The second message was another picture. Emmy Lou, lying on the bed, holding her phone over her, with Watson curled and sleeping in her hair. Silly cat.
Smart cat. He saved the pictures to his phone and ran a hand over the back of his head. Have fun.
He blew out the candles, put the room service cart in the hall, and changed into his workout gear. There was a gym around the corner—one of the reasons he stayed here when he was in town. He headed downstairs, earbuds in, and spent the next two hours in the gym. Every time he thought about CiCi King’s hateful words, he had to run for another twenty minutes to get the roar in his head to ease.
By the time he was back in his room, standing under the steaming hot water, it was almost one in the morning. He was beat—but at least there was a chance he’d get some sleep now.
He climbed out, running a towel over his hair, when his phone vibrated.
Emmy Lou. Open the door.
He tugged on some clean boxers and sprinted to the door.
“Hi,” she whispered, the ever-present navy hoodie hanging to her knees.
He pulled her inside, closed the door, and pressed her against it. “Hi.” Kissing her was top priority. Breathing her in. Feeling her melt into him—her hands sliding along his bare back.
“You’re all wet,” she said against his mouth.
“Went to the gym.” He kissed her again. “Just got out of the shower.”
“I like it when you’re sweaty.” She wriggled closer, tugging the hoodie up and over her head.
“We can fix that.” He tossed her hoodie aside. “You forgot your bra.” He cradled her bare breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth. Nothing tasted like Emmy.
“No.” She was panting. “I didn’t.” She stumbled with him toward the bed, then stopped. “Wait.” Emmy gasped as he moved to the other nipple, his thumb tracing the hardened tip. “The hoodie.” She gasped, her fingers gripping his hair. “Condoms…”
He smiled, grabbed the hoodie, lifted her into his arms, and leaned forward, depositing her on the bed. Finally, he could touch her. He did—running his hands along her bare sides, teasing her with the lightest of touches. She shuddered beneath him, the tips of her breasts trembling against his chest. The bite of her nails on his back had him arching into her.
One thing he was learning about Emmy Lou. She didn’t apologize for one damn thing in bed. She gave in, got carried away, and enjoyed every sensation to the fullest. It was the hottest damn thing he’d ever seen. Watching her, hearing her, was better than any dream he could imagine.
When they were naked, he took his time enjoying the view. From the way her hair spilled over her shoulders to the dusky pink of her nipples, from the flare of her hips to the smile on her lips, there was so much to see and explore.
“Brock?” she whispered again, reaching for him. “Condom. Please.” Her gaze zeroed in on his rock-hard arousal and he stopped breathing. “Or…” She nibbled her lower lip, the slide of her fingers too much.
“Condom.” He shook the hoodie until several condoms fell onto the coverlet. “How energetic are you feeling?” he asked, counting eight so far.
“Very.” It was a whisper.
He loved the hitch in her breath when he rolled on the condom. Loved how her gaze locked with his as he lay her back on the bed. Lips parted, breathing hard, eyes glazed. “You are so beautiful.” He traced her jaw with the tips of his fingers.
“I missed you,” she managed, her head falling back as he slid deep.
He didn’t close his eyes. He didn’t want to miss anything. The way she arched up, wanting more of him, thrusting to meet him. Her fingers tangling in the sheets. Her knees pressing against his hips. The more erratic her rhythm grew, the more broken and frantic her noises became. She was gripping his back, holding on, pressing her lips against his throat to muffle the broken moan of her release. He held her there, one arm anchoring her against his chest as he moved into her. It didn’t take long for him to climax. It tore through him in waves, each rising higher until he was free-falling back onto the bed beside her, breathing hard—and damn happy.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Were those strawberries in the hall for me?”
“Yes.” His fingers traced the curve of her hip.
“And the champagne?”
“Yes.” He smiled.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier.” She sighed, burrowing closer.
“You’re here now.” That was what mattered. His fingers kept moving, drawing a lazy pattern along her side. Having her here made everything better.
Something tipped her off because sh