“Tequila shots,” she said. “They’re yummy. But they make me a little crazy.”
He looked at her then. “Crazy?”
“Zip lining.” She waved her hand at him. “I had fun.”
“Good.” But his tone implied he wasn’t pleased.
“Are there any plans for tonight? I’d love a nap. Maybe even a soak in a hot tub,” she added, enjoying his reactions far more than she’d expected.
“Rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, that’s it,” he ground out.
“No bachelor party?” She paused. “Or bachelorette party?”
He shook his head as they pulled into the hotel driveway. She waited for the valet to open the door and climbed out, offering a smile. Spencer was immediately at her side, his hand big and warm on her back, steering her inside before she’d had a chance to inspect her surroundings. Not that she cared. Right now the only thing she was aware of was Spencer. And if she didn’t put some space between them soon, she’d be throwing herself at him in no time.
Not yet.
“Key,” he said, offering her the card key.
“Thank you.” She took it. “Guess I’ll go make myself presentable.”
His eyes swept over her again.
She left him standing there and headed for the elevators. But when she climbed onto the elevator, he followed, pulling his suitcase behind him.
* * *
TATUM WAS IN serious danger. If the old man left them alone in the elevator, Spencer could not be held accountable for his actions. He’d never been this close to losing control. But seeing her in her skintight getup, knowing what she had on underneath, had his dick at attention and his brain malfunctioning.
When they arrived on floor seven, he brushed past her, eager to get to his room and take a cold shower. But she followed him down the hall until he reached his room. She went around him, to the door next to his.
“Looks like we’re neighbors,” she said, smiling his way.
He nodded stiffly, trying not to think about the fact that she’d be so close. His hands fumbled with his card key, dropping it.
She disappeared into her room.
“Dammit,” he growled, picking up his key and resting his forehead on the hotel room door. She’d gone off to California and hung out with firemen? She’d tried new things? And come home wearing what she was wearing. He adjusted himself, his erection pressing against his already fitted pants.
He tried his key. It didn’t work. He tried again. Still nothing. He punched the wall. “Dammit,” he bit out.
He stared at her door.
He could go downstairs and have them fix it. Or he could call from her room...
He knocked on her door.
“Who is it?” she asked through the door.
“Spencer,” he answered. He took a deep breath. Stop being an asshole. Stop snapping and growling at everyone.
She opened the door. “What’s up?”
“My key doesn’t work.” She was so beautiful, so soft. His hand itched to touch her, to stroke her cheek and slide through the length of her silky hair. “Can I call the front desk?”
“Sure,” she said, stepping back.
He heard the sound of running water. A passing glance saw bubbles piling up in her bath. “Sorry,” he murmured.