Thrill Me (One Night with Sole Regret 9)

The most terrifying part of that realization was that she didn’t want to escape.

Chapter Sixteen

When Owen’s eyes opened the next morning, the first thing he did was reach for his phone. The last time he’d checked it—for the thousandth time—it had been four a.m. It was now six, and Caitlyn still hadn’t called. Still hadn’t texted. It really was over between them. With two hours of sleep under his belt, he tossed on his workout clothes, yanked on his cross-trainers, and rushed to the bathroom. He had a few hours before he had to leave to meet the chartered plane that would take him back to New Orleans. He planned to spend them all at the gym working out his frustration. He also needed to work off all that popcorn and those oatmeal cookies he’d eaten the night before. The bathroom door was closed, and he didn’t think to knock when he barged right in.

Lindsey gasped,

one bare foot still in the tub, the other on the floor as she reached for a towel.

“Sorry!” Owen slammed the door.

He’d never seen a pregnant woman naked before. Seeing Lindsey’s body—so lush and full of life—stirred a mix of strange feelings in him. It wasn’t lust—not in the general sense—but longing and wonder and admiration.

“Weird,” he said aloud as he turned from the door. “I’m going to the gym,” he yelled over his shoulder and waited for her muffled okay before he raced down the steps and used the half bathroom downstairs. He grabbed his keys with the gym membership fob and jogged—more like sprinted—the four blocks to the gym.

Working out did relieve his stress, but it gave him a lot of time to think. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on his form and no matter how many repetitions he counted, he couldn’t stop thinking about Caitlyn. He would call her when he got home, he decided, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. He should probably respect her wish for space, but what about his wishes? He didn’t want space, he wanted her.

He’d fallen into the same trap before. He’d move too fast, then the woman would ask to slow down and for him to give her space. He’d stubbornly refuse to do either, and she’d wind up pushing him away for good. Maybe Owen was insane for thinking that repeating the same action would get him different results this time, but he had to believe that someone out there was willing to take a chance on someone like him, a guy who could easily center his entire universe around one special person. And he convinced himself while doing hundreds of angry sit-ups that his one special person was Caitlyn.

His jog home was a bit slow—he’d expended too much energy at the gym—but he felt better. He let himself into his house through the mudroom and found Lindsey in the kitchen nook, scouring a newspaper with a pen between her teeth. Should he apologize for barging in on her when she’d been getting out of the shower or just pretend it had never happened?

Her eyes lifted from the newspaper, and the pen tumbled from her mouth as her jaw dropped and she gawked at him.

“Sorry, I must reek,” he said, suddenly self-conscious about his soaked clothes and his sweat-drenched hair that was probably sticking out in all directions. He lifted the hem of his shirt to dab sweat off his face, hoping to make himself marginally presentable.

“You look . . .” She swallowed. “Really hot.”

He wasn’t sure if she meant hot as in attractive or in the sense that he was overheated and dripping sweat, so he said, “I’m going to jump in the shower. We need to leave in a couple of hours.”

She pulled her gaze from him and moved it to the thick Sunday newspaper in front of her. “I found a couple of jobs in here that I’m qualified for.”

“That’s great,” he said.

“You want breakfast? I can make eggs or something.” She refused to look at him for some reason.

“That would be awesome. Thanks.”

He hurried upstairs and took a cool shower. He was in a fantastic mood by the time he was dried off and dressed. He hoped Caitlyn was awake. It was Monday, and her vacation was supposedly over, so she probably had to work. He dialed her cell number.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you for another eight hours,” she said. He could hear background noise—road noise, maybe. A car honked. He decided she was in the car, most likely braving Houston morning traffic.

“Why eight hours?”

“I promised Jenna I wouldn’t call you for twenty-four hours. That was at around six last night. It’s now a little after ten. Eight hours.”

He chuckled. “You’re good at math.”

“I actually have a countdown timer on my phone.”

He laughed again, surprised it was so easy to talk to her. He’d imagined this conversation being a lot more difficult. Of course, they hadn’t said anything important yet. “I want to see you,” he said. “Soon.”

“Don’t you have to go to New Orleans for a show tonight?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You can meet me there.”

“I’d have to skip work to pull that off.”

“So? You’re the boss. You can take off whenever you want.”

“Actually . . .” Her voice faded before she yelled, “Get the fuck out of the fast lane, Grandpa! You’re making me later than I already am.”

Owen heard the loud blare of a horn and the roar of the Camaro’s engine as she maneuvered around Grandpa.

“Actually,” she repeated, now speaking to Owen again, “I can’t take time off because I’m the boss. People depend on me.”

“Oh,” he said flatly.

“So I’m thinking of taking on another partner—an engineer who can do some of the tasks I do. That way I can take more time off work. Eventually. That can’t happen overnight.”

He was probably jumping to conclusions by thinking she was considering that step so she could spend more time with him, but he couldn’t help it. She wouldn’t have mentioned it if it wasn’t related to him in some way, would she?

“Owen, your eggs are getting cold,” Lindsey called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Be down in a minute.”

“Where you are?” Caitlyn asked.

“I’m at home.”

“And there’s a woman in your house concerned about your cold eggs?”

“It’s just Lindsey,” he said.

“She’s staying at your house?”

Owen ruffled his hair with his towel one last time before tossing it into the hamper. “I don’t want to talk about Lindsey. I want to talk about us.”

“I thought she was at your mom’s.”

“She was, but circumstances changed and—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What? No, she needed a place—”

“Don’t call me again, Owen.”

The phone went dead in his ear and going against her final demand, he immediately dialed her number again.

“I said don’t fucking call me!” Caitlyn answered and then hung up on him before he could get in a single word.

“Owen!” Lindsey called up at him. “Are you coming?”

He growled at his phone and shoved it into his pocket before thundering down the steps. He glared at Lindsey—the reason for all of his problems—and she skittered back. “Sorry to rush you,” she said.

“Caitlyn heard you.”

“You were talking to Caitlyn? I thought she dumped you.”

“Apparently she hadn’t, but thanks to you, she has now.”

He strode into the kitchen with Lindsey tagging along behind him. He stopped at the edge of the table, already feeling guilty for snapping at her.

“I didn’t mean to cause you problems,” she said.

He knew that, and he couldn’t be mad at her. She’d made him a breakfast of scrambled eggs, sliced tomatoes, toast, and orange juice. Her identical plate sat beside his untouched, growing cold while she waited for him to join her.

“It’s not your fault,” he said before he sat down. “I’ll get things with Caitlyn sorted out.” After he got some food in his belly, he’d text Caitlyn and explain everything to her. She’d demanded that he didn’t call her—she hadn’t said anything about sending text messages.

About halfway through breakfast, his phone dinged with a message. He knew it was rude to check his phone while he was sharing a pleasant meal with Lindsey, but he couldn’t help himself. The message was from Caitlyn.

Don’t text me either, Owen. I mean it. I’ll talk to you when I’m ready to talk to you. Not before.

His shoulders dropped, and he sighed as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket. He was really in the doghouse here, and he hadn’t done anything wrong. Unless taking your baby mama to a late night movie and seeing her naked was wrong. He didn’t think they counted since nothing had happened between him and Lindsey. Seeing her nude hadn’t even given him a stiffy. But how could he assure Caitlyn of the platonic state of his relationship with his new roomie if she wouldn’t take his calls

or read his texts?

“Maybe I should send her flowers again,” Owen said.

“She’s stupid,” Lindsey said, nibbling on her toast. “You