“I don’t mind,” he says again as we approach the elevator. Truthfully, I don’t mind having his hands on my thighs, either. I tell him which buttons to press, and we fill the silence of the elevator ride with all of the sexual tension.
“Well, um, thanks again,” Rowan begins as he sets me down onto my feet, and I use an app on my phone to unlock the door to my room. “I guess I should?—”
I roll my eyes before I grab his sleeve and tug him forward. “Stop being so awkward and get in here, you big baby. I promise I won’t bite.”
But he digs his heels into the carpet and stays planted in the hallway, looking forlorn. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says after a while.
“And I think you’re going to be in a bind if you don’t let me rub some more of that hydrocortisone cream on your neck.”
He stops in the middle of scratching his shoulder and sighs as hedrops his protest. I steer him toward the large king-sized bed, then I shove him down, forcing him to sit on the mattress.
“Now, start stripping,” I demand again, and he looks up at me in a panic, his eyes as round as saucers. “You might as well take off your shirt and let me apply it to all the places you won’t be able to reach yourself, like you said before,” I clarify.
He gulps and nods before he complies, and I turn to retrieve the pharmacy bag.
“Claire?” he begins over the quiet rustle of his clothing.
My breath catches when I bring my attention back to him. “Holy shit, Rowan,” I gasp, allowing my gaze to run over the hard lines of his body as he peels away the sleeves of his white button down. His lean build is deceiving, but I should have guessed he’d be this hot after practically copping a feel during that injection. “You’re not one of those CrossFit obsessed guys, are you?”
“I’m a runner.” He acknowledges my compliment with a frown, and I duck behind him to hide my shame. I screw up my face, scolding myself as I return to the bag. My cheeks heat when I pick up the box of condoms first and have to swap it out for the tube of hydrocortisone cream.
“Claire?” Rowan calls again.
“Hmm?” I squeak.
“Um, don’t you want to change first?”
I glance down at myself, having forgotten that I’m wearing more of his clothes than my own. “Oh, yeah. I imagine you’ll be wanting your drawers back before you go,” I say and let out a tired exhale, since I can’t seem to stop bringing up the man’s body or his underwear. Could I be any more desperate?
“That would be nice,” he replies evenly.
“Right. I’ll just …” I hike my thumb over my shoulder before remembering he can’t see me. Still annoyed with myself, I grab my overnight bag and scamper off to the bathroom.
A disheveled, hot mess of a woman greets me in the mirror, and I click my tongue in disgust as I turn to inspect the various rips and tears in my clothes. After peeling away each tattered layer, I foldRowan’s underpants and jacket, leaving them in a neat stack on the counter.
But all I find in my bag is a silky, white camisole set. I run my fingers over the black lace lining the matching shorts, unable to decide whether my choice of pajamas was lucky or unfortunate at this point. I shrug and redress myself, stopping to touch up the lipstick Rowan must have smeared when he kissed the living daylights out of me earlier. Heat flashes through me at the memory of our surprisingly intense public make-out session. I’ve never felt anything like that before. Hell, just thinking about his hands moving over me while his mouth explores mine has me breathing raggedly and pressing my thighs together.
I mean, if that’s what a first kiss with Rowan is like, I can’t imagine what he’d be like in bed …
Who am I kidding? That’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past few hours.
I bite my lip, reminding myself that he’s still on the other side of this door. And I’ve already managed to get him into my bed and out of his shirt and boxers. All that’s left to do is capture a bit of the tension that’s been brewing all evening and light a spark under it, which shouldn’t be too difficult, if our last kiss was any indication.
I finish freshening up, lamenting over the fact that these pajamas leave so little to the imagination. I should probably be too embarrassed to walk out like this, with my body practically broadcasting my thoughts for Rowan to see.
Then again, who cares if he thinks I’m coming on too strong? The worst that could happen is that he freaks out over my sexy PJs and storms out of my hotel room, and I never have to face him again.
My shoulders droop, because a large part of me hates that idea. Even worse, my chest aches at the thought of this being the only night I ever get with Rowan. He might very well be the sweetest, most adorable man I’ve ever met, as well as the sexiest, and I kind of want to cling to him forever, like one of those annoying chin hairs that always seem to grow back overnight. But I can’t get caught up in my feelings, not when I’m still dealing with my divorce and all the mistakes I madeleading up to it. Fair is fair, and I can’t ask him to help me pick up the pieces of what I’m responsible for breaking.
So that’s it. I’m going to go out there and lay my cards down, convince him I’m just as chill and nonchalant about the idea of a one-night stand as I’d like to be, and let him decide what he wants. And whatever happens, I won’t allow myself to be disappointed or ashamed when it’s all over, because I could do so much worse than a man like Rowan.
I take a fortifying breath before I poke my head out and find him lying back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling with his arm crooked behind his head. It’s such a sexy sight that I have to talk myself out of running out and jumping on top of him.
“So, don’t laugh, but I didn’t expect I’d be wearing these pajamas in front of anyone tonight,” I warn him.
He turns and furrows his brow. “I’m sure …”
But he leaves the words hanging once I step out from behind the bathroom door. He sits up, his gaze devouring me for a few seconds before he turns away and clears his throat.
