Tillie is asleep in my bed, her long hair a wavy mess across the pillow. I run my finger down her back, loving the velvet softness of her skin. She’s got a tattoo across her ribs. A line of script that says not all those who wander… and I can’t help but smile.

I don’t know how I’m going to leave her when the time comes for me to head back home. I want more of her. I need to know her, to have her in my life. Perhaps I could extend my stay, or see if I can make this a permanent change. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get her out of my mind when I go.

“Who are you, Tillie?” I whisper.

A sweet sigh falls from her and she rolls over to face me. Her lips are turned up in a soft smile and she blinks sleepy eyes at me. “What are you doing?”

“Admiring the beauty in my bed.” I can’t deny the curious swell of emotion in my chest. She stirs something inside me. Something I thought long lost. “I don’t think my pillow has ever looked so enticing.”

“What do you do?” she asks, resting her chin in her palm as she stares at me.

“I’m a writer.”

Her grin makes me smile in turn. “So, you’re telling me I ran into a gorgeous British writer in a whiskey bar? That’s like…well, that’s kind of my fantasy… except when I fantasize about that I’m on a lost weekend in London and he sweeps me off my feet. Are you a billionaire too? A secret duke?”

I laugh. “No, sorry to disappoint. Not a billionaire.”

“You didn’t deny your dukedom.” The way her eyes sparkle as she teases me has me laughing.

“No dukedom. I’m afraid you’re stuck with the British writer.”

“That’s okay. I have a thing for the artistic type. What do you write?”

“Mostly non-fiction. But my newest book is a fictional retelling of the mass hysteria in Salem in 1692.”

“Ah, the witch trials.”

I nod. “And you? What occupies your time, Tillie?”

“Molecular biology.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Really? Do you work at the University?”

“I spend a lot of time there.”

“And why molecular biology? Have you always had an interest?”

“Yes. Since I was a teenager, that’s been my goal. I wanted to be a molecular biologist, so I did it.”

“You’re fascinating.”

“You’re charming.”

I run my finger along the tattoo on her ribs. “And this?”

Her gaze drops from mine. “My twin sister. She loved Tolkien and when we were growing up, our dad read us The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings. She was obsessed.”

“Was?”

She nods. “Lucy got leukemia when we were twelve. She was fourteen when we lost her.”

My chest tightens at the thought of her hurting so badly. “I’m so sorry.”

With a dismissive shrug, she shakes her head and wipes at her eyes. “I couldn’t help her. Identical twins can’t donate bone marrow because the match is too close.” She shakes her head. “For the first time, being so close to her was a bad thing.”

I press a soft kiss to her forehead, my heart breaking for her. “So that’s why you wanted to go into molecular biology? Cancer research?”

“Exactly. I couldn’t save her, but maybe I can help others.” A heavy sigh falls from her. “I haven’t talked about that in a long time.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“She was my best friend.” She glides her fingers over the line of script. “And now I’ll always have her with me. This is her handwriting. She would practice and practice until it looked perfect.”

I trace the ink and she shivers under my touch. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

We go silent for a while, hands exploring each other’s curves and ridges. It’s as if we’re learning the map of one another’s body. I know I’ll never forget her. She’s been burned in my memory after one night.

When my hand runs over the swell of her breast and I trace a feather-light circle around her nipple, she lets out a light giggle and slides her fingers up my arm until she cups the back of my neck. “Come here.”

We make love until the sky begins to lighten into the gray of predawn and I finally fall asleep with her in my arms, the sweet scent of her hair easing any tension inside me. I have her here now, and I’m not going to let go until I have no other option.

The bed is cold when I wake. I reach for Tillie, but I know what I’m going to find. I can feel it before I even open my eyes. She’s gone. I hold out hope that I’ll find her though, because I’m a fool, because I can’t accept our connection was one-sided after such an intense night together. But the evidence is there, harsh and clear. She ran. Not even a note left behind.

“Bloody hell,” I mutter, raking a hand through my hair and fighting the wave of crushing disappointment at her absence.

I can still smell her on my skin. Part of me wants to run outside and see if I catch her leaving. I can imagine her long hair blowing in the breeze as she walks away. What would I do? Go after her, make her come back, fix her coffee and breakfast served with a side of forever? If she wanted me she’d have at least given me her number. Instead she snuck out and did the walk of shame. It’s likely I’ll never see this woman again, and that makes my chest ache.

My phone rings and I dash across the room, and dig through my pockets in a desperate attempt to reach the device before the call rolls to voicemail.

“Tillie?” I bark into the phone. Immediately I realize how stupid that is. She doesn’t have my phone number, just as I don’t have hers.

“Nope. Oh, my God, McGinnis, did you get some action last night?” Brett Faulkner, my American literary agent laughs over the line.

“That’s not your business, you twat.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t go all proper British on me. You answer the phone practically panting some chick’s name, I’m gonna think you got some action. Or are at least working on it.”

“Why are you calling, Brett?” The frustration in my voice is undeniable, but I don’t want to be teased about Tillie. I want to fucking find her.

“You’re supposed to be on a run with me, remember? I was calling to get your lazy ass out of bed.”

Fighting a sigh, I glance at the clock and shake my head. The last thing I want is to go on a run with him, but I’m not going to get anywhere sitting around and pining after a woman who didn’t think enough of me to stay. “I’ll be there in five.”

“Fuck yes, you will. We need to talk book tour after you’re done with your Indiana Jones impression.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not playing at being Indiana Jones.”

“Sure, you tell yourself that. I don’t blame you one bit. Indy got all the pussy he could handle.”

Shaking my head, I hang up the phone and head for my closet. The idea of having as many women as I want makes me shudder. There’s only one woman on my mind, and I’m going to find her before my time here is up.