Inconsolable (Love Triumphs 2)

“Nat, please.”

“He brought your wallet home. Oh, be still my beat

ing heart. You talked to him all night, didn’t you?”

“No. He hardly says anything. I’m taking him home. He’s troubled. Please, please, don’t do this.”

Nat took her hand off the knob, and put her back to the door. She bopped Foley’s nose. “So long as you remember that.”

Foley pushed her away from the door. “It’s impossible to forget.”

Nat moved past her then spun back. “Oh, the groceries.”

Foley opened the door and poked her head out. “Sorry about—” The groceries were stacked neatly against the wall and Drum was gone. “Shit.”

“What?”

“He’s gone.” She turned back to find her wallet, her bag, her keys, snatching them up.

Nat grabbed her arm. “Foley, let him go.”

“No. He probably heard every word.”

She fled into the hall and hit the stairs at a run.

How far could a pissed off man on foot in bad weather get?

8: Falling

A saner man, a man who enjoyed walls and refrigeration, a decent bed and a bathroom that wasn’t chained at night, would’ve known what a crazy idea it was to go to the house of a woman who annoyed the crap out of him and he couldn’t stop thinking about.

A man more in control of his faculties wouldn’t have stood there, eyes bugging out of his head when that woman opened the door wearing what barely passed as clothing.

All that bare tanned leg, the slice of flat belly when she reached to stop the door closing. Dear God.

But he wasn’t a saner man. He was troubled, like she’d said. Not normal. He didn’t need to hang around to hear more. And he certainly didn’t need a chauffeur.

He dumped the grocery bags against the wall and got out of there. On the street he paused. The sky was dark, a purple underbelly. There were a couple of ways he could go. Uphill would hurt more but it was the most direct route and the climb would give him somewhere to channel his anger. He set off at a pace he’d struggle to maintain. Good, let it burn.

Ever since she’d rock-hopped into his life, Foley had been a nuisance with her bribery and her wheedling and her big-eyed appraisal of him. She didn’t judge, she didn’t censor or moralise or hector. She didn’t patronise or try to manipulate him. She was straight up with a sweetening of sorry to inconvenience you. She treated him with decency and respect, she tried desperately to understand him and it pissed him off.

He didn’t want her understanding. He didn’t want her consideration. She could fuck right off with her thoughtfulness and take that hot flicker flame of lust that ignited in his chest with her.

He had no use for it. No use for her.

The flatmate had it right. If he hadn’t heard the disbelief in her voice, he saw it in her eyes. He was trouble one way or another and Foley had more sense than get tangled up with him any further than her job demanded.

A horn beep made him check his motion. He stood in the gutter and clocked the annoyed expression on the face of the driver who’d feared he’d step out. He almost had. He waved the car on, then darted across the road without waiting for the light change.

He should’ve fed Foley’s wallet to the fish. He should’ve waited for Monday and dropped it at the council offices. He could’ve delivered it to the cops. He should’ve done anything but open it up to look for her address and, knowing the street shown on her driver’s licence, decide to walk there.

Once he got to her red brick unit block he could’ve stuffed her wallet in her mailbox or slipped the cash and cards under her door and left the purse on her doorstep or with a neighbour. But he’d knocked and she’d answered and asked him inside and fuck, fuck, fuck, he’d nearly forgotten himself and gone with her. And it wasn’t the idea of a glass of water that’d tempted him.

It was the feeling she was genuinely pleased to see him. Oh, sure she was shocked, she’d expected someone else entirely—the flatmate, probably, because it wasn’t like she was dressed to go out. She was dressed for lazing in front of the TV watching a movie, for sharing popcorn with someone she knew well and didn’t need to impress.

For all of sixty seconds he’d wanted to be that someone.

He wanted to be that someone now.