Just One Moment (Just One Song #4) Read online

  "Hello, Sarah Linscum speaking."

  A deep chuckle rolls through the phone and my eyebrows pinch together.

  "Hello?" I ask again.

  The male on the other line clears his throat. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting you to be so...professional sounding."

  I frown. "Who is this?"

  This time his voice is more familiar, clearly teasing me when he says, "I'm shocked, Sarah. After all those hours I spent exploring your body."

  Lynx.

  I recognize him now, and I feel my cheeks flush with the memory he's provided. Not that it's been far from my mind since Kennedy and I returned from Vegas three weeks ago. He has a body meant for exploring, and I did my best to do so over every inch of him.

  He returned the favor. Multiple times. What was supposed to be a one-time thing turned into a one-weekend affair. While I haven't regretted doing something so outside my standard operating procedure, my nose would grow if I said I haven't thought about him.

  Or if I said I haven’t gotten myself off to the memory of his touch and the way he could roll his hips while he was deep inside me, pressing his pelvis against me.

  I clear my throat and shake away the memory.

  "Hey, Lynx," I finally manage to say. My voice sounds dry and scratchy.

  Needy.

  Damn it.

  He chuckles again. "Doing anything tonight?" he asks with no beating around the bush.

  I like this about him.

  He laid out his needs and wants in Vegas. I laid out mine.

  We agreed.

  One weekend. No strings. Walk away when it's done.

  Easy. As. Pie.

  Except, for some stupid reason, when I found out we both lived in Chicago, I had taken his phone and typed my number into it, handing it back to him without sending a text from his phone to mine.

  I knew where he worked. I could get ahold of him if I wanted to, but I knew I wouldn't.

  If he wanted a repeat, he had to come to me.

  I tap a pen on my desk and ask, "What do you have in mind?"

  I can practically see him grinning—a lopsided grin where one side of his full lips tilts a bit more than the other. "You, me. A few drinks. My place later."

  "I don't know if I can," I admit reluctantly. Because darn it, that sounds good. More than good. I can feel the low strum begin at the apex of my thighs, as if my lady parts recognize the voice and remember it fondly. "Kennedy's in town and I might spend the night with her."

  "Kennedy?" he asks and I don't miss how his voice grows tight.

  And oh, shit. No one knows. Three weeks ago, Kennedy dropped the ball in Grayson's lap that they’d had a son together—something that shocked the hell out of me, because I was her roommate when she got pregnant and ended up choosing a family to adopt her son. But I had no idea until Vegas that Grayson was the father. Needless to say, when he found out what she'd done, our weekend came to an abrupt halt.

  "Yeah," I say and debate for a moment before explaining further. Grayson will find out sometime, anyway. "She moved in with me after she lost her job."

  "Grayson mentioned something about her job," he mutters. He clears his throat again, as if shrugging off that piece of information, and continues, "I need to get back to the gym. You told me to call if I want to hook up again, and I'm going to be honest and tell you I want that. I know it's outside our plan, but I want to put it out there."

  I want it, too.

  Still...

  "Sarah?" he asks when I don't say anything.

  Screw it. I want it. He wants it. Kennedy's not going to care if we don't go out dancing.

  "How does seven sound?" I grin into the phone and bite the inside of my cheek.

  I scribble down the address he gives me and promise to see him later. Then I hang up the phone and slink back into my chair.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SARAH

  MY HEART IS still racing as I sit on the edge of the bed and reach for my jeans that were flung to the floor hours ago.

  Lynx is just as good, if not better, than I remember.

  "You heading out?" he asks. I can hear the caution in his voice.

  In Vegas, we talked about how neither of us wants a relationship. I told him I don't share the bed. Ever.

  He told me the same.

  I believe him, because the two nights we did spend together, he’d made that point clear by moving to a chaise lounge chair that was in a corner of his room. On the second night, I found an extra blanket and pillow in a closet and gave it to him so he didn’t get cold.

  Sleeping in the same room with a man was awkward enough, but I liked that we'd agreed on what we were doing.

  "Yeah." I pull on my jeans and stand to button them. "Should probably get back to Kennedy, and I've got a full day tomorrow."

  After I clasp my bra, I look at him over my shoulder. I look at him shamelessly, not caring one single bit when my eyes roam all of his exposed skin. Which is all of it, because we had sex on top of his covers and he's still lying on his bed, head propped on the pillow, one hand behind his head, and his other is leisurely stroking his still half-erect cock.

  I press my lips together and reach for my shirt.

  I don't stick around afterward, and I know he doesn't want me to. We've both gotten what I was invited for. This is the time where I generally throw my clothes back on, grab my purse, and on the way out the door, call back, "That was great. Thanks!"

  This time I pause, and I'm uncertain why I'm fumbling with my simple tank top.

  Sex is great. It's not only fun, it helps me release stress. It also distracts me from my dark thoughts when they become too heavy to erase with the help of a good, sweaty, endorphin-releasing workout.

  I hadn't realized how much I'd needed a good shagging until Lynx gave me my first, but not last, orgasm earlier in the night.

  "How's Kennedy doing?" Lynx asks and my eyes snap to his.

  "You asking for you or Grayson?"

  "I'm asking because I can't imagine she's had an easy few weeks, and we all know Grayson lost his shit in Vegas, and he feels like crap about that. I'm also asking because she's suddenly living with you, and Chicago is a far cry from Cambridge."

  His sincerity is clear. Lynx was right. He isn't an asshole. I've seen pictures of his family and his army unit splattered in various places all over his large but sparsely decorated loft-style apartment.

  Even next to his bed, he has a picture of himself with Landon and their parents. They're on a mountaintop above the tree line, snow skis on their feet. I assume it's Colorado, and the boys are about sixteen. I also don't ask.

  I don't need to know details about Lynx to know he's good in bed.

  The fact I'm even curious is concerning enough.

  I shrug and sit back down to slide my shoes on. "She's fine," I finally admit. "Sad because she didn't realize Grayson would be that upset, or yell at her like that, but she gets that this is her fault, too. Now she's just trying to find a new job and move on with everything."

  She's doing a piss-poor job of it, but I don't mention that, either. I feel like crap about all of it. If I hadn’t surprised Kennedy on her birthday with a trip to Vegas and tickets for the fight, she would have never seen Grayson again. She wouldn't be so upset now.

  I make a concentrated effort to not get close to many people. Yet when Kennedy and I met and became roommates, I knew we were something alike. Her life growing up with an abusive father and socially alcoholic mother sucked.

  My life was great, until I made it suck.

  When we moved in together at the beginning of our junior year and she learned she was pregnant, I was with her through all of it. I was even in the delivery room when her baby boy was born and then placed in the hands of the adoptive mom.

  There isn't a word to describe the amount of joy and simultaneous pain I witnessed that day.

  "He got news today, about Thad," Lynx says and sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

  I back up so I'
m not in his way, but I can't help my gaze from dropping to his sizable package before he covers it with a pair of athletic pants and stands up.

  "He's probably going to be calling her soon, too. Just a heads-up if you want to prepare her."

  "What news?" I tilt my head and keep my hands lax at my sides. Outwardly, I know I'm giving no indication that my pulse is pounding a mile a minute. Between Lynx's prowess in bed, his body, and this news, I'm not sure what's making butterflies burst inside my stomach.

  Lynx waves his hand in the air. "Not sure. Just know he feels like an ass, misses her, and will at some point pull his head out of his ass and do something about it."

  Fantastic.

  I scrunch my nose and walk toward his dresser to grab my purse.

  "Thanks for letting me know," I say as I head toward the metal stairway that overlooks his downstairs.

  It's time to get out of here.

  I hadn't considered the fact that Grayson and Kennedy might work things out. Kennedy's certain it will never happen—that she's lost Grayson forever.

  But if they do, that means I might have to see Lynx more often. Friends hang out with friends, and all that.

  It's probably best that we end this here.

  That thought makes a giant boulder crush the butterflies in my stomach, leaving me feeling heavy.

  "Sarah?" Lynx calls out when I reach the door to his loft.

  "What?" I turn around and my eyes widen when I see him at the bottom of his stairs, hands on his hips, and nothing on his body besides those athletic pants. My gaze flickers to a large scar just above his left hipbone before I force my eyes to move north.

  When I reach his eyes, I smirk when I see him looking at my chest.

  I clear my throat and get his attention.

  "You want something?" I ask.

  Warmth sparks in the air between us when he flashes me that lopsided smile of his.

  "Yeah. I think we should do more of this."

  No. Way.

  "I'm not sure that's a good idea." In fact, I'm certain it's a rotten one. But for curiosity’s sake, I still hear myself asking, "Why would you want to?"

  Lynx snickers and takes two steps toward me. "Grayson's got a fight in a couple of months. We're swamped at the gym, and frankly I don't have time to search for a decent lay right now. We know we’re good together...fantastic, really..." His eyes meet mine and I can't stop my smile. Sex with Lynx is fantastic. Incredible. "I'm thinking this is easy for me and it's easy for you." He stops and shrugs, dropping his hands from his hips.

  This is a bad idea for all the reasons I've already thought.

  Yet...he is really good. If I took the time to compare him, I wouldn't say he has the largest dick I've ever seen, but he knows how to use it better than most. Best ever, maybe. I have a feeling admitting that will give him a big head.

  "I don't get involved," I state, even though he knows this already.

  "That's why we work."

  He takes another step forward and reaches out, brushing the back of his knuckles down my cheek. "Just think about it, Sarah. I'll stick to my rules, you stick to yours, and we'll be fine."

  All rational thought flees at the tender touch grazing my skin. "I'll never give you more," I tell him. It's the truth.

  He leans forward and whispers, "I don't want your heart or your soul or your mind or any of that bullshit. I strictly want you for your fucking sexy body."

  I laugh softly. This guy would offend so many women, yet I feel relief calming my pulse. "When it's done, we walk away with no hurt feelings, Lynx. If you think Grayson's going to contact Kennedy, if there's any chance of them working their crap out, I don't want to have to be around you and have it be difficult."

  "Trust me." He leans forward and presses his lips against my ear, biting my lobe and then licking the sting away. A brief moan escapes my lips and I close my eyes. "I have no heart."

  For a brief moment, I feel like this should make me sad.

  Except, in many ways, I feel the same about me.

  Which is the thought that makes me nod.

  "Okay, Lynx. But I can't do Saturdays."

  He steps back and gives me a look that says he's biting back a laugh. I don't ask what's funny. I'm busy at work on Saturdays, working with clients on their weddings or other hotel events. It's also the weekend, which means people want to sleep in and relax on Sundays. It gives too many opportunities for a morning-after to occur.

  "I don't do Sundays."

  Which is almost as curious to me as I can tell my Saturdays are to him.

  I don't ask why, though.

  I chew on the inside of my cheek. This has the potential to be really, really stupid. Still, I ask, "Would this be exclusive?"

  He purses his lips. "Just told you I don't have the time to find another woman."

  Right. He did.

  My nose scrunches at the thought and Lynx laughs. "You're thinking too much about this. No, I won't fuck another woman while I'm fucking you. You want to do that..." he pauses and a strange look washes across his features, "…guess I won't stop you. Not sure that's my right."

  I've never been exclusive with anyone. It makes things more serious than they should be. Yet, he's right: this is easy and we work well together. I imagine one of us will get sick of the other before too long, anyway, and if I can call on him when I need him, then that negates the need to go find a random at a bar.

  This is, at the very least, safer.

  I exhale forcefully and mutter, "Fine. We can do this."

  "Don't sound too enthusiastic about it," he chides me.

  I roll my eyes. "It's just different, but you have a point. So, okay...I'm in."

  I hold out my hand in the small space between us and wiggle my fingers so they brush against his abs and get his attention to shake my hand.

  He then ignores it, places his hands against the sides of my cheeks, and pulls my lips to his.

  I'm sucked into his kiss, the fullness of his lips, the taste of his tongue as he slides it inside, and soon my purse drops to the floor and my hands are on his hips.

  "Fucking gorgeous, Sarah," he murmurs when he pulls back. "Call me when you need me."

  I need more now. My cheeks are flushed, my pulse is thrumming again, and my body is well primed for another round.

  It takes everything I have to step back, bend down to pick up my purse, and meet his gaze again.

  "Good night, Lynx."

  His smile disappears and he nods. "Good night, Sarah."

  I turn around and get the hell out of his house before I throw myself at him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SARAH

  "SEE YOU LATER, Kaley!" I shouted as my friend skipped up her front sidewalk.

  Once I saw her front door open, I slid the gearshift of my brand new, silver BMW 325i into reverse and backed out of her driveway. Then I shifted into drive and took off down her street, bouncing to pop tunes from KDWB on the radio. The music station was the bomb, and even though the car my parents had bought me for my sixteenth birthday had an auxiliary output so I could plug my MP3 player in and listen to whatever I wanted, I actually preferred the radio.

  It gave me all the music I liked, all the time. It also meant I didn't have to fiddle around with the music player while I was driving—something that drove my dad insane.

  I was certain that just the thought of me being on the road alone, especially without any state troopers protecting his only child, had added several gray hairs at his temple over the last year. But my dad was cool.

  Being Governor of Minnesota, he could have become incredibly overprotective about me, and while I knew he worried about me being on my own, the only thing that had changed since he took office was that I had to leave my suburban high school and start attending the best private high school in the state.

  And because I did that, I'd made friends from all over the Twin Cities. Kaley's dad played for the Minnesota Twins and their house in Wayzata was the freaking bomb—almost cooler t
han the governor's mansion, and she didn't have to worry about having tours done in her room.

  Kaley and I had spent hours bopping around Ridgedale Mall, shopping for new summer clothes. Spring had hit and I was dying to get out of jeans and sweaters and start getting into jean shorts and tank tops.

  My car was weighed down with bags in the trunk, and I knew I was running late.

  My parents had some dinner to attend that night and I was going to be hanging out in the mansion alone, chilling with a few movies my mom had picked up earlier in the day and chomping down on pizza.

  I was dancing to the music in the car, shimmying my hips and flipping one hand in the air while I thought about my mom ordering pizza. Even though I hated doing it, even though my dad had threatened to take my car for a year if he ever caught me, I still grabbed my cell phone with one hand, unlocked it, and started typing in my mom's name.

  She knew where I liked my pizza from, but in almost seventeen years of my life, she’d never remembered I hated sausage.

  I was always forced to either eat sausage pizza or pick it off and go with cheese, because that's what my parents loved and always ordered.

  Sometimes, even though they were mostly cool, they were still annoying and obnoxious.

  As soon as I pulled up my mom's name, I looked up to turn left on a side road that would take me toward St. Paul. Saturday afternoon traffic could be horrible and I still got nervous about driving along with other cars flying ten to fifteen miles over the speed limit. I also hated passing semi-trucks. I was always scared their huge vehicle would blow mine straight off the road into a ditch.

  So I was cautious while I was driving. I tried keeping my eyes on the road, but I seriously didn't want another night with sausage pizza.

  If I had to be home alone on a weekend night, I wanted pepperoni.

  With my thumb, I started typing out a message to my mom. I had already let her know I was running late, doing that before Kaley had gotten out of my car earlier.

  I smiled when I saw the text she'd replied with:

  Drive safe. Love you, sweetheart.

  I smiled and glanced at the road, saw that up ahead of me my two lanes were narrowing down to one, so I held onto the phone and made sure cars weren't on the side of me while the road ahead of me switched to one lane.