Bad idea.
Still, arguing with Lenora is like trying to convince a used car salesperson you aren’t ready to buy a vehicle. She won’t be swayed.
Fine. I’ll meet Kellin for breakfast, talk business, and then return to the Cypress. If he wants to tour other hotels, he can go alone.
“All right.” I toss up my hands in surrender. “You win. I’m hopping in the shower.”
A victorious grin spreads across her delicate face. “Better make it quick. The clock’s ticking, and those bags under your eyes won’t hide themselves.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m wearing my most comfortable heels and a sleeveless navy dress with a floral lace overlay from the waist up that hits just above the knee. Lenora styled my hair insoft, beachy waves—perfect for the California coast—and after a light application of makeup, not an eye bag in sight.
Ready with five minutes to spare.
I call one more “thank you” to Lenora as she slips into the hall before I dial Kellin.
Don’t be so nervous. It’s just breakfast with an investor. That’s all.
Except I happen to know that this particular investor kisses like a sex god.
He answers on the first ring.
I will myself to focus on anything other than lips or sex or Kellin tumbling around naked on my duvet. “Um, hi. Good morning. I, ah, just wanted to let you know there’s a slight change of plans. I can still meet you for breakfast, but after that, I’m afraid?—”
“Meet me at my room.”
Click.
I stare at the screen. Irritation prickles my spine and chases away the lingering fatigue.
Did he seriously just hang up on me? After issuing a command?
Not even a “good morning” or “please.” The nerve.
Why does he believe I’ll just nod my head and obey?
Replaying the gravelly instruction, my mind conjures scenarios of him using that same tone during sex.
More images of a nude Kellin flash behind my eyes. Visions of him tying me to the bed, bending me over the dresser, nailing me against the shower wall.
Fanning my cheeks, I give myself a stern mental lecture for the second time in as many minutes.
Time to get a damn grip. Either that or get laid.
Nope. Not happening today.
I grab my purse, phone, and keys and storm up the flight of stairs to Kellin’s level. Equal parts horny and pissed. I knock three times on Kellin’s door, then stand back and wait.
Nothing.
I raise my hand to knock again, but the door swings open before my fist can connect with the wood. Kellin hovers in the empty space and robs my breath.
Perfectly tailored gray slacks hug his muscular thighs. A pale blue button-down hangs open to reveal his abs.
My throat dries up. Holy crap…what a breathtaking view. Incredible. Gorgeous.
I almost laugh when I realize those same words could describe a beach sunset. Fitting. The man’s a walking, talking work of art, all hard lines and sculpted muscle. A tattoo covers his right upper torso, slipping away to hide beneath the fabric. A few pale scars litter his otherwise flawless skin.
Stupid, stupid girl.
