Chased by a Stranger (Craved Series #3) Read online

Apart from the fact that I was still treating a coral wound and constantly walking into my room so I could open my jewelry box and stare at a necklace that was given to me by a man I would never see again.

  Not that I would ever wear it. I liked the little white shell with the swirl in the center, but it reminded me of him too much and I couldn't imagine a time when it wouldn't.

  Sometimes I wondered what he was doing, whether he was scuba diving or getting a massage or snacking on a banana pancake.

  But the more I thought about it, the sillier it seemed to hope we might meet again. After all, it would be foolish of him to leave Thailand. The days he spent there were enviable in every way.

  I sighed and twirled the delicate chain around my finger, remembering how much I enjoyed wearing it in his company and the rush I felt receiving jewelry from a man for the first time in my life.

  Even though he only bought it in the street, it didn't matter. The point was that he thought of me when I wasn't there, and more specifically, he thought of a way to make me smile.

  It was more than I'd come to expect from the men I dated, and I think that's why it caught me so off guard. Of course, thinking about his generosity only sent my mind straight to the gutter.

  In fact, every time I closed my eyes, I saw his tanned torso and the way his mirrored aviators framed his face. Everything I touched was either smooth like the firm muscles in his arms or rough like his hair, the hair I grabbed in my fist as he put his head between my legs, the hair I held as I watched my cheeks change color in the hotel room mirror.

  Even the blue patches of sky that broke through the clouds made me think of his eyes and how they crinkled around the edges when he smiled.

  And then there was my foot, which was a constant reminder of how he took care of me, carried me, and seduced me. Even when it healed I would have a scar there, a scar that would always ruin the way my feet looked in high heels, a scar people would inevitably ask me about.

  Maybe I would just say someone dropped a glass or a piece of furniture on it. Even though the coral injury was a better story, it would lead to questions. And while polite company would never even think to ask anything inappropriate, their questions would only lead to the unanswered ones I had.

  For example, I would never stop wondering what happened to Jack that night, and though the desire to know would wane over time- much like the pain in my foot- there would always be traces of it woven into my memories.

  I lowered the shell back in my jewelry box, letting the chain pool around it before I closed the lid. If only I knew how long it would be until someone else made me feel that delicious twist in my guts.

  Of course, not all was lost. At least he gave me good advice about finding work.

  The day after I got home, I uploaded my profile and experience to a freelance outsourcing site. And within two days, I’d secured two jobs with potential long term clients and bid on three others.

  The only downside was that I would have to work for less pay than I was used to until I built up my reputation, but it was better than nothing. Plus, once I secured some positive feedback from my initial clients, I might actually be able to pay my bills.

  Best case scenario, something might come out of it besides temporary income. Maybe I could even start working for myself full time. Then I could travel more and control my schedule. At the very least, I wouldn’t have to take the first full time position that came along.

  I slid into my desk chair and checked my account to see if I'd heard back from any of the jobs I’d bid on yet. I was hoping for two of them especially because they were for some people that just needed logos designed and that was the kind of stuff that came most easily to me.

  Not that I'd ever tell the client that. Graphic design was one of those industries where people assumed you must’ve worked harder if it took longer. My first boss taught me that, and I'd confirmed it through personal experience.

  If people thought you could just whip stuff out, they felt cheated paying you fairly for it, even though the skills that made it easy for you to work fast took years to acquire. As a result, there was a careful balance I needed to strike between being prompt and taking my time to ensure the client and I both had a good experience.

  But before I even knew what I was doing, I was typing his name into Google. I clicked “Images” and his face popped up in a hundred different locations, each picture taken from a different angle.

  I swear to god it was like they were all his good side. In each one, he looked tanner and healthier than anyone I'd ever seen, his blue eyes only out sparkled by his smile. There were even pictures of him with Oprah and all the other major talk show hosts, making it clear he’d been a bigger media darling than I realized.

  I flipped back to see if he had a Wikipedia page, and he did, though it didn't give very much away. In fact, the only new thing I learned was that he was thirty three which was a few years older than I thought he was. But I couldn’t help but feel like it was also sort of a delicious age because surely by then you were responsible and had a grip on your life.

  Or at least I hoped that was the case because that meant I still had plenty of time to sort my shit out.

  Unfortunately, his profile page ended as abruptly as our last encounter.

  I clicked back to the first page of his Google results and froze. What was I doing? What was I looking for? Did I want to contact him? Or did I just want to make myself feel like crap?

  Cause I had enough reasons to feel bad without going looking for them.

  So what was I really after? Closure?

  I mean, what the hell was I going to do? Send a note to his publisher? Find him on Facebook? I already knew that at least that last option was null because he didn't have an account... Unless he was one of the Jack Quinn's with the generic blue face icon, but I was hardly going to go scouring the internet, harassing every Jack Quinn I could find.

  Besides, what would I even say?

  I'm sorry about how things ended even though it was all your fault?!

  Then again, maybe that was the problem. Maybe I didn't really believe that the way things ended between us was his fault.

  In reality, I was the one that hadn't let him in the morning we were leaving, the one that wouldn’t even give him a chance to explain.

  Because I was hurt.

  So I decided to be stubborn instead of risk being vulnerable.

  But wasn't his showing up- even if he was with another woman- proof that he wanted things to end differently?

  Perhaps I was right to jump to conclusions.

  But maybe I'd drawn the wrong one.

  Chapter 17: Jack

  The plane ride took forever.

  Of course, I hadn't been home in years, but air travel used to be something I was so accustomed to. After a while, the dry air and the restless legs just became part and parcel of jet setting around. But I hadn't had to fly anywhere in so long I forgot how tedious it could be when you weren't used to it.

  And for the first time, I understood why my Mom thought I was so far away.

  But it was strangely thrilling to be surrounded by American accents. I spent so little time with Americans in general that I forgot how nice it was to be around people whose body language was familiar to me, whose expressions I could read.

  Truthfully, though, there was only one person I was interested in reading, and my nerves refused to settle down. Frankly, I don’t think I’d ever been that nervous. Even when I’d almost died of dry mouth before asking Cindy Collins to the prom didn’t come close.

  Then again, when it came to asking for Audrey's forgiveness, every bone in my body knew that the stakes were much higher.

  If I blew it this time around, Audrey Lawrence- as Megan so kindly informed me- would become a distant memory, too, and that was the last thing I wanted.

  Fortunately, Megan was significantly more pleasant to deal with than Matteo… and not just because she didn't make me diagnose any fungal infections to get the information I was
looking for.

  In fact, when I explained what happened, she was relieved and agreed it seemed reasonable that I should want to apologize.

  She also admitted that she hadn't seen Audrey much since the holiday as they were both settling back into their own routines, but she was nice enough to give me her address and tell me when she was likely to be home.

  And with a little arm twisting, she agreed not to tell Audrey we'd spoken, which was important because if Audrey knew I was coming, she might decide she didn’t want to see me. Then my whole trip would be for nothing.

  Therefore, the element of surprise was vital to my plan, though I hadn’t thought much about what might happen after I surprised her.

  It was impossible to know how she would react or what it would be like to see her so far outside the environment in which we met, to see her in her comfort zone instead of mine. However, I had a pretty good idea how my body was going to feel about it considering its reaction every time I thought about her.

  I did have an old friend based in Seattle, but I decided not to tell anyone about my visit just yet. As far as I was concerned, I was traveling strictly on business and only once I was back in Audrey's life (and hopefully her pants, though that was temporarily secondary) was I going to let myself worry about anything else.

  I didn't want there to be any confusion in my mind or Audrey's about the purpose of my visit. I wanted her to know that I came all this way for her. That was the only way I might be able to make up for how rudely I'd abandoned her on her last night, embarrassing her quite badly according to Matteo's estimation… though he didn't exactly seem like a ninja when it came to reading people.

  I was pleased to discover I could rent a motorcycle at the airport. And despite the fact that it cost about the same to rent it per day as it cost to buy one outright in Thailand, I was still more comfortable on two wheels these days.

  Within the hour, I checked myself into the nicest hotel I could find. Then I got cleaned up and put on clothes that were more appropriate for the Seattle weather and stared at myself in the mirror.

  My body was tired enough that I would definitely fall asleep if I lay down on the comfy looking bed.

  But I was dying to get this over with. I'd wanted to see her since the night my Dad's accident had prevented me from doing so which meant I'd been waiting almost two weeks to lay my eyes on her face, my hands on her hips.

  I brushed my teeth and headed out, stopping in the florist on the first floor for a bouquet. Unfortunately, I realized just after paying that I'd chosen an arrangement that was far too big to take on the bike so I had to walk.

  I figured it wouldn't be too bad, but the looks I kept getting from women were wearing on me a bit. Half of them looked between me and the flowers warmly as if to say "aren't they lovely and aren't you lovely for buying them for whoever they're for." But the other half almost seemed resentful of the smile that was plastered across my face.

  To be honest, my expression was mostly down to stress, but the bouquet did have a funny way of lifting my spirits. It was like having flowers on top of the element of surprise gave me the confidence boost I needed to carry on.

  As I put each block behind me, I could feel my nerves beginning to settle, as if they were calming themselves before the storm of seeing her again.

  Ideally, she would throw her arms over my shoulders, wrap her legs around my waist, shower me with kisses, and say "I was hoping you'd come!"

  But I didn't want to get my hopes up. The possibility of that happening seemed a little farfetched considering what her last impression of me must have been.

  Best case scenario, she would be patient enough to hear me out. And if I was really lucky, she might consider giving me another chance.

  However, there was a worst case scenario which was that she might not be willing to forgive me and had already moved on. Of course, even in that case, she still would've changed my life for the better.

  After all, caring about her had woken me up from the lazy lifestyle I'd become so comfortable with. She made me want more and she made me believe that there was more out there, more to life. For the first time since I ran away to Thailand, I actually felt like I might be able to turn things around, like I might be able to adjust my personal priorities to better reflect my values.

  She made me look forward to the future in a way nothing and no one had in years. So no matter what happened when I knocked on her door, she'd already been the best thing that ever happened to me.

  So when I looked up the front of her building and swallowed, all I could think was here goes nothing.

  And by nothing, I mean everything.

  Thanks

  Thank you for taking the time to read this story.

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  To find out what’s next for Jack and Audrey, check out the next book in the Craved Series, Consumed by a Stranger.

  Coming Soon!!

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  Thanks again for your support and until next time,

  Happy Reading,

  Xo Hazel

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