Still on his knees, he tugged at the elastic waist of her skirt, skimming it over her hips and down her legs before getting to his feet again. Loosening the stays of her corset had him whispering a piratey “bloody hell” hotly against her skin when the cords tangled. They finally gave way and he left kisses in their wake.
She reached for her wig, but then he was kissing her again, capturing her hands in his. They collapsed back into the softness of the blankets, and she thought of nothing more than finding solace and pleasure with his every touch, rapture with every kiss and escape in his arms.
* * *
Something was...not wrong, exactly, but Nolan still felt as if he were suffocating beneath whatever was strangling him. He turned his head so breathing came easier and brushed at his face and neck, pushing the silky smoothness away, thinking it felt a lot like a cat.
If he owned one, which he didn’t.
What the hell was that?
It took a moment, but it all came back.
The pirate costume, the wig, the party, the drinking.
The girl.
Transfixed by her boldness in the bar, he’d been content to hold onto those sweet curves as they danced, enjoying the way she burrowed into his chest. Then their escape, him following her lead into the cold and to a dark room, her in his arms once more and then...
Yeah, and then.
He squeezed his eyes shut and raked his hand higher. His fingers tangled with the wig and he fisted the strands, faintly remembering taking it, and the mask, off sometime in the middle of the night.
He tossed it in the direction of the floor, the jerky movement causing the jackhammer ramming inside his head to go into overdrive. Then he went still; only his eyelids moved as he blinked and tried to focus on his surroundings in the dark room.
He remembered the room. Sort of. Stretching one leg, he felt the cool sheet against his bare skin. And he wasn’t lying in bed alone.
Forcing himself to sit up, he heard a soft feminine moan come from his companion as she rolled away, taking the majority of the sheets with her. He swung away as well, planting his feet on the floor, and waited for his head to stop spinning.
And to see if she woke up.
Nope, not another sound except for the gentle breathing of Miss Harley Quinn, alias...who knew?
This was not good.
He never got her real name. Never shared his.
Damn, what made him do such a thing?
Was it the booze? The rush of playing out a fantasy of being someone else for the night? The fact he hadn’t been with a woman in over a year?
Hell if he knew, but at least he remembered being sober enough to make sure she’d wanted him to stay.
Oh, yeah, she’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her.
After a quick search of the floor for most of his clothing, he found the bathroom. He took care of business, ignoring the glass-walled shower that beckoned, settling instead for washing the remains of the makeup from his face with a flowery-scented soap.
Dressing quickly, he checked for his wallet, keys and cell phone, all still in his pockets. It was almost 5:00 a.m. He had to get home. If the kids woke up and found he wasn’t there, they would call out the troops.
Namely, his brothers. A Murphy search party? No, thanks.
But first things first.
He reached for the door, realizing he hadn’t had to deal with morning-after awkwardness since his freshman year in college. At least back then he’d been gentleman enough to get the girl’s name first.
Oh, how times had changed.
He opened the door, allowing a shaft of light to fall across the bed, highlighting the lady’s curves and stopping him in his tracks.
The bedsheet only came up to her hips, leaving the rest of her bare for his viewing pleasure, including a tiny waist and the smooth expanse of her back. He noticed for the first time a script tattoo running vertically the length of her spine. It ended—or began—with a grouping of yellow flowers at the dip just above her luscious backside, but he was too far away to make out the words.
A part of him felt like a voyeur for even looking at her, despite the intimacy they’d shared last night, but he couldn’t help it.
Or his body’s reaction as the memories of the two of them flooded his head.
His gaze continued upward to a mass of red wavy hair, most of it pulled forward and disappearing over one shoulder except for a lone piece that curled—
Wait, red hair? Last night she’d been a blonde.
It had been a wig, part of her comic book character costume. She’d removed it during the night as well.
His gut clenched as he remembered the feel of her real hair trailing over his chest and stomach, but to see it now, the rich, vibrant chestnut color lying against her skin...
It was a very familiar color.
Nolan’s gaze ran the length of her once more before recognition slammed into him. Closing his eyes, he slumped against the doorjamb.
No, it couldn’t be. There was no way he had—they had...
It couldn’t be her.
It couldn’t be Katie.
He forced himself into the room and around the end of the bed. Tripping over his boots, he swore softly beneath his breath, grabbed the footwear and kept moving until he could see her.
Even in the dimly lit room, her long red hair stood out against the smoothness of her skin and the white sheet she held against her body. Her wig was long gone and so too her mask.
Yes, the woman he’d spent some pretty memorable hours with was indeed Katie.
His Katie.
Their Katie.
Nolan dropped to a chair across from the bed and stared at her for a long moment before he shut his eyes. Memories of holding her, touching and kissing her and her doing the same to him came rushing back.
His chin to his chest, he opened his eyes again, his gaze on the boots held tightly in his hand.
Put them on. Get the hell out of here.
His gut clenched. Running away wasn’t going to fix this. Nothing was. How could he have not known—
She mumbled something, and his head jerked up.
He ignored the intense pain the action created and waited. She remained silent, eyes closed. The air rushed past his lips in a low whoosh as he sat there, taking in the beauty that was Katie.
He’d never seen her like this.
At the office she was always poised and polished, from the top of her perfectly styled hair to her feet, usually encased in high heels, even in the middle of a Wyoming winter. And then there were the times they saw each other on the weekends, somewhere in town or at a family gathering. She was always so pulled together, even casually dressed in jeans.
Now, her curls were a mess and even with traces of the white makeup that had covered the lower half of her face still on her cheeks, she looked...
Hell, younger than her age, which was a full ten years junior to his. Another reason, besides the fact she was his employee, that kept him from acting on—
Dammit, from crawling right back in that bed.
He had to get out of here.