“Who doesn’t want chocolate?” It comes out sounding like an accusation.
“Oh, I favor more on the spicy side.”
“Salty,” she corrects him. “It’s salty or sweet.”
“Well, it’s now spicy and then sweet. And I suppose I do enjoy a bit of both.”
I'm not sure if I'm following this conversation, but it sounds dirty and not directed at Katherine. See, Katherine was right: There is something wrong with him.
“So then you do want a chocolate!”
“I have a call to make, if you don’t mind.”
“What if I do mind?” The room grows quiet, and it stretches. “Okay, yeah, bye.” Katherine’s feet spin around, and she heads out the door. He closes it behind her, the click of the lock loud. Did he really spook her out of the room with silence? Interesting.
You’re on your own, kid.I silently tell myself.
Oh shit. Will I be here all night? I’ll have to pee at some point. My thoughts are quickly interrupted when I hear Mr. Hottie start moving around. I almost die when I see a shirt hit the ground and watch as he takes off his shoes.
A belt drops to the floor next with a loud thud. Holy crap! What if he starts masturbating? What is wrong with me, and why is that my first thought?
Go to the bathroom and close the door, I repeat like a prayer in my mind, but he doesn’t. He roams around the room. What the hell can he be doing? I almost let out a sigh of relief when I see him head toward the bathroom, but the barbarian leaves the door open, and I hear the water come on.
Then I see the door push partly closed. I wait for a few beats to make sure he's in the shower before I roll out from under the bed and quickly jump to my feet. I don't make it but a few steps before the door swings open, and I get a view of Pierce's bare chest and arms in their full glory. His slacks are partly undone, showing the top of his boxer briefs.
The man is cut; I mean, I could tell that with his shirt on, but with it off, you can see all the fine hard lines of his muscles. Even his forearms have them, but it's the tattoos that lead up and onto his chest and down. A few on his sides as well.
The tattoos are impressive pieces of art, but I would never admit that to him, nor will I ask to get a closer look. We stare at each other, neither of us saying a word. Is he taller? I could swear he's taller.
Well, if no one is going to say anything, I continue on my pursuit to the door. "Tinsley," my name comes out gruff in a low growl of warning, and I freeze.
"Don't threaten me."
"It's a threat to say your name?" I blink a few times and turn around in a full circle slowly.
"Where am I?"
"It appears to me you're in my room, stalking me." My mouth drops open. He did not say that.
"Stalking you!" I hiss. "You're the one inmytown."
"So you do know where you are." I press my lips together.
"I don't have time for this." I march toward the door, but he steps in my path. "Beware that I know a hundred and two ways to kill a man, and I can make most of them appear like an accident." He smirks, and I fight the urge to not stomp on his foot and try to make another go for the door.
"I bet this town would help you cover for the others."
"Yes."
"You broke into my room."
"This is Betty's room."
"That's not how that works."
"You don't own it." I'm grasping at straws here.
"A hotel room is considered a temporary residence, affording you the same protections as one. That includes the rights against unreasonable searches and seizures." Would he really push to press charges on me? Would Sheriff Hudson arrest me?
