Home > The Soul Mate (Roommates #4)

The Soul Mate (Roommates #4)
Author: Kendall Ryan

Prologue

Bren

I rolled over, allowing my arm to fall onto the mattress beside me.

Except there wasn’t a mattress beside me.

No, when my arm fell, it landed on nothing but warm, solid muscle.

Crap.

I peered through half-closed eyes to see if the man sleeping beside me had noticed me move. If he had, he must have been doing the same thing as me, pretending to still be asleep, but based on the steady, rhythmic breathing, I had to guess not.

Carefully I sat up a little straighter in the bed, then glanced at my companion again. His full brown hair was mussed from sleep and the rest of his body was mercifully covered by a white down comforter.

Thank God for small blessings.

Because if I had one more look at those abs, those powerful thighs, and his other…impressive qualities, there was no way I’d be able to drag myself from his bed.

Which was exactly what I had to do. I just had to get up and get the hell out of here before what I’d done actually sank in. My car was still at the bar where we’d met, but I could take a cab…when and if I ever found my phone.

Shit.

I tried to mentally retrace my steps, thinking where it might have gone, but as I thought about the night before, my face flooded with heat and pleasure and just the tiniest hint of regret.

Not for what I’d done. I’d needed the chance to get out and unwind far too desperately for that. And no one deserved a pass from the judgment police more than me.

No, I regretted the idea that a night as hot and steamy as last night had been would never happen again. At least, not with this guy—whose last name I hadn’t managed to catch.

My bad.

We’d walked into the apartment, electricity crackling between us like some kind of freakish magnetic pull. I’d barely gotten a look at the high ceilings and the chrome fixtures before he’d walked up behind me and…

I shivered and tried to get a grip.

Okay, if I started thinking about what he’d done, I’d give up the good fight, sink beneath these sheets, and give him the friendliest wake-up he’d ever had.

Which, again, I could totally not do with Mr. One Night of Fun.

With an internal chuckle at his new nickname, I shifted my weight ever so slightly, I started again, trying to push him from my mind and replaying only the images that were most pertinent to my getting home this morning ASAP.

My bra was on the floor beside me. My panties—I winced—were destroyed.

A little ache ran through me as I recalled exactly how they’d wound up that way, but I forced myself to focus again.

Okay. So, no panties. But my dress…my dress was crumpled on the floor in front of the front door. I remembered that much. So I just needed to hunt down my phone and purse.

I slid a little way from the stranger’s heated skin, ignoring the pang of longing for a second—okay, fourth—time. Slipping on my bra, I tiptoed from the room, careful to open the door as quietly as possible and thanking everything that was holy for his silent, modern floors and doors that didn’t make a creak.

When I opened the bedroom door and I saw one of the things that had impressed me about his place the most—the wall of solid glass overlooking the city—I realized I was standing in front of it with my hoo-ha hanging out for God and everyone to see.

Heart thumping in my throat, I snagged my dress from where it lay on the floor and shoved it over my head, letting out a little yowl when the hook caught my hair and tugged. I held my breath as I heard a little thud from the neighboring bedroom. Please, you sexy beast, you, go back to sleep, I willed him mentally.

My heart pounded against my chest as my ears strained, listening for the slightest sign of life. When it stayed quiet, I figured I was in the clear and went on the hunt for my shoes.

Okay, so we walked in the door, I had admired the apartment, I went to get some water and…and I slipped off my shoes. On tiptoe now, I sprinted to the sink and found my strappy sandals, then slid them on. Beside the sink, I spied a little notepad and pen hanging from the fridge and I chewed the inside of my cheek, willing myself not to reach for the pen to leave my name and number.

He probably would never use it.

And even if he did?

I thought again of that spark between us, the rush of animal need I’d felt from the first moment I’d spotted him looking at me from across the bar. He had a look in his eye that made me—probably made every girl—feel like I was the most important, luckiest woman to have been selected by him.

And when he spoke?

His deep, mellow voice felt like chocolate sliding over me, sweet and satisfying.

A guy like him? He wasn’t looking for repeat visitors. In fact, he was nothing but a quick ride to Hurtsville, party of one.

Which was perfect. Because after everything I’d seen of guys? I wasn’t on the lookout for more than a one-nighter anyway. But a girl still had needs. And if I could get them met while at the same time reminding myself about guys and their limitations? That was a win-win and if Mr. One Night of Fun were awake right now, he’d agree.

I backed away from the fridge and bumped into the island, only to find my purse directly behind me.

“Gotcha,” I hissed as I lifted it, then fished through the tiny bag’s contents until I found my phone and ordered a car.

Five minutes until it got here.

I glanced at the bedroom door again, wondering if it was rude not to say good-bye. After everything we’d done together last night? Lord only knew the kindest thing would be to let him sleep. Surely by the time noon came, I’d have forgotten all about him anyway.

Besides, it wasn’t like I’d ever see him again. Nope. It was the kind of night that should be savored and then placed firmly in the past.

Chapter One

Mason

“What the actual fuck, Mason?”

I groaned as Trent’s voice echoed through my foyer, then lay back on the couch and tried to pretend like if I didn’t look at him, he wouldn’t be able to see me. Which, of course, was bullshit. But I was fresh out of ideas.

“What day is it, motherfucker?” Trent’s voice was louder now, closer, and despite my better judgment I cracked an eyelid open to find him standing over me, his normally dark expression even darker than usual.

“Leave me alone,” I croaked.

“Nope.” He shoved my feet off the end of the sofa to take a seat on the buttery white leather. “It’s Sunday. And you want to know what happened? I was just fucking humiliated out there.”

“Shit. Sorry about that.” I turned, pulling my feet up onto the ottoman, then yanked my blanket a little closer to my chin.

“You are not,” Trent muttered. “You know Sunday is rugby in the park. How the hell are we supposed to win a game without our star player? Today was Medical versus Surgical, you piece of shit. You think the surgeons are going to let us live this down? Ever?”

I winced, knowing he was right. Fucking surgeons, cocky pricks. Fact was, they shouldn’t even have been playing rugby considering how precious they were about their delicate hands, but that didn’t seem to stop them.

“Look,” I said, feeling slightly bad for the first time since he’d basically broken into my place, “I’m kind of going through something right now. It’s an emergency and—”

“Not being able to find the contact info for your one-night stand does not constitute an emergency, no matter how many times you try to frame it that way, Mason.”

“One man’s burden is another man’s gift. Tomato, tomahto. No crying over spilled milk.” I ran out of bad, inapplicable sayings and straightened up on the couch. Trent snagged the remote from my hand and muted the episode of Treehouse Masters I’d been watching.

“Still no luck, huh?” Trent asked, a little less harshly this time—though still not by much.

“Nope,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I checked every dating site I could think of. She wasn’t on any of them. I even looked on Tinder. Nothing. In fact, no one with the name Bren at all.”

“Hey, here’s an idea.” His lips twisted into something resembling an encouraging smile. “Just go on a date with someone from Tinder and forget about it. It’s been a week, dude. Let it go.” Trent crossed his arms over his chest, and I reached for the bowl of lukewarm soup in front of me.

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