Chapter Two
CASH
ILUNGE FORWARD.
I don’t have time to blink.
One hand lands on Little Miss I Swear I’m Innocent’s hip, keeping her from toppling over Faye and into the hallway.
The other reaches instinctively for the older woman and steadies her from pitching forward.
It’s all good until one of their dogs lunges at me.
At me!
Dogs adore me, but this blasted little white-haired Chihuahua isn’t my friend.
He latches onto my leg. I’m only assuming it’s a he, because he begins a one-dog re-enactment of Dirty Dancing.
“Thumbelina no!” Wilma shouts. “Thumbelina bad.”
“Thumbelina is very bad.” I swing my leg, but the damn dog treats it like a carnival ride.
“See? Your paranoia was misplaced.” Little Miss Can’t Keep Her Hands Off Me presses her hand against my side, trying to get away from our forced proximity. “The only one who wants to climb and mount you is the chihuahua.”
“Get off of me!” I shake harder, and his growl echoes a second growl.
Dammit, there are two of them.
“Dart, stay,” Wilma commands in a strict voice I wouldn’t dare disobey.
The black-haired dog doesn’t care. He launches at us and hits Faye in the back of the legs.
Her teacup tumbles, and the hot amber liquid jets between the three of us.
It hits the older woman’s festive dress and splashes over Little Miss You’re Leaving My Room’s baggy T-shirt.
God, that T-shirt.
It’s way too big for her, but somehow it hugged me in all the wrong—and right—places. The brush of her chest. The tilt of her hips. Every flick, sway, subtle movement, and not-so-subtle movement hit me.
The memory dies when the tea sprays across my bare chest, fucking hot and sticky.
“Shit.”
The sting makes me jerk, and I end up yanking the two women against me.
Instant chaos.
The blasted dog bites at me. He misses and sinks his teeth into my towel. Faye frantically swipes at her dress. The not-so-innocent guest tugs the T-shirt away from her skin.
Then they’re both swatting the steaming liquid off my chest as my hands are busy clamped around them, stopping all of us from crashing to the floor.
That’s when I feel the towel around my waist give way
One second it’s there, the next it’s gone, ripped clean off by the leg-humper.
I freeze.
Heat spikes.
Yip yip yip’s echo down the hall as their tiny paws pitter-patter and fade into nothing.
And just like that, I’m left standing exposed.
I close my eyes and tilt my head to the ceiling, cursing this entire morning.
I don’t have to look at the women to know they know the towel has dropped.
For a long, horrible beat, we freeze, unmoving.
Without a word.
Without a breath.
“Well, this will forever be memorable.” Wilma’s dry, but teasing tone comes from the hallway.
I force open my eyes.
“Will it ever.” Faye smiles seductively at me.
It’s not the first time an older woman doesn’t hide her appreciation for my body, but it sure is the first time I’m fully exposed. An apron usually covers my lower bits.
I clear my throat. “Are you ladies alright?” At least I sound like I’m not dying inside.
“Yes,” Little Miss Perfect says quickly.
“Uh-huh.” Faye presses her lips together, and I know she’s trying her hardest to keep her gaze above my waist.
We all step back. I snatch the nearest pillow and shove the frilly, lace quilted square over my dick.
Appreciative sounds echo as my ass makes an appearance.
Grand.
“We have a problem.” Little Miss Sneak In And Deny keeps her shirt lifted slightly from her skin.
“I can think of a few problems at this point.” Lace threads prickle and bristle against my dick, making it hard to focus.
Her hands land on her curvy hips, and her body snaps into defence mode.
Now that she’s not against me, I notice she’s not even dressed to seduce. Just a pair of jeans, a plain T-shirt, and her hair is pulled into a sloppy mess atop her head.
I like it.
But I’ve learned it’s what’s underneath the outfit that is the real question.
That’s where they do the work—showing up wearing a long trench coat to fling it off with nothing more than a sexy bra and panty set. Then they’re ready to tumble in my sheets, or in the shower, or against the wall.
That’s not my thing.
Not because I don’t enjoy sex. I do. But someone just slipping into my bedroom?
That’s not a choice.
That’s not mutual.
That’s not respect.
And I don’t disrespect.
“What kind of problem, child?” Faye tilts her head, and her massive hat bobs hearts out in every direction.
I’m surprised it’s still perched on her head after our little collision.
“This room”—there’s an edge to her voice that’s almost convincing—“two people are in it. One of which doesn’t belong here.” Her fiery hazel eyes glare at me, all heat and conviction.
Ouch.
There’s not even a crack in her stare.
Oh, she’s good at playing the victim.
She’s really good.
“Heavens, are you sure?” Wilma’s silver eyebrows knit together under her steel-grey hair.
“Yes. I’m sure.” Her arm snaps back to point at me. “A naked man is standing in my room.”
“My room,” I say just to watch her shoulders tense the way they do.
There’s a pull to her I can’t place. It’s different from the usual shed-clothes-and-fuck routine women play. But she isn’t following the script. She’s denying her true intentions and playing some accidental double-booked room game.
Or I’m not following the script.
I want to hate this game, but I just can’t seem to.
“Oh my.” Wilma hands her teacup and saucer to Little Miss I’m Not Here For That.
She was here for it.
The older woman slides a clipboard from under her arm. “Naked man in your room. Let me see.”
She lifts the reading glasses dangling from the string around her neck and rests them on her nose.
Meanwhile, Faye blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then her gaze drops, briefly and unapologetically, to my bare torso before diving down further.
I’m suddenly very aware that the pillow might not hide as much as I want.
Why didn’t I just put on some damn pants?
“The room certainly isn’t double-booked.” Wilma’s voice is tight and sounds confused.
“Let me see.” Faye averts her eyes, lifting a decorative loupe hanging from her necklace to scan her sister’s clipboard.
Little Miss Poised shoots me a glance that looks an awful lot like I told you so.
Sweetheart, you’re in for a rude awakening.
“I don’t understand what’s happened here.” Faye puckers her lips in confusion.
If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think this little run-in was planned. But not these two sweet old ladies.
They would never. Except their expressions look anything but innocent.
In about three seconds, my brain runs a full replay of the last ten minutes.
Her confusion
Her irritation.
The complete lack of flirtation.
It lands hard on one undeniable conclusion.
Aw, shit.
She wasn’t here for me.
She thought this was her room.
They sent Little Miss—aw, shit. I can’t nickname her if she’s actually innocent.
Shit.
“I know what’s happened,” Shay says, as if she senses my epiphany. “This man is in the wrong room.”
Wrong.
The hostesses look at each other.
Then they look at the clipboard.
Then they look at each other again.
Fays leans in toward my uninvited guest. “Oh, child, this is his room.”
“But you—you said—second door,” her words stutter out. “Second door!” Those last two come out deep, clear, and angry as all hell.
I think we’ve been played here. I want to tell Miss Little—no—no more names.
Shay.
That’s what the voice on the phone called her.
I want to tell Shay what is so clearly evident, but at the same time, do I?
“Second door from the office.” Wilma tucks the clipboard under her arm and takes the floral teacup and saucer. “That’s next door. Your room is actually right next door.”
Shay’s head shakes back and forth, and that topknot bun flips and flops. “You said the second door. You were both very specific. Not the office. The next door. The second door.”
“Oh, sweetie, it must’ve been our eyesight.” Faye takes her sister’s tea and sips it.
“Can’t see without our glasses.” Wilma lifts hers off her nose, folds her arms, and lets them settle against her shirt.
There’s silence.
A long, painful silence. I’m tempted to intervene with a no hard feelings comment, and mistakes happen.
But I don’t.
I wait. Wait for her next move.
Why?
I have no idea. I was damn well ready to get her out the second I heard her. But now, now that I realize this was an accident, I’m intrigued to see how it plays out.
The hostess’s eyes flicker from her to me and back again during this long silence.
I’m almost enjoying it.
A lot.
Finally, Shay turns slowly to face me.
Her expression is pure vindication.
“See?” There’s not an ounce of regret in her tone. “I didn’t just wander in here on purpose.”
I clutch the pillow, trying to hold back a grin. “I believe you.” My tone suggests otherwise.
She catches it.
Her eyebrows lift, and an irritated smirk tugs the corner of her lips. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“I agree.”
Her whole body turns now, hands on her hips. “Your tone says otherwise.”
“My tone is perfect.”
“Perfectly skeptical.”
I can’t help but grin a little, though I try to hide it. It’s true. It is. I believe her, but this is fun.
Why is this fun?
“Was it?” I ask. “Perfectly skeptical?”
She steps a fraction closer, tilting her head like she’s daring me. “You’re never going to admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That you were wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“You were completely off base.”
“Off base?” I lean my hip against the desk and pretend to consider it.
She glares. “Are you just going to repeat everything I say or offer an apology?”
“An apology for—”
“Assuming things about me. About my intentions. Things I would never do.”
“Never?” I try to look stern, but my lips twitch in amusement.
She crosses her arms. “You make it sound like you’re the only one with restraint.”
“Restraint is my specialty.”
She scoffs. “It certainly seemed like your specialty when you couldn’t let go of my hip.”
“Her hip?” Faye’s question goes unanswered.