Possession (Fallen Angels #5)(23)
Author: J.R. Ward

Should he wait until the afternoon, though? Look less desperate?

As he considered his options, he smiled. Usually with women, he was a real straight shooter—no games, no overthinking, no drama. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten turned down by one, so it wasn’t as if he needed game.

Like, last night hadn’t exactly ended at the sports bar—which was why his c**k was a little less than insistent at the moment. The sex hadn’t meant a thing to him, though.

On that note, he pulled up Cait’s contact.

He’d put her into his phone by her first name, because he still didn’t know what her last one was, and he hesitated before hitting her number with his thumb. The fact that he was naked under his sheets and in the dark and already aroused made this a little tacky—in contrast to the chick he’d done at four a.m., who’d had her tits out and all but put up a billboard that she wanted some grind, Cait was no doubt working quietly.

His illustrator was … well, it sounded trite to put it like this, but she was a good girl.

He let the pad of his thumb go down to the screen and initiate the call. Then he put the iPhone to his ear and listened to the ringing. If it went to voice mail, he was going to keep it short and—

“Hello?”

He smiled so wide his front teeth felt a chill. “Hi. Do you know who this is?”

God, he hoped so. It would suck to be any less unforgettable than he thought he was.

“You called,” she said with a laugh. “You actually called.”

“I told you I would.” Pulling the covers up higher on his chest, he put one arm behind his head. “I keep my promises.”

Man, that throaty laugh of hers made him flex his pelvis. But he put a lockdown on that motion.

“How are you?” she asked.

He made no bones about trying to hide his yawn. “I’m still in bed, can you believe it?”

Actually, he wanted her to know where he was, wanted her to wonder what, if anything, he had on.

“Musicians probably don’t keep bankers’ hours, do they.”

“Definitely not. I went out after you left—nothing crazy, though.” For some reason, he got off on the fact that reassuring her felt right. “Just with some colleagues, I guess you’d call them. Did you go straight home?”

“I did. And got right into bed.”

Mmmm. “Did you sleep well or were you distracted by dreams of a soulful singer who managed to get your digits?”

Yup, her laugh was the goal to reach for—he loved the sound of it. “Yes, that was what kept me up. How did you know?”

“Maybe he was dreaming of you, too.” He followed that up with a quick, “How’s work going? Your puppy and you having a good time of it?”

“Actually, I’ve done three pages, which is awesome.”

As a text came through to him, he winced at the beeping notification in his ear. “How long do you have until the book’s due?”

“I’ve got another week, but you don’t want to take any chances. Better to finish early than find yourself squeezed for time and rushing things. The good news is I’m on track—I have about eight more pages to go, and I got lucky today. Sometimes the flow is just right there, you know?”

“Inspired, maybe?”

“Are you trying to sell that singer again?”

“I am. He comes with a good warranty, not a lot of wear and tear.” Kind of a lie, but come on … “He’s functional, reliable … and attractive in so many settings.”

“Is this a lamp or a man we’re talking about?”

“He’s bright, too—did I mention that?” As she laughed again, he smiled. “And he’s eco-friendly.”

“How so?”

“He eats organic.”

“A lamp with a hearty appetite?”

“Oh, sorry—I mean he only accepts those curlicue bulbs.”

“Do they sell these things at Target?”

“No, someone has to give him to you.”

Even he heard the purr in his voice at the end of that one—and she obviously got the drift, because there was a quick pause.

She cleared her throat. “Sounds … pretty magical.”

He lowered his voice and dropped the riff. “Will you come to see me sing tonight? It’s just backup, but I’d love to have you in the audience as my guest.”

Before she could answer, he jumped in. “You can come backstage, hang out with somebody famous—your Facebook status would be awesome. It’s a Millicent Jayson concert—you must have heard of her?”

Say yes, he thought. Say yes…

As he waited on pins and needles, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way. For some strange reason, all he wanted was to be inside this woman—it didn’t make sense, but that was destiny for you.

The powerful wasn’t necessarily the comprehensible.

Duke walked out of his bedroom into a haze of pot smoke. Coughing, he went over to the cabin’s front door and ripped it open, letting the cool spring air in.

“Man, you gotta put up that damn bong,” he muttered at the couch.

Naturally, his star boarder, Rolly—short for Roland—was out like a light, the guy’s roasty-toasty pea brain taking yet another THC-induced breather.

“Freeloader.” Duke kicked the back foot of the sofa on his way to the galley kitchen. “Wake up!”

“Mom?” came a muffled reply.

“No, I’m not your mom. And you’re thirty-two—that should not be the first thing coming out of your mouth in the morning anymore.”

No response. Well, not verbally, at any rate. There was a shift of position—that led to a throw pillow falling off the far end.

Maybe the cold would wake the guy up.

Or the smell of coffee.

Worse came to worst, Duke had a claw hammer in his toolbox.

At the three-foot-long counter by the stove, Duke made a pot of nonfussy coffee—i.e., no measuring to exactitude, no flavorings, just caffeine and water, add heat and a mug. He poured himself some before things had finished brewing, and he drank the first dose at the window, staring out at the farmland that surrounded the place he rented. For the second dose, he faced in, leaning his ass against the lip of the stainless-steel bucket sink.

One story. A thousand square feet. One bed, one bath, plenty of privacy, and the cost was cut in half because he did the mowing in the summer and the snowplowing in the winter for the owners who lived down the lane.