She prayed he wouldn’t wake and tugged on the blankets, pulling one loose enough to wrap around her body. Gillian stood, her heart racing, palms sweaty as she glanced around the room. Desperation ripped through her blood.
Please, please don’t let him wake up. Just let me get out of here and we’ll forget this ever happened. It can’t happen again.
She tossed clothes aside in the vain search for her panties. Pale lavender lace peeked out from under his hip. Her fingers curled into her palm before she backed from the room.
Her breath coming in loud, harsh pants, she slipped on the oversized bathrobe lying across the back of the couch, grabbed the stained and wrinkled mess she’d worn at the wedding, and darted about looking for her heels. The soft snore from the bed drew her attention. She gave up on the pumps and all but raced from the room. She swore and turned to dart back in before the door closed to grab her purse. Pulling her mother’s room key from the tiny clutch bag, she hurried down the hall, her head bent, face burning with embarrassment.
The door swung open without a sound and Gillian slipped into the honeymoon suite. There were no noises coming from the main bedroom. With a breath of relief, Gillian tossed the formal gown aside and grabbed her carryon. She discarded the robe and pulled on a pair of tan slacks, a white sweater, and grabbed her sensible flats.
Dressed, she froze at a creak from the bedroom. Please don’t wake up. She prayed and tucked her clutch into the bag before grabbing her jacket and all but flying from the hotel room.
Relief flooded her as she slipped unnoticed past the front desk. She could see the two employees in the back cubby giggling together over something. Inhaling a calming breath in the cool morning air, she hurried toward the waiting bank of taxis.
“Where to?”
“The airport.” Gillian slammed the door, her gaze on the hotel. Guilt ate at her stomach as she pictured Jack tangled in the sheets of his hotel room. He was a good man, something she had very little experience with. She should have woken him up to say good-bye.
As the five-story hotel faded from view, she sank down into her seat and sniffled. She’d felt more than any good girl was supposed to in the arms of a man, but the guilt, the shame, were curiously absent.
Cold, impersonal, the crowded airport welcomed her. Shrugging deeper into her sweater, Gillian hurried through the ticket booth before finding a spot on a hard plastic chair near the windows.
Her fingers plucked at the strap of her bag, her mind slipping back to events she loathed considering.
“You’re as cold as ice, Gillian.” Mike’s sneer filled the quiet of their sparse bedroom. “Why would I want to stick my dick in something that’s gonna give me frostbite? Hell, a woolen sock’s a better fuck than you.”
“I’m sorry, Mike.” She sniffled and hunkered in the corner, her face burning where he’d hit her. Curling tighter into herself, she watched him pace the bedroom. His fists opening and clenching, his dark eyes narrowed as they studied her with disdain and fury.
“Don’t know why you can’t be more like your momma. Now there’s a woman who knows her way around the bedroom.”
“Yes, Mike.”
“Can’t keep the house clean, don’t cook. Hell, you’re as flat-chested as a boy, ain’t enough talent for a good blowjob, and you’re cold. Stupid fucking bitch!”
Gillian flinched but didn’t cry out at the booted kick to her side. To cry out would only give him more satisfaction. Her nails bit into her palms, the warm ooze of blood more powerful than the ranting of her boyfriend of five years.
“Yes, Mike.” Gillian jumped at the slam of the front door, her breath exploding on a sob. Curling against the wall, she pressed her palm to her groin, the burning ache intense, broken only by the slow drip of fluid down her skin. She sobbed and pounded her head on the wall, her body one searing ball of agony.
“Miss, they’re boarding your flight.” The soft voice of a woman reached through the memories. Gillian shook them off and offered a weak smile before collecting her things and hurrying to the loading gate.
* * * *
Jack rubbed his eyes for the third time in five minutes. He stifled a yawn, glanced at the clock, and cursed. Two hours and he wasn’t one second closer to finishing the latest fire report due by the end of his shift. His mind kept darting back to Gillian—and waking alone. It hadn’t taken him five minutes to understand why she’d run. In a way he’d been expecting it. Still, it hadn’t dulled the pain of knowing she’d let her fear control her.
Heaving a breath, he closed the file he’d been working on and opened the laptop. A few seconds later it booted to life and the screen popped up. His fingers beat a fast rhythm on his desktop as he stared at the screen. The roar of his heart in his ears drowned out the voice of reason as he opened a web browser and began the search for Gillian. He wanted answers and the only way to get them was to go for it.
Half an hour later, shock mixed with elation as he stared at the computer screen. He grinned, his fingers reaching for a pen and paper. Persistence and a determination he hadn’t felt in years lightened his mood considerably.
“She really does love dinosaurs.” He whistled as he crammed the paper into his pocket just as the door opened.
“Hey, we’re just headin’ out to grab a beer. You wanna come with us?” Luke
