He shifted his weight to one leg, his body surrounding me, his expression unreadable. “Look. You’re…” His eyes drifted over me from my lips to my legs, his pupils dilating, his jaw clenching. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Sexiest damned woman I’ve ever met.”
My chest filled with warmth even though I knew there was a but coming.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “But all we’ve got is one night. And I don’t want to spend a second of that time talking. Can you handle that?”
I wanted to laugh, but that would’ve been self-depreciating and pathetic. My sexual history was a compilation of one nights. One night was all I would ever have.
Hooking a finger in his belt loop, I dragged him to me. “I’ve got this.”
My voice sounded certain. My rational mind wasn’t so sure.
15
Logan
My head pounded, my thoughts growing heavier with every step toward the hotel room. Somewhere between my All we’ve got is one night declaration and the short elevator ride, the mood had shifted. The charged attraction that had pulled us together in the club agitated into an abject hum, straining the inches between us as we walked. She was nervous.
I picked up the pace, flipping the key card between my fingers, every cell in my body gravitating toward her. She hadn’t spoken a word since we entered the lobby, her silence a hulking, awkward presence, which was crazy after the effortless way we’d melded on the dance floor.
Was she on the verge of changing her mind? If I touched her, took her hand in mine, would it push her over the edge? Make her run?
She’d said she wasn’t interested in that douche—What was his name?—Holden. His smarmy smile screamed male escort, which would’ve been an easy solution for Trent. Maybe she’d picked up on his phoniness. Or maybe she wasn’t in the habit of picking up men.
Except she didn’t seem to have any reservations about sucking a man’s cock in an elevator. I clenched my teeth. Evidently, she was good at not getting caught.
So was she worried about being seen in a hotel with a guy who wasn’t her husband? But I’d already checked into the room earlier that evening, and we hadn’t passed a single person in the small, empty hotel.
She had to be stewing about something else. General nervousness about sleeping with a stranger? Reservations about cheating? Or worry that one night wouldn’t be enough?
All of the above scrambled my own head. My palms slicked, and my stomach hollowed with turmoil, curdling with the enormity of what I was going to do. The setup, the cameras, the betrayal that would be delivered to her father-in-law tomorrow.
The betrayal that would be in her eyes when she found out.
My skin tightened, and a burning lump swelled in my throat. I didn’t want to be in this position. Christ, I didn’t want to hurt her.
As I walked beside her, seeing my jacket smother her slender frame, a fierce protectiveness simmered through me. Trent had forced my hand, gave me no choice but to go against my ethics to help her commit adultery, all because I couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone else doing it.
Another feeling tunneled through me, a hunger pulling at my insides. I wanted to lead her to the room under different circumstances, where there were no secrets, where I could explore her without pretense and get to know the woman on the Ducati.
That was the feeling I latched onto, the one my mind and body wouldn’t fight. I ached for her, wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anyone, and for one night, she was mine.
“This is it.” I stopped at the end of the hall, swiped the key card, and held the door open.
She stood on the threshold and stared at the room behind me. I’d left all the lights on, and now the illumination cast a glow over her beautiful face.
Despite the oversized jacket swallowing her shoulders and trepidation radiating from her pores, she looked startlingly mature, so smart and sexually confident in her vintage dress. The fabric followed her curves, classy not skanky, the high neckline tastefully concealing what I already knew were perfectly-shaped tits.
She was so unlike the uncultured, attention-seeking twenty-somethings I fucked and forgot. Her current uncertainty aside, she was an accomplished woman, with the education and experience to match her million-dollar salary. Combine that with the vibrant blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, the creamy smooth skin of her angelic face, her knock-out figure, and she was staggering in her beauty.
And hesitant. I glanced back at the yellowing wallpaper, the dated bedspread, and the worn maroon carpet. Maybe this place was too low-rent for her affluent tastes?
No, she didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who cared about that shit. Not like her mother. But what did she care about?