She told herself that it didn’t matter, that the likelihood of them ever becoming seriously involved was so small as to be negligible. She reminded herself of how different they were. They might as well be two different species, or beings from different planets.
Megan Shreve and Christian Lasher. Together. The concept was ridiculous. Part of her knew it to be true.
But that didn’t stop her from falling asleep with tears wetting her cheeks.
* * * * *
Christian felt no sense of victory as he glanced down at the key in his hand and punched the fifth floor on the common elevator.
In the first place, he was too tired to feel much of anything. His mind was numb, and his eyes were gritty. The second reason for his lack of triumph involved the fact that it had been vaguely alarming that the doorman had agreed to his request so obligingly. But since Peter’s foolishness had played right into his hand, he’d worry about the doorman’s lack of wisdom later. The fact that Megan had apparently asked Peter about him several hours ago only added to the young man’s willingness to believe Christian’s bald lie.
The moment that Christian entered Megan’s front door he smelled her. The subtle floral scent had the immediate effect of calming his overwrought body. He felt like a prowler, but the thought didn’t deter him from following his instincts and moving silently down the darkened hallway. He told himself that he only needed to see her, to confirm with his own eyes that she was safe.
The sound the bedroom door made when he opened it was like a slumberous sigh.
Even though he was only planning on staying for a brief moment, he closed the door silently behind him. He stilled when he heard Megan’s soft breath, and suddenly knew why he’d shut it. The darkness, the woman sleeping in the bed, the sounds of her peaceful breathing, and the intimacy of the enclosed room all created a soothing balm to Christian’s aching spirit.
He waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, then made his way to her bedside. She was lying on her side, facing him. His hand reached out, itching to touch her. He longed to awaken her, to still her fright, to hold her while she was still warm and pliable with sleep.
Instead, he fumbled quietly until he reached an upholstered chair and sunk into it. For the first time in days, he felt his muscles uncoil. A heavy wave of relaxation and warmth surged through him, leaving him limp and content in its wake. He didn’t examine why. It was enough that it was true.
He hadn’t analyzed his motives for this middle of the night raid into Megan’s home since the thought had first popped into his brain back at the recording studio. He’d only followed the idea as though it were a biological imperative, something that he could have denied as easily as trying to turn his eyes brown or attempting survival without water and food.
He knew he should stay away from Megan Shreve. His mind knew it, but his stubborn body refused to believe. And as with the other most elemental things in life, the body wins out in the end.
He gave in to an overpowering urge to sleep.
When he woke up abruptly hours later, it was dawn. He wasn’t disoriented. He knew exactly where he was. Pale light peeked around the edges of Megan’s drawn blinds. He rubbed his eyes, vaguely surprised that they were nowhere near as gritty as they had been before several hours of deep sleep. He lowered his hands and stared at the vision of Megan in the muted colors of early morning.
He never took his eyes from her still form as he stood.
His hesitation took the shape of a visible swaying on his firmly planted feet.
Shutting his eyes was an act of will. Moving his feet to exit the bedroom and out of Megan’s loft must have been an act of God.
* * * * *
By the next night, Christian was convinced that his temporary insanity had been the result of sleep deprivation. Was there anything a good night of sleep, a premium Scottish whiskey, and a beautiful woman couldn’t cure? Christian glanced over at Carla Somebody and inspected her through alcohol-saturated, beneficent eyes. Okay, she wasn’t exactly beautiful. But she was sexy as hell and stacked to the teeth. Christian knew this personally, because his shoulder was pressed cozily in between what seemed like a half a foot deep of female
cleavage.
“You ready to go now, Chris?” Carla asked huskily.
For a second, Christian couldn’t recall where she wanted to go. Then he vaguely remembered making a comically crude sexual suggestion earlier. He’d been joking—he wasn’t remotely interested—but Carla automatically accepted his offer. His gaze locked on her full, heavily glossed pout and then lowered to the breasts that were sandwiching his shoulder.
“I need another drink,” he slurred, moving away from her. She stepped closer again.
“That’s what you said the last two times I’ve offered.”
Christian shrugged negligently. “Relationships can be rough, huh?”
“What’s that supposed to be? Some kind of a joke?”
“Biggest joke of the universe,” Christian mumbled.
He felt the outburst of offended breath across his ear. After a moment, she seemed to think better of her show of pique, however. She pressed her full lips to his ear, and then let her tongue enter the act. He heard the plaintive call of the saxophone in the distance. It caused pain to sluice through his brain, but Christian still longed to hear more. He pushed Carla away from him.
“Give it a rest, will ya’?”