Chased by a Stranger (Craved Series #3) (2 page)

I could feel her throbbing around me as I crushed her against the
bed.

I knew I should move. I was too heavy to lay on her like this. But
for just a moment, I was happy to have her pinned down right where I wanted her
in a room that was empty except for the sound of our panting.

I slid out of her, the cool air on my dick signaling me that I
hadn’t been dreaming the whole thing- Audrey, her mouth, her tits in my hands.
It was all as real as her taste on my lips.

I rolled onto
my side.

She lifted her
head and looked at me, her rosy cheeks smushed against the bed.

I pushed some
of her matted hair out of her eyes. “Incredible,” I said, my eyes drifting from
her feminine shoulders down to the dip above her ass. “You were incredible.”

Audrey smiled
like she’d been drinking all day in a warm bath. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

I propped my
head up in one hand and laid the other across the small of her lower back.

“The masseuse
has got nothing on you anyway.”

I laughed.
“Glad to hear it,” I said. “I’d hate to be outdone by a little old lady.”

“Hey, she’s
tough competition.”

“God I needed
that,” I said.

“Me too.”

“You’re
something else though,” I said. “You do something to me that-”

“That what?”
she asked, lifting herself up onto her elbows.

“I don’t know,”
I said, staring down the inviting cave formed by her upper arms and breasts
against the bed. “Something good.”

“I’m glad.”

I wanted to
tell her that no one had made me feel that good in a long time. I wanted to ask
her if she felt like this was more than sex, to ask if I could keep her.

But I didn’t
want to spoil the moment by looking too far ahead or by making her feel like
what she’d given me wasn’t enough. Because the truth was that I was grateful
for every inch of herself that she shared with me, every moment. And the last
thing I wanted to do was shatter the fantasy we’d created.

“Excuse me for
a moment,” she said, getting up from the other side of the bed.

The shape of
her body from her shoulders to her hips was so much like art I could imagine
renaissance painters fighting over who she would sit for.

And instead,
she’d knelt for me. I was one lucky bastard.

I kept my eyes
on her as she walked around to the foot of the bed, her perky breasts moving
with her hips. Then she bent down to pick up her robe, put it on, and went to
the bathroom, glancing at me one last time as she closed the door.

I looked at
the spot where she’d been lying and thought about how perfect she seemed to fit
beside me in the bed. That’s when I noticed the open sketchbook on the bedside
table.

I crawled
towards it on my elbows and lifted myself up enough to see the picture. The
page was filled with different fish.

I grabbed the
notebook with one hand and sat up. I couldn’t believe how accurate the sketches
were. If I tried to draw a fish it would’ve been of the stick figure variety,
the head and the back fin nothing more than a circle and a triangle stuck
together.

But this page
was covered with pictures so detailed they reminded me of the images I’d seen
in my scuba classes. I sat up against the pillows, pulled the edge of the
comforter over my lap, and turned back to the drawing.

I recognized the
butterfly fish and the groupers, the parrot fish and the surgeons. Even the
rabbit fish and the trigger fish were distinguishable from their markings and
shape. It never occurred to me when she said she was a graphic designer that
she could draw like this.

And suddenly I
was even fonder of her, like I’d discovered some little extra feature she had when
I was already sold on all her bells and whistles.

“These
pictures are fantastic,” I said.

“What
pictures?” she asked through the door.

“The sketches
of the fish.”

“They’re
nothing,” she said, throwing the bathroom door open.

“I mean it,” I
said. “These are really technical. Even a marine biologist would be impressed.”

“I don’t think
so,” she said, starting across the room.

I flipped to the
next page to see if there were any more and my mouth fell open. I’d recognize
that bathing suit anywhere. In fact, it was kind of like looking in a very
flattering mirror.

When I looked
up, she was standing in front of me and her face was beet red.

I laughed. “Handsome
guy.”

Audrey snatched
the notebook and tossed it in the drawer of the bedside table.

“What’s the
matter?”

“I’m
mortified,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me.

“Don’t be
silly. I’m flattered.”

She looked up
at me so sheepishly it was a struggle not to laugh.

“Plus, it’s
actually really good,” I said. “Much better than the one I drew of you.”

She raised her
eyebrows. “You drew me, too?”

“No.” I shook
my head. “I can’t draw to save my life.”

She groaned.

“Besides,” I
said, wrapping my hand around her waist and pulling her towards me, “I’ve just
discovered that there are things I like doing with you a lot more than I like
drawing.”

She stuck her
bottom lip out in a pout.

I kissed her
on the forehead.

“I’m sorry to
be such a creep,” she said.

“I don’t think
you’re a creep,” I said. “If anything, I’m the one who should apologize. I
should’ve asked you before I looked at them.”

“Yes, you
should have.”

“It won’t
happen again.” 

She scooted
towards me and laid a delicate hand on my chest. “It hardly matters,” she said.
“I wouldn’t draw you again anyway.”

“No?”

She shook her
head. “Not when I could be-”

The latch
clicked in the door and it opened two inches. 

Audrey looked
over her shoulder. “Hey Megan.”

“What are you
doing in there?!” Megan asked.

“Audrey was
just showing me some of her sketches,” I said.

Audrey scowled
at me before making her way towards the door. “One second,” she said, picking
my clothes up off the floor and tossing them to me.

“Did she show
you the one she did of you?” Megan asked through the crack. “It’s really good.”

Audrey winced.
“Shut up, Megan!”

“As a matter
of fact she did,” I said, pulling my boxers and shorts on as fast as I could.

Audrey pressed
the door closed and looked at me with her fingers poised over the lock.

I pulled my
shirt over my head and nodded at her.

She unhooked
the chain and opened the door.

Megan looked
back and forth between us. “You two are looking quite flushed after your
massage,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “If I didn’t know
better, I’d think you got smacked around a bit.”

“You’re
hilarious,” Audrey said, taking a step back so Megan could come inside with her
collection of shopping bags.

Megan set her
bags at the foot of the bed closest to the door. “Can you make it to dinner
tonight, Jack?”

“Oh, I meant
to ask you,” Audrey said, turning towards me.

Megan laughed.
“But you got so carried away with the sketching?”

“No,” Audrey
said. “With writing your obituary.”

Megan pursed
her lips.

“Anyway,”
Audrey continued, “would you like to go to dinner with me and Megan and her
Italian… friend?” 

“That sounds
great,” I said, running my fingers through my hair as I crossed the room.

“See you
tonight then,” Audrey said, pulling the door open.

“Looking
forward to it,” I said, giving her a quick kiss in the doorway.

She smiled at
me and nodded. “Me too.”

As soon as I
stepped in the hall I turned around, pressing my fingers against the door
before she could close it. “Oh and one more thing,” I said, fixing my eyes on
her.

“Yeah?” she
asked, leaning through the crack in the door.

“Thanks again
for the massage.”

My last day passed in a swirl of flashbacks.

I did my best to enjoy my time at the beach, pretending my sole
focus was soaking up the last of the bright Thai sunshine so that I might have
enough Vitamin D to carry me through the next month in Seattle, but it was no
use.

All I could think about was Jack.

Every time the breeze trailed between my thighs, I saw his head
there. Every time some sweat dripped down my chest, I thought about how eagerly
I’d drank him, like some kind of unrecognizable vixen-like version of myself, a
version I liked.

Every time I laid an ice cube on my own stomach to watch how
fast it would melt, I remembered the way his abs tightened at my touch.

He was something else.

After a few hours, Megan asked if it would be terrible for her
to abandon me to do some more shopping when I’d just lost my job. She didn’t
actually say that last part, but I assumed it was implied. But I said the only
reason she should feel guilty is if she found something fabulous and didn’t get
two of them.

And I was happy to enjoy a few hours on my own.

After all, there had been enough sensory overload that morning
to last me a lifetime, and I wasn’t eager to do that whole thing where people
feel compelled to savor every moment and talk about how much they’ve enjoyed each
other’s company to the point where they can’t forget for even two seconds that
their holiday is coming to an end.

Not that we hadn’t done that dance before. But I already knew
how it would go. We’d reminisce about all the things we were only going to get
to enjoy one more time, and it would add an unnecessary pressure to the rest of
the day.

Plus, this time I wasn’t in the mood.

Because this time, the whole thing was depressing me more than
it ever had before.

Sure, I was sad that time we had to leave the Florida Keys when
we were eighteen after we’d both hooked up with guys named Doug. And I’ll never
forget our weekend in New York when we drank too much after somehow stumbling
into the same bar where the cast of Cats was drinking after the show. And
naturally, I hated saying goodbye to that spa in Arizona where we ate all those
organic meals between hikes that actually toned me up to the point where I felt
comfortable wearing shorts.

But this was different.

This time I’d had an experience on our holiday that was more
than just a good time, and while I wanted to think that remembering Jack as a
fond memory was going to make me happy, something told me I wasn’t going to
feel that way. On the contrary, the thought of leaving him behind was already
making me desperately sad.

Because we had a connection. A spark. We had the kind of
chemistry that people wrote poems and ballads about, the kind of mutual
attraction that didn’t come around all that often.

And I couldn’t help but feel like if he lived in Seattle, we
wouldn’t be saying goodbye to each other tonight. Instead, what had already
happened between us would only be the beginning of whatever this thing was, not
the total sum of its parts.

And maybe the sun and the drinks and the mind blowing sex were
just going to my head, but I thought we had a shot. Then again, maybe it was
silly to think anything serious could come out of it. I mean, our lifestyles
weren’t exactly similar.

I could just imagine the first morning he woke up to me eating
Ben & Jerry’s for breakfast. He’d probably go running for the hills. On the
other hand, maybe if someone like Jack was in my life all the time, I wouldn’t
have to satisfy myself with Half Baked and Phish Food and Cherry Garcia and
Chubby Hubby and-

Not that I’m suggesting I would stop eating ice cream
altogether, but maybe if I found someone I could change. Was that so ridiculous?

Of course, it wasn’t really my ice cream dependency I was
interested in having Jack fix. It was my heart, which wasn’t exactly broken but
was growing weak with misuse.

And even though it was an absurd thing to wish for, I thought
he’d be a good muse for me. I knew it was pathetic that the way a man I barely
knew looked at me made me feel more confident and inspired than I had in years,
but I couldn’t help how I felt.

Obviously, though, I wasn’t going to freak him out by saying
something so crazy to his face. As far as his side of our fleeting relationship
was concerned, I wanted to be the carefree, sexy fling he had been enjoying up
to the very end.

Because my life didn’t need complicated right now.

It needed simplicity, and there was nothing simple about wanting
to be with a man who lived on the other side of the world.

***

I leaned up
close to the mirror and began layering thin coats of black mascara on my
eyelashes with every intention of overdoing it to the point that my every blink
seemed suggestive.

“So then what?”
Megan asked, fluffing her wild ringlets in the mirror behind me.

“And then she
nearly walked in on us,” I said, looking down my nose. 

“Scandalous,” she
said, reaching for the hairspray on the counter and stepping out of the
bathroom. “But that’s nothing compared to my massive faux pas earlier at the
front desk.”

“What
happened?” I asked, eager for her to stop gassing us.

“I asked the
front desk to mail a letter for me,” she said, putting the canister back on the
sink top.

I coughed
through the familiar stench. “You did?”

“Yeah,” she
said. “Cause my Grandma collects stamps, remember?” 

“Oh right.”
Like that never slipped my mind.

“Anyway, I
thought she should have one from Thailand.”

“Sure.” I kept
my head tilted back so my mascara would dry before it smudged. “So what
happened?”

“Right before
I handed the letter to them, I licked the envelope to close it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And both of
the people at the front desk actually gasped, covered their mouths, and jumped
back in horror!”

“What? Why?”

“Apparently
people don’t lick things here. I guess they associate licking with animals or
something.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she
said. “I told Matteo, and he thought it was hilarious.”

“I had no
idea,” I said. “What about ice cream?”

“Who knows? I
was just glad they didn’t see me with Matteo the other night. They would’ve had
heart attacks for sure.

I rolled her
eyes. “Thanks for letting me know,” I said, thinking Jack and I could’ve given
them a fright ourselves.

“Thank god I
didn’t have to lick a stamp with the King’s face on it or I probably would’ve
gone straight to jail.”

I nodded.
“Probably.” I grabbed the bronzer and headed to the vanity mirror where the
light was better, hoping maybe I’d be able to breathe on the other side of the
room. “Speaking of which, are you going to stay out tonight with Matteo?”

“I’m going to
go out,” she said, sorting through some new earrings on her bed. “But I’m not
going to stay out.”

“No last
hurrah sleepovers?”

“No. I’m not
even packed yet. I pretty much have to come back tonight if I want to have time
to enjoy a final morning breakfast with you.”

“That’s
sweet,” I said, smiling at her through the mirror. 

“Yeah,” she
said. “And after all the cock I had for breakfast this morning-”

“Megan!” 

She laughed
maniacally. “Just saying. It might be nice to try something more traditional
tomorrow.”

I shook my
head.

“Sorry!” she
said. “Seriously though, I’m obviously starved for some excitement after years
of Missionary Max. I don’t know what’s gotten in to me.”

“Some
Italian,” I said. “That’s what.”

Megan smiled.
“Sounds about right. Anything up your sleeve for Jack tonight or did you give
it all up earlier?”

“The latter
I’m afraid,” I said. “But I’d happily ride the same ride again.”

“Glad to hear
it,” Megan said, sitting on the bed and looking at me. “It’ll be interesting to
see how he gets along with Matteo.”

“I’m sure
it’ll be fine,” I said. “When it comes to Jack, what’s not to like?”