I’ve officially broken every rule in my book, shattered every personal law.
“Why are you leaving right now?” she asks. “Right when you think I’m sleeping…”
“You were sleeping.” I trailed her lip. “I told you to stay in the bed.”
“I was listening to you talk until you stopped.” She smiles, cementing her title as the sexiest woman I have ever met. “I don’t I’ve ever talked so much in between sex this much.”
“Me either…”
“You could finish telling me about your tattoos or your travels,” she said. “Or I could tell you a secret about what I do on the side when I’m not working at Vogue.”
“I already know about that.”
“Huh?” She raised her eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I already know what you do when you’re not working,” I said, quickly thinking of a way to recover from that near-reveal. “You swipe left on every guy you see on Tinder.”
She laughed. “No, not that. If you come back in, I can—”
I cut her off with a kiss, silencing her sentence before she can talk me into staying. Before she can make me lose what’s left of my dwindling restraint. I want this night to last longer, just as much as she does, but I can’t.
“Have a good night, Meredith,” I say, slowly pulling away from her. “Happy New Year.”
“You’re really not going to come back in and help me christen a few more services in this four-thousand-dollar a night room?” she asks, her cheeks red. “I didn’t get a chance to do as much on you…”
“The penthouse suite is forty thousand dollars a night.” I step back, beyond tempted. “And no, I won’t come back at all.”
I walk away from her before she can ask another question, before I can go against my better judgment and end this night buried deep in her pussy. Pressing the elevator button, I stare at her until the doors glide open, taking her in for what should be the last time.
As the car goes down, I try to convince myself that what I’ve done is okay. That months from now, when she sees me again, she won’t suspect anything until I stuff her into the back of a van and make her disappear for a while.
When I make it to the lobby, I pull out my personal cell phone and notice a new text message from the only person who has this number. My brother.
Trevor: I had one of the runners deliver your dry cleaning to your SoHo condo. You know, the place where you were supposed to be to discuss business tonight. As for me, I’m parked in front of the closest Sweet Seasons Café. Come see me whenever you start thinking with your brain instead of your cock.
I reach into my coat, feeling around for my car keys, but they’re not there.
Shit.
Walking over to the front desk, I show my ID and request a duplicate room key for the penthouse suite. I take the elevator up to the room once more, and the moment I step inside, I see Meredith fast asleep on the couch.
Completely naked, she’s sprawled across the cushions, hanging off the edge. Her face is in danger of hitting the glass coffee table is she moves another inch.
My keys are on the minibar, right within reach.
Grab the keys and fucking leave … If she hurts herself, so be it.
Without thinking, I walk over to her and slip my hands under her thighs—lifting her up and carrying her into the bedroom. I grab a silk robe from the closet and slowly help her into it before tucking her under the covers.
As I turn to walk away, she grabs my arm and her eyes flutter open.
“Yes, Meredith?”
“I really like you already…”
I don’t respond to that. I gently push her hand away, and wait a few seconds before she falls asleep again.
Grabbing my keys, I get the hell out of the hotel and suck in as much fresh air as I can when I get to the street. I make my way down the block to the closest Sweet Seasons Café until I reach my brother’s car. I look over my shoulder before opening the passenger’s side door and shutting myself inside.
“For the record,” Trevor says, the moment I lean back in the seat, “I think you’re getting sloppy.”
“In that case, I think you’ve gained twenty pounds in two weeks.”
“It’s part my next assignment.” He laughs. “Middle aged man in less-than perfect shape. I need to gain weight to play the part. Otherwise, there’s no way any of the suburban moms will believe I’m a widowed father. I look too good as the regular me, you know?”
I want to laugh, but he’s pissed me off already.
“I’m not getting sloppy,” I say. “I’m being thorough.”
“By going on a goddamn date with the girl?” He scoffs. “Is fucking her a part of this particular job? I seem to have missed that part in my notes.”