Chapter 15
Tuesday
Everything is perfect.
Or should feel that way, but it doesn’t.
I need nothing . . . other than my own pajamas, though I’ve become partial to his clothes.
My clothes hang on the hangers.
My shoes line up at the bottom of the closet.
The hotel bags are in the trash bin, though I debated if I should hold on to them for my next move.
Even my accessories and make-up are organized on the dresser.
The bed and pillows, the lamp and nice furniture, nothing is less than luxurious. Like a checklist at the end of the night where I’ve ticked each box, we ate dinner while I uselessly searched for the heat we shared before that call. I’ve said good night, brushed my teeth, and washed my face.
I’m not sure what my expectations were when Loch went sexy protective over me back at the hotel. I can’t say I had any next-step thoughts of what would happen next, but it wasn’t lying in Loch’s guest room at two seventeen in the morning all alone.
Since I forgot to buy myself pajamas, I’m still wearing his clothes. It makes me feel closer to him, which is odd since he feels farther away than ever.
I reach for the glass on the nightstand before remembering I’ve already drunk the water. Holding on to it, I slip out of bed and tiptoe to the door. I pull the door open as quietly as I can and pad down the hall through the living room and into the kitchen.
I’m stunned every time I see that view. I don’t think it’s possible to ever get used to it.
After refilling my glass of water, I return to the windows and take a sip.
With my arms tucked over my chest, I hold the glass close and admire the inky-blue buildings and sky.
The lights have no pattern but shine like stars against the dark night.
“It’s quite the sight.” His voice is low like the hour deems.
I glance back to see Loch walking toward me. “It is. I can’t stop staring at its beauty.”
“Neither can I, but I’m not talking about the cityscape.” When he’s standing by my side, staring ahead, he asks, “Why are you up at this hour?”
“Couldn’t sleep and needed water,” I say, holding the glass up.
He looks down out of the corner of his eye and nods. “Ah. I’m not a very good host.”
“You’re perfect at everything you do.”
“No, I work hard at everything to be perfect.”
Leaving no room for anything less, he outlines his tone with melancholy, which begs the question, “What happens if you’re not?”
“I don’t know.” A genuine answer.
Too fascinated to look away from him, I turn so I can blatantly stare. “You’ve never failed? Not at anything?”
“Not that I remember.”
“I have a feeling you don’t forget much.”
The pregnant pause has me anxious to hear what comes next. “You’re right,” he finally confesses. “I don’t fail.”
I expected no less, but I still hoped for a different answer. Though I think he does just fine. I mean, look at the view. That perfectionism has paid off. But still . . . “That’s quite the burden to carry.”
“What about you?” A smile falters on his lips. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“So did I.” I smirk, failing to keep my smile contained. “Ba dum dump.”
He gives me a lighthearted nudge. “The girl’s got jokes.”
Turning back to face the window, I add, “I try.” I sip my water, only able to wrap around one consistent idea. “My thoughts? I have a feeling I failed others more than myself.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I’m here instead of at home.”
Without hesitating, he moves in front of me, takes me by the upper arms, and bends to look into my eyes.
“Let me tell you something, Tuesday. You need to get that out of your head. Cases take time to solve. You aren’t the first person to go through this, and you never hear of people not getting their reunion. ”
“Because we don’t hear about them at all.”
“You think you have all the answers, but there’s an ocean of discovery waiting to happen.
You could wake up tomorrow and be off to your old life.
” An enemy occupies his eyes, an unfamiliar emotion.
Fighting against it, he gulps and closes his eyelids, clenching them tight.
They lift in milliseconds, but it was enough to stave off the unknown invader. But I saw it.
His hold has strength, intention that feels more than proving a point.
More like he doesn’t want me to go. Dread wiggles in the pit of my stomach, reminding me that our ending is looming whether I want to accept it or not.
I can’t live here forever. I can’t add to the burden of being unchecked boxes he needs to tick to feel good about his day.
“What do we do in the meantime?” I ask, desperate for guidance toward the light he sees at the end of my story.
He slides his hand up to my face, and the warmth of his gaze reaches my chest. I hate that a wave of emotion threatens my eyes with tears. How can a moment that doesn’t have an ounce of sadness manage to bring tears to my eyes still?
His smile is gentle like the world at this time of night. He rests his head against mine, his lips caress my forehead, a breath is sucked in, and then he whispers, “Make the most of it.”
Angling, he kisses my cheek and then lower to the corner of my mouth, causing my breath to hitch.
But when his lips reach mine, there’s no frenzy like before.
No, he kisses me with calculation—one hand woven into the back of my hair, the other cupping my cheek, a gentle pressure steadily increasing until our lips part and our tongues meet, tangling together and deepening the connection.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and tighten, his body a lifeline to the life I’m living. If I return to my other life, my real life, what will I do without him? He’s right. We’re given no choice but to make the most of the present.
Pressing myself against him, I kiss him with the same intensity as he usually stares into my eyes.
His arms slide around my waist and under the hem of the shirt, our heat welcomed as our skin sends currents of electricity through my body, making me feel alive for the first time since I woke up in that hospital bed.
Ever so slightly, he pulls back. In protest, the sound of our lips releasing echoes in the quiet room.
With his head against mine again, his eyes are closed as he tries to regain control of his breathing.
His fingers clench in the sides of my hair, tugging enough to pull my attention to him.
But the only pain is what’s battling in the lines of his face.
He says, “You make me lose control. You make me forget who I am.”
I cup this strong man’s face, knowing he’s so much more than a hotshot attorney. I want to show him that the advice he gives me to just live can be a new start for him. “Maybe that’s just what you need in life. Just a moment to forget who you are.”
Kissing him, I want his hands on more than my face and in my hair. I want to feel one with him, even if only for a night, to make me forget the pain of losing my identity and fill the hole not just in my mind but also in my heart. Together, we’ll create new memories.
This time when he pulls back, he takes me by the hand and starts leading me down the hall. We pass the spare room and walk into his. I silently climb under the covers, settling in the middle.
Amusement dances in his eyes as he smiles at me. “Are you a bed hog?”
“I have no idea. Let’s find out.”
He climbs into bed and pulls the covers over his lower half.
Unlike when life and responsibility rudely chilled the heat between us, it’s radiating under these sheets.
Rolling on his side to face me, he runs his hand under my shirt and around my middle to hold my side.
“Now what was that about not being able to sleep?”
“I was thirsty, too,” I say, thinking it’s not possible to sound thirstier for him than I do now.
He chuckles. “Well, let’s make sure you’re well taken care of.” He leans down and kisses me. I loop my arms around him, holding him to me, our kisses intensifying as our bodies find purchase against each other.
When his hand slides under the waistband of the boxers, I press against it, craving not only his heat but his touch lower, between my legs. He doesn’t disappoint, though I knew he wouldn’t. He takes over my body as if it belongs to him.
Keeping pressure on me, he slips his fingers between my thighs, pushing slowly over my pulsing center. His tongue claims every corner of my mouth, and then a finger slips between my lower lips. “Aah,” I breathe into him and then turn just enough to catch my breath again and kiss him.
I thought his kiss brought me to life. It’s this. With his mouth on mine and his hand taking full possession of my body, the moment this man sinks a finger inside me, I’m living again. My body moves as if summoned by the devil himself, and I meet his hand as he starts to thrust.
Moans escape without permission, filling my ears as the sound of his mingles with mine.
I grab his shoulders, pushing, tugging him back up, and then grappling to hold on to how incredible he feels.
But it will be short-lived. The one thing I can’t hold on to is the coil in my core threatening to spring apart.
This feels too good, so when he pulls out and begins rubbing my clit, I stop fighting to hold on and start allowing my release to come.
Rocking my hips, I find the pressure so pleasurable and too much to know which way is up or down.
“Feels so good,” I breathe against his neck as he drives deeper into me with another finger.
His thumb encircles my neediest spot as his other fingers take control of my every breath and moan, sending me into the darkness.
Tremoring under his hand, no fear is found as I fall deeper into this beautiful abyss. My breath finally catches as I float back to him, his hand holding onto my hip and sweet kisses sprinkled across my forehead.
My breathing is still jagged when I open my eyes. So many emotions he’d never claim are seen in his admiring gaze. It makes no sense to fall so soon, the reasons easily dismissed to anyone other than us two. But I am falling . . . I wonder if he is, too.
A yawn sneaks up on me before I can restrain it.
Falling back on his side of the bed, he says, “We should get some sleep. I have work early in the morning, and you . . .” He turns, his eyes finding mine through the dark room. “You have so many things ahead of you. You should rest up.”
“What about you?” I roll to my side, gliding my hand over those hard abs I only had access to ogle earlier.
He covers my hand when I start sneaking south, effectively stopping me. “Tonight was about you.”
I do worry, though. He sees it. I know he does because he reaches over and rubs my cheek with the pad of his thumb. He leans over to kiss my head once more, then whispers, “Get some sleep.”
Worrying about tomorrow won’t do me any good tonight. So I decide to take his advice. But first, I slide closer, snuggle to his side, and then leave a kiss on his chest. “Good night, Loch.”
“Good night.”