“Good thing you’re not a paparazzo.”
I let out a pfft. “I’d be flat broke. I can barely take good selfies.”
He angles into me. I track a single bead of sweat as it snakes down his neck and disappears between his defined pec muscles. Ungodly hot yet godlike. Damn. “I don’t know. Last night, I think you made a strong case for the contrary.”
I had almost forgotten about that influx of confidence, the dizzying mental fog and hunger I felt for him, for my own body and all it can sense and achieve. I could’ve bathed in that feeling. I want it. Again. Now.
“Don’t worry,” he says, quieter, probably taking my silence as a bad sign. “I deleted the photos and videos you sent me. I didn’t know where we stood on saving, and I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of collector or creep.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that, but thank you. That’s very considerate of you.” I know it’s a simple courtesy, but frankly most guys wouldn’t think to do that, let alone tell me they did. Leo’s damn considerate and respectful which is almost as arousing as his kindness. “Guess I’ll just have to send them again... Or, take more for you.”
I step closer to him so that the toes of our mesh, dirt-stained sneakers are touching. Physically, it barely registers. Emotionally, I’m overloaded. Everything from his rugged scent to his barely there stubble sends shock waves through me.
“You could always just...” He nudges his toe closer. “Show me in person.”
My heart jackhammers at the inside walls of my rib cage. I barely squeak out, “Happily.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Should we get out of here, then?”
My whisper is a barely audible scrape. “I thought this was just the workout warm-up.”
“Yeah,” he says, self-confidence cascading out of his mouth. “The warm-up before I workyouout.”
My legs go weak, two melting candles on a windowsill. “Take me back.”
“Can’t wait anymore, can you?” There’s that dominant tone again, a deep bass that strokes my desire for him. If there weren’t so many people around, I’d pull him into a secluded path sheathed with shrubbery and service him. That’s how hot the iron poker is prodding at me. I don’t care how torn up my knees would get. They’d be welcome wounds.
I shake my head. Again and again until he understands how badly I need this.
“Let’s go,” I say.
He tugs me back by the edge of my tank top. “Not so fast.” He takes his own phone out from the armband he’s been wearing, positions us just so, and instructs, “Say cheese.”
There, the front-facing camera captures Leo and me, side by side, the Griffith Observatory hovering over my right ear. Our faces are alight with genuine smiles. We take one normal. One silly. And on the third, he surprises me by taking his inside hand, cupping my chin, and gently guiding it up to meet his.
The third photo turns out the best: the two of us, drenched in sweat and sunlight, kissing our faces off.
Twelve
As soon as the elevator doors in the hotel close, I’m on Leo and he’s on me.
My hands wander up underneath his sweat-soaked shirt. Rigid, gliding muscles tense under my fingertips. His hands tiptoe lower, exploring beneath the waistband of my leggings, before his palms rest on my exposed ass cheeks. An ecstatic sigh corkscrews out of me.
“Same jock or different one?” Leo growls the question into my mouth. A heady rush like he’s shotgunning me, a high I’ve never felt before.
“You’ll find out shortly.”
The ding of the elevator is an unwelcome disruption. I want to smash the stop button, hot-box the space with our bodies. I’d like to have him ravish me against the mirrored wall so I can watch our tension as it sparks, but Leo must read my mind because he whispers, “Camera.”
My eyes wander up to the small red light in the corner. I groan a different kind of groan as I follow him out onto my floor. The mood morphs, but doesn’t stop.
Leo walks backward, never dropping my hand. He yanks me close, presses my body to his. We waddle like a pair of cuddling penguins toward my room.
We’re caught up in the rush of a swollen kiss when Leo jolts and stumbles forward into me. The sound of items hitting the carpet ring out behind him.
I open my eyes to see a housekeeping cart sticking partially out of the ajar door to my room. Rolls of toilet paper are unraveling across the floor like an April Fools’ prank. A short woman with a round face and jet-black hair pops out from the bathroom.
Damn.
