Making Up (Shacking Up 4)
“Dinner reservations aren’t until eight thirty. We’ll have plenty of time.” He reaches across the center console and squeezes my thigh. It sends a jolt of heat firing through me. “If you’re okay with it, we could go back to my place and you could freshen up there.”
My stomach does a flip at the thought of being in a place where there are no eyes on us. And a bed. And actual privacy.
“Or I can take you back to your place if that would be better.”
“Oh no! Your place is fine.”
“Great. I was hoping you would say yes. I have something for you.” He smiles and moves his hand back to the gearshift. “I could probably use a shower before dinner.”
The image of Griffin naked in the shower flickers through my mind, and I cross my legs. I might only know what he looks like fully dressed, but based on the way he fills out his shirts and the ridges I can see through the cotton, I’m pretty damn sure he looks amazing when he’s shirtless, and even better naked.
As we drive down the Strip, my mouth goes dry and I settle my palms on my knees so I’m not tempted to fidget too much. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so nervous. Okay, maybe I do know. I have a plan for tonight, and it looks like I may be executing it before dinner rather than after. Seducing a man is nerve-wracking business, and I don’t think I’m adequately prepared for this. Not that I’m planning to back out. I just need a strategy.
As I’m considering all the ways in which I can approach this—such as coming out of the bathroom in nothing but my bra and panties after I freshen up—Griffin turns off the Strip into hotel parking. We’re at the Commodore, one of the older, but still very exclusive, hotels on the Strip.
He pulls up to the valet, then hits the unlock button so an attendant can open my door. Griffin retrieves my bag from the back and threads his fingers through mine. We don’t use the main entrance of the hotel, though. Instead, one of the attendants opens a private door into a foyer with a single elevator. He must work for one hell of an awesome company to have access to such nice accomodations.
My mouth feels like the desert as he swipes a card and the doors slide open. This is really happening. I’m going to sleep with this man. Probably soon. I follow him inside, and he hits the PH button.
“You okay? You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.” Griffin brushes my cheek with a gentle finger.
“What? Oh, I’m fine.” It comes out a couple of octaves too high.
He leans against the mirrored wall and regards me with something between concern and amusement. “Are you nervous, Cosy?”
“No!” And I say that way too fast for it to be even remotely true.
“Hey.” He tucks a single finger under my chin, urging me to look at him. “I’ve had an amazing day with you and I don’t want it to end, but I also don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in any way. You run this show, Cosy. I follow your lead.”
He’s so perfect and gentlemanly. And also seriously hot and in control when he’s making me come. Which is something I want him to do again. I exhale a shuddery breath. “Okay.”
The elevator doors slide open. He doesn’t make a move to get off, though. Instead, he reaches out and presses the open door button. “We don’t have to go to my place.”
“I know. I want to.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” I link my fingers with his and step out of the elevator, pulling him along with me. It’s go time.Chapter Six: And the Surprise of the Night Goes To . . .Griffin
I exhale a relieved breath as Cosy steps into the hall. Everything about today has been perfect, up to the moment she stepped into the elevator and went cagey. It was a stark reminder how much younger than me she truly is.
Most of the time I try not to let the age gap be a thing, although occasionally her choice of attire makes the generational difference hard to ignore.
Like her shorts today. I tried to behave myself, but then she drank that champagne and sat in my lap and just . . . how the hell could I resist? Why would I even want to is probably a better question.
I assume since she’s in college, she’s done her fair share of dating, so I’m not sure why she’s suddenly nervous and adorably shy. I don’t want her to feel like there are expectations, so I’ve been taking it pretty slow, waiting until now to invite her back here. I’ve also seen the building she lives in. It could be worse, but it sure could be a hell of a lot better, and my penthouse here is flashier than I like. I don’t want my financial situation to be another glaring difference that makes her question this. Although I suppose a private helicopter tour wasn’t exactly a cheap date.