Not like other girls.
Too damn attracted to the man.
Scared.
"Not in the mood to talk about it." She snatched the remote and aimed it at the television. "We need more girlfriend time," she said, scrolling to Girls Trip. "Okay?"
To Taylor's relief, Mina flopped back against her pillow. "Hell to the yes. And we need another pitcher. Time to really get this party started, right?"
"Absolutely," Taylor said, reaching for the phone. But it was a lie. Because right then, the only way she wanted to party was with Landon. And that simply wasn't going to happen.
* * *
Landon was up before dawn hanging the newly painted cabinet doors in his kitchen. A silver-gray that caught and reflected the light from a wall of windows overlooking his tiny East Austin backyard, making the small kitchen seem bigger. The work was harder than it looked, requiring him to balance the heavy solid wood doors as he lined up and reattached the hinges.
But he was grateful for both the physical labor and the concentration needed. He'd barely slept an hour, and dammit, he needed to burn off some excess energy. Plus, he needed something other than fantasies of Taylor filling his head.
Not that he'd spent the whole night fantasizing. He'd got in some work, too. Before he'd tried to catch some sleep, he'd practically burned up the phone, calling in at least a half-dozen favors.
He'd learned that Reggie was as clean as a whistle. Not that his lack of a record exonerated him, but if the guy had psychopathic tendencies, experience had taught Landon that there'd probably be something there, even if it was a sealed juvie record. But there was nothing.
He was still waiting to hear about Beau. He'd tracked down a friend of a friend who had connections in Arkansas. So far, he hadn't heard back, and that was making him antsy.
Taylor had told him about the guy, which was good, but Landon knew damn well she was keeping something back. He assumed they'd had a relationship and that Beau had abused her, and that she either didn't want to admit that she'd been a victim, or he'd scared her so badly that she was truly afraid that talking about what happened would make it worse.
He'd find out, though. And then he'd take great pleasure in making the motherfucker's life a living hell.
By six, every cabinet door had been rehung, and a pleasant ache permeated his arms. By seven, he was showered and changed.
And by eight, he was walking through the front door of The Winston Hotel.
He used the key he'd taken from Taylor last night to access her floor, then reached her room right as the room service guy arrived with a tray topped with a pot of coffee and a bowl of fruit.
"I can take that for you," Landon said, then used his key to open the door. He pushed it open a few inches with his hip, then took the tray, calling, "Taylor? Mina?" before stepping inside.
He got no answer, but heard water running, so he continued inside, calling out, "Hey, I'm here," as he walked past the closed bathroom door to set the tray on the desktop.
Behind him, the bathroom door opened, and he turned, expecting to find Taylor stepping out to say hi.
Instead he saw Taylor. All of Taylor. She was looking down as she rubbed a towel over her damp hair, and every luscious inch of her was entirely naked.
Landon's brain knew that he should make a sound. A noise. Anything to let h
er know that he was there. But the rest of him wasn't cooperating. His mouth had gone dry. His cock was rock hard. His fingers twitched with an almost palpable need to touch those luscious curves. And his eyes...
Oh, dear Lord, his eyes were looking at heaven. That rich, tanned skin that would feel so smooth beneath his fingers. Those sleek, muscled thighs that could wrap so tight around him as he fucked her senseless. Her perfect round breasts, her nipples tight and teasing, as if begging him to suck hard before falling to his knees, closing his mouth over that glorious, waxed pussy, and feasting on the taste of her.
He made a rough, raw noise in his throat, and her head snapped up, her eyes wide as he stupidly thrust out his hand, as if blocking her from sight. In one swift motion, she yanked the towel down, turned on her heel, and barreled into the bathroom.
"I'm sorry!" he called. "Shit, Taylor, I thought you heard me come in."
"What the hell! Oh, my God, what the hell?"
"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-- Shit."
A moment later the door opened again and she slipped out, once again wearing that fluffy hotel bathrobe. Her face was bright red, and as he imagined the blush creeping down, he was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to strip off that damn robe, then follow the line of red down her bare skin with his tongue.
Down, boy.