Pretend You're Mine(34)
He texted her just as she was packing up her things to go home.
Working late. Don’t wait up.
Harper felt a mix of disappointment and relief. Some time to herself probably wouldn’t hurt. She went home and stared at the TV for several minutes before realizing she had forgotten to turn it on.
Shaking herself, she got up and wandered around the house. It was a new experience, having time to spend the way she wanted. What did she want? An image of Luke flexing his jaw as he drove his fingers into her immediately answered that question.
“I need to get a freaking hobby,” Harper murmured, trying to ignore the ache between her legs. A hobby that didn’t involve getting off just thinking about Luke.
In the end, she made a grocery list and a dinner menu for the rest of the week and hit the store. She unloaded all of the groceries, made herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and turned in early with a paperback she picked up at the store. It was a murder mystery. A better choice than the romance novel she had initially picked out.
With any additional stimulation, she’d probably mount Luke in his sleep.
She finally fell asleep clutching the paperback to her chest and dreaming of knife-wielding maniacs.
***
When she woke in the morning, the bed felt empty. Luke’s side was undisturbed.
She hurried down the stairs, still in Luke’s t-shirt, and stopped abruptly in the living room doorway.
His six-foot-three frame was crammed onto the sofa, an arm thrown over his head and dangling over the wooden arm. He was still in his clothes.
“Luke?”
He woke immediately and tried to sit up. He groaned and tried to stretch the crick out of his neck.
“You slept here?”
He had to turn his whole body to look at her because his head wouldn’t turn on his neck. “Ouch. Yes.”
“Super comfortable, huh?”
“Slept like a rock,” he lied.
“I must really scare the hell out of you,” Harper snapped over her shoulder as she walked back to the kitchen.
She ignored his grumble from the living room and helped herself to some orange juice.
Luke peeled himself off of the couch and staggered down the hall, trying to work the kinks out.
She poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him.
“Don’t give me that face,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
“Oh, you deserve that face. You can’t even sleep in bed with me now? I’m not going to ravage you.”
He sighed heavily and Harper rolled her eyes. “Just drink your coffee.”
“I have to go to the base this weekend for some meetings and training. Will you be okay here by yourself?”
“You’re not coming back tonight?”
He shook his head and sipped his coffee. “No. I’ll be home tomorrow night. Late.”
“Okay.” Harper eyed him, waiting.
“Okay.” He looked at her, still sexy as hell with sleep creases across his face, and then nodded. “I’m gonna go pack a bag.”
Harper watched him leave and sighed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He was being a huge coward. Luke accelerated onto the highway, his mouth set in a frown. When his CO called yesterday afternoon about the basic combat refresher training, Luke suggested their pre-mobilization team meet on Saturday to prep for Sunday’s training. He couldn’t face a weekend alone with Harper. He might die from the blood supply being cut off to his brain.
He thought about kissing her good-bye but had regained his wits and casually wished her a good weekend from the safety of the other side of the kitchen island.
He was doing it for her own good, he told himself. She wasn’t the kind of girl who would just have a fling and then move on. Harper deserved better than that. So he would just keep his distance from her for the rest of the month and they would part as friends.
Friends who could have had some serious benefits.
He slapped his hands on the wheel of the truck. “Get it together, man.”
Focus on the job, and everything else will be fine.
***
Harper decided to at least pretend to be productive and tackled the laundry first. So she gathered up all the dirty clothes, towels, and sheets she could find and headed downstairs to the basement.
It wasn’t as creepy as she had expected. Small windows at ceiling level ringed the perimeter and allowed morning light to filter through. As promised, a washer and dryer sat in the corner next to a dingy laundry sink and a serviceable countertop.
Harper dropped the heaping laundry basket on the floor and started the first load. The modest setup lacked the usual clutter of a well-used laundry area. There were no mate-less socks or shrunken and forgotten t-shirts. Just detergent, bleach, and dryer sheets.
While the washer kicked to life, Harper surveyed the rest of the basement. As the rest of the house, it was empty except for a few boxes and plastic totes.