Snatching the card up, he exploded off the sofa and stalked over to the corner kitchen. With more violence than necessary, he stomped on the lever to open the garbage can. But he couldn’t seem to make his fingers release to drop the card into the trash. Instead, he let the can fall shut and shoved the invitation into a cabinet. Out of sight.
It wouldn’t be out of mind.
Prowling back to the sofa, he took a long pull on his beer and waited for his hands to stop shaking.
When his phone rang, he nearly let it go to voicemail. But one glance at the screen had his heart lifting.
“Paisley.” He hoped his voice sounded smooth and cool instead of raspy with the tears he wasn’t about to acknowledge. He took another pull on his beer to wash the frog from his throat.
“Hey, Galahad.”
With that one greeting, he felt the stress and the years fall away, sending him back to a time when his only worry in life was when he’d get another smile, another kiss—and more—from this woman. She was a lifeline in a storm he was still learning how to navigate.
“That brings back memories.”
“Naked ones?” she teased.
He let out a low chuckle. “Among others.” But, of course, now he was thinking about the more recent naked memories and going hard.
“Is this the part where I ask what you’re wearing?”
Amused, aroused, he sank back on the sofa. “As I recall, you had a particular fondness for gray sweatpants and my varsity t-shirt.”
She purred. “I always did love talking you out of them.”
“You never had to work very hard for that.” His favorite place to be had been at her mercy. “Is that why you called? To talk me out of my jeans and have your remote, wicked way with me?’’
Five minutes ago, sex was the last thing on his mind, but the sound of her voice all but stroked the shell of his ear and down the side of his neck. He shivered, imagining her fingers trailing there and lower. His own fingers flexed as he thought about fisting his cock while she whispered dirty things into his ear. What would he want her to do in return?
“No, actually. I was hoping for something a little more hands-on.” As appealing as that suggestion was, something in her flirty tone was off.
Fighting his own biology, Ty struggled to get his remaining brain cells to function. “You okay?
“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just hoping you might be up for company and some of that fun we talked about this weekend.”
He wasn’t at all sure she was fine, but the prospect of having her naked in his bed for more than a single night was enough to have his whole mood turning around. “Hell yeah.”
“You’re sure? I’ll have Duke. He’s got some issues with boarding, so I rarely travel without him. Is that okay?”
He’d met her cheerful disaster of a dog when he’d gone home with her after the wedding. It had made him consider whether he ought to get his own pup before he reminded himself of the long-ass days he put in on the job. “Sure. You know I love dogs. Bring him along.”
She exhaled in clear relief. “Looking forward to it. We can both use change of scenery.” There was that off tone again.
Had she been anxious about asking him? They were still feeling their way around what the hell this casual thing was, but surely that wasn’t it. Paisley was too confident a woman for that. No, he thought it was something else and wondered what was going on with her. Was that even any of his business under the parameters of casual?
No matter. He’d pry it out of her with orgasms. And if he didn’t, well she’d be a helluva lot less stressed when she went home.
Already grinning he said, “See you tomorrow.”
Chapter 3
Paisley’s dreams were plagued with furtive shadows that had her tossing most of the night. She was uncharacteristically up with the sun, retreating to her office to try to work. Deadlines waited for no stalker. But between anxiety over what she might find next and anticipation of seeing Ty, her focus was shot.
She hated this. Hated that this person had distracted her enough she couldn’t lose herself in the worlds she built. Hated that she was nervous in her own house. Hated that, in the wee hours of the night, she’d spent some time scrolling through real estate listings and considered moving.
She loved her little bungalow, damn it! It was hers. She’d bought it outright with her royalties after divorce number two—a major point of pride and mark of her success. The idea that someone had ruined her personal haven made her physically ill. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe this was all just some awkward but well-intentioned person inadvertently messing with her head. But her gut said it wasn’t, and she always trusted her gut.
Giving up on achieving anything productive, she loaded the car with her weekend bag, her laptop, and all Duke’s considerable gear. She’d head out early, opt for the scenic route. If a tiny voice in the back of her mind said she was being paranoid by taking the long way around the city and doubling back several times before finally hitting I-40 East, she ignored it in favor of the latest Lucy Score audiobook she’d bought for the trip.
The stress began to fall away with every mile further from Nashville and every chapter of the grumpy, taciturn hero falling, despite his best intentions, for the sunshiny heroine. Nobody did that trope
