More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

“You should go,” she said and tried not to be affected by the shock and disappointment on his face at her abrupt dismissal.

“Uh . . . yes. Right.” He set the pillow aside and got up. An involuntary glance down confirmed that he was still in a state of semiarousal, and she fought back a blush at the sight. He found and dragged on his underwear, and she quickly averted her gaze to the messy bed. When she sensed he was covered again, she reluctantly lifted her gaze to his face and then to his somber eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you for caring.”

“Of course.” He looked troubled, like he wanted to say something more.

“I’ll see you around,” she said pointedly.

“Yeah,” he agreed gruffly before, finally, turning toward the bedroom door. “Close the living room window.” The last was tossed over his shoulder as he walked toward the front door. “And lock the door behind me.”

“Okay,” she said distractedly, following close behind him. Her eyes feasting on his tanned back, so broad and beautiful, tapering down to a narrow waist and a gorgeous, firm butt, leading into perfectly sculpted thighs. God, he was absolutely stunning. She was tempted to throw caution to the wind and tell him to go get those damned condoms. But years of restraint and animosity toward him curbed that impulse.

Instead she watched him unlock her front door and pause for a long moment before turning the handle and leaving. She locked the door and leaned back against it with a soft, helpless huff of air.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, running her fingers through her tumbled mass of curls. “What the hell?”

With everything else going on in her life right now, Harris’s revelation was definitely a complication she could do without.

MJ’s was closed on Sundays, a fact that Tina greatly appreciated after her night of restless tossing and turning. She hadn’t managed to get a wink of sleep after Harris had left, her brain unable to switch off and her body too wired to relax. She got up at dawn and, after pouring her habitual cup of coffee, padded out onto the porch to watch the sun rise.

She stopped dead when she found Harris already sitting on the porch steps. She contemplated heading back inside, but she didn’t want to miss out on her morning ritual. She needed it after the night she had just had. With a resigned sigh, she sat down on the swing and watched the horizon brighten. It was an overcast morning, cold and gray, with heavy storm clouds darkening the sky.

Instead of the spectacular light show of the day before, the gunmetal-gray clouds took on a sullen orange hue, beautiful but menacing. She wrapped her robe tighter around her body in an attempt to ward off the cold and continued to rock back and forth silently, her eyes constantly dropping to the back of Harris’s dark head. The wind was affectionately flirting with the spiky strands of his messy short hair, restlessly lifting and ruffling the silky black stuff. He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, but she knew that he was aware of her presence. His shoulders had tensed when he heard the swing creak beneath her weight.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, reluctantly breaking the silence. He was wearing dark-blue sweats, sneakers, and a hooded black windbreaker but didn’t have on gloves or a hat. Tina was protected from the wind sitting farther back on the porch, while he was exposed to the elements.

“It’s not too bad,” he said, turning so that his profile was to her. He had a mug of something in his hand, and as she watched he took a sip and then sighed. The sound almost made her smile.

“It’s going to rain,” she said, her eyes tracking back to the horizon.

“Yes.” There was another long silence, surprisingly companionable, while they both sipped their coffee.

“Greyson didn’t come home last night,” Harris offered, and Tina’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“What? Do you know where he is?”

“I was concerned—he hasn’t been himself recently, so I messaged him, and he said . . .” He stopped and shook his head in disbelief before lifting his gaze to hers. “He says he’s with Libby.”

“With Libby?” Tina repeated blankly. “I have a hard time believing that.”

She was reaching for the phone, tucked away in her robe pocket, intending to message her friend to find out what was going on, when the memory of her last strained conversation with Libby stilled her hand. She didn’t think the other woman wanted to hear from her just now.

“I did too . . . until he said he had slept on the couch.”

“That’s still more than I would ever have believed possible.”

“I know,” he said with a baffled shrug. He took another sip of coffee, and instead of sighing this time, he wrinkled his nose. “This tastes like shit. I forgot to buy a decent coffee maker yesterday.”