She got me.
I’m grounded.
And not because I sneezed wrong and got myself set on fire at the pool.
After Thanksgiving, and the plane, and then fishing this afternoon, not to mention that favor Chandler asked, and hated that he had to ask, this was inevitable.
3
Laney
I am doingthis for Emma. I am doing this for Emma. I am doing this for Emma.
If I repeat it enough, knowing mywhywill make this tolerable.
In the meantime, the minute the bathroom door shuts behind me, I drop to the floor and peer under the crack between the door and the tile.
Theo’s standing there in his underwear, frowning—no,scowling—at the bathroom door, looking like Theo, but also looking like a grown man who could crush a rock with his bare hands and then use that intense gaze to will it to put itself back together again.
I hold my breath.
Or try to.
He stares at the door for alongtime. Is he waiting for the water to turn on? Can he see me peeking at him from under the crack? What’s he doing? Why isn’t he moving?
Is he actually a robot?
Does he need some sort of restart?
I’m about to leave the bathroom with some lame excuse that I need a cup of water from the small galley kitchen in the white-walled suite when he finally turns around, casts one last glance back at the bathroom where I’m starting to get a crick in my neck from watching him under the door, and then he twists the knob on the second bedroom and slips inside.
Finally.
I leap to my feet, creak open the bathroom door as softly as possible, and go against every inclination inside me as I creep across the living area to the extra bedroom.
Ignoring someone’s specific instructions and requests is relatively foreign to me. Especially when it matters as much as it apparently matters to Theo.
But if he has cats in this suite, and the resort doesn’t know, he could get thrown out.
Theo getting in trouble would be another damper on Emma’s wedding week.
I’m reaching for the door when I hear it.
Not just the soft mewing of cats, but Theo’s voice. Andthatis what has me stopping in my tracks.
“Who’s a good kitten?” he croons softly. “Who’s such a good kitten?”
Oh. My. God.
That is possibly the sexiest thing I’ve heard inages.
I squinch up my nose.Assuminghe’s talking to a kitten. And not some woman he has in there and is screwing around with.
Yep.
More likely.
Has to be. If he truly has kittens in there, I might melt, andI cannot do that.
