I twisted the cap from the bottle, took a long swig of cold beer, then reached for the notepad. A sense of doom curdled my stomach and I wondered why I was even bothering. Without even reading it, I knew exactly what it was: a goodbye note.
That didn't stop me from grabbing it. I leaned forward, using the light from the open refrigerator to read it.
Thanks for everything. I'll never forget my time here in New Orleans. Underneath, in scrawling letters that were surprisingly feminine, was her name: Morgan.
Great. Just fucking great. She'd made it sound like she'd been renting space at my place for the last week and that I had been nothing more than a tour guide during her stay. And how fucking funny was that? I hadn't taken her anywhere, not unless you counted that small bar and restaurant where a few of us had started to hang out, and that had only been two times. The only other place I'd shown her was my bed.
Somehow, I didn't think that counted, no matter how much fun we'd both had.
I drained the beer in several long swallows then tossed the bottle into the sink, not caring about the loud crash it made. I studied the note again then slammed the refrigerator door shut with a loud oath, plunging the room into darkness. Maybe I should burn the damn note instead of throwing it away. Get rid of it permanently so there'd be no trace left of Morgan.
Yeah, I should.
Tomorrow.
I slammed the pad back on the refrigerator door without tearing off the top sheet then stomped up the steps, shedding my jacket and tie as I went. They landed on the floor and I was content to let them stay there until morning. Hell, maybe I'd leave them there permanently, as a sign of my sheer stupidity. A reminder of how stupid I'd been.
"Fuck!" I whirled around and kicked the edge of the sofa with the toe of my dress shoe, then kicked it one more time for good measure. "Dammit it to hell!"
"Dylan?" The soft voice, all sleepy and husky and sexy as hell, floated out of the darkness. My breath lodged in my throat and I whirled around, wondering if maybe I'd finally lost it. A second later, the bedside lamp clicked on, creating a circle of soft light. I stared at the woman in my bed, wondering if I was seeing things.
Morgan, with her soft hair tousled around her face. She'd done something to it because the color was more red than reddish-brown now, with lighter streaks that caught the soft light from the bedside lamp.
She sat up and drew her knees to the side, her sleepy gaze watching me with a combination of bewilderment and worry. She dragged one hand through her hair, stifled a yawn, then glanced at the clock beside the bed before turning back to me.
"Is everything okay? Did something happen?"
I blinked. Shook my head. Blinked again. It wasn't just the sight of Morgan in my bed that had me speechless, especially since I'd been so convinced just a minute ago that I'd never see her again. But here she was, sitting up in my bed, watching me with her sleepy gaze. I should probably say something—I needed to say something—but I couldn't drag my eyes away from the outfit she was wearing.
Instead of her regular pajamas of a tank shirt and short flannel shorts, she was wearing a satiny top held up by two of the skinniest straps I'd even seen. One strap fell off her shoulder and hung on her upper arm, tempting me to walk over and straighten it—
Or pull it all the way off.
The champagne-colored material was shiny, reflecting the soft light of the lamp. A strip of lace topped the deep V of the neck line, giving me more than just a teasing glance of the small swell of her breasts. The points of each nipple pressed against the satiny material and I wondered, for a brief second, how the material must feel sliding over bare skin.
"Dylan? Is something wrong?"
The edge of concern in her voice finally sunk in and I met her gaze, saw the same concern in the depths of her vibrant green eyes. I shook my head and pointed halfheartedly behind me in what I hoped was the direction of the kitchen. "I thought you were gone."
"Why would you think that?"
I pointed again. "The note."
"Oh." The faintest of flushes stained her cheeks as she looked away. "I forgot about that. I'm sorry, I should have thrown it away."
"So you were going to leave?"
"I think so."
"You think?"
Her gaze darted to mine then drifted away. One shoulder lifted in a small shrug. "Yes, I was going to leave."
Her answer caught me by surprise, simply because she admitted it. I'd expected her to deny it, to come up with some excuse or story or...something.
I turned away, busied myself with undoing the buttons on my shirt. I needed something else to focus on, at least for a few minutes, while I tried to clear my head and make sense of what I was thinking and feeling. My fingers were thick and clumsy and I ended up popping off two buttons. Fine, whatever. Not like I didn't have a dozen more dress shirts. And at least it let me get a grip on the sense of betrayal I felt, an emotion I had no business feeling and one that made no sense.
I sucked in a deep breath then shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it over the back of the sofa. When I was sure I could talk without sounding like a blithering ass, I turned back to face Morgan. "Then why are you still here?"
The words came out sharper than I intended and I realized as soon as I said them that there was probably a dozen other ways I could have asked the question without making it sound like an accusation. Without making it sound like I was disappointed she was still here.
Her chin lifted a notch and I didn't miss the stubbornness that flashed in her eyes. "My bus leaves tomorrow. I'll be out of your hair then."
"Morgan—"
She reached over and turned out the light, but not before I saw the hurt and disappointment in her eyes. I started to move toward the bed then stopped. She had already rolled to her side, her back turned to where I normally slept. I still wanted to go to her. To pull her into my arms and apologize. To ask her to stay.
Instead, I turned and descended the steps, damn near tripping on my suit jacket. I grabbed the blanket and sheet and pillow from the closet then made my way back to the sofa and made up my own bed, the way I'd done the very first night Morgan had shown up here.
It was ten times more uncomfortable than it had been that first night because I didn't want to be there. I wanted to be in bed with Morgan, holding her tight against me as she slept. I wanted to feel the soft strands of her hair tickle the flesh of my chest as she used me for a pillow. I wanted to feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. I wanted—
I wanted a lot of things and I couldn't have any of them. For reasons I didn't understand, we were having our first argument. Kind of. And I had no idea why, or what it was even about.
All I knew was that unless I did some fast talking, it would be our last argument ever because Morgan would be leaving tomorrow.
And I had no idea how to stop her.
Chapter Fourteen
Morgan
Tension hung thick in the air, surrounding us with its oppressive weight. Neither one of us had said a single word in the last two hours, since Dylan woke up. I'd been up a little longer, unable to sleep because my mind kept going over and over last night.
Not that there was much to go over because neither one of us had really said much. That didn't stop me from replaying the last few words he'd said to me.
Then why are you still here?
His voice had been sharp, the words sounding like a bitter accusation. Like he wanted me gone and couldn't understand why I wasn't. If I had been thinking straight, I would have gotten dressed and left right then and there. I'd been too hurt, too stunned, to think straight so I did the only thing that made sense at the time: I turned out the light and rolled over, like some little kid who was pouting because they didn't get their way.
Dylan had called my name after that and I'd held my breath—again, like a little kid—hoping that he'd come to me and scoop me into his arms and tell me he wanted me to stay.
I hadn't admitted it out loud—or even to myself, n
ot really, not then—but that's what I wanted. To stay. To have Dylan want me to stay. That was why I was still here, why I hadn't left already. Why I had let Jacqui and Addy take me out for a day of pampering and shopping, like we might actually be friends.
It was why I hadn't called Jacqui out on her little white lie when she'd told me the bus wasn't running until today. I'd checked the schedule when we got back from our outing the other night and knew better now. A bus left twice a day heading for San Diego, once in the morning and once in the evening.
I could have made this morning's bus if I had really wanted to—I was up early enough and it wouldn't have taken me long to pack and head out. But I had deliberately dragged my feet, waiting and hoping that Dylan would ask me to stay.
Maybe I really was just as bad as my mother. I would have never thought so but wasn't I doing the same thing she always did? Always looking for a man to latch onto, to take care of her.
Except I wasn't. At least, not deliberately. And I'd never done anything like this in the past. I was perfectly content to find my own way and live my own life without relying on anyone else.
So why was Dylan any different? What was it about him that unleased the ridiculous thoughts whirling through my head?
I dipped my head and stared at the plate of food in front of me. Despite the thick tension between us, Dylan had made breakfast for me. We both sat at the small dining room table just off the kitchen area, not saying a word as we ate.
Not that either of us was actually eating. I'd only had a few bites of my scrambled eggs and a nibble of the sausage and toast. He'd eaten a bit more but not much. And both of us seemed to be more enthralled with the contents of our coffee mugs instead of anything else because that's where we were both staring.
At least mine was still half full.
I curled my hand around the mug and lifted it to my mouth, taking a sip of the lukewarm brew. It was light and sweet, just the way I liked it, and I was once again surprised by how quickly Dylan had picked up on my tastes and preferences.
Which didn't mean anything, something I had to keep telling myself.
Dylan pushed away from the table and grabbed his plate. His hazel eyes were more brown than green this morning and I wondered if that was a sign of his mood.
Probably, because he barely looked at me when he stood and spoke. "You finished with that?"
I glanced at my plate and my stomach clenched at the thought of choking down anymore food. "Yes. I can get it—"
"I've got it." He grabbed my plate with his free hand and carried both of them over to the sink. He scraped each of them off and placed them in the dishwasher then slammed the door so hard that I actually jumped.
He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms in front of him. The sleeves of his t-shirt pulled tight around his upper arms and I quickly looked away before I did something really stupid, like staring at him.
"What time does your bus leave?"
My heart squeezed painfully in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Any hope I might have had that he wanted me to stay, no matter how silly it was, died a swift death at his words.
I took another sip of coffee because I needed a little time to hide any reaction. I made a show of studying the digital clock on the microwave then carefully looked away. "In a few hours."
In seven hours, to be exact, but he didn't need to know that.
I pushed away from the table then climbed the steps to the living area. My duffle bag was shoved under the bed and I leaned down to retrieve it. It was too early to pack and leave but I didn't care. I needed to get out of here, now. If that meant sitting around a bus station all day, then so be it.
I heard Dylan climb the steps after me, his steps heavy against the hardwood. I didn't bother to turn around—if I did, I'd do something stupid, like tell him I really didn't want to leave.
His presence was a heavy weight behind me. Not threatening, just there. He was watching me as I carefully folded the few outfits I had before placing them in the bag. I wanted to drag it out but I could only move so slow, especially when I really didn't have much. Other than my clothes, I had a small bag of toiletries and make-up in the bathroom.
And I had to move past Dylan to get to them.
I actually considered leaving them here but dismissed the idea almost immediately. It wasn't a lot but leaving them meant I'd have to replace them and I only had so much money. Every single dollar counted and I couldn't afford to be wasteful.
I schooled my expression into a mask of indifference then spun around, ready to step past Dylan to retrieve the rest of my things. He must have moved without me hearing him because I almost walked straight into him. I would have, if he hadn't caught my arms to stop me. Just that small touch of his hands on my arms was enough to scald my skin and make me want things I couldn't have and I quickly stepped back, needing to put distance between us.
"I was thinking..." Dylan's voice trailed off and I held my breath, waiting. But he didn't say anything else and the tiny flicker of hope that had flared to life at the sound of his words quickly died.
I focused my gaze on the floor and tried to step around him. "Excuse me."
"Morgan—"
"I need to get my things from the bathroom." I started forward again then swallowed back my disappointment when he actually moved out of my way. If that wasn't a sign that I needed to leave, then I didn't know what was. What did I want him to do? Block me? Tie me down? Force me to stay?
Yes, to all of the above—which meant I was already in way over my head.
Dylan was sitting in the middle of the steps when I returned from the bathroom with my small bag of toiletries and cosmetics. Literally in the middle, leaving me very little room to get around him. I frowned, ready to ask him to please move, when he looked at me. Really looked at me.
And I had no idea what it was I saw in his eyes.
We stood there for a minute or two, simply staring at each other without saying a word. I looked away first, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze anymore.
I was also afraid that he'd see too much in my own gaze if he kept looking.
"You didn't really see much of New Orleans while you were here." His voice was steady, conversational, and I stared at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out what he was up to.
I had no idea what kind of game he was playing and didn't really care. Well, I did, but he didn't need to know that. He wanted to act all casual? Fine. I could do the same.
"No, I didn't."
"You should at least see some of it before you leave."
"I—" I swallowed and tried to stop the sudden galloping of my heart. Don't read into it. Don't read into it. I repeated the words several more times but it didn't do any good—I was already reading into it and I was very much afraid that he could see the hope clearly etched on my face.
"It would be a shame if you missed all the tourist stuff."
"I—I guess."
"I mean, you never know when you might get back here."
"I suppose."
"So I was thinking—"
"Yeah?"
Dylan pushed to his feet and descended the steps, not stopping until he was less than a foot away from me. He was definitely encroaching on my personal space but I really didn't care.
"I could act as your tour guide."
"My tour guide?"
"Yeah. I mean, there's lots of things I haven't seen yet, either, so you'd actually be doing me a favor."
"I would?"
"Yeah. You could keep me company. Sightseeing is more fun when you have someone with you."
"Oh." The flicker of hope flared to life again, growing brighter with each beat of my heart. "I never thought of it that way."
"It wouldn't take too long. I'm figuring a week. Maybe two." He stepped even closer and I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "Unless you need to be out in California by a certain time."
"Oh. Um, no. No certain time."
"Good. Then you'll stay?"
"There's not really anyone else I could talk into playing tourist with me."
"Oh. Well. Okay then."
"Good." His mouth curled into a slow smile, allowing me a peak at his dimples. My heart slammed into my chest and I stood frozen, mesmerized by his smile and the flare of heat in his eyes.
And then his mouth closed over mine before I realized he had even moved, and I wasn't frozen any longer.
Chapter Fifteen
Morgan
As far as being a tour guide went, Dylan wasn't very a good one. Eight hours had gone by since he'd asked me to keep him company while he played tourist and so far, the only thing we'd seen was his bed.
And his kitchen.
And his bathroom.
And his bed again.
Not that I was complaining. A woman would have to be completely bonkers to complain about the small tour Dylan had given me of his apartment—not that there was anything small about it. I might be a lot of things, but completely bonkers wasn't one of them.
Or maybe I was, for agreeing so quickly to his proposition. At the very least, I was probably being a little too easy. I mean, he hadn't actually asked me to stay because he wanted me to stay, not in those words. But did I really need the words?
Obviously not, since I was still here, wrapped in a tangle of sheets and warm limbs in the middle of Dylan's big bed.
I rested my head against his chest and snuggled even closer as he lightly trailed his fingers along my arm. The touch was relaxing, comforting. Natural, like he'd been doing it for years. Like he knew every last inch of my body, knew exactly what I liked and how.
I realized with a small jolt of surprise that he did know. How was that even possible, when we'd only been together for a week? It shouldn't be—but it was. Maybe that should make me a little uncomfortable but it didn't.
And I couldn't work up enough energy to really care about it.
"What are you thinking?" Dylan's voice was low and husky, the sound rumbling in his chest and echoing in my ear. I snuggled closer and shook my head, enjoying his sharp inhale of breath when the ends of my hair teased his skin.
Troublemaker (New Orleans Bourdons Book 2) Page 8