Night Owl (The Night Owl Trilogy)

by M. Pierce

  So. Cute.

  Never mind the sexy guy and the ridiculous charm of the scene. The animal itself was adorable. It was the size of a football. Its eyes were big and round and black and its coat was patterned black and white like a tux.

  The man stared off. Geez, asshole wouldn't even look at me.

  The rabbit hopped toward his feet.

  "Sorry, I... am I scaring him? Him, he?"

  The man's jaw tightened. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. He was staring at a splash of street art like his life depended on it.

  Evan hovered on the sidewalk a few feet away, obviously intimidated by the young god and his rabbit.

  "He is sooo precious," I crooned, crouching to get closer to the bunny. "Can I pet him? Will he let me?"

  The man didn't move. What was his deal? Maybe he was stoned out of his gourd.

  I reached toward the rabbit and it flattened itself to the ground.

  Finally, the man crouched and collected the frightened animal. He gathered it against his stomach and began to stroke its head and ears. I smiled. When I didn't move, the man's dark eyes flickered over me. He smirked.

  He reached for my wrist. I let him guide my hand along the rabbit's body.

  "So soft," I whispered. I stared at the man's long fingers covering mine. The alcohol must have been working on me; desire shivered up the skin of my arm. I wanted to lean in and smell his clean scent. I wanted to press my hands to his chest.

  I don't know how long I stayed crouched there, the man's hand over mine and the bunny's warm body beneath my palm. The stroking motion relaxed me totally.

  The young god, on the other hand, grew more and more tense until I thought he would explode. Only his hand on mine was gentle. I could see the sinewy muscle clenching on his forearm and cording along his beautiful neck.

  He frightened me.

  I wanted him.

  Guiltily, I remembered Matt waiting for me to get home and call. I pulled back just as the man stood. We stumbled apart.

  The man hurried up the street, disappearing around the corner. I watched his hot ass go. Even his stride was sexy, prowling and sweeping. Damn.

  Dazed, I returned to Evan.

  "How was the rabbit whisperer?" he said, throwing a fleshy arm around my waist.

  "Evan, eat a dick."

  I shoved Evan back and stalked away, fishing for my phone in my purse and halfheartedly trying to hail a cab. I knew I could call Matt, but suddenly the city felt huge and anonymous and the thought of meeting that demanding stranger scared me.

  Besides, I was still reeling from whatever had just passed between me and the guy outside the bar. Why did that silent encounter feel so charged? Why wouldn't he speak? Why wouldn't he look at me?

  A cab pulled up beside me and I climbed in gratefully.

  When I got home, I saw dad had already set up my bed in a room in the basement.

  So, I was going to be a genuine basement dweller now. I guess I couldn't complain. The basement was finished and would be cool all summer, not to mention private.

  The room itself was bleak and impersonal at the moment.

  Tomorrow I would start unpacking my books. Books can fix any room.

  I flopped onto the bed and called Matt.

  No answer.

  I tried again after twenty minutes.

  No answer.

  I miss you, Matt.

  I sent the text and stared at the ceiling. There is no such thing as loneliness, I told myself. A lump formed in my throat.

  If there was no such thing as loneliness, what was I feeling?

  CHAPTER 7

  Matt

  _____

  Come over tonight. I'll pick you up. I need you.

  I looked at the text I had written.

  I deleted it.

  I wrote it again and deleted it again.

  I couldn't think.

  I ranged through my apartment stripping off clothes, shoving down my jeans and boxers to free my erection.

  "Hannah, god, Hannah," I whispered. I filled the rooms of my apartment with feverish pleas. I gripped my hair and stood aching in the dark kitchen. I braced my arms against the doorframe of my bedroom.

  I already knew I was going to see her.

  I was going to see her tonight.

  And even as I paced and agonized, some part of me remained paralyzed on the lawn across from Lot 49. God only knows what I was doing out there in the dead of night with my rabbit. I thought I had hours to kill before Hannah called.

  I had strapped on Laurence's little harness and leash, carried him down to the nearest green space, plopped him into the grass for a bit of exercise—and saw her.

  She was dancing.

  Through the glass front of Lot 49, she appeared and disappeared in the crowd on the dance floor. Her hands were in the air. Her unmistakable brown curls fanned across her back and a small skirt spun around her hips. Her beautiful face was tilted up, eyes closed. Was that how she looked when she came for me?

  Hannah.

  I couldn't make myself walk away.

  I couldn't make myself look away.

  I drank in the sight of her strong, full thighs, her tiny waist and round ass.

  What were the odds she would end up in this bar, now, steps from my apartment?

  I lost sight of her in the dim building. Hannah in her satin thong, just steps away from me. I needed to feel that garment between my fingers. I needed to touch her intimately. The thought had me shivering in the summer night.

  I lapsed into a fantasy, and the next thing I knew, Hannah's kind, familiar voice was addressing me.

  I didn't dare speak; she would know my voice.

  I hardly dared to look at her. My eyes would scream who I was.

  We were so close. Her knees bumped mine. I felt the pulse in her wrist. I saw her chest rising and falling under a loose beaded tank top.

  Everything else disappeared.

  The world was me and Hannah and the electricity between us. I saw when she felt it, her brow knitting in confusion. It took all of my strength not to speak her name—and not to pull her against me as she leaned in.

  God, what was happening to me?

  I was wound tight enough to punch a hole through the drywall. Instead, I smoked a cigarette and studied the picture of myself and Bethany in Miami Beach. I made myself stare at it. I made no excuses.

  After all, I could tell myself whatever I wanted about Bethany—that she was suffocating, that she was like a second mother, that she harassed me about my writing more than ten Pams put together—and it would never make what I was going to do okay.

  I had wanted Bethany once. I wanted her enough to move her into my apartment and live with her for two years. But I wanted Hannah more, and there was nothing else to say.

  I showered slowly, suffering through a hellacious case of blue balls. I didn't put on any cologne. I brushed my teeth, toweled my hair semi-dry, and took my time dressing, choosing a dark pair of jeans and a black V-neck t-shirt.

  At every opportunity, I met my eyes in the mirror.

  You are doing this. You want her. You're taking her.

  I paced to calm my nerves.

  More than anything, I wanted to be that calm, confident man Hannah had met on the phone, back when this was a silly game. Yeah, back one day ago. Fuck. How did things escalate so quickly?

  By the time I drove out of the parking garage, an hour and a half had passed. Hannah had called twice and texted once.

  I miss you, Matt.

  I couldn't find a damn song I wanted to listen to. I drove in silence, killing another half hour on Denver's familiar streets. Maybe I was giving myself time to change my mind. If I did this, I didn't want it to be a mistake.

  I didn't want Hannah to be a mistake.

  At half past midnight, I put Hannah's address in my GPS and drove out of the city. I was sorry to leave it behind. Denver's chill vibe might have been all that was keeping my emotions from spinning out of control.

  D
esire.

  Anger.

  Confusion.

  Fear.

  I found the house easily. The street was dark. From what I could make out, the house was old and sprawling, set far back on a big lawn and surrounded by trees. I killed the ignition.

  God, now I felt super creepy, parked uninvited outside Hannah's house.

  But she wanted to meet me. And she missed me. And she did say they have an open door policy, which hopefully didn't expire after midnight.

  Only then did it occur to me that Hannah might be asleep. The house was dark. So were most of the other homes on the street. Plus, she'd had a long day.

  I thought about Hannah in her bed. Hannah stretched out on her back, sleeping in a cami and thong, her beautiful breasts heaving slowly and her legs crooked apart. Or Hannah on her stomach, her heart-shaped rump in the air.

  I could climb over her, wake her with a kiss. Brush my body along hers.

  I felt a throb between my legs. I glared down at my cock.

  "Hold your fucking horses," I muttered.

  God, fuck... was this seriously my life? Stalking a girl I'd met online, parked outside her house at midnight, speaking to my dick?

  I flipped down the visor and checked myself in the mirror. I laughed at what I saw.

  Though I was freaking out on the inside, on the outside I looked typical: bored, annoyed, and severely impatient. And one hundred percent asshole.

  I smirked at my reflection.

  "Right," I said. "Got it."

  I pulled out my phone and sent Hannah a text.

  CHAPTER 8

  Hannah

  _____

  I COULDN'T SLEEP.

  I was tired and wired.

  How does that work?

  I got up at the butt-crack of dawn, took out Wyoming in a marathon drive, and capped the night with a super strong Long Island Iced Tea. I should have been asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  But Matt wasn't answering my calls. And then there was the weird encounter outside of the bar. Call me crazy, but as I tossed and turned in bed I began to feel like I had broken my Matt spell with that intense jolt of attraction.

  Like I said, call me crazy.

  Still, it kept bothering me. There were plenty of good-looking guys at the bar, some of them eyeing me, and I wanted nothing to do with them. I wanted to dance and think about Matt. Matt watching me, Matt touching me, Matt whispering in my ear.

  Fuck.

  No one ever made me shiver with desire the way Matt did with his voice alone—until a stranger outside a bar made me feel the exact same thing.

  So it wasn't something special about Matt. It wasn't Matt and I together, insane chemistry. It was just me being horny. God, I couldn't stand to cheapen that feeling... that feeling I got when Matt's voice faltered with need...

  I have to. I can't help it. Hannah... god, do it. Come with me.

  I sat up in bed and checked my email. Nothing. I opened Safari. What was that weird phrase Matt said on the phone? Optima... something. He said it was Latin.

  I Googled "optima latin phrases."

  There it was. Optima dies. Optima dies, prima fugit. The best days are the first to flee.

  My eyes began to sting.

  Why would he say that? Was it some kind of hint? Had he intended all along to drop me like a bad habit when I reached Colorado? The best days... the first to flee.

  Matt said he was scared to have me close. He told me not to make plans. Suddenly, I knew it was over. Whatever it was—our silly flirtation—was over.

  I looked at the webpage again. The quote was from Virgil, popularized as an epigraph in My Ántonia by Willa Cather.

  Huh. Cather. Why did that name sound familiar?

  After racking my brain for a few minutes, I Googled "M. Pierce epigraphs."

  I knew it. The epigraph to The Silver Cord was a Willa Cather quote: "Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past." And it was from the novel My Ántonia. What a weird coincidence.

  Did Matt read Virgil or Willa Cather? Or both? He obviously read quite a bit. And given our collaborative story, I knew he liked to write.

  My phone chimed and I jumped.

  Who the fuck was texting me at 1:00 a.m.?

  That was my first thought.

  My second thought: please let it be Matt.

  Come outside.

  I swallowed thickly. I couldn't move. Come outside...? Oh... my god.

  Matt was outside. Either Matt was outside, or he was weirdly ordering me to have an orgasm on the lawn. Fuck. Obviously Matt was outside. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. Brain, work!

  I scrambled out of bed and stumbled toward the door. I was wearing a pair of Aerie boxers that barely covered my ass and a lacy white cami with a shelf bra. Oh, and the blue satin thong, because on some pathetic level I still wanted to be wearing it when Matt called.

  I grabbed one of dad's old coats and threw it on before going out by the sliding door to the patio.

  Fuck fuck fuck. Matt had come over. He was here. I was about to see him. If he was ugly as sin, what would I say? Um... hi... yeah... I need to sleep.

  Awesome plan. And way to have the shallowest thoughts ever, Hannah.

  I was on autopilot as I padded around the side of the house. I wanted to see Matt before he saw me. That turned out to be easy, because Matt had his back to the house and his hands braced against a black Lexus. Holy fuck.

  This was textbook sketchy. Black car, strange man, middle of the night. Maybe I was about to be abducted. Maybe I was about to become one of those news stories that makes people say, "I feel bad for the girl, but she was asking for trouble."

  Was I asking for trouble?

  Tonight, trouble was a beautiful body standing next to a beautiful car right outside my house, waiting for me.

  I didn't feel a single twinge of fear.

  I felt raw elation.

  I hadn't broken the spell. Screw the hottie outside the bar. Matt was here and I hadn't even seen his face and I was already wet.

  I jogged across the lawn, unable to compel my feet to walk. My breasts bounced as I moved. The joys of being a double D.

  "Matt!" I called.

  He turned. I'm a little blind without my glasses, but I knew immediately what I was looking at. The rabbit guy. The young god. The dude outside the bar.

  My steps faltered.

  I couldn't process this revelation.

  Had he... followed me home?

  He came to me, pushing away from the car, and his dark eyes were hungry. He closed the space between us in a stride.

  The rabbit guy. Was Matt. Was the young god. Was the man I wanted.

  "Yes," he said as if reading my thoughts. "That was me outside the bar. It was an accident. A coincidence."

  Somehow, improbably, Matt's real voice was sexier than his phone voice.

  He pulled me into his arms, shoving the coat from my shoulders. It fell to the grass. Oh god. Oh god, this was happening.

  "Matt," I whispered.

  He crushed my body to his. I was hyperaware of my hard nipples pressing into his chest. He stood a head taller than me and nestled his chin into my hair easily. I wrapped my arms around his waist. He was all lean muscle, heat, and a racing heart. I thought I might faint if I didn't cling to him.

  "Hannah," he growled. He explored my body roughly, an arm keeping me pinned to him. I couldn't have escaped if I wanted to. That realization—and Matt's force and strength—made me tremble with excitement.

  He wasn't shy.

  I wouldn't be gentle, he'd told me on the phone.

  He wasn't lying.

  He raked his hand over my side and down to my ass, which he squeezed and rubbed. I could hear his breathing grow ragged as he touched me. Abruptly, he yanked my tiny boxers into my crack—worst wedgie ever—and slapped my bare ass.

  "Uhn!" I gasped. I rocked into him. Holy shit, was he already hard?

  Move hands, move! I wanted to meet his hunger; I wan
ted to tease him with my fingertips, to have the courage to feel his erection.

  Instead, I was mewling like a kitten and clinging to him.

  "My f-family," I bleated, my mouth leaving a wet spot on his chest. His t-shirt was so soft, his chest so firm. But god, if someone in the house happened to look out a front window, they were going to get an eyeful of my mostly bare ass (and a stranger fondling me).

  "Oh yeah?" Matt whispered into my ear. There it was—the cruel, sweet voice. The devil would have a voice like Matt's. My legs turned to jelly. "You think they might be watching? How about your neighbors?"

  As he spoke, Matt tugged my little boxers tighter and tighter into the cleft of my bottom. He wanted me to be uncomfortable. And I was enjoying it.

  "God, I hope they are," he said. "You deserve it, Hannah. You deserve to be humiliated for driving me so insane. Do you have any idea?" Again, the flat of his hand came down hard against my backside.

  "Oh!" I lurched against him and he groaned.

  "Fuck," he rasped. "Show me everything. God, show me."

  Without waiting for my participation—which was just as well, since I couldn't seem to move—Matt yanked my cami up until my heavy breasts popped out of the shelf bra. I felt my skin glowing. I knew I was a violent shade of red.

  Matt twisted me around, trapping my back to his chest and my ass to his groin.

  Yes, he was definitely rock hard in his jeans. I felt my ass gripping the shape of him.

  I wriggled as he began to grope my breasts and he moaned softly.

  "Now anyone can see," he whispered, his breath fanning over my ear. "Anyone in any of these houses. What would they say?" He chuckled. "Look at that slut, they'd say, letting that man do those things to her right outside."

  I moaned. Feebly, I lifted my arms to try to cover my breasts. Matt brushed my hands away. He cupped my breast and pinched my nipple, twisting it between his fingers. I gasped. My head rolled back onto his shoulder; my arms fell slack at my sides.

  "That's it baby, give into it. You like it. I know you do."

  He rubbed his hands over my breasts, his palm and fingers grazing my nipples. I twitched each time he touched the sensitive buds.