Chapter Four
They used all the condoms he had in his wallet—three—and the two she had in her bedside drawer.
Halfway through the next day, Baz accepted the fact he’d never have sex like this again. Nor meet a woman like Hayley again.
Fuck, why did she have to live on the other side of the bloody world?
Stretched on her bed, the room heavy with the scent of sex and sweat and the cheese pizza she’d ordered thirty minutes previously, he stared at her ceiling.
He was screwed.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Beside him, nestled into the crook of his arm, her cheek on his chest, her palm resting on his Southern Cross tattoo, Hayley mumbled something in her sleep.
He should have bolted last night while she was in the shower. Should have written her a note like he’d planned—That was bloody amazing, love. Thanks. Might see you in Pat’s Pub tomorrow?—and done a runner. That way, he wouldn’t be lying here now, wondering if it was possible to make a goer of a relationship when neither lived in the same hemisphere.
Relationship? Him?
He didn’t do them. No chance of being abandoned if he wasn’t in a relationship. Besides, he had to get back to Lacky.
Hayley mumbled something again, snuggling deeper into his chest.
He smoothed his hand over her back. Christ, her skin was addictive to the touch.
Closing his eyes, he drew a slow breath. She was as confused, as conflicted as he was. The fact that she’d told him she was a little freaked out the night before and was okay with him leaving, only to stop him from going with a kiss more horny and hungry than any he’d had, told him so. A kiss that turned into the most amazing blow job of his life, which then turned into a marathon session of animalistic fucking on the floor, against the wall, and in her bed.
At some point, he should check in with Neville and Peter. Let them know he was alive. Find out where they were. Figure out a place to meet up. Pat’s Pub made the most sense. Maybe because it made him think of the pub he grew up in the Outback, the only place he’d ever called home. Whatever the reason, he wanted to go back there. Have a beer, maybe grab a meal on the restaurant side of it. Sunny’s Side? Was that what Hayley had called it?
Maybe he could shout her dinner at the restaurant at Pat’s Pub and introduce her to his mates and—
Introduce her to your mates? Crikey, Kerrrigan, what are you doing?
A knot twisted in his gut and he ground his teeth. Trouble. He was in trouble.
Hell.
The faint sound of AC/DC wafted into the room. “Highway to Hell”. His phone’s ringtone.
The first thing he’d done after arriving in the US was active global roaming on his mobile. If Lacky needed to contact him—or if any of Lacky’s mates needed to—he’d be a phone call away. So far, the only people who had called him were Nev and Pete, usually to brag about who had scored first. As a consequence, he’d changed the ringtones for the two bastards to their respective national anthems. If either “God Save the Queen” or “O Canada” played, he knew exactly who was on the other end.
“Highway to Hell” was his default tone. Which meant it could be Lacky. Or one of the flyboys from the pub back home calling him about his uncle.
Heart thumping faster than it should, he gently detangled himself from Hayley’s limbs and climbed out of bed, hurrying into her living room.
Angus Young sang out from his jeans on the floor.
He snatched them up, dug his phone out of the back pocket and connected the call.
His brain told him the number he’d seen on the screen was an American one a split second before he said, “G’day, Baz Kerrigan speakin’.”
“Baz?” a familiar female voice said, her American accent clear. “It’s Natalie Miller.”
A relieved breath burst from him and, scrubbing at his face, he dropped onto the sofa. “G’day, Natalie. How’d you get my number?”
“I rang Lacky last night because I wanted to talk to you. Got your number from a guy called Charlie. He said Lacky was—and I quote—in the loo. I hope you don’t mind?”
Baz laughed, even as his gut clenched a little. “No worries at all. Howya going?”
“I’m well, thank you.” She laughed. “Actually, I was so excited and touched by Lacky’s gift, I left Washington a few hours after our unorthodox conversation on Ewan’s phone. I’m back here in Baltimore. At Pat’s Pub. Is there any chance you could come in today?”
Baz flicked a glance towards Hayley’s bedroom.
“I probably shouldn’t be so pushy,” Natalie went on. “Sorry. If you’ve got things planned today—”
“Nah, I’m good.”
Bullshit.
“Oh good.” The smile in Natalie’s voice tugged at his chest. “I’ll be at the pub for most of the afternoon—I’m meeting Ewan for lunch. You’re welcome to join us, if you like?”
Baz dragged his hand over his face. His heart thumped fast. If he gave Natalie the camera this morning, he and Neville and Peter could head to Vegas this afternoon. Two nights in Vegas and he could say cheers to his traveling mates and head back to the Outback and Lacky.
He glanced towards Hayley’s room again.
Give Natalie the camera now, no reason to stay here in Baltimore. With Hayley…
Bloody hell, why did the thought of leaving plonk a great big bloody rock on his chest?
Scrubbing at his mouth, he turned away from the bedroom door. “Reckon I could meet you there in about forty minutes. How’s that sound?”
“That sounds perfect. Let me buy you lunch. My treat to say thank you for being so wonderful.”
Wonderful? Him?
He forced out a laugh. “No worries. I’ll see you then.”
Ending the call, he grabbed up his jeans again, shoved his legs into them, and then scanned the room for his shirt and boots.
A few moments later, dressed, heart smashing like a sledgehammer in his chest, he scrawled a note on the small pad on Hayley’s fridge:
Heya Gorgeous. I gotta go. You’re bloody incredible. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
Cheers
Baz
He stared at the words for a heartbeat, sucked in a wobbly breath, and then left. Caught a taxi back to the backpackers’ hostel where he, Neville and Peter were crashing. The whole trip, he sat slumped in the backseat. Fuck, he was a wanker dickhead.
Better a wanker dickhead with a guilty conscience than heartbroken down the track, right?
He didn’t have an answer by the time the cab pulled to a halt outside the hostel—not one he wanted to acknowledge, at least.
“Well well well.” Neville smirked down at him from the communal balcony overlooking the footpath as he climbed out of the taxi. “Look what the cat finally dragged in.”
“More like look what the pussy kept away.” Peter leaned his elbows on the rail and grinned down at Baz. “You should be ashamed of yourself for breaking curfew, little boy. We’ve been worried sick.”
Baz closed the taxi’s door, shaking his head up at them both. “And what time did you get in, mate?”
Peter raised the beer bottle in his hand in a toast. “Ten minutes ago.”
Despite the guilt lashing at him, Baz laughed. “So the pommy bastard pays for accommodations?” He tapped his forehead at Neville. “Thanks, Nev.”
Neville scowled. “She had a boyfriend. Some guy called Slade who works at the pub. So, when are we going to Vegas? I’m done with Baltimore.”
“I’m delivering the last of Lacky’s items in about twenty minutes, and then we can bugger off.”
The knot in his gut twisted. Turned sour.
Bugger off. Leave. Go. Away from Hayley…
Fuck.
Neville smacked Peter on the chest with the back of his hand. “You owe me twenty quid.”
Baz frowned up at them. “Why?”
Peter took a mouthful of beer. “With the way you were looking at the blonde in the pub last night, I was certain you’d want to stay here in Baltimore for a while longer.”
“Nope.” Baz ignored the hot, crushing pressure on his chest. “Get your arses ready to go. Once I give the camera to Natalie Miller, we’re out of here.”
Neville and Peter flicked each other a glance. “Sure,” Peter said.
It pissed Baz off that both seemed unconvinced.
It pissed him off more that he felt the same.
“I’m serious.” He scowled. “And I wasn’t looking at Hayley in any way.”
Neville cocked an eyebrow. Peter burst out laughing, and then said something to Neville in French.
“What was that?” Baz raised his eyebrows.
Neville shook his head. “Let’s call it the French-Canadian version of the Australian doth protest too much and leave it at that, shall we?”
“Funny fuckers, aren’t you?” With a grunt, he began stomping for the hostel’s entrance. “Just be bloody ready, bastards.”
His mates laughed.
Neither said anything to him as he packed up his belongings, retrieved the camera once owned by Ansel Adams from the hostel-supplied lockbox under his bed, paid for their room, and stomped back out onto the street to flag a taxi.
“Kerrigan?”
He turned to look up at the balcony. Neville stood looking down at him. “What?”
“It’s okay to admit you hit it off with someone, you know.”
“I didn’t—”
Neville waved him silent. “I’m pretty certain your uncle wouldn’t be impressed if he knew you weren’t living your life because of him.”
Baz stared at Neville, and then pulled a deep breath. “Be ready to go, Nev,” he said, throat tight. “I’ll be back ASAP.”
Neville shook his head. “Bloody stubborn Australian.”
Baz frowned and, turning back to the street, watched a cab pull up to the curb. Stubborn, wanker dickhead. That was him. But at least he would never be abandoned again.
Maybe you need to add coward to that list?
“Shut up,” he muttered, opening the taxi’s back door.
Climbing in, he gave the driver the address for Pat’s Pub. The sooner he gave Natalie Miller the camera, the better.
So this is what it feels like to get dumped by a rebound.
Hayley prowled her apartment, glaring at everything.
It felt crappy. Sucky. Embarrassing.
She sighed, dropping her stare to Baz’s note in her hand. What had she expected? A marriage proposal? A commitment ring? A foot massage? Dinner?
Heya Gorgeous. I gotta go.
Gotta go. Huh. “Gotta get away from me, more like it,” she muttered, crumpling the note for the umpteenth time since finding it on the refrigerator door thirty minutes ago.
Damn, why did this hurt so much? It wasn’t as if they were a couple, a thing. They’d only ever planned to be a four-night stand.
“He robbed me of three nights,” she grumbled, slumping into the nearest armchair.
She rubbed at her elbows, frowning at her toes. Baz had sucked on those toes. Had sucked on her big one, making her laugh, before drawing lazy, tickling circles over her sole as he nibbled on her ankle, her calf, the back of her knee…
“Goddamn it, what am I doing?” She threw herself from the armchair, shutting down the memory of where his nibbling lips had ended up.
Her pussy throbbed, all too happy, all too eager to remember. Lips and tongue and teeth and fingers…
“Jesus.” She stomped across the room to the small, uncluttered desk under the window she used as a home office, and opened her laptop. Work. She’d do some work. Answer some emails, look at what had happened in Baltimore over the last twenty-four hours, outline possible articles of interest for her editor. Work. Forget about the three nights of incredible freaking sex Baz freaking Kerrigan robbed her of, forget about the…the…connection—damn, that word was a cliché, but the only word she could think of—they’d had. A powerful connection, one she’d never experienced before.
Work. That’s what she would do. Work and forget about him. Him and his stupid accent and stupid tattoo and stupid body, and stupid—
The noise of a camera rapidly clicking over and over sounded behind her.
Hayley turned from her laptop to frown at where her smartphone sat in its dock in the kitchen, screen flashing with an incoming message. Natalie was texting her.
A hot lump filled her throat.
Stop being ridiculous. It’s not Natalie’s fault Baz has gone. She’s still in Washington.
Berating herself for being so lame, she hurried into the kitchen and plucked her smartphone from its dock.
Hey Hales. I’m back in town for the day. Will be returning to Washington tonight, so thought we could catch up. Join me for lunch. I’m in the pub right now, so get your ass down here. I’m not taking no for an answer. Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not as important as seeing your cousin. Xoxox Nat.
Hayley chewed on her bottom lip. Natalie was in Baltimore? Was that why Baz had left? Had he already given her Ansel Adams’ camera? Was he already on his way to Vegas?
Camera clicks filled the air again as her phone vibrated in her hand.
She read the new message from her cousin.
Stop pretending you’re not around. You have your phone set to let the other person know when you’ve read the message. See you ASAP.
“Damn it.” She chuckled, a warm tingle of affection for Natalie threading through her irritation at Baz.
Be there soon, she texted back.
She quickly dressed in her favorite Levis, a retro Nick Blackthorne T-shirt and her beloved biker boots. Stealing a few minutes, she brushed her hair and cleaned her teeth and spritzed her neck with a blast of perfume. Her ego may be wounded but that didn’t mean she couldn’t smell pretty and feminine, even if she was dressed in her best grrrl-power, ass-kicking attire.
Arriving at Pat’s Pub, she paused at the door, frowning. If she ever saw Baz Kerrigan again, she would kick his sublime, sexy ass for ruining the bar for her. There was no way she’d ever be able to walk through the door without remembering their first kiss inside it…and their second kiss outside it. And everything that came after that second kiss…
“Seriously,” she muttered, hitching her bag farther up her shoulder and stomping into the pub. “Kick. His. Ass.”
The muted lights and cool air washed over her, familiar and comfortable. Almost comfortable. Before she could stop herself, she looked at the two bar stools she and Baz had perched on the night before, drinking shots and flirting like crazy.
Both stools were empty.
Her heart clenched.
What? You thought Baz would be there? Grinning at you? Waiting for you?
Gritting her teeth, she scanned the bar, searching for Nat. Her cousin had said she’d meet her at the pub. Of course, to the Collins clan, that could also mean Sunday’s Side. The two halves were interchangeable to the large family when it came to describing dining locations.
She frowned. No. No sign of—
Her heart smashed up into her throat. Her stomach dropped. Lurched upward. Dropped again. Her pulse turned into a cannon, firing shots into her ears.
Baz Kerrigan sat in one of the bar’s booths, fingers threaded on the table, stare locked on his hands. Beside his hands sat an old camera bag.
Hayley swallowed. The cannon in her head boomed louder. A prickling heat crawled over her scalp.
Okay. So he was here. Here. In Pat’s Pub. Looking…
Adrift. Confused. Frustrated.
Sexy.
Adorable.
“Oh boy.” Sucking in a sharp breath, Hayley walked to the booth.
“Hi.”
He jerked his head up, stare locking instantly on her face as she slipped onto the opposite bench seat.
“Surprise,” she finished. Damn it, why did her voice have to waver so much. Clenching her jaw, she slouched against the backrest, arms stretched along its top.
Radiate cool indifference, Miller. Radiate cool indifference.
His nostrils flared as he ran his gaze over her.
Her pussy contracted. Stupid, traitorous pussy.
A hangdog grin curled his lips. “G’day, gorgeous.”
“Don’t fucking g’day gorgeous me.” She leaned forward, jabbing a finger at him over the table. “You promised me four nights of orgasms, and then you run after just one? Where’s your staying power?”
His eyes closed and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Hayley, you don’t understand.”
“Let me guess.” She frowned. “You’ve got abandonment issues. Won’t let anyone close to you because you’re still scarred by what your parents did to you? Plus, your relationship with your uncle is significant but threatened in some way, I’m guessing his health is failing, hence the trip here to give Nat a camera, and you’re wearing that like a shield as well.”
He blinked. And opened his mouth. And closed it again.
“We’ve all got issues, Baz.” She shook her head. “Some of us just don’t run away from them.”
His eyebrows knotted. “And you know me, you know my issues, after just one night of bonking, do you?”
She sighed. “You made fun of yourself and your AWOL parents in our first conversation—deprecating humor to be sure, but still there—and you stumbled over talk of your uncle. I’m a journalism intern, Baz. I read people. I do a good job of it. And I read you in a heartbeat. A guy with a wounded soul and a good heart. I was totally and utterly okay with spending the next four days and nights with that guy. Having fun. Exploring…a possibility. But that guy turned out to be a chicken who ran away. Not sure I like that guy. Even if he did give me the most amazing sex of my life.”
He stared at her. On the table, his knuckles turned white. “Hayley, you don’t—”
“I’m a girl who got dumped for being too fat, Baz.” She let out a shaky laugh. “Do you have any idea what that’s like? To look at yourself every day and think, I’m not good enough? Of course you don’t. I mean, for Pete’s sake, look at you. No one is ever going to dump you because of the way you look.”
“Hayley,” he said again, his voice almost a croak.
“What I’m saying, Bartholomew Kerrigan, is if you left my apartment today because you’re not interested, because you had your fun and you’re ready to move on, then sure, that’s fine. Tell me that. But if you really are running away because you think whatever this thing is will end up hurting you…” She sighed again, and slumped back against the bench. “If that’s it. Don’t do that. Don’t be that guy.”
“What guy?”
Hayley snapped her stare up to Natalie, standing at the end of the booth’s table, smiling at them both.
“Nat…” Holy crap, how much had she heard? And did her timing suck or what?
“Natalie Miller?”
Baz’s question jerked her stare back to him. Her heart smashed hard in her throat. Whoa, what had she just been doing? Where had that…that…frustration come from? Surely not just because he’d denied her three more nights of sublime sex?
You know where it came from. You weren’t talking clichés when you used the term connection. You know it, and so does Baz.
Biting back a ragged breath, she watched Baz half rise from the bench and hold out his hand to Natalie.
Natalie’s smile stretched wide as she took it. “Baz?”
“Yep.”
“So nice to meet you. Sorry, Ewan and I were waiting for you in Sunday’s Side. My mistake for not being more specific. We Collinses forget not everyone in the world knows what we’re talking about when it comes to the pub.”
Baz let out a chuckle, shaking his head as he sat back down again. “No worries at all. I don’t think anyone outside of my hometown would know what Grub Corner is when talking about the pub at home.”
“Oh, I do.” Natalie preened. Not something Hayley saw her cousin do often. “Grub Corner is the restaurant area of Lacky’s pub.”
Approval filled Baz’s face. “You and Lacky know each other well, ’eh.”
Natalie nodded. “We do. I spent a long afternoon with him in Washington many years ago, when I was doing a photo shoot on international Vietnam vets. He talked a lot about his pub. And you, although you were only a teenager back then. Mischievous and stubborn and far too reckless, according to Lacky. And angry and sad, deep down inside. I hope the years have eased those last two for you.”
Baz’s Adam’s apple jerked up and down in his throat. Hayley wanted nothing more—right at that moment—than to move to his bench, smooth her arms around him and hold him.
Hell, she really was gone. Hook, line and sinker.
“Yeah, I’m good.” He shrugged, his eyes flicking to Hayley for a heartbeat. “Not so angry anymore. Probably more stubborn than I should be though.”
Hayley tried to bite back her snort. Tried and failed.
“So this is the camera.” Baz slid the camera case over the bench toward Natalie. “Lacky said the first photo you needed to take with it was of horse sh—poo. I’m guessing that’s a private joke?”
Natalie burst out laughing, scooping up the case as it if were made of the most delicate china. “It is. One of these days I need to get to Australia so I can give him a hug.”
Hayley didn’t miss the shadow falling over Baz’s face. “He’d like that.”
Smiling at Baz again, Natalie hugged the case. “I’ll do that. Ewan owes me a honeymoon. Australia it is.”
Baz’s jaw bunched. Hayley frowned. An unsettled knot twisted in her stomach.
“Speaking of Ewan,” Natalie beamed at them both again, “he’s waiting for us on Sunday’s Side. Lunch is my treat, remember.”
With a raise of his hand, Baz straightened to his feet and shuffled out of the booth. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to go. Me and my mates need to hit the road ASAP. Now that I’ve given you Lacky’s gift, I’m outta here. It was lovely to meet you, Natalie.”
“Baz…” Hayley whispered.
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. “And you, gorgeous. Remember what I wrote on that note. It’s true.”
And before either Hayley or Natalie could say another word, he strode out of Pat’s Pub.
Gone.