Finally, I raise a hand and knock. Nothing happens.
I knock again.
Still nothing.
But Iknowhe’s in there. I heard him go inside an hour ago and the door hasn’t opened since. Is he asleep?
I try the handle, not really expecting it to budge since he always locks it when he leaves for work, but it turns quietly under my hand. My heart jumps to my throat as I ease the door open and peek inside, my gaze darting straight to the bed.
It’s empty.
He must be in the shower then—that’s the only place he could be. But the moment I think it, another thought barrels in behind it. What if he slipped and hit his head? What if he’s lying unconscious on the bathroom floor right now? The panic nudges me into the room, shutting the door behind me as I head towards the bathroom… until a slightly open door to my left catches my eye.
My steps slow, confusion tugging my brows together. I didn’t even notice that door the last time I was here.
Probably because you were too distracted doing other things, my brain supplies.
I shove the thought away and push the door open the rest of the way—only to inhale sharply at the sight before me.
Roan’s head snaps towards me, an auburn brow arching ashe takes me in. “What? You’re hungry for more now that you’ve had a taste and came for it?” he teases with a soft, knowing edge to his voice.
I try—truly try—to glare at him, but I’m afraid it’s useless because I can feel my cheeks becoming scorching hot and know I’m probably turning as red as a tomato. But honestly, who can blame me? The man is sitting in a hot tub, butt naked, and the steam curling up in the air does absolutely nothing to hide his body. From my position near the doorway, I can see everything.Everything.
The only accessory he’s wearing is the dog tag hanging from a gold chain around his neck, resting right over his heart. I should have taken a closer look at it while I had the chance before, but I wasn’t exactly in an observant state of mind.
My gaze betrays me, traveling lower. Over the hard-stacked abs on his smooth golden stomach, along the dark ink winding from his right elbow to his wrist, down to the delicious V of his pelvis that leads to his?—
Oh God.
His cock is hardening. Right before my eyes.
I gasp, my lips parting as I watch in helpless fascination while his length swells, the thick shaft slowly rising from where it rested against his thigh, lifting up, up, up until it’s standing proud and hard just below his navel.
I lick my lips unconsciously, swallowing the embarrassing amount of drool pooling in my mouth.
His deep, rumbling chuckle has my gaze flying back up. But the amusement vanishes instantly, replaced by a hardness that could carve stone, his eyes burning with a fire that scorches me. “Come here, Katina.” His voice drops low, vibrating against my skin, threading through my thoughts.
My legs move before I can stop them, a step forward, then another, until I shake my head, trying to resist the pull. “No, no, that’s not why I’m here.”
He leans back, tilting his head so red curls fall over his left eye before brushing them aside with mild irritation. “Why are you here then?”
Yes. Good question. WhyamI here, if not to fully appreciate this magnificent specimen of a man?
I have to physically turn away from him and his tempting body, looking out towards the garden and the woods beyond it to wrangle my brain back into order. It takes a full, humiliating minute for my throbbing clit to calm enough for me to remember what actually brought me here, and when I do, I spin back to him triumphantly. “I got a text from the man who sent me here.”
His demeanor doesn’t change, that intense heat in his gaze still burning my skin as he waves me forward. I hesitate. “I want to read the text, Katina.”
“I’ll—I’ll read it to you from here if you don’t mind.” I stammer, flustered and hating how obvious I’m being.
His lips curl up. “And what if I do mind?”
Now he’s just teasing me, enjoying my discomfort. I huff, unlock my phone, and read the message aloud. When I’m done, I look up at him. “So… what do we do?”
“Lorik—that’s my private investigator—is getting close to Kayla’s trail,” he says, and my entire world stops. “He found where Stacey was keeping her around the Hudson River and was able to trace the car that took her to an obscure hotel. I’m assuming that’s where her captor got hold of her after Stacey’s arrest. We’re close to finding her.”
My breath hitches. Stacey had her around the Hudson River? So close yet so far.
I’ve never even been this close to finding Kayla before. All those years of searching, of chasing ghosts and dead ends, and now?—
