9. Amy
Amy
Silky fabric slithers over my skin as I slip into a flowy sundress, the blue ombre mimicking ocean waves. Silver earrings dangle from my lobes, tickling my neck.
Hands on my hips, I survey myself in the mirror. Not too shabby. I look beach-ready, and it goes fine with the flip-flops I'll be wearing.
And if I happen to run into a certain someone...
Heat floods my cheeks as an image of Liam rises in my mind, unbidden. I'm trying to be a good girl, and yet all the images in my head are of the flex of his forearms as he carried my luggage. That panty-dropping smile. The glint in his eye when he suggested drinks.
Drinks. Ha. There's no way he wasn't talking about something more, right?
Maybe.
Fuck. Why am I getting so confused over the signals he's putting out? Maybe it's because he has shown zero real signs of wanting me. A little flirting before he left, sure. But is that him shooting his shot just to try, or does he really, actually, for real want me?
Shit. Am I seriously upset that a man acted like a perfect gentleman? Isn't that what we want out of them?
Jesus. I'm going insane. I'm second-guessing my ability to read men, and that sucks. Stupid Paul Dicklestick.
Guilt twists in my gut as I suddenly think about Trick, the other gentlemanly man I met recently. Granted, it's all online, and it's a one-sided internet crush, but—what about Trick?
I developed an internet crush on him and twenty-four hours later I'm ready to bump and grind all over another man's lap?
Am I in my slut phase?
Fuck. I'm a mess.
Sighing, I turn away from the mirror. "Get it together, Amy. You're a big girl. You don't need a man to be happy."
The words ring hollow even in my own ears. I may not need a man, but damn if I don't want one. Or two.
Lucky yips, drawing my attention. She's sniffing every inch of the room, her little tail going wild. At least someone's enjoying themselves.
"Alright, girl. Let's go explore." I grab her leash and my key card, taking one last glance in the mirror.
Yep. Definitely beach-ready. And if I run into a certain tall, handsome driver…
Fuck. I really need to get control over my own thoughts.
Rolling my eyes at my reflection, I snatch my oversized sunglasses off the dresser. Slipping them on, I yank open the door—
And slam right into a wall of muscle.
"Oof!" The air rushes out of my lungs as I stumble back, arms flailing. Strong fingers wrap around my wrist, another arm snaking around my waist to steady me.
Fire explodes from every point of contact, and all of them verge straight to that sweet little place between my legs that leaves me a blubbery mess around desirable men.
Holy shit.
Did I summon him?
"Whoa there." The deep, amused rumble of Liam's voice sends all kinds of delicious shivers right through me. "You alright?"
I blink up at him from behind my shades, momentarily dazed by his proximity. I'm surrounded by the smell of his cologne, so fresh and clean. I want all my clothes to smell like him. Surround myself in him.
This close, I can see the faint stubble along his perfect jaw, the laugh lines crinkling the corners of his striking eyes, the way… I apparently turn into a freaking teenager throwing description at every miniscule part of his face. What am I about to salivate over next? His nose hair?
I am not this girl. I need to get back to the real me.
"I, uh." Brilliant, Amy. Very articulate. I clear my throat and straighten up, acutely aware of his hands still on me. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Sorry about that."
"No worries." His lips quirk, but he doesn't let go. Instead, his fingers move in the gentlest little caress that has my brain cells imploding. "I was coming to see if you wanted to grab that drink early. Apparently, it's happy hour."
Oh, God. That drink. The invitation that's been replaying in my head on a loop since he first suggested it. And now here he is, looking like he stepped right out of a goddamn cologne ad, asking me again.
My mouth goes dry. I should say no. I'm here for work, not to hook up with the first gorgeous man I meet. Even if he has an ass that won't quit and hands that could do sinful things to my—
Nope. No. Bad Amy.
But... would it really be so bad? It's a drink. One little drink never hurt anyone. And if that drink happens to lead somewhere else, well, sometimes things happen.
Serendipity and all that.
I realize I'm staring. Liam's brow furrows, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "If you're not up for it, no pressure. I just thought—"
"No!" The word bursts out of me, too loud and too eager. Wincing, I try again. "I mean, yes. A drink sounds great, actually, but no. I'm walking the dog."
I lift my hand, the one holding her leash.
Lucky, the darling girl, is sprawled over his shoes, wiggling her back and showing her belly as she pleads for his attention.
The bitch is competing with me. What the hell.
The grin that splits his face is nothing short of devastating. "I enjoy walking dogs, too."
I was fucking right.
I. Was. Fucking. Right.
He was flirting with me. No, he is flirting with me.
The man wants me.
Fuck the vibrator. I know exactly what I want on my clit tonight, and it isn't my favorite little rose-shaped battery-operated boyfriend.
Reckless in a way that shouldn't happen until I've had a few shots of whiskey and a lot of eye-fucking foreplay, I rest a hand against his shoulder.
His eyes darken, sending a thrill straight through me. I trail my hand down his muscular arm, skin prickling under my fingertips.
He's hot. Hard. Warm.
The way he watches me makes me want to yank him into my room and slam the door. Lucky can walk herself, right?
No. Of course not.
I'm a responsible human. I would never.
Reaching the hand splayed against my lower back, I tap it with my index finger. "As much as I'm enjoying this, we can't start our walk until you let me go." I purr the words, quirking my lips in a coy grin.
The way his fingers flex against my back—
Fuck. Yes.
He's definitely on board.
"Maybe I don't want to let you go."
God damn . The way he says it, low and rough, has my thighs clenching. I should go inside and change my fucking panties.
I lean in closer, tilting my head back to meet his smoldering gaze from behind my sunglasses. "Then I guess we're at an impasse."
"Guess so." But he makes no move to release me. If anything, his arm tightens, pulling me flush against him.
Oh, yeah.
Damn.
The way his fingers slip down a little, pushing my hips further than the rest of me. The way his arousal is hard behind that soft, silken fabric that does nothing to hide the size of him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
This is 100%, without a doubt, 10/10 my best idea this year.
I suck in a sharp breath as I cuddle my hips a little closer against his. The way his breath draws in is everything .
"Sweetheart." The way the word rolls off his tongue sends shivers down my spine. His other hand comes up to cup my cheek, before sliding around to tangle into my hair.
Is he…?
Jesus Christ. This man's a fucking jackpot. There's nothing sexier than a man who dominates.
My lips part on a soft exhale as I stare at his lips. Yep. I want those. On me. Right now.
Preferably everywhere.
"Are you going to kiss me, or what?"
The words are barely out of my mouth before he swoops down, forcing my head up with the hand fisted in my hair.
Yes, yes, yes.
Fireworks.
Explosions.
Hell, it could be bombs . Everywhere.
The hotel could be on fucking fire, and I wouldn't want this to stop.
It's hot and hungry, and he's a gentleman gone wild. His lips claim mine, over and over, in searing kisses that have me melting into him. I fist my hands in his shirt, anchoring myself against him in a maelstrom of desire that slams all intellect straight into the closet and locks it away.
He tastes like darkness and desire beneath that fresh scent.
That pretty boy persona?
That cologne?
That gentlemanly vibe?
It's all a fucking lie. He's a pirate as he plunders every last thought out of my head. I can't get enough. A needy moan escapes me as his tongue sweeps against mine. He swallows the sound, his hand sliding into my hair to angle my head, deepening the kiss.
I'm lost.
I'm drowning.
I'm so fucking fucked .
His other hand slides from my back to my hips, his fingers digging in to shove me against him in an aggressive movement that has the hard length of him rubbing against me in ways that aren't even close to enough.
I'm going to die if he doesn't fuck me.
Right here.
In the hallway.
Where anyone can see us.
Shit.
Wait. Brain. I need my brain.
"Wait—"
But he's kissing me again and I'm clinging like a helpless heroine in some fucking romance novel, because damn .
Don't stop.
Every stroke of his tongue, every nip of his teeth, sends sparks of pleasure ricocheting through me. I arch into him, desperate for more.
A distant part of me registers Lucky's leash slipping from my fingers. She barks, jolting me back to reality.
Hallway.
Public.
Cameras.
Anyone can walk by.
Fuck.
Breathing hard, I wrench my mouth away. "Wait. We can't—not here."
Liam rests his forehead against mine, equally winded. "Fuck. You're right. I'm sorry—"
"I'm not." I cut him off before he can finish that thought. At some point, he'd yanked my sunglasses off. They're on the floor somewhere, I don't even fucking know. I don't know how or when it happened. I was too busy getting mouth-fucked into ecstasy, and my thighs are clenched hard to keep my vagina from jumping him without my permission.
Meeting his gaze head-on, I let him see the desire burning in my eyes. "I wanted that. I want you. But I need to walk my dog, and I will not fuck you in the middle of the hallway."
He grins. "How about the end of it, then?"
It takes me a second to realize he's joking, and the groan that comes out of me is real, even as the desire eases.
A little bit.
Just a smidgen.
"No, not there, either."
"Damn."
He slides his hand down my side before settling against my other hip. And maybe he pushes against me.
Once.
And then me against him.
Once.
God, we're really going to end up fucking in my doorway.
He groans before letting go of my hips, one finger at a time. Then a slow step backward, missing Lucky as she bounces around between our feet.
His breathing is heavy, and there's nothing on this planet that I want to do more than drag him into my room and fuck him fifty ways from today—
But I need to walk my dog. Before she pisses everywhere.
Even so, my eyes trail from his face, down to his chest, which heaves as he struggles to calm his breathing, to the hands fisted at his sides, to… Oh.
Oh, my.
Feeling it against me was one thing, but seeing it?
Yeah. Paul Winklestick has nothing on this man.
I'm pretty sure he'd rip me apart without some serious prep, and maybe lube. Which I didn't pack, because I wasn't quite expecting to slut out to this degree.
I watch, unabashed, as he adjusts himself to be a little more appropriate for public eyes. I'm pretty sure my eyes glued to his pants turn him on.
A lot.
But he's a gentleman again as he bends over and picks up the end of Lucky's leash. "Shall we go?"