Fight or Flight

The frown lines between his brows deepened. “Nantucket isn’t far.”

“It’s about a four-hour trip from here. I have to be there at ten a.m. tomorrow morning, so I’ll leave around five thirty.”

“And you’ll not be back tomorrow evening?”

“If it was anyone other than Roxanne Sutton, I’d say yes, but that woman will trap me there for as long as she legally can.” I let my frustration show. “I’m sorry. I thought we’d at least have one last night together.”

“And we will.”

“But you’re tired.”

“Ava.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not leaving Boston without another taste of you.” He glanced around, missing my cheeks flush with arousal, and spotted a waiter. Waving the man over, Caleb ordered, “A pot of black coffee.”

I snickered as the waiter hurried off to do his bidding. “The things a man will do for sex.”

Caleb grinned. “Not just any sex.”

Pleasure shifted through me at the compliment.

“Let’s make this meal a quick one, eh?”

I nodded my agreement. “That sounds like a plan.”

“So …” He leaned back in his chair. “You promised me last night you’d tell me how it went with Nick.”

Unwilling to spend our last few hours together discussing my ex, I gave Caleb a quick summary of events, watching his features harden with anger as the story went on. “But thankfully he’s gone now and I don’t really want to spend any more time talking about the asshole.”

“What a prick,” Caleb said vehemently, just as his coffee arrived. The waiter’s eyes rounded at the aggression in Caleb’s voice as he placed the coffee on the table, but my companion didn’t even notice. He was too focused on me. I gave the waiter a reassuring smile and he hurried away.

“It’s done. Let’s talk about something else.”

His expression said he wanted to call Nick a few more names first, but he poured himself a coffee and made an effort to look relaxed. “What do you want tae talk about?”

On a rush of sentimentality I shouldn’t be feeling, I blurted out, “I want you to know I’ve had a lot of fun with you these past few weeks. I’m glad we decided to be friends.”

“With benefits,” he teased.

I smiled. “Yes, definitely. It’s been far more pleasurable than the usual friendship.”

He lowered his gaze to his coffee, shielding his thoughts from me. “You know, I was thinking that at some point I’ll be back in Boston again. Probably near the end of the year.”

My pulse raced at the thought of seeing him again. “Oh?”

“If you’re not attached, I’d quite like us tae do this again when I’m in town.”

“I’d like that.”

Caleb’s eyes finally found mine. “Aye?”

“Yes.” I nodded, serious. “I’m going to miss you in my bed, Caleb Scott. And in a hotel bed. And against the wall. And in the shower.”

He grinned, wicked and full of want. “Don’t miss me just yet. We’ve still got tonight.”

Nineteen

SIX WEEKS LATER

I can’t believe you dragged me to Faneuil Hall on my day off,” Harper grumbled after the third tourist in five minutes bumped into her.

I hid a smile, heading toward my target. “It’s raining, it’s miserable, and you know what that means.”

“Clam chowder, yeah, yeah.”

“Not just any clam chowder. The best clam chowder.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

“Hey, don’t let the fact that it’s produced in a heavily populated tourist area sway your judgment.” I threw her a mock look of annoyance as we wandered into the Irish pub I’d been heading for since the moment I stepped out of my apartment that morning. “This right here is the best clam chowdah in Boston.”

“Yeah, apparently everyone else thinks so too.” Harper gestured to the busy pub.

Damn.

No seats.

Disappointment hit me much harder than it should have considering this quest was merely about food. But lately, when anything went marginally wrong, I seemed to take it dramatically badly. “Oh man!”

“We’re just leaving.” A woman sitting at the bar called to us, her accent drawing my attention.

“Aye, ye can have oor stools,” the man next to her said as we slowly made our way over.

Scottish.

A pang of longing hit me dead center of my chest and then spread out like a burn across the entire area.

“Hey, thanks,” Harper said as we watched them pull on their jackets and get up off the stools.

“No problem. The clam chowder is bloody amazing.” The woman gave us a cheery smile.

“You’re from Scotland?”

She nodded. “Aye. Glasgow. Just here on a wee anniversary trip.”

“Oh?” I wanted her to keep talking. “How long have you been married?”

“Thirty years,” her husband announced proudly, either because it was an impressive amount of time or because he’d actually remembered.

“Wow.” Harper shared a wide-eyed look with me. “Uh, congrats. That is awesome.”

“Yeah, congratulations.”

“Oh, thank ye,” they said in unison.

“Here ye go.” The woman stepped aside, patting the stool at the bar. “Enjoy.”

Disappointment flooded me anew to realize they were leaving. “Oh, okay. Have a wonderful trip.”

“Thank ye,” they said as they left.

Harper practically had to haul me onto a stool before someone else could take it, because I was busy staring after the Scottish couple, pining.

It had been six weeks since I’d heard the accent.

Six weeks since I’d heard his voice.

Well, I best be off,” Caleb said suddenly.

We were lying in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, taking time to catch our breaths after enjoying a couple of rounds of our usual epic sex. There had been no soft kisses or sweet touches this time, as if we were both mindful that we had to keep this as it should be or it might feel like a tender good-bye.

“Yeah,” I answered, even though there was still a part of me that wanted to reach across the bed and ask him to stay. I squashed that part, reminding myself exactly why that was a bad idea. Plus, I didn’t really know Caleb. Not well enough to feel any real kind of attachment.

Liar.

The ache in my chest as he got out of bed and began to dress was entirely misplaced and it was making me angry.

He finally looked at me once he was done lacing his boots. His expression revealed nothing of his emotions. “I’ll call you, then, when I visit again?”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

Caleb suddenly frowned, hesitating, seeming almost unsure. Then finally he bent over, putting his hands to the mattress, and he kissed me. It was soft, sweet. Filled with affection.

And I had to force away the sudden burn of tears in the back of my eyes.

He brushed his mouth over mine one last time and then pulled back to stare into my eyes. I couldn’t read his searching gaze, enigmatic as always. I did my best to keep my expression neutral.

“Good-bye, Ava,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.

Once more I fought those goddamn tears, masking them with a smile I hoped was both cheeky and affectionate. “Bye, my Bastard Scot.”

He grinned, kissed the tip of my nose, and pushed away from the bed. I made to move, to see him out, but he waved me back down. “Stay. Sleep. You’re up early.”

Thinking he was probably right, I lowered my back to the bed. “Safe travels.”

He nodded, reached down to switch off my bedside lamp, and then I watched the shadow of his figure leave my bedroom.

There was a minute of no noise and then I heard my apartment door shut with a loud click that told me he’d put the lock (or the snib, as he so cutely called it) on.

I tried to sleep knowing it was too early to get up.

However, my mind wouldn’t let me. Instead it just kept replaying every moment with Caleb Scott over and over again. Every kiss, every wicked smile, and the fierce tenderness in his gaze when I told him about Nick and Gem.