Split Second (24 page)

Monday, March 30

T
ess McGowan awoke with a splitting headache. Sunlight streamed through her bedroom blinds like lasers. Damn it! She had gone to bed again without removing her contact lenses. She threw her arm over her eyes. Why hadn’t she gotten the type she could leave in forever? She hated this recent reminder of her age. Thirty-five was not old. Okay, so she had squandered her twenties. She wasn’t doing the same with her thirties.

Suddenly she realized she was naked beneath the covers. And then she felt the sticky mess beside her. Alarmed, she pushed herself up, keeping the bedsheets to her breasts, searching the room through blurred vision for clues.

Why couldn’t she remember Daniel being here? He never stayed over at her house. He said it was too quaint. She noticed her clothes in a tangled mess on the chair across the room. Heaped on the floor next to the chair were what looked like men’s trousers, the tips of shoes peeking out from underneath. A black leather bomber jacket hung from the doorknob. She didn’t recognize it as anything Daniel would wear. That’s when she heard the shower, aware of its sound only as the water stopped. Her pulse quickened as she tried to remember something, anything, from last night.

She checked the bedside stand. It was eight forty-five. Somehow she remembered it was Monday morning. She knew she didn’t have any appointments on Mondays, but Daniel would. Why couldn’t she remember him coming over? Why couldn’t she remember herself coming home?

Think, Tess! She rubbed her temples.

Daniel had left the restaurant and she had taken a cab home, but of course she hadn’t gone straight home. The last thing she did remember was doing tequila shooters at Louie’s. Had she called Daniel to pick her up? Why couldn’t she remember? And would he be furious if she asked him to fill in the blanks? Obviously he hadn’t been angry with her last night, and she shifted away from the damp spot.

She laid her head back on the pillows, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing the throbbing would stop threatening to split her head open.

“Good morning, Tess,” a rich, deep voice came into the room.

Before she could open her eyes, she knew the voice didn’t belong to Daniel. In a panic she sat up again and pushed her back against the headboard. The tall, lean stranger with only a blue towel wrapped around his waist looked startled and concerned.

“Tess?” he said softly. “You okay?”

Then she remembered, as if a dam broke loose in her brain, releasing the memories in a flood. He had been at Louie’s, watching her from the corner table, handsome and quiet, so very unlike anyone who frequented Louie’s. How could she have brought him into her home?

“Tess, you’re starting to scare me.”

His concern seemed genuine. At least she hadn’t brought home a mass murderer. But then, how in the world did she think she’d know the difference? With his hair still wet, he looked harmless, wrapped in only a towel. Immediately she noticed his hard, firm body and realized he would be strong enough to overpower her without much effort. How could she have been so foolish?

“I’m sorry. I…you startled me.” She tried to keep the alarm from her voice.

He grabbed his trousers from the floor but stopped suddenly before putting them on as if something had just occurred to him.

“Oh Christ! You don’t remember, do you?”

Beneath the morning bristles, his boyish face looked embarrassed. He fumbled into his trousers, stumbling once and accidentally dropping the towel before the trousers were all the way up. Tess watched, flustered and annoyed that his muscular body was turning her on, despite her confusion. She should be worried he could hurt her, instead she found herself wondering how young he was. And dear God, why couldn’t she remember his name?

“I should have known you had too much to drink,” he apologized as he frantically searched for his shirt, going through her things and carefully folding them as he put them back on the chair. He stopped at her bra, and his embarrassment only grew. His distraught politeness made her smile. When he glanced over at her, he did a double take, startled by her expression. He sank into the chair, now ignoring her clothes and absently wringing his hands and her bra without realizing it.

“I’m a complete idiot, aren’t I?”

“No, not at all.” She smiled again, and his obvious discomfort relaxed her. She sat up, keeping the sheet carefully pressed against her as she drew her knees up to her chest and placed her arms on top to rest her chin.

“It’s just that I don’t do this sort of thing,” she tried to explain. “At least, not anymore.”

“I don’t usually do this sort of thing at all.” He noticed her bra in his hands, folded it and set it on the nearby bookcase. “So you really don’t remember any of last night?”

“I remember you watching me. I remember being very attracted to you.” Her revelation surprised her almost as much as it surprised him.

“That’s it?” He looked wounded.

“Sorry.”

Finally, he grinned and shrugged. She couldn’t believe how comfortable she felt with him. There was no more panic, no more alarm. The only tension seemed to be the obvious sexual attraction, which she tried to ignore. He didn’t look as if he was even thirty. And he was a stranger, for heaven’s sake. She wanted to kick herself. Dear God! How could she have been so reckless? Had she not changed at all after all this time?

“If I ever find my shirt, could I maybe take you to lunch?”

Then she remembered Daniel. How would she explain any of this to Daniel? She felt the sapphire ring he had given her stabbing into the soft underside of her chin, like some painful reminder. What was wrong with her? Daniel was a mature, respectable businessman. Sure, he was arrogant and self-absorbed sometimes, but at least he wasn’t some kid she had picked up in a bar.

Still, she watched the handsome young stranger put on socks and shoes while he waited for her answer. He glanced around the room in search of the missing shirt. Her toes felt a wad at the end of the bed. She reached beneath the covers, unearthing a pale blue, wrinkled oxford shirt. She held it up to him and instantly remembered having worn the shirt. The memory of him taking it off her made her cheeks flush.

“Is it salvageable?” he asked, stretching to take it from her while keeping a safe distance.

He was being a gentleman, pretending he hadn’t had access to every inch of her body only hours ago. The thought should have repulsed or terrified her. It didn’t. Instead, she continued to watch him, enjoying his nervous but fluid motions, yet at the same time annoyed with herself. She should not be noticing that the color in his shirt brought out the blue flecks in his otherwise green eyes. How had she been so certain he wouldn’t hurt her? One of these days a stranger’s eyes might not be a safe way to judge his character.

“So what about lunch?” he asked, looking as though he was steeling himself for further rejection. He had trouble buttoning the shirt, had it almost finished when he realized he was off a button and started all over again.

“I don’t even remember your name,” Tess finally admitted.

“It’s Will. William Finley.” There was a glance and a hesitant smile. “I’m twenty-six, never been married. I’m a lawyer. Just moved to Boston, but I’m visiting a friend here in Newburgh Heights. His name’s Bennet Cartland. His father has a law practice here. Pretty high-profile one, actually. You can check it out if you want.” He hesitated. “Probably more than you wanted to know, right?” When she rewarded him with a smile, he continued. “What else? I have no diseases, except I did have the mumps when I was, like, eleven, but then so did my buddy, Billy Watts, and he has three kids. Oh, but don’t worry, I used protection last night.”

“Um…there’s a damp spot,” she said quietly.

When he met her eyes, the embarrassment seemed to be replaced by a flicker of desire that his memory must have triggered.

“I had only two condoms, but the third time I…well, I pulled out before, well, you know.”

Suddenly she remembered the intensity, could feel it fill her body. The unfamiliar rush surprised her, frightened her. She couldn’t allow herself to slip back into her old habits. She wouldn’t. Not now when she had worked so hard.

“I think maybe you better leave, Will.”

He opened his mouth to say something, maybe to try to change her mind. He hesitated, staring at his feet. She wondered if he wanted to touch her. Did he have the urge to kiss her goodbye or to convince her to let him stay? Maybe she even wanted him to. Instead, Will Finley found his jacket on the doorknob and left.

She lay back into the pillows, now noticing remnants of his aftershave, a subtle scent, not like Daniel’s overpowering musk. Dear God, twenty-six fucking years old! Almost ten years her ju-nior. How could she be such an idiot? Yet, this time when she closed her eyes, their night together started coming back to her in clear, crisp sights and sounds and sensations. She could feel his body rubbing against hers, his tongue and hands playing her like some delicate instrument, knowing just where and when to touch her and how to send her to places she hadn’t been in a long time.

The memories that embarrassed her more were those of her own urgency, her own hunger, her own fingers and mouth devouring him. They had taken turns ravishing each other as if they had been starving. The passion, the urgency, the desires were nothing new. She had experienced plenty in her sordid past. What was new, what was different had been Will’s gentle caresses, what seemed to be a genuine concern that she feel the same pleasure, the same sensations he was experiencing. What was new and different was that she and Will Finley hadn’t just had sex last night, but that Will Finley had actually made love to her. Perhaps she should have taken some comfort in that realization. Instead, it stirred up an unsettling restlessness within her.

Tess rolled onto her side, twisting her pillow and hugging it to her. She couldn’t let someone like Will Finley sidetrack her. Not now. Not when she had worked so hard for what she had. She needed to remain focused. She needed to think of Daniel. Despite their differences, Daniel gave her credibility in a community where credibility was everything. He was good for her in all the ways that were necessary for her to become a respected, successful businesswoman. So why did she feel as though she had let something valuable slip from her fingers when she asked Will Finley to leave?

W
ill slammed the front door, rattling its beveled glass. For a brief moment, his anger gave way to concern while he checked to make sure he hadn’t cracked or broken anything. The door looked old but solid. The glass looked custom-made, maybe antique. Not that he would know such things. But he had noticed that Tess McGowan had a taste for antiques. Her small cottage was decorated with an eclectic mix, creating a soothing, comfortable environment. He had felt incredibly warm and cozy waking up and being surrounded by lavender sheets and wallpaper with tiny little violets.

Last night when she invited him in, he had initially been surprised. He would never have guessed that the wild, passionate woman who had shamelessly hustled him at pool while throwing back tequila shooters would surround herself with old lace, hand-carved mahogany and what looked like original watercolors. But after only one night, he knew Tess McGowan’s home was a reflection of a woman who was as passionate and independent as she was sensitive and vulnerable.

It was that unexpected vulnerability that had made it difficult to leave. It had surprised him last night—or was it already early this morning—when he held her in his arms. She had curled into his body as though finding some long-sought-after shelter.

He scraped a sleeve over his face in an attempt to wake up to reality. Christ! Where did he come up with this crap? Vulnerability and finding shelter. He sounded like something out of a fucking chick flick.

He got into his car and immediately glanced up at what he knew to be the bedroom window. Hell, maybe he expected her to be standing there, watching him. But it was easy to see no one was standing behind the sheer curtain.

He felt angry again, used. It was ridiculous. He was the one who had picked her up. His friends had dared him, goaded him into one last fling before his impending wedding. A wedding that at one time seemed far into the future was now suddenly less than a month away.

At first he did it simply to shock his friends. They’d never expect good ole’ Will, the eternal choirboy, to flirt with any woman, let alone a woman like Tess. Geez, maybe he needed some new friends, ones whose maturity levels weren’t stuck back in college. But he couldn’t blame them for his stupidity last night, nor for his going as far as he had. Nor could he say he’d had too much to drink, because unlike Tess, he had known exactly what he was doing from start to finish.

He had never met anyone like Tess McGowan. Even before she shed her conservative black shawl and started shooting pool with the bar’s owner, Will thought she was the sexiest woman he had seen. It wasn’t like she was a knockout or centerfold-sexy. She was definitely attractive, with thick, wavy hair she wore loose and down to her shoulders. And she had a good body, not like some bulimic model, but with plenty of curves and amazing shapely legs. God, he got hot just thinking about her. Just thinking about running his hands over the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts.

Back at Louie’s, long before he had up-close-and-personal access, it wasn’t those curves so much as it was the way she moved—it was the way she carried herself that had gotten his attention. His and everyone else’s. And it was like she enjoyed the attention, enjoyed putting on a show, hiking her dress’s skirt up to her thighs to take a shot while straddling the corner of the table. Every time she leaned over her pool cue, the strap of her dress slipped off her shoulder, the silky fabric allowing just a peek at her voluptuous breasts captured behind black lace.

Will shook his head and jammed the key into the ignition. It had been a hell of a night, one of the most passionate, erotic, exciting nights of his life. Instead of being angry, he should be patting himself on the back that Tess McGowan was letting him off with no strings attached. He was a lucky bastard. Hell, he hadn’t been with another woman since he and Melissa had started seeing each other. And four years of sex with Melissa couldn’t come close to one night with Tess.

He glanced up at the bedroom window again, and caught himself hoping Tess would be there. What was it about this woman that made him not want to leave? Was he simply imagining that there had been some connection, some special bond? Or had it just been sex?

He checked his wristwatch. He had a long trip back to Boston. He’d be pushing it to get there in time for dinner with Melissa and her visiting parents. It had been the only reason he had taken off a precious Monday from his brand-new job. And here he was, miles away from Boston and miles away from even thinking about Melissa.

Christ! How would Melissa not see the betrayal in his eyes? How fucking stupid was he to risk throwing away the last four years for one night of passion? So if it was such a mistake, why hadn’t he left already? Why couldn’t he get Tess’s fragrance, the taste of her skin, the sounds of her passion…why couldn’t he erase it all? Why did he want to go back up and do it all over again? That certainly didn’t sound like a remorseful guy. What the hell was wrong with him?

He shifted the car into gear and peeled out of her driveway, letting his frustration squeal the tires. He swerved into the street and almost sideswiped a car parked at the opposite curb. Briefly the man behind the wheel glanced up at him. He wore sunglasses and had a map spread over the dash as though he was looking for directions. Tess’s neighborhood was blocks away from any major thoroughfare. Immediately, Will wondered if the guy had been watching the house. Was it possible this was the owner of the expensive sapphire ring Tess wore on the wrong hand?

Will checked the rearview mirror and took one last look at the car. Then he noticed it had District of Columbia license plates instead of Virginia. Maybe because it was a little odd, maybe because he was a new assistant D.A.—hell, maybe it was just out of curiosity about the type of man who thought he owned Tess McGowan. Whatever the reason, Will committed the license number to memory, then headed back to Boston.