Page 166 of The Single Dads Club
My bad.
We’d walked into the apartment, electricity crackling between us like some kind of freakish magnetic pull. I’d barely gotten a look at the high ceilings and the chrome fixtures before he’d walked up behind me and…
I shivered and tried to get a grip.
Okay, if I started thinking about what he’d done, I’d give up the good fight, sink beneath these sheets, and give him the friendliest wake-up he’d ever had.
Which, again, I could totallynotdo with Mr. One Night of Fun.
With an internal chuckle at his new nickname, I shifted my weight ever so slightly, I started again, trying to push him from my mind and replaying only the images that were most pertinent to my getting home this morning ASAP.
My bra was on the floor beside me. My panties—I winced—were destroyed.
A little ache ran through me as I recalled exactly how they’d wound up that way, but I forced myself to focus again.
Okay. So, no panties. But my dress…my dress was crumpled on the floor in front of the front door. I remembered that much. So I just needed to hunt down my phone and purse.
I slid a little way from the stranger’s heated skin, ignoring the pang of longing for a second—okay, fourth—time. Slipping on my bra, I tiptoed from the room, careful to open the door as quietly as possible and thanking everything that was holy for his silent, modern floors and doors that didn’t make a creak.
When I opened the bedroom door and I saw one of the things that had impressed me about his place the most—the wall of solid glass overlooking the city—I realized I was standing in front of it with my hoo-ha hanging out for God and everyone to see.
Heart thumping in my throat, I snagged my dress from where it lay on the floor and shoved it over my head, letting out a little yowl when the hook caught my hair and tugged. I held my breath as I heard a little thud from the neighboring bedroom.Please, you sexy beast, you, go back to sleep,I willed him mentally.
My heart pounded against my chest as my ears strained, listening for the slightest sign of life. When it stayed quiet, I figured I was in the clear and went on the hunt for my shoes.
Okay, so we walked in the door, I had admired the apartment, I went to get some water and…and I slipped off my shoes. On tiptoe now, I sprinted to the sink and found my strappy sandals, then slid them on. Beside the sink, I spied a little notepad and pen hanging from the fridge and I chewed the inside of my cheek, willing myself not to reach for the pen to leave my name and number.
He probably would never use it.
And even if he did?
I thought again of that spark between us, the rush of animal need I’d felt from the first moment I’d spotted him looking at me from across the bar. He had a look in his eye that made me—probably made every girl—feel like I was the most important, luckiest woman to have been selected by him.
And when he spoke?
His deep, mellow voice felt like chocolate sliding over me, sweet and satisfying.
A guy like him? He wasn’t looking for repeat visitors. In fact, he was nothing but a quick ride to Hurtsville, party of one.
Which was perfect. Because after everything I’d seen of guys? I wasn’t on the lookout for more than a one-nighter anyway. But a girl still had needs. And if I could get them met while at the same time reminding myself about guys and their limitations? That was a win-win and if Mr. One Night of Fun were awake right now, he’d agree.
I backed away from the fridge and bumped into the island, only to find my purse directly behind me.
“Gotcha,” I hissed as I lifted it, then fished through the tiny bag’s contents until I found my phone and ordered a car.
Five minutes until it got here.
I glanced at the bedroom door again, wondering if it was rude not to say good-bye. After everything we’d done together last night? Lord only knew the kindest thing would be to let him sleep. Surely by the time noon came, I’d have forgotten all about him anyway.
Besides, it wasn’t like I’d ever see him again. Nope. It was the kind of night that should be savored and then placed firmly in the past.
Chapter One
Mason
“What the actual fuck, Mason?”
I groaned as Trent’s voice echoed through my foyer, then lay back on the couch and tried to pretend like if I didn’t look at him, he wouldn’t be able to see me. Which, of course, was bullshit. But I was fresh out of ideas.
