Story smiled as he strode briskly down the hallway, grabbed her keys off the entry table, and slammed the door behind him. She flopped back onto the bed and closed her eyes with the intention of resting them until he returned.
Within one minute, she’d fallen fast asleep.
Chapter Nine
Three minutes. He’d been gone three goddamn minutes.
Daniel dropped the paper bag he held on the bedside table and buried his head in his hands, groaning miserably into the silent room. What exactly had he done to deserve this particular brand of torture?
He paid his taxes. He rescued people for a living and always tipped more than he should. He recycled like nobody’s business. So why, why the universe had decided to f**k with him, he hadn’t a clue. But it had. Big time.
His weary eyes ran over Story’s practically naked form sprawled out on the bed, his body responding swiftly and painfully. He ached to run his hand over the curve of her hip, the pouty tips of her br**sts. To lick the hollow of her stomach before moving lower to kiss the sweetest part of her. Even knowing it wouldn’t be right to touch her while she slept, he moved forward as if magnetized, consuming her with his eyes.
He’d never once, since turning sixteen, left the house without protection. Then the one time it counted, he’d been left unprepared like the world’s worst Boy Scout. Even now, he could be moving inside her, listening to her desperate cries of pleasure in his ear. Feeling her tighten around him, preparing for release, while her nails scored his back.
Instead, he’d been cast into permanent boner-oblivion for the rest of the night. Awesome.
As he dropped onto the bed next to her, he couldn’t resist trailing his fingers over her stomach and around her belly button, biting his lip in satisfaction as the skin quivered under his hand. The barest hint of a creamy-white tan line peeked out at her hip bone. His mouth practically watered with the need to taste her there. Follow the path with his tongue.
“Gorgeous.”
A thought occurred to Daniel, then. She had tan lines below, why not above? A growl formed in his throat at the image of her topless on the beach, being ogled by overly tanned surfers. They would be having a serious discussion tomorrow about her sunbathing habits. Which led to the realization that she would be going back to California soon and he would have zero say in anything she did or how she chose to dress. Hell, he barely had a say now.
Okay, none.
Feeling restless, Daniel dragged his T-shirt over his head and unbuckled his jeans before kicking them aside. He gently rolled Story onto her side and stretched out behind her. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to slide an arm around her waist and tuck her sleeping form against his chest. He’d never slept with a woman without sex happening beforehand, and never for the whole night, but he’d be damned if he’d let the opportunity to hold her pass without taking advantage.
Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing? Taking advantage of her?
Until a few days ago, she’d been engaged to be married. Moving past something as traumatic as a broken engagement didn’t happen overnight, bringing him to his next dark thought. It was much more likely that she was the one taking advantage of him. Enjoying his attention and the promise of casual sex as a way of moving on from her heartache. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman used him as a rebound, but it would be the first time he gave a damn.
Since learning about her ex-fiancé from Jack, he’d been plagued with thoughts of the bastard. About him and Story together, as a couple. Was she still in love with him? Even now, as she lay in his arms, were thoughts of their time together running through her mind? The very idea made him crazy. Made him want to do something impulsive, like hop a flight to California and show up on the guy’s doorstep. Demand he never speak her name again.
He had no right thinking these possessive thoughts. She didn’t belong to him. With his wretched past, he deserved her even less than that bastard Fisher. That harsh reality did little to stem his irrational thoughts. Here he was, obsessing over one man from her past, when the last decade of his life had been filled with an endless parade of women. Most of whose names and faces he couldn’t even recall. If Story knew the depths of his debauchery, she would turn away from him in disgust.
Not under any circumstances should he be sharing the same bed with her. He wasn’t worthy of her time or the pleasure of her body. So if his fears proved true and her interest in him was solely to distract her from a broken heart, he would take it like a man. Tonight had proven how difficult it would be to stay away from her completely.
Had it really been merely a day since they’d met in front of the vending machine? He’d blinked his eyes and suddenly she’d become an inevitability in his life. Only she wasn’t. Her stay in New York would only be temporary. Daniel knew too well what temporary meant. He should be distancing himself now. But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
He pulled Story closer. She wiggled her ass against his lap, settling into her new position, and he had to clench his teeth until she stopped moving. Breathing through his nose, he somehow regained his composure and focused on the feel of her in his arms.
Burying his nose in her hair, Daniel inhaled deeply, committing her sunshine scent to memory, and fell asleep shortly after.
…
Deep in his subconscious, Daniel knew he was dreaming. He also knew from experience that he wouldn’t be able to wake himself up until the dream completed itself.
The dream started the same as it always did. Daniel coming home from baseball practice, tossing his mitt onto the dining room table next to his backpack. Noticing the unusual quiet permeating the house. Walking up the creaking stairs, hand sliding along the banister as he called out to ask if anyone else was at home and getting no answer.
In a foster home where seven kids lived, you rarely encountered silence. Everything felt too still, unnaturally stagnant. It took a lot to intimidate a foster kid who at sixteen had seen the inside of more than ten homes over the course of a decade, but something menacing hung in the air, slowing his footsteps.
Reaching the top of the landing, he heard a scrape to his left, coming from inside his current foster parents’ room. In their late fifties, the Wickhams made a career out of housing orphans. He’d seen his share of bad foster parents, but they were some of the rare good ones. He’d been in the house for six months, a decent stretch considering his history. In that time they’d actually made a point to show up to his baseball games when they could. Even the meals were decent. He didn’t have a single complaint. So he kept his head down and hoped he didn’t do anything to get sent away.
Daniel heard the scrape once more and with a gulp of apprehension, decided to investigate. When he pushed open the door to the Wickhams’ bedroom, it took him a moment to register the scene before him. On one side of the room stood a pale-faced Mr. Wickham with his hands in the air. His nervous eyes were trained on the bony teenage girl across the room, pointing a gun at him.
Nora. At the same age, they shared some classes at school and had become quick friends. He didn’t make friends easily, so the easy companionship he’d found with Nora meant a lot to him. She had an easy laugh and Daniel pretended not to notice the grief behind her eyes, nor did he ask about it. Avoidance had always been his defense mechanism. I won’t ask you if you don’t ask me. Orphan survival guide, page one. At least in his book.