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“So how far away did you have to move to get away from your parents?” he asked, wanting to get to know her better. She took a sip and tilted her head, as if pondering how much personal information she wanted to share with him. After all, they were two random people sitting in a bar. Who opened up to a complete stranger?
“My mom lives in Florida.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Not originally. We moved a lot when I was a kid. My mom was a bit of a flake when it came to herself, but as her only child, she was always seeking greater opportunities for me. She’d hear about some new dance troupe or a hyped-up instructor and she’d pack up all of my tights and leotards and off we’d go.”
“So you’re a dancer?”
“I was,” she murmured before finishing off her glass. “What about you? Did you have to go far to get away from your parents?”
He took the hint that she didn’t want to expand on what might be a personal subject and refilled her glass. “I moved away from home the day after my high school graduation, much to the chagrin of my dad and stepmothers.”
“Stepmothers plural?”
“Well, Dad has gone through his share of wives. Not at the same time, mind you,” he clarified when it looked as if she was going to choke on her champagne. “But most of them kept in touch with me, even if it was only for the length of time they received their alimony checks.”
“My mom always hoped for an alimony check. But she and my father never got married so she had to make do with lowly child support. I never got it, you know?”
“The child support? She didn’t use it for you?”
“No, she did. I meant that I never got that whole depending-on-a-man-for-money mentality. I guess, sure, men should pay for their kids and stuff, but I always thought it would just be easier to make a clean break from the loser and start fresh. Support yourself.”
Wow, some guy must’ve really done a number on this lady. While it was refreshing to hear that there was a woman out there who wasn’t looking to get rich off some unsuspecting meal ticket, Garrett couldn’t help thinking of all the fake blondes back home who’d made it more than clear that they would love nothing more than to gain access to his large trust fund or the rolling cameras that constantly surrounded his family.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said, raising his glass in an acknowledging salute. After all, cutting ties was exactly what he’d done when he’d left home at eighteen. He’d had access to everything his family’s money could buy. But it came with the heavy cost of bowing down to his father’s will and his father’s lifestyle. “In fact, that’s why my dad and I were arguing tonight. He doesn’t understand why I want to support myself and make my own decisions—live my own life.”
“My mother and I have had that same conversation multiple times. My girlfriend says that when I become a mom myself, I’ll understand.” Garrett made a mental note of the fact that she didn’t have kids. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean much to some women. “She said to think how sad I’d be if my mom stayed out of my life because she didn’t care about me at all. But you know what? I think I could live with that kind of sadness.”
He nodded his head in earnest. “I’ve been told the same thing. Yet, most of the time it doesn’t feel like caring. It feels like an ego trip. Like he doesn’t necessarily want the best for me, he just wants my life to be a reflection of his accomplishments and his success.”
“Yes!” she agreed and they clinked glasses again.
Here was someone who got it—who understood what his unorthodox childhood had been like. His head was lighter and his smile was freer. He must be feeling the effects of the scotch. Or the champagne. Or maybe a combo of both. “I don’t think it matters what we tell our parents, though. It never seems to sink in.”
“It probably never will,” she said. “Ten years from now, you and I could meet up in this same bar and we’ll be voicing the same complaints.”
“Promise me that in ten years, we will,” he said more seriously than he intended. But here was a kindred spirit. A woman who knew exactly where he was coming from.
“Oh, I don’t know. That sounds a bit pathetic.”
“Meeting up with me again?”
“No. That we’ll still be so stuck in our issues that we’ll need to travel back to Boise just to commiserate in our overbearing parents support group.”
She was right. They did sound a little pathetic. And that was the last thing he wanted a charming and genuine woman to think about him. “So Boise isn’t home for you?”
She darted her eyes to the left before reaching for the chilled bottle and refilling their glasses. “I’m in town for a ballet performance. I’m going home tomorrow.”
That explained the fancy outfit—and allayed his fears that she was a local groupie or some suburban wife out looking for an anonymous fling.
God, she was beautiful. Her high cheekbones, her pale blue eyes, her creamy skin. She was turned facing him, her legs crossed with one of her kitten heels hooked into a lower rung of the bar stool.
“You have a gorgeous collarbone,” he finally said, unable to look away from her.
“Did you say collarbone?”
“Yes.” He reached out a finger, tracing the ridge between her neck and her shoulders. He heard her sharp intake of breath, but he was well and truly buzzed and unless she moved away or told him to stop, he planned to touch her smooth, velvety skin for as long as she’d let him. “I’ve always had a thing for clavicles.”
Yep, he was definitely on his way to being intoxicated. Any more booze and he’d be calling things by their biological Latin terms.
She held herself completely still, but her tongue darted out and licked her full lips. “Why is that?”
“I just find them incredibly sexy. And real. It’s one of the few parts on a woman’s body that can’t be surgically enhanced.” He looked up into her eyes and saw her dilated pupils. Tonight, he didn’t want to worry about his father, or the new practice he was opening next month. He just wanted to think about the incredible woman in front of him. His hand trailed down her arm and settled onto her waist, and still she didn’t move away.
“I also find you incredibly sexy and real,” he said right before dipping his head and placing his mouth on hers.
She made a slight sound that could have been a moan or a protest, but she didn’t pull back. He tilted his head and opened his lips, coaxing her mouth to accept more of him. When she finally opened up, she welcomed his tongue wholeheartedly and responded by wrapping her bare arms around his shoulders.
He tasted the champagne on her tongue and wanted to drink her up. He wanted to feel all of her, but these damn bar stools were making things awkward. Without breaking contact, he rose to his feet, bringing their heads to the same height. He groaned when she allowed him to deepen the kiss, and he brought his other hand up to her waist to pull her closer.
A discreet cough, followed by the bartender’s voice announcing last call, finally cut through the fog of passion that had overtaken him. He pulled back his head but didn’t release his grip, wanting to maintain as much physical contact as he possibly could without drawing any more attention.
“I’ve never kissed anyone like that in a public place,” she said, her voice much huskier than it had been earlier. The pink flush creeping up her cheeks could have been from embarrassment or could have been from desire. He was hoping it was the latter.
“Would you like to try it again in private place?”
“Like where?”
“Well... I could get a room...” What in the hell was he thinking? He didn’t go around propositioning women in hotels. But it wasn’t as if he could take her back to the officers’ barracks. And he definitely wasn’t ready to let her go.
His emotions were storming at top speed, and the alcohol he didn’t normally consume wasn’t helping him think straight. Yet for once in his life, he didn’t want to think straight. He ran his fingers along the satiny waistband of her pants and wondered what kind of undergarments she could possibly be wearing underneath.
She looked around at the mostly empty bar and again lightly licked her lips, which had remained mere inches from his own. “I already have a room.”
Garrett didn’t bother to ask her for clarification. Pulling his wallet out of his pocket, he peeled out two one-hundred-dollar bills and threw them on the bar before grabbing the half-full bottle of champagne with one hand and reaching for her fingers with the other.
Chapter Two
The shrill ringing of the phone startled Garrett awake. He quickly reached out to answer it, fumbling with the receiver. “H’lo,” he said when he finally got the right side to his ear.
“Who’s this?” a woman’s voice on the other end of the line demanded.
Opening his eyes, he squinted and looked around the dark hotel room. Old habits kicked in and he stayed silent until his hazy brain could register where he was and whom he was with. The memories from last night came flooding back and even though he sensed he was alone, he looked around, confirming his disappointment.
She was gone.
The caller must’ve been impatient because he heard the dial tone instead of more questions. He’d just hung up when the phone let out another shrill ring.
“Hello,” he said, this time more clearly but with some added annoyance.
“You again?” the same person demanded. “Is this room eight oh four?”
“I have no idea,” Garrett replied before thinking better of it. He sat up and flipped on the light switch by the bed, but it took a second for his eyes to adjust enough to focus on the numbers typed into the printed directory on the telephone. “Uh, yeah, it is. Can I help you?”
He heard mumbled voices on the other end, then the caller told a person in the background, “It’s her room, but some guy answered.”
Wait, did they know the woman from last night? “Excuse me. Hello? Do you know the woman who was staying in this room?”
“Oh, my gosh! Is there a problem?” The caller’s voice became frantic. “Did something happen to her?”
Heck, he wasn’t trying to scare anyone or cause an alarm. “What? No. I...uh...met her last night, but I didn’t catch her name.”
“If you don’t know her name then why are you in her room?”
That was a damn good question. And one he didn’t have an answer for.
“Is anyone there?” After a few seconds, the caller said, “Maybe we should call hotel security.”
“No.” Garrett stood up. “No need to call security. I think she left. She invited me up here and...” He let his voice trail off, not wanting to get the woman he’d slept with in trouble.
“No way. She would never invite some guy up to her hotel room.”
Clearly, this person wasn’t going to give him any answers and he couldn’t very well defend himself without incriminating someone else. “Oh, did you say you were calling room eight oh four? Sorry, this is room four oh eight. Apparently, there’s been a mix-up. Have a nice day.”
He quickly slammed the receiver down and tried to think about what to do next. But his brain wasn’t adapting as quickly as it used to when he’d get startled out of a deep slumber. Garrett had been a heavy sleeper ever since med school. When he was a resident at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego, he’d learned to crash whenever he got the chance. If there was an emergency, then an on-duty corpsman would be there to wake him up.
That must be why he’d never even heard the woman leave.
He stood in the hotel room, wearing nothing but a confused expression, looking at the tangled four-hundred-thread-count sheets and the empty bottle of champagne near the bed. He studied his bare torso in the mirror over the dresser and noticed the faint purple hue of a love bite on the left side of his neck. He ran a hand through his still-short military haircut, which made his already tender head ache even more. What could he possibly have been thinking to come back to a hotel room with a woman he’d just met?
Being raised with video cameras always hovering nearby, Garrett had learned to be especially cautious not to let anyone get too close to him for fear that they were after something bigger—like a shot at television stardom. Growing up under the harsh lights of studio sets back when his dad had been the star of his own television talk show, then later a producer of a string of other reality series, Garrett had suffered the spillover effects of being followed by the Hollywood paparazzi who constantly linked him to his dad’s notoriety.
He was thirty-six years old and still had a difficult time discerning women who were genuinely interested in him from those who were on the hunt for their fifteen minutes of fame.
And judging by the way the beautiful woman had sneaked out this morning without a trace, it was obvious she hadn’t been looking for much more than a good time. Or a notch in her D-list celebrity belt.
How could he have been so stupid?
Had his father set this up? Had she been sent by the show’s assistants? Was the caller standing outside right now with a camera, hoping to catch them in the act? He hadn’t watched any of his dad’s shows in several years, but at dinner last night, his old man had confided that ratings were down and if they couldn’t breathe some new life into the series, he could be facing cancellation.
God, he hoped this wasn’t some sort of last-ditch publicity stunt.
No. He was pretty sure his gut reaction last night had been on target. The caller sounded surprised that the woman would take a man up to her room. So hopefully she had simply been a lonely traveler looking for a little excitement and companionship.
His official discharge from the military was right around the corner and he didn’t want to worry about any risqué photos or incriminating evidence ruining his career.
Still. He’d hate for any news about him to leak to the press. He’d spent his whole adult life avoiding the cameras, and the only place he’d been able to feel comfortable in his own skin was in the navy. Garrett had purposely volunteered for the most remote assignments whenever possible just to escape the constant media attention that came from being Dr. Gerald McCormick’s son.
He damn well wasn’t going to blow his cover now, which was exactly what he’d told his father at dinner yesterday evening when they’d gotten into their heated argument about the career path he’d just taken.
Garrett sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the abandoned luggage stand in the open closet. He remembered the woman had an open suitcase there last night. And she’d already had a key to this room when they’d come upstairs. He let out a breath and eased back onto the bed. So she had obviously been a registered hotel guest, and since even he had no idea that he’d end up at some hotel bar when he’d stormed out of the restaurant a few blocks away, then nobody would’ve had the foresight to set him up.
That was one crisis averted. There was also the fact that he’d been the one who’d approached her. Fragments of conversation were slowly coming back to him. She’d said she was a dancer—well, she’d definitely had the lithe and graceful body to prove it. She’d also mentioned not being from Boise. Maybe she was just some bored housewife who had to fly home before her husband and kids woke up.
Wait, she’d said she didn’t have kids. He couldn’t remember anything about a husband, but would she have been honest if she’d had one?
He pulled a pillow over his head, wishing he could bury his shame along with his guilt. He took a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t the cause of some poor cuckold’s broken heart. But inhaling was a big mistake because when he did, the lingering aroma of jasmine tickled his nose, reminding him of her intoxicating fragrance and of how he hadn’t been able to get enough of her heady scent. Of how he’d smelled, kissed and tasted every square inch of the woman’s perfect, flexible body last night.
Crap. The woman? He still didn’t even know her name.
This wasn’t like him. Lieutenant Commander Garrett McCormick was a trained battlefield surgeon and an orthopedic specialist. He was cool under pressure and never got rattled. He for sure never let his guard down and didn’t do anything unbecoming an officer. So then why had he allowed some sad-eyed, incredibly stunning woman get to him? What had come over him?
He took one last sniff and then threw the pillow to the floor. Lust, he thought before standing up and striding toward the bathroom. That’s what had gotten into him. Pure, old-fashioned lust combined with frustration at his old man and a need to establish his autonomy with a woman who’d actually taken the time to listen to him and could relate to having an overbearing and egotistical parent.
He wasn’t his dad. He didn’t sleep with every beautiful woman who fluttered her eyelashes at him. But Garrett deserved to have a little companionship in his life, didn’t he?
He stepped into the shower and turned the water on as hot as he could stand it before trying to unscrew the cap off the miniscule shampoo bottle. He’d wash all trace of the woman from his body and then try to banish all indications of last night’s events from his mind.
The problem was, he didn’t think he could forget how perfect she’d felt in his arms. How warm and willing she’d been when he’d eased himself inside her. Or how her breath came in short gasps when she’d reached her peak and begged him not to stop.
Man. He needed to get over it. To get over her.
He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist before going out into the room to look for his clothes. He spotted his smartphone on the bedside table, and his heart flipped over when he recalled her slim fingers running along his screen in the bar, showing him how to block his incoming calls.
Maybe she had programmed her telephone number in his list of contacts.
His pulse picked up speed as he scrolled through his phone, only to slow down until it was a disappointing lump in his throat. Nope, there was nothing but four missed calls from his father and one from his dad’s assistant, Marty. Well, Dad and Marty would have to wait until hell froze over.
Control yourself, McCormick. He hated getting worked up like this. But he was angry with himself for falling for the beautiful woman in the first place and coming upstairs with her. And he was angry with her for disappearing into thin air.
He got dressed and took one last look around the room, maybe so that he could memorize this moment or maybe because he was searching for one last clue about the woman’s identity. A knock sounded and his stomach flipped over.
Was that her? Had she come back after all? Or was it security?
He opened the heavy door and frowned when he saw a tall, older lady in a maid’s uniform. “Sorry.” She spoke in halting English. “I thought you checked out already.”
She picked up the clipboard hanging off her service cart, as though to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake. Likely, she hadn’t, and the woman who’d spent the evening with him had in fact checked out of the hotel. Garrett took a step closer, thinking he might be able to find out the woman’s name by looking at the guest info sheet.
But the motion forced him to accidentally release the room door, and it whooshed closed with a heavy thunk. The sound caused the maid to look up at him sharply, and she pulled the clipboard to her gray uniform. She stared at him and he glanced at the locked knob and realized he couldn’t get back in.
If he stood here much longer, this employee would also realize that he didn’t have a key and he had no way to prove that he was a guest of the hotel. The walkie-talkie on her cart crackled to life and Garrett decided the last thing he needed was to have security made aware of his presence.
“Yes, my wife already checked us out,” Garrett finally said, thankful he’d at least gotten dressed and that his wallet and keys were still in his pants pocket. “I’m supposed to meet her at the bar.”
What in the world had made a confirmed bachelor like him refer to the woman from last night as his wife? Or mention that they were meeting at a bar. Who met at a bar at oh eight hundred?
The maid lifted an eyebrow at him and he couldn’t blame her for being suspicious. Then again, this was a hotel and he was sure the employees had seen more scandalous behavior than his. But just to be on the safe side, he pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her. “Here. We forgot to leave a tip for the turndown service last night,” he mumbled before making his way to the elevator and down to the lobby.
The bar was deserted except for the lone bartender reading a newspaper and a busboy wiping down the tables from the night before. He flashed back to a memory of entering the lounge last night, hell-bent on drinking his anger away. The nerve of his dad trying to talk him into moving back to California to film a new show. Those cuff links had been the icing on the smug cake his father had served after dinner over a nice cold glass of familial guilt.
Garrett patted his coat pocket and pulled out the velvet case. He snapped it open, a visual reminder of what had brought him storming in here last night.
Then he frowned when he realized one of the cuff links was missing. Had he left it in the room? He looked back at the bank of elevators and wondered if it was worth the risk of having the maid call security on him. He remembered taking them out of his pocket last night as he and the woman had been drinking. But before they’d left, he clearly recalled her handing the box back to him. She must have known that he wasn’t the kind of guy who would throw away something so personal and expensive, even if he didn’t understand his father’s purpose in presenting him with such a questionable gift.
He also remembered picking up both his jacket and the cuff link case off the elevator floor last night, then smiled at the memory of how those items had gotten there in the first place. He walked back over to the elevators and wasted several minutes looking into each one for the missing cuff link. But like the woman from last night, it was long gone.
So then what happened to it?
And what had happened to her?
The front desk was busy and Garrett quickly dismissed the thought of asking the clerk for a guest’s information. The cleaning lady upstairs had eyeballed him as if he was a criminal. So what was he supposed to ask the college-age-looking kid behind the desk? Excuse me, but can you tell me the name of the woman who was staying in room eight oh four? I spent the night with her, but I never thought to ask her myself.
Please. Maybe if this was some no-tell motel, he could bribe the employee. But he doubted that a high-quality establishment, which had most likely already been put on notice by his mystery caller this morning, would be willing to bend the rules.
And did he really want it leaked to the press who was asking? He’d be lucky if he didn’t appear on some sleazy tabloid show for this stunt.
His thoughts were circling around like the whirling blades of a Huey helicopter, and he couldn’t decide on a course of action.
Or inaction for that matter. Maybe he’d just dodged a bullet. It wasn’t as though he was in the market for a relationship anyway, so he really didn’t need the extra chaos that this situation might cause. Especially during this transitional time in his life. It was best to get the woman and this whole experience out of his mind.
Leaving the hotel, he walked down the busy Boise street to where he’d left his car, doing a double take at any woman with long dark hair to see if it was her. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and when he pulled it out, he saw Matt Cooper’s name on the screen. A year ago, the chief of police for Sugar Falls had been one of Garrett’s more stubborn patients. But the former marine had also become a friend and had been instrumental in talking him into opening a specialized clinic in the small Idaho town.
Cooper had sold him on the concept that where there was a tourist trade that catered to extreme sports such as downhill skiing, river rafting and hiking, there was a need for orthopedic surgeons. It wasn’t a hard sell since not only was the town unpretentious and as far removed from the limelight as Garrett could get, it also desperately needed a physician who could actually serve the local community for the better.