My palms are sweaty, my mouth is dry and my knees shake. You’d think I’m a schoolgirl going on her first date.
I hardly remember, although I know I was that, once, and I went on a first date, and a second, and many more. But it’s as if that terrifying night erased everything that came before it—my adolescence, my childhood.
But it hasn’t. It only obscured them, darkened my memories. It hasn’t killed them.
Somehow, the thought of seeing him again gives me hope I will find the person I used to be under the layers of fear. No clue how he can do that when I hardly know him—when every time I’m determined not to return and yet here I am.
The doors of the hotel slide open and I step inside.
A familiar setting. The potted plants beside the dark reception desk, the round hanging lamps over the plush armchairs.
The tall, muscular man lounging by the desk, arms in his pockets, one biker boot propped against the wall.
He’s not looking my way, a distant look on his face, and I take a moment to study him—his long legs, his wide shoulders straining against his leather jacket, the strong line of his jaw, those soft lips. That tousled dark hair.
It’s as if he’s fresh air and I can breathe again.
Jeez, Pax. Just move already. Talk to him.
Ugh.
Before I take one step, though, he turns, his gaze finding me unerringly. I don’t know what I expected him to do—scowl, or paste on a fake smile as he’d do for any client.
I don’t expect that bright smile that lights up the grays in his eyes, turning them silver, or for him to push off the wall and stride toward me.
“Pax.” He’s acting like he’s happy to see me. Like he missed me.
Which is ridiculous.
“Hi. This was a mistake.” I snap my mouth shut, open it again. “I wasn’t going to call.”
His smile wavers, in and out of focus. It sharpens again. “But you did.”
True. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here. Standing like this. Awkwardly. Uncertainly. His hands still in his jeans pockets and that bright smile on his face that makes my heart hurt.
“Shall we?” He nods at the elevators, and something shifts in his gaze, a glint of lust that sends a hot pang of need through me.
Because I do need, I still desire, in spite of my fear. And it’s hard not to lust after a man like Riot. He’s so damn hot.
So hot it scares me. I want him. And I’ll freak out the moment I touch his bare skin or bend close to kiss him. Not to mention the rest of the things one does in a hotel room, in a bed, with a handsome guy.
He leans against the reception desk like he did last time, at ease, muscular forearms resting on the polished granite. His dark hair falls in his eyes. He must have used a gel or something before, because now it looks soft and it flops on his forehead in silky tassels. He’s shaved, I realize, and he looks younger like this.
Boyish. Cute.
Sexy.
I hide a shiver as I receive my key. Thankfully, the obnoxious girl who flirted with Riot isn’t on shift. Not that the way the older lady manning the desk today is undressing him with her eyes is any better.
Jealous, Pax?
Of course not.
I grab the key and head for the elevator, keeping my gaze ahead, not glancing to see if Riot is following. I step into the carriage and turn just as he enters. Like every time, heat pours off him, seeping into me. I want to press up against him, drink it in, feel the hard contours of his body under my hands, my lips, feel him molding on my curves.
When he turns to press the button for the third floor, I let out a shaky breath. Then he closes the small distance between us and looks down at me.
Holy shit. So close.