by Dylann Crush
Reagan’s heart pounded. Her pulse pounded through her ears. “Fine.”
“Fine what?” He slowly spun around.
“You can stay in my room.” Even as the words left her mouth she wished she could take them back. But what else could she do? As much as she’d wanted him to suffer all those years ago, now that she’d seen him again, there was no way she could let him spend the night in the pseudo lobby on a firm club chair. “But if you think I’m sharing a bed with you, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
He stepped toward the elevator. “Come on, Campbell. If you don’t want to sleep in the same room, you can always take the tub.”
“But…” Her words faded as the elevator door opened. Second thoughts fluttered through her head. As she glanced at the desk clerk, she weighed her options.
Ms. No Vacancy crossed her arms over her ample chest as she licked her lips. “You don’t want to sleep with that hunk of delicious man? Honey, I get off in an hour and will let you crash at my apartment if you want to trade places.”
“Um, no…no thank you.” Reagan followed Zach into the elevator, already regretting the arrangement.
A few minutes later they stood in front of a dingy door that had seen better days.
“This is us.” Zach held his hand out for the key.
Reagan shoved it in the slot, and a green light blinked on.
“Ready or not…” He flung the door open, and the smell hit her. Dank and musty. How many different types of mold spores would she inhale if she dared enter the room?
Zach walked ahead and flipped on the desk lamp. One bulb burned soft white while the other cast an incandescent yellow glow. The combination of two different types of light assaulted her optical senses, and she cringed. He let his pack slide off his shoulder and onto the floor next to the bed.
The single double bed.
“Oh no. This is a mistake. A double? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Reagan paced the tiny room, gesturing with her hands, shaking her head, and muttering made-up words under her breath.
Time to talk her down. Way down. “Hey, it’s fine. You take the bed. I’ll take, uh…” He looked around the room. No wonder they shoved a double bed in here. No room for even a few more inches to accommodate a queen much less a rollaway. “Let’s get out of these wet clothes, and I can check back in at the desk to see if anything opened up.”
She slumped into the threadbare desk chair. “I can’t get out of these wet clothes yet.”
“A deal’s a deal. Hold up, I’ve got something that will work.” Looked like Reagan was down to the last straw and about to dive head-first into crazy land. He unzipped his bag and searched through his pile of T-shirts. Settling on an oversized V-neck, he tossed it at her. “Try this one.”
“I got crabs?” she asked, reading the slogan on the front of the white tee as she held it up against her chest.
“It’s from Rudy’s Crab Shack. Best crab legs in LA.”
She tossed the shirt on the bed and searched for her phone. “You can keep your crabs to yourself. I’m calling the airline. My bag had to be on the first bus. Either that or someone walked away with it.”
“I doubt you’ll be able to reach anyone. They were shutting down the airport in Lexington when we pulled away. The reps at the 800 number aren’t going to know anything.” He should know better than to try to talk her out of an idea once it took hold. As she pulled her phone out of her purse, he snagged his toothbrush and headed into the bathroom.
By the time he finished brushing his teeth and changing into a dry pair of boxers, she was off the phone, slumped in the chair. She’d taken off her wet jacket. Her white cotton button-down clung to her figure. If she’d been anyone else, he’d have half a mind to see if she wanted him to soap up her back in a nice, warm shower.
But she wasn’t anyone else.
She was Reagan, the only woman he’d ever uttered those three little words to. And she was part of a potential job. His last low-life job. Even though he hadn’t figured out how to handle the threat from Scazzoli yet, he still had to string him along. At least until it was too late for him to send someone else.
Don’t mess with a woman if there’s money on the line. That was the one piece of advice his mentor, Jack, had passed along that Zach had taken to heart. He’d fallen in with the semi-retired photographer on a last-minute assignment for a woman’s lingerie catalog. He’d been young, a little green around the edges, and a little too stimulated by the scores of half-naked tens strutting around the set.
Good ole Jack. Cuffed him upside the head and told him to stop thinking with his dick. That if he wanted to make a name for himself, he needed to steer clear of the models. Of course, it only applied if they were actually part of the shoot he’d been assigned to. Didn’t stop him from enjoying their company between jobs.
“What did you find out?” he asked.
Her head jerked up, and her gaze met his then drifted down, widening as it skimmed his bare chest. She looked away, her gaze focusing on a spot on the dingy carpet. “They don’t know where my bag is but they sent a trace out on it and should have some info for me by morning.”
“Well, that’s a start.” He picked the shirt up off the bed and tossed it at her again. “The crabs are all yours, then.”
She didn’t flinch as the shirt landed in her lap. But then her gaze drifted back up, settling at the waistband of his boxers.
His dick stirred under her overt attention. He ran his hands up and down his washboard abs. No beer belly for him. He spent so much time around human perfection, he felt like he had to do what he could to hang in there.
“Do I have lint in my belly button or something?” he asked.
A red flush spread from her chest to her neck to her cheeks. She jumped out of the chair. “Don’t you own pajamas?”
“Hell, I usually sleep in the buff. Figured I’d be a gentleman with the boxers. I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?”
“I called the front desk. They don’t have any other rooms so we’re stuck together.”
“If you want me to go, I’ll find a place to hang out downstairs.”
She shook her head. “No. Like you said, a deal’s a deal. I’m just…zoning out. A good night’s sleep and an early morning flight will get me back on track. So much to do before the wedding on Saturday.” She took the T-shirt, grabbed her purse, and moved toward the bathroom.
So the wedding was on Saturday. It had only taken him about seven hours to glean that little nugget of information. Still, progress was progress.
She turned before she disappeared through the doorway to the bathroom. “By the time I come out, can you please have the lights out and the covers pulled back on my side of the bed? You can be on top.”
“You sure? I’m not a huge fan of the missionary position. I find it much more mutually satisfying if the woman is on top. Or even better, if she’s kneeling with her—”
“Sleep! On top of the covers. You’ll sleep on top of the covers, and I’ll sleep underneath. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” Damn, she looked so cute with that flustered, out-of-control blaze in her eyes. He didn’t have to keep pushing her buttons, but he liked the way the flush of pink tinted her cheeks and the way she pursed her lips when he’d hit an especially raw nerve. With all that just-below-the-surface fire she kept reined in so tight, he’d bet if she let it all loose in the sack she’d be a real wildcat. Too bad he’d never had the chance to find out.
As she shut the door, he flicked off the lamp then peeled back the covers on the bed and crawled underneath. The room may be crap but at least they had cable. It took a few minutes of searching through local channels, but he finally settled on a station with men’s basketball highlights playing across the screen.
The faucet in the bathroom turned on and off. A vibrating noise came through the thin wall. What the hell was she doing to herself in there? Ms. Everything’s Under Control didn’t look like the type to run a self-stimulating pleasure device
through security in her purse. But she was really going at it. Something thumped against the counter and the noise continued.
The sounds coming from the bathroom kind of turned him on. A beep sounded, then she spit into the sink and flushed some water down the drain. Ah, a toothbrush. Damn, he needed to get laid if listening to Reagan brush her teeth gave him a semi-hard-on.
He punched the pillow with his fist then plumped it up again and rolled to face the window before tucking it under his head. The last thing he needed now was to catch a glimpse of her in his T-shirt. That would really solidify things below his waistband.
The bathroom door squeaked open.
“Zach?”
“Yeah?”
“Are your eyes closed?”
“Sure.”
“Zach!”
“What?”
“Close your eyes.”
What was with the modesty? He’d made it clear he spent quite a bit of time around half-naked women for his work. But somehow the thought of being next to a half-naked Reagan hit him a little lower. No need to dwell on it and give himself an incurable case of blue balls. “Fine, they’re closed.”
Quick footsteps sounded on the carpet and then she scrambled onto the bed and slid between the sheets, her bare legs brushing against his. Nothing semi going on in his boxers now.
“Oh, my God!” Reagan jumped out of the bed almost as fast as she’d jumped in.
He rolled over to face her. “What the hell is your problem?” The light from the TV bathed her body in an eerie glow. The T-shirt barely hit the top of her thighs, not quite covering up a pair of pink polka dot panties. Her hands wrapped around her middle and she leaned forward, trying to stretch the hem of the shirt over her crotch. As she did, the V-neck dipped down, enough for him to make out the outline of her breasts. His disloyal dick shot to full mast.
“You’re supposed to be on top of the covers. I can’t sleep under the covers with you.”
He propped himself up on one elbow, making sure to not let the comforter tent at his shorts. “What are you, the Virgin Mary? We’re two adults. Surely you’ll be able to hold back.” Although, with a hint of encouragement, he’d be willing to unleash his growing need. Before he let that scenario scamper through his head her eyes went wide and she took a giant step back.
“How dare you!”
“How dare I what?” That’s right. How could he forget? Despite Reagan Campbell showing up looking all sexy as sin, she was wound tighter than the inside of a major league baseball. He’d given her the benefit of the doubt up until now. Thought maybe she’d changed. Thought a few life lessons might have taught her how to relax and take things easy. Thought she’d become a little more Rachel Green and a lot less Monica Geller. But no. Despite the abandon she’d shown all those years ago when it had been the two of them against the world, she’d become what he’d feared… as uptight and controlling as her dad.
“Where do I start? How dare you assume I want to jump into bed with you the first chance you get me alone?”
“Wait. The first chance I get you alone? You think that’s what this has been about? I found out you’d be flying out of O’Hare today, so I booked a flight? Then I traded a guy my seat and let you puncture my thigh on takeoff and landing so I’d maybe have a shot of sharing a crappy bed in a shitty hotel with you tonight?” He punched the pillow again and rolled back to face the window. “Get over yourself, cupcake.”
“I think you’re the one who needs to get over himself.”
“And why’s that?”
She sat down on the edge of the bed. “What happened to us, Zach? The last time I talked to you…I still don’t understand why—”
“Goodnight, Reagan.” He couldn’t let her go there. Because if she did, he’d follow her on that trip down memory lane and they’d end up doing something they’d both regret. There’d barely been a place for him in her past; he didn’t have a spot reserved in her future.
She sighed, her breath shaky then stood and pulled the sheet all the way up. Followed by the blanket. The mattress shifted as she climbed underneath the comforter and gently laid her head down on the pillow. “Goodnight, Zach.”
He pressed the “off” button on the remote, plunging the room into darkness. Although two layers of bedding now separated their bare skin from touching, she may as well have been laying butt naked underneath him. The coconut-vanilla scent of her shampoo drifted from her pillow to his nose. The weight of her body on the mattress next to him stirred him to an uncomfortable, erect awareness. Just a job. Get her to Florida and then get the hell away from Reagan Campbell, pink polka dot panties and all.
6
A soft light filtered through a slit in the utility-grade vinyl curtain and slanted against her eyelids. Reagan cracked her eyes open. The hotel room looked even more sordid in the dim light of day.
Zach’s hair spread over his pillow and tangled with hers. The streaming sunlight on his scruffy cheek made his whiskers glisten in shades of gold and red. He must have kicked the sheet and blanket off during the night and he lay sprawled out in nothing but his underwear. Her gaze trailed down his chin, past the smattering of hair on his chest. Lower to those ribbed abs. Lower still to the dark path that disappeared into the waistband of his boxers.
She took in a deep breath as she considered the man next to her. She’d always had a thing for Zach. His laid back, what-you-see-is-what-you-get attitude had always been a stark contrast to her need to maintain a tight control on every aspect of her life. She envied him his ability to take things as they came and not have to constantly be on guard.
Tucking her hands under her cheek, she watched the easy rise and fall of his chest. How long had it been since she’d shared a bed with a man? Always too suspicious of what people might want from her, she rarely let anyone get close enough to get intimate.
Her dad constantly reminded her to watch her back. That one misstep could blow his entire career to pieces. It had taken her years to stand up to her parents and tell them she was going to have her own career. Her mother couldn’t understand why Reagan wasn’t happy helping with charity events and fundraisers. But Reagan wanted more out of life than playing the part of a well-groomed accessory like her mother embraced. With independence came great responsibility and she’d grown up feeling like an extension of her mom and dad, always terrified of disappointing them both.
The one time she’d thrown caution to the wind, her carelessness blew up in her face and she’d somehow lost her tenuous hold on Zach. Her dad would completely freak if he knew his daughter was waking up in a seedy hotel room next to a blast from her past; especially if that blast turned out to be Zach Anderson.
This little interlude had been, if not fun, at least a nice dose of reality in her otherwise overly-scheduled planner. But it was time to get back to real life: wedding plans and keeping up appearances. She took in a final breath of Zach, his faint, uber masculine scent. The same scent she’d wrapped herself up in all night in the form of the crabby T-shirt.
The airline rep promised a bus would pick them up at the hotel at seven, giving them plenty of time to make a nine o’clock flight to Miami. That only gave her—she rolled over to check the digital alarm clock—DAMMIT! Seven-forty. She flung the covers off and flipped around to pounce on Zach.
“Wake up! My alarm didn’t go off. We missed the bus!”
Groggy, disoriented, probably trying to remember where in the world he was, Zach slowly opened his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“The bus!” Reagan hopped off the bed and ran to the bathroom where she’d hung her clothes over the shower rod to dry. She yanked the pants down, thrust one leg in and hopped around on one foot trying to get the other one lined up. Her bare foot slapped against the tile floor and she bounced toward the bedroom. “Come on. Hurry up. We can’t miss that plane.”
Zach sat on the edge of the bed, facing the window. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m sorry about last night.” His hand kneaded the base of his
neck. He executed a few neck rolls then switched direction.
“It doesn’t matter. Call for a cab.” She balanced on one foot, her other foot tangled in the leg of her pants.
“But I am sorry. I was an asshole and I want to apologize.”
“Fine. You’re sorry, I’m sorry. Just make sure we don’t miss that flight.” As she hopped back to the bathroom, she lost her balance and tumbled into a heap on the floor
“Everything okay?” Zach slipped on his jeans then covered the distance between them. When he reached her, he held out a hand to help her up.
As she stood, his gaze traveled down her face to rest on the crab icon on her chest. Her hands came up, instinctively putting a barrier between them. The bra. Where did she leave her bra?
“We can’t miss this plane, can you call down for the shuttle?”
He nodded and she flew back into the bathroom, where she scrambled into her bra and shirt and ran her toothbrush over her teeth. No time for makeup or trying to do something with the nest of hair.
Zach’s voice floated through the cracked door. He sounded way too calm, and it pissed her off. Didn’t he ever get worked up about anything? What kind of catastrophe would it take to spur him into action?
His knock sounded on the bathroom door and he pushed it open a bit further. “Hotel shuttle will take us to the airport. We leave in five minutes.”
“Great, thanks.” She thrust the T-shirt at him.
“Why don’t you keep it? A souvenir of our time together, huh?” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he waited for her reaction.
“Fine.” She pushed past him and grabbed her purse, shoving the T-shirt deep inside her cavernous bag. “Ready?”
“Let me run a toothbrush over my teeth and get my shirt on.”
He ducked into the bathroom and Reagan paced the room while she waited. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi.
