CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER ONE
Harris Carver stared down at his phone, his stomach clenching around a knot of frustration and disbelief. The voice message from Sydney Truitt, the hacker he’d employed to find his intellectual property on Tiger McIntyre’s server, was short and to the point.
‘Sorry. I failed .’
Her voice sounded as tense as he felt but then she had just waved goodbye to a life-changing amount of money. But that had been the deal. No IP, no fee.
His IP. The schematics for a drill bit that Tiger had stolen from him to make his own prototype. He felt his shoulders and spine tense, his frustration giving way to an old, familiar anger that accompanied any mention of his greatest rival.
Tiger McIntyre.
They could have been allies. They had been best friends at university.
Growing up with half-siblings who had both their parents on site, he’d always felt like an inconvenience, a burden. An outsider. But he and Tiger had the same interests, the same determination to succeed. They’d been like brothers.
Or so he’d thought until he’d caught Tiger with his girlfriend.
He’d been nineteen, raw with jealousy, drunk on the pain of their betrayal, so of course he’d hit him. Tiger wasn’t called Tiger for no reason so naturally he’d hit Harris back and the whole thing had escalated. The dean had got involved, and Tiger had kicked off again and then been kicked out.
Since then, everything they had planned had come true. They were business rivals now and like two apex predators they circled one another, keeping their distance but always aware of the other’s movements. That had been bearable until Tiger stole from him. He always had people keeping a close eye on his biggest rivals and the drill-bit prototype sounded near identical.
His hand tightened around the phone. He had been livid, a mindless fury that blunted all reason or calm. On some pretext of wanting to upgrade his security systems, he had got his people to reach out to a hacker: Sydney.
But in reality, he was looking for revenge. Sydney, or rather her feckless brothers, needed money and so he’d offered her a temptingly large enough sum to hack Tiger’s system and find his IP.
He’d planned to ruin Tiger by revealing the theft but now he had nothing. No proof. No means of revenge.
Outside, a quarter moon seemed to sneer down at him, and he stared at it furiously, reminded as always of his father’s blank, uncomprehending face when he looked at Harris. As if he were talking to a stranger rather than his son.
At the time, his degree and subsequent career path hadn’t felt like a conscious choice, but he could admit now, to himself at least, that it had been partly driven by a hope that it would bring him closer to his astronaut father.
It hadn’t.
His father had been interested in the science and the engineering but not proud or happy that his son had chosen to follow obliquely in his footsteps.
He stared across the room at where the rain was running down the windows. It made him feel as if he were drowning and, abruptly, he got to his feet.
What he needed was to get out of this apartment, out of Manhattan and go find a woman who, like him, was looking to lose herself in the white heat of an anonymous one-night stand.
It took ten minutes for him to pull on some jeans and a T-shirt and a battered leather jacket that he’d loved the hell out of five years ago right before his business had taken off into the big time.
He caught the subway downtown. By the time he emerged back at street level the rain had slowed to a light drizzle. As he slipped out of the side entrance to his building, he started walking. He had no idea where he was going but it felt good striding down the sidewalk without the shadow of his security detail. It would mean a ticking-off later, but he was the boss and, for what he had in mind, two was company, anything more would be a crowd. Besides, the risks of anyone recognising him were low. It wasn’t as if he were a movie star.
Not that he didn’t get his fair share of female attention.
More than fair , he thought, as he sidestepped past a couple of women who both glanced over at him in unison like synchronised swimmers, their eyes narrowing approvingly, mouths curving into smiles that made his pulse beat harder.
They were beautiful, but it was too easy, he thought as he carried on walking. What he wanted was friction. Something that would chafe and burn a little, just enough to give him something to focus on other than the pain and frustration in his chest.
His footsteps faltered.
In the weeks that followed he would wonder what made him stop.
From the outside, the bar wasn’t promising. Or visible, in fact. The door was down a flight of stairs and there was no name above it, which was why he had almost walked straight past. But then he’d heard it, a faint but steady bassline pulsing in time to his heartbeat.
He doubled back and ran lightly down the stairs. As he pulled open the door, the sound and heat hit him like a wall.
The bar was rammed.
At one end of the room a hen party wearing sashes and devil horns were shrieking and giggling around one of those old-fashioned jukeboxes. There was a huge TV screen on the other side of the bar, and a large group of mostly men were gazing up at the two boxers slugging it out. Of course, it was the heavyweight title fight tonight. No wonder it was so packed in here.
It was perfect. All of it. The noise, the smell of hot, excited bodies and cheap alcohol, and, best of all, nobody knew him. Here in this downtown bar without a name, there were no pasts or futures, just a present filled with possibility.
He hesitated for a moment and then he joined the swaying, sweaty throng of people waiting for a drink. At this point in his life, that was a novelty. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d waited for anything. When you were as rich as he was, there was never any waiting. Doors opened; tables magically un-booked themselves. There was always a car or a jet on standby.
‘Excuse me—’
He moved aside automatically to let the woman pass, his brain carrying out a silent but thorough inventory. Petite. Brunette. Smokey eyeshadow and nude-coloured lips. Small, heeled boots and a sleeveless floral dress that made him think of the last days of summer, and last, but registering loudly in his mind, a tiny tattoo on her shoulder of an apple with a bite taken out.
She turned. ‘So, what do you want to drink?’
Her voice was light and husky and at first he didn’t realise she was talking to him. He was too busy trying to place her accent—she was American but there was a hint of something else, English maybe?
But then he felt the pull of her gaze, and the pounding music seemed to skip a beat as their eyes connected.
Hers were green and narrowed like a cat’s, and impatient, he realised with a jolt as his gaze snagged on her soft pink mouth or, more specifically, on that kissable, full lower lip, which was curved up questioningly in his direction.
He felt it jerk him forward like a fisherman’s hook. You , he thought, I want you . His pulse was vibrating violently, and his breath felt hot and dry as if his chest were a furnace. His first thought was outrage that she could do this to him, and so effortlessly. And he almost wanted to punish her for making him feel so out of control and unlike himself.
Only wasn’t that exactly who he wanted to be tonight?
Yes. But in his head, he’d thought it would be more transactional. More you scratch my itch and I’ll scratch yours. Sex as a balm. An analgesic to soothe the chaos inside his head. But this woman was already kicking up sparks and overturning tables.
He cleared his throat. ‘You want to buy me a drink?’
She shrugged. ‘You look thirsty, and I’ll get served before you do so I thought I’d offer but if you’re happy to wait—’
Good luck with that , he thought as she ducked under his arm. She only came up to his shoulder so the chances of her attracting the barman’s attention were zero whereas he—
‘A San Alvaro. And a shot of Coughlan.’
She didn’t raise her voice, but he felt the huskiness in all the right places. The barman seemed to as well, stopping in his tracks as if he’d been shot with a stun gun.
The woman glanced back at him. ‘Last chance.’
His fingers twitched as something charged shimmered in the air between them.
‘I’ll have what you’re having,’ he said.
She rocked back on her heels, that green gaze skimming over him assessingly—critically, he realised. And that was not so much a novelty as it was a challenge.
‘Make that two of those.’ She had turned back to the bar, and he took the opportunity to admire the mass of dark silky hair that clung damply to her shoulders. And to imagine what she would look like wearing nothing but those boots.
His skin felt hot and taut and, blanking his mind, he shifted his stance. ‘Are you celebrating?’
Her face stilled a fraction. ‘No, I just need to cut loose.’
From what? Or who? As if he had spoken those questions out loud, she turned. Her mouth pursed in a way that made him lose his bearings momentarily, as if it were him who had been cut loose.
‘It’s been one of those weeks, you know?’
He did. Rarely had things gone so off-piste for him. ‘Will next week be better?’
She seemed surprised by the question or his interest, and he was surprised too because he wanted to hear her answer. Wanted to keep her talking.
‘Yes.’ She nodded, but there was a vulnerable slant to her gaze that pulled at something inside him because he understood the need to hide weakness or doubt.
‘Let me get them.’ He leaned forward but she was already holding out her phone to pay.
‘It’s done.’ Her eyes met his and he felt the challenge there like a lick of flame. ‘Here.’ She handed him the bottle and the shot glass. She had small, slim fingers and her hair wasn’t uniformly dark but threaded through with reds and golds. Her skin was gold too and so smooth it looked as if it had been poured over those curving cheekbones.
‘Then let me get the next round,’ he said, his body moving closer to her of its own accord.
Her lips parted to show small, white even teeth and she stared at him for a moment, her chin tilted up. ‘You don’t need to do that. I’m not keeping a tally.’
‘Maybe you should.’
Her eyes were very green then and his pulse jumped for no reason as she held his gaze.
‘Fine, I’ll keep a tally and when I’ve made up my mind what I want, I’ll let you know,’ she said in that husky way of hers that made his body feel loose and restless and yet tenser than he had ever felt.
‘See you around,’ she said abruptly and before he could respond, she had melted into the crowd. After a moment, he shrugged mentally and made his way over to the group of men gazing up at the screen.
An hour later he was still gazing at it. He liked sport, but his mind wasn’t really on the match. It was stuck, like a stylus skipping in a groove, endlessly replaying that moment when the petite brunette with the dare in her green eyes had spun on her heels and left him standing there.
See you around , she’d said. But where was around? His eyes scanned the bar again as they’d been doing roughly every five minutes since she’d walked away from him.
But there was no sign of her.
His fingers tightened around the bottle. He could have settled for another woman. More than half a dozen had brushed against him as they’d walked past. Others had stood nearby with their friends, laughing in that way women did when they wanted you to look at them.
Only he didn’t want what they were offering. Without his permission, everything inside him seemed to be interested in just one woman.
One of the boxers, the reigning champion, lunged forward, and there was a roar of approval from the spectators as the contender stumbled backwards. Watching the boxer crumple, he felt a surge of animalistic satisfaction, gratification almost, but it wasn’t enough.
And then he felt it.
Cool, concentrated, intent. Seeking him out. A tractor beam, except they didn’t exist outside science fiction. No, this was like the gravitational pull of the moon on the sea. Or perhaps it wasn’t, he thought as he turned around. Perhaps it was something that had less to do with physics and more to do with biology.
She was standing by the door, her green eyes fixed on his face. Not just standing. She was watching. Waiting. For him.
He felt suddenly untethered. Unbalanced.
Earlier, he’d thought he wanted a distraction. Not any more. Now he wanted to focus. On her. To feel her body against his, beneath his. He wanted the frenzy and release that touching her, kissing her, possessing her, would bring.
His breath floundered in his throat, hot and heavy like the blood stumbling in his veins, and the noise in the room faded as it all gave way to the pounding of his heart.
For a moment, he couldn’t move, and then he was shouldering his way through the crowd, stopping just far enough away from her to make it impossible for him to give into that wild, nearly ungovernable urge to pull her against his body and take what he wanted from her mouth.
‘I’ve made up my mind,’ she said slowly, and there was a hoarseness to her voice that he felt everywhere. ‘I know what I want now.’
His mouth was suddenly dry. She was talking about a drink, obviously. Except that he knew she wasn’t. Only he needed to hear her say it.
He met her eyes. ‘Same as before?’
For a moment, she didn’t reply, and he felt a flicker of panic that he had misunderstood, but then she took a step backwards and pushed open the door.
‘Let’s get a room.’
It was an invitation or a dare. Maybe both. Either way it didn’t matter, because the answer was yes, and, heart thudding against his ribs, he reached for her hand.
* * *
Eden felt the floor shudder sideways beneath her feet as he took her hand. His fingers were warm, his grip firm and the calloused skin on the palm made her blood race through her limbs as they left the bar.
Outside it was raining hard. People were running for the subway, sidestepping puddles and clinging to their hoods. But she barely registered it.
Since walking into the bar earlier, she had barely registered anything.
Except him.
She had noticed him straight off. Wanted him too. Who wouldn’t?
He looked older than her, early thirties maybe, and he was tall and broad and blond. Not the Nordic kind of blond. His hair was the colour of ripe wheat and early morning sunlight and the palest acacia honey.
But it wasn’t just his blondness or his height or the breadth of his shoulders. He had been scanning the bar, and there was something about his intense concentration and his stillness and the latent power beneath that stillness which reminded her of some gorgeous, sleek predator.
Because obviously, he was also immoderately and shockingly gorgeous.
His face was a masterclass in scale and symmetry. And there was something about the shape of his skull.
She wasn’t an artist, but she had watched her mother and grandmother sketch and paint most days and she knew what beautiful bone structure looked like. And this man had beautiful bones. Beautiful everything , she thought. He turned to look at her, his slate-coloured eyes fixing on her face as he pulled her underneath a shop awning, pressing her body up against his and fitting his mouth to hers.
Her belly clenched as he parted her lips and deepened the kiss and it stunned her, the rawness of his desire, his hunger. And hers.
It was hot and mindless, and she forgot they were in the street and that it was raining and she didn’t know his name because, whatever it was he was doing with his mouth and hands, it felt as if he was claiming her. Reminding her that she was his.
He drew back and stared down at her for so long she couldn’t breathe. And then he took her hand and began leading her back the way they had come.
She felt a rush of panic. Had he changed his mind? Her fingers tightened around his, pulling down hard—
He stopped and turned.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
He frowned. ‘I need to go to the drugstore. I don’t have any condoms.’
‘That’s fine. I have some.’ She opened her purse and their eyes met as she thrust one into his hand.
‘There’s a hotel back there on the corner. I saw it when I walked by. They might have a room,’ he said finally and the hunger in his voice made her breath go shallow.
She stared at him, shivers of anticipation dancing over her skin. She had walked into the bar to get out of the storm. But there was a storm in his eyes that she wanted to hurl herself into.
It had been such a difficult week, and it was a good thing that people saw only the face she chose to present to the world. None of the emotion she was feeling had been visible, which was lucky because inside everything had been a howl of chaos. Like a tornado in a jar. They had made one once at school and for a short while she had been fascinated and excited by the power she’d had to turn the still, clear liquid into a swirling maelstrom.
Only it felt different when someone else held that power in their hands. A power to turn your life upside down. What made it worse was that she was supposed to be over Liam. And she was. Even if he offered her the moon, she wouldn’t take him back, but there was a part that felt connected to him still. To what they’d had.
What she had lost.
He shouldn’t have texted her.
She shouldn’t have read the text. Or looked at the accompanying photo. Had he no heart?
Stupid question , she thought, remembering Liam’s handsome face and the confident gaze that had seemed to rest on her so approvingly back then. He had no heart. He was like the Tin Man, except he didn’t want to change. Which was why he could send a photo of his new baby to the woman he’d lied to. The woman who had loved him and miscarried his child shortly before he’d broken up with her.
It was too late for regrets. Except apparently it wasn’t, so for days now, she had been teetering on a ledge, swamped by a need that she couldn’t control.
Her eyes moved to the man staring down at her.
But he could.
He could quiet this chaos beneath her skin.
She reached up and touched his shirt, too scared to touch his skin in case it lit the touchpaper beneath hers, but still needing to feel him.
‘Yes,’ she said, and he took her hand and they started to run.
The hotel did have rooms. The receptionist on the front desk seemed unfazed by their lack of luggage but then this was New York in the fall. Probably loved-up couples were constantly tumbling through the doors like autumn leaves.
Not that they were in love. This was purely about sex and that was exactly what she needed it to be about.
She watched as he pressed the keycard against the lock, on the door to their room. Their room.
As if they were a couple.
The weird thing was that it did feel as if they were. The moment their eyes had met back in the bar; it had felt as though he could see through her armour. See past the small, taunting smile and the glitter of her green eyes. It felt as if he saw her, knew her. Or maybe it was that he wanted to know her, know everything about her, and she had a sudden, ludicrous urge to lay out all her secrets before him.
Even just thinking that might happen should have sent her running back down the stairs and through the hotel foyer and out into the street because she had never felt this way. Normally, she was clear in the moment. Her motives were simple. It was just sex for the sake of pleasure and to feed that human need for intimacy in bite-sized portions.
Her hand moved to touch the apple on her shoulder.
A bite, that was what she wanted, all she could contemplate.
But this felt different.
‘Have you changed your mind?’ His voice snapped her thoughts in two and she turned to look up at him. In the half-light of the hallway, his beauty should have been lost to her, but it wasn’t. If anything, the shadows seemed to highlight the flawless contours of his face.
‘No.’ She shook her head, and he pushed open the door for her to step into the room.
It was small but clean with just three pieces of furniture. A mirrored dressing table, a chair and a bed. But that was all they needed.
She heard the door close, and turned to face him. For a moment or three, they just stared at one another. Then he took a step forward, his arm sliding smoothly round her waist, and, tipping her face up to his, he kissed her.
It was like the Fourth of July.
She moaned against his mouth, her hunger for him beating hard in her blood. His taste was making her dizzy. Nothing to do with the whisky. She could taste his need for her, and it was intoxicating. He felt incredible. Hard and smooth, and she wanted to feel more. He clearly did too because his hands were moving over her urgently, taking a path that was as tortuous as it was potent.
Shivery pleasure danced across her skin, and she arched helplessly against his body, her hips meeting his, nipples hardening as they grazed his chest.
She began pulling at the waist of his jeans, clumsily, her fingers urgent but ineffectual, and he made a noise in his throat. Wrenching his mouth away, he yanked his T-shirt over his head, then unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down his thighs in one smooth movement.
There was a beat of silence, pure and stunned like a ray of moonlight hitting glass.
She felt her face still, knew that he must be able to see her reaction and tried to turn her head to compensate, but she couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to because he looked even better than he felt.
Heat, liquid and electric with currents that moved in sharp, expansive ripples, was pooling between her legs, and she could feel a pulse leaping erratically in the hollow on the left side of her throat.
Better was an understatement.
She breathed out unsteadily, her gaze pulling with magnetic force to where the thick swell of his erection was pressing against the fabric of his boxer briefs, and then her heartbeat shuddered sideways as he tugged them down too, letting them fall to the floor.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
The word blinked inside her head three times like the lights on a fruit machine. Jackpot.
He was definitely a prize, she thought, stepping forward and running her hands over his chest, drunk on the feel of the hard, smooth muscles. And for one night only, he was hers.
All of him, every glorious, naked inch.
She licked her lips.
He had the most incredible body. It made her feel… Actually she had no idea how to describe what she was feeling, but it wasn’t just his body. It was the way he was looking at her. The intensity of his eyes.
‘I want to see you naked,’ he said hoarsely, his breath hot against her mouth, his fingers pulling at the buttons of her dress. Which was what she wanted too, and yet—
Her body gave a silent yowl of protest as she pulled back. ‘No, not like this. I want you to watch me undress.’
His pupils flared and a muscle jumped in his jaw. Better , she thought. She wanted him to watch, to wait, to want her as much as she wanted him.
He stared at her in silence as she stepped backwards, small, slow, steady steps, impressively steady , she thought, given that she knew how it felt to have his mouth and body fitted against hers.
It felt as if his dark grey gaze had already stripped her naked. His expression was hard and unfathomable but his eyes, they were molten heat, and she felt a corresponding heat bloom low in her pelvis.
Head spinning, she pulled at the buttons of her dress, feeling his gaze, his intense focus and the flutter of the fabric against her bare thighs as it slithered to the floor.
He said nothing, did nothing, just stared at her, but that muscle was pulsing in his jaw again and there was a dark flush along his cheekbones that made her belly clench.
No one had ever made her feel like this, helpless and out of her comfort zone but also hungry and strong and demanding. It was so confusing, without precedent, but it felt right, she felt right. With him, she was the woman she wanted to be, the woman she had lost somewhere along the way.
Her fingers reached behind her back to unhook her bra and that soon joined her dress. Now he moved, walking slowly but purposefully towards her, his eyes not leaving hers, all smoke and shadow, so that it felt as though they were puncturing her skin, and yet it also didn’t feel real. It was as if she were dreaming…
He stopped in front of her.
‘I’ve got it from here,’ he said then and she jolted back to him, feeling the authority in his voice like flames licking her body. His mouth found hers again, his hands were on her waist, and his body was hot and hard against her. Blood roared in her ears, and she felt her belly flip as he lifted her hair away from her neck and kissed a path down her throat, then lower to the swell of her breasts. His lips closed around first one, then the other nipple and she arched against him, lost in the sensation of his open mouth and his tongue and his warm breath and the heat of his body.
He moved closer again, close enough for her to feel the insistent press of his erection against her stomach, and she felt an answering wetness between her thighs.
As if he could feel it too, one hand slid down her body, over the curve of her waist, and her breath fluttered in her throat as his fingers pushed under the waistband of her panties, inching down—
They stilled and she almost cried out in her frustration and then he moved his hand to part her thighs, pushing gently into the slick heat. His thumb grazed the hardened bud of her clitoris and she leaned into him blindly, her mouth seeking his, her hand reaching for the thick length of his erection to steady herself.
Her fingers tightened infinitesimally around him. He felt amazing. Hard and solid, with a life force that beat through the palm of her hand in time to the stampeding of her heart.
He grunted, and she felt his breath catch and then he was gently batting her hand away and rolling a condom on. She gasped as he pulled down her panties and then spun her round so that she was facing away from him, towards the mirror.
The blood roared in her ears as she stared at their reflections.
His eyes were dark like hammered pewter. ‘It’s your turn to watch,’ he whispered against her throat. ‘Touch yourself, baby.’ He nudged her fingers towards the triangle of curls between her thighs, his hand covering hers as she did what he asked, his other hand clutching her hip, pressing the curve of her bottom against his groin. Dazedly she pushed backwards. He felt so hard and with every passing second she was softening, becoming liquid, turning inside out, her whole body expanding, shrinking and tightening around an ache that she could taste in her mouth, a need that only he could satisfy.
He was nipping her throat, not biting, just letting his teeth graze the soft skin, watching her intently as if she were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen and that almost sent her over the edge.
‘Wait,’ he said in that way of his that was both commanding and soothing. ‘Just a little longer. Let it build.’
He touched her breasts, pulling gently on the nipples, and she gripped the dressing table, whimpering, wanting more.
‘Now—’ she said hoarsely. ‘I need you now.’
She felt the change in him as his control snapped. He parted her legs and then suddenly he was thrusting into her, moving rhythmically, his body lifting and rocking her like a strong current at sea, his hand gripping her shoulder, his fingers stroking her clitoris so that she wanted to climb out of her skin and fuse with his.
A noise rose in her chest, involuntary, burning her throat as it burst from her lips. She writhed closer, desperate for him as something hot and wet and impatient swelled inside her, humming and quivering and stretching and contracting and—
The jolt of pleasure hit her with such force that for a moment it was impossible to do anything but hang there tautly, straining, outside her body and yet so much a part of his that she could feel his heart thundering beneath her ribs.
And then it burst inside her, leaving her breathless and panting and stunned. This was more than pleasure, it was sublimation and she let it roll through her as he jerked against her, his big body thrusting upwards. Now she was being pulled out on his tide, buffeted by his waves, rising and dropping back down again and again and again and again.
* * *
Eden woke in the darkness to a car alarm. Thinking it was a different type of alarm, she reached for her phone only to realise her mistake. For a cluster of seconds she had no idea where she was or how she had got there. But then she sensed the man sleeping beside her and she remembered everything.
Every glorious second.
She pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle the moan that rose to her lips, to stifle the hunger that seemed almost ill-mannered after her greed earlier. And also, to stop herself from reaching out and waking him. She couldn’t ask for more, and not because it would be rude to do so but because if she let herself touch him, she honestly didn’t know if she would be able to stop.
She couldn’t go there again. She couldn’t ever allow herself to need someone like that, not even for sex. Not after what happened with Liam. Her chest tightened around the imperfectly healed wound beneath her ribs. Even though things had ended between them so long ago, it had been such a shock to find out that he was a father. Despite the small screen on her phone, she’d been able to see the likeness between him and the baby. He had looked happy, and she knew it made her a smaller person, but she’d hated him for that.
Hated that he now had what she’d unknowingly lost.
Hated him for proving to her that she was not genetically programmed for intimacy and permanence.
Which was why she wasn’t going to wake him now. This beautiful stranger who had opened her up with his soft mouth, bored into her with his hard gaze and even harder body. His touch had been so urgent, so precise, and powerful, possessive and devastating. Staring into the darkness, she could still feel the imprint of his hands on her belly, her hips and between her thighs.
She stared down at him, watching his chest rise and fall, trying to memorise the details of him—the curve of his jaw, those ridiculously long eyelashes, the contoured muscles of his arm—wanting to remember everything, to hold on to him for as long as she could in her mind at least.
Surely that was allowed.
But then how did she know?
She had been raised by her mother and grandmother, two single moms with big hearts and bad taste in men. The kind who weren’t looking for love or anything like it. They would be there for a couple of days or weeks, maybe even months, but then they left because, ‘ You can’t catch what don’t want to be caught .’ That was what her grandma used to say when her mother was weeping on the porch again, watching the tail lights of yet another car disappearing down the street.
Growing up, watching from the sidelines, she had been sure in the way that children could be about things they didn’t fully understand that the stable, loving, respectful relationships that had eluded her mother and grandmother would not be out of reach to her.
She had been wrong. Because now she knew love was a game that you couldn’t win unless you knew the rules. Which she didn’t.
But now she had new rules. Better rules.
Liam’s betrayal coupled with the heartbreaking loss of her baby weren’t things she could survive again. Better to face reality, which was that Fennell women didn’t attract the kind of men who wanted marriage or long-term relationships or exclusivity.
These days intimacy for Eden meant sex, not love and certainly not marriage, and as far as settling down went, well, she had an office space in London and had just opened up another in New York and she was building a roster of wealthy, international clients who kept her constantly moving around the globe. Plus, she had an arrangement for regular short term lets in the same apart hotels, which felt like a kind of semi-permanence.
Truthfully it was all she could manage. A deeper commitment would simply highlight the lack of it elsewhere in her life. And it was enough for her.
Or it had been until last night.
She had never suspected that two bodies fusing together could produce such fire. Or such honesty. Of course, he hadn’t known that she was opening herself to him not just physically, but emotionally, releasing all the confusion and tension and turmoil of the last few days.
That was what she’d done, but only because there was this barrier of anonymity between them. Now, though, she had to leave. Because it felt as though she had given away too much of herself and the last time that had happened, her world had turned to dust.
She dressed quietly and forced herself to leave without looking back.
Downstairs, she approached the concierge’s desk. It was a different receptionist, which made it slightly easier to do what she needed to rebuild the barriers she had let fall, and then she was pushing open the doors and stepping into the cool dawn air.
Outside the roads were silent. It had stopped raining, but the sky was a mottled purple, streaked with gold like the cover of one of her mom’s old glam-rock albums.
Normally, she liked waking at dawn. At home, her mom and grandma almost never closed the curtains, and she found the serenity of those hours comfortingly familiar. But not today. For some reason, the first pale rays of sunlight that were creeping down the buildings made everything feel abandoned and desolate.
She felt abandoned and desolate, which was ridiculous because she had abandoned him. Her nameless lover. Picturing him on the bed, his head in the crook of his arm, she felt a pang under her ribs that was so intense and sharp that she had to reach out and steady herself against a lamp post.
He was a stranger. She didn’t even know his name. He didn’t know hers either, but he’d touched her as if he knew her. As if she were his. And she had wanted to be his. Wanted to burn in the wildfire he had unleashed.
Her heart was banging inside her chest. It made no sense for her to feel like this.
It was just sex. Only she’d had ‘just sex’ before and it hadn’t felt like that. Before, with other men, it had been instant gratification and been as instantly forgotten. And last night should have been no different.
But even though she would never see him again, she knew she wouldn’t forget him.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about him , she told herself. Just do what you always do. Don’t look back. Just keep moving—
It had started to rain again, and she felt a pang of relief, and something like regret. But if that wasn’t a sign to keep moving, she didn’t know what was, and, flicking up the collar of her jacket, she began to walk quickly down the street, keeping her gaze focused on the cracks in the sidewalk.