bumps. She was a junkie for this guy. It was humiliating.

“You want me to lie to you, City?”

Because she so badly wanted to look at him, she made herself wait. She placed her cookies on the checkout belt and started digging through her purse for a few pound coins. In her peripheral vision, she peeked at what he was buying. His basket was full of vegetables, eggs, bread, tomatoes. He was going to make something healthy.

She wondered if this was where he usually bought his groceries. It was the most convenient option for commuters—a quick hop off the train and then back on again—but too expensive for Cath. She used it strictly as a cookie stop and made the trip to the dodgy Tesco in Lewisham once a week for her real food.

“No, I want you to eat properly.”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to have some milk with them.” She did look at him then, just a glance over her shoulder. Enough to see the dimple, the green eyes, the charcoal pin-striped suit with a red tie. Her favorite banker.

She started running her mouth so she wouldn’t have to deal with her runaway emotions. “The best part is, they won’t even make me fat.” She handed her money to the cashier. “We Talaricos are a short, scrawny crowd, genetically incapable of gaining weight. My dad was pint-sized. It worked for him, though. He looked like a young Frank Sinatra, with these big blue eyes and a smile that had the ladies practically throwing their panties at him. At least, that’s what Mom always said. It’s kind of hard to imagine anyone throwing panties at your own father.” After accepting her change, she tossed her purchase in a bag and finally turned around to face him.

It really wasn’t fair. He had to be the only man alive who was always more attractive in the flesh than in the imagination, and he was giving her a look. She’d seen that look before. They’d both been naked at the time and he’d been … mmm. Her goose bumps got goose bumps.

“Let me make you dinner.”

How many times in her life had a man offered to cook dinner for her? With vegetables, even? Zero, that was how many.

No dates
, she reminded herself.
No emotions. Just sex
. But it was hard to remember why when he was standing in front of her being all sexy and friendly and sexy.

The obvious solution was to refuse to look at him. She kept her eyes on the floor while he packed his groceries into a bag and thanked the cashier.

Then he touched her, a light caress of his hand at her waist that flipped her
ON
switch and started her whole body vibrating. “Mary Catherine?”

“No.”
Just don’t look up
. “I can’t. No.”

He tipped her chin up with one finger, forcing her to meet his eyes. A slow smile spread over his face, devastating her defenses. “If I didn’t know better, I’d begin to think you don’t like me.”

“Who says I like you?” But the question didn’t come out as ballsy as she wanted it to, not when he was close enough to make her skin itch.

He chuckled. “How many times did you come last night?” he asked in a low voice.

Three
. “I’m not answering that question.”

“You don’t have to. I remember every one. You like me fine.”

She turned and headed back out to the platform, City at her heels. Just how long would she have to keep turning him down before he stopped asking? Not long, she hoped, because turning him down wasn’t getting any easier.

The train pulled up as they arrived. It was rush-hour crowded, and she ended up pushed against the plastic wall in front of the first row of seats, City directly in front of her. Great.

He was close enough that she could smell him, the delicious blend of pepper and cedar and man that did something a little crazy to her body, a sort of jungle-drums-pounding-in-her-blood thing that was hard to ignore. She kept her eyes fixed on his chest, which didn’t really help because it was a very nice chest in a very nice suit, and she knew exactly what it would feel like under her fingertips.

Time to look somewhere else.

She raised her eyes to the hollow of his throat, the stubble on his jaw a shade darker than the blond of his hair. She had marks on her inner thighs from that stubble.

Look somewhere else.

His mouth. Bad choice. Oh, the things he could do with that mouth. She wanted him to kiss her so bad she could hardly think. Hell, she wanted him to jump her right here on the train.

This wasn’t infatuation. This was obsession.

They hit a bumpy section of track, and Nev pressed full-length against her for a moment—not altogether accidentally, she suspected. It wasn’t for long, but it was long enough for her to learn that he was hard as a rock and ready to party.