Indigo Nights (Nights #3)(18)

I’d only brought a carry-on with me on this trip, so I sped through the airport. I got through immigration in record time, and by some miracle, there was no line for a cab.

“The Langham Hotel, please,” I said to the driver as I climbed into the taxi, carefully, as I was sans underwear.

The Langham made some of the best cake in Chicago. It was one of the reasons that they were my first choice of hotel when I was here.

I leaned back in my seat. I’d not expected to see Dylan again, but he’d been the perfect start to my trip. I’d arrived at the airport a little tense and nervous about filming my trial segment for A Chicago Saturday tomorrow. I’d boarded the plane floating and smiling. Dylan certainly knew how to make a woman come, that was for sure.

I could still feel his fingers pressed around my hips.



First class travel and great hotels were a particular indulgence of mine. My brother had been very generous to me when he sold his first company. It had taken a while, and a lot of nagging on his part, for me to accept his money and start spending it, but he’d set up a trust fund I’d actually started to enjoy.

Although my dad lived close by, it was easier on everyone, including his second wife and their kids, if I didn’t stay with them. I’d spend much of my time on this trip at work anyway.

My phone vibrated. “Hey, Haven,” I answered.

“So, I was thinking about making lemon meringue pie for Sunday dinner, but then I thought if you were going to be back, maybe you’d prefer to do it?”

Sunday dinners with my brother, Haven, Ash and Haven’s brother—who was also Ash’s husband—meant I got to test out my new recipes on a willing and enthusiastic audience who were brutally honest with me.

“Yes, I’ll be home on Saturday so I can do the pie.” I never turned down an opportunity to bake.

“Do you mind?”

“Nope. Not at all. In fact, I’m glad you called—I have an update on Dylan.”

“I knew it. Fate. What’s happened?”

I laughed. “Well, he was on the same flight. How weird is that? I mean, it’s a huge coincidence.”

“Oh, my God. I told you. Did you join the mile-high club?”

“I told you—yuck. But I may have joined the airport-lounge club, if there is such a thing. Does that make me a slut?” I whispered in the hope that the driver wouldn’t overhear me.

Haven squealed. “Enjoying sex doesn’t make you a slut. You’re practically a virgin. It’s about time you had a little fun.”

I nodded, even though Haven couldn’t see. When I saw Dylan, my desire overtook everything and I let him lead. It was liberating to not overthink things, to not let caution rule, if only in that contained space that existed between Dylan and I when he was around.

“And was he as good as you remembered?” Haven asked.

I sucked in a breath at the memory. “Better.”

“It’s fate.”

“Don’t be crazy. A good start to my trip is what it was.” It had been more than good. I couldn’t remember sex ever being so much fun, so intense, so uncomplicated. I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face.

“Did you swap numbers? I mean, you don’t have to marry the guy, but if the sex is that good, have a little fun.”

“You don’t think it’ll mess with my head? I have a great life and now with the baking and the television thing just landing in my lap, I’m happy. I don’t want to be greedy, or want something too badly. You know?”

“It’s not greedy to take something on offer. Let Dylan be the cherry on the top of your cake. If he’s offering, you may as well take a bite. It doesn’t have to be anything serious.”

I giggled at her mixed metaphor. “Maybe.”

“I mean it. What he’s offering is just what you need to get you back in the dating game. There are no emotions to knock you off kilter. If you don’t care about him, he can’t hurt you.”

She was right. Expectations were my downfall. Expecting a man to return my feelings, or treat me kindly . . . Expecting someone wouldn’t turn out to be a total shit. With Dylan, I had no expectations so I couldn’t be disappointed.

“I gave him my number, so the decision is out of my hands.” I didn’t really believe that. Dylan had been gruff on the plane, but I got the impression he was fiercely private. There was no way, with all the eyes of the cabin crew on him, that he was going to get my number, then not use it.

“He can be your Chicago lover when you’re in town. This could be a perfect way of getting you back into men. No strings, a little stress relief, great sex. And you’re not even living in the same town so there’s no pressure.”

Haven’s words trickled through my brain, and the idea of more of Dylan James became more appealing with every moment.



Dylan

Goddamn it. I couldn’t believe she’d run away from me—again. What was with this girl? She’d been willing and eager when I was f*cking her, had given me her number without a fight, but she’d disappeared into thin air again as soon as the plane landed.

Standing in the queue for immigration, I typed “Beth” into my phone. Nothing came up. I tried “Harrison.” Nothing. Jesus. I hoped she hadn’t jerked me around. I cricked my neck, trying to relieve some of the cramped muscles. The girl was bad for my health. I scrolled through my contacts. Nothing under Beth, Bethany or Elisabeth. Fuck.