“We will send a selection up to your room shortly.”
“Thank you.”
Emme had propped her head on the armrest. Her eyes were closed and her hand rested under her cheek. The opening of her shirt had gaped, exposing her deep cleavage. Well, fuck. Now what? He paced around the room.
The walk was supposed to be a distraction. Something to keep them occupied now that they were alone. In a suite. With three large beds in close proximity.
Quit thinking about the beds, asshole.
Dropping to the floor on the far side of the room, he knocked out a few dozen pushups. Had to keep up his manly physique. He smirked. She though he was hot. He flipped over to do sit-ups.
He needed to figure out a plan for the next two weeks. He’d go nucking futs if he didn’t have anything to do. It hadn’t even been two hours and he was ready to crawl out of his skin.
Propping his elbows on his knees, he looked at his watch and calculated the time difference. Unless there’d been a delay, his unit should’ve arrived in Djibouti. They’d be doing a turn-over with the out-going unit. Settling in to their new routine and bitching about the jet lag, lack of space, and crap food.
He rubbed his hands over his head. Getting to his unit once he got Emme home was going to be a pain in the ass. He’d email the sergeant major later and check in to start making arrangements.
A knock sounded at the door and he popped up to answer. Emme sat up on the couch and stretched her arm over her head. She looked at him over her shoulder with sleepy eyes.
He looked through the peephole, opened the door, and stepped back while two men dressed in the hotel uniform and loaded down with shoe boxes entered.
“Good afternoon, sir. Where may we leave these?” one of the men asked.
“The dining table, I guess.”
“Very good.” They set the boxes on the table, bowed, and left.
There were sixteen boxes on the table.
Emme’s blouse brushed his arm when she joined him. Tingles shot through his body and swirled around in his gut and chest. What the fuck was happening to him? He was acting like a teenager getting close to his first crush.
“That’s a lot of shoes,” she said. “What did you ask for?”
Bemused, he looked at her. She was staring, wide-eyed, at the stack. “Walking shoes. Size eight.”
“These are all designer.”
He dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Babe. I have no idea what that means.”
She looked up at him, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. “It means they’re expensive.”
He shrugged. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure Titan is paying.”
“Huh. Remind me to hug Jared again.”
Not fucking likely.
She reached forward and lifted the lid off one of the boxes, pulling out a pair of red, strappy heels. “These are not walking shoes.”
No, but they’re ‘fuck-me’ shoes.He pulled his arm from her shoulder. Jesus. He needed to scrub his brain clean and quit thinking about her like that. Sucked for him that she’d burrowed under his skin at some point over the last few days. The more he scratched the worse it itched. Like a chigger.
Lifting the boxes, she looked at the labels on the end. She went through half a dozen boxes before opening one and pulled out a pair of cream canvas flats. Dropping them on the floor, she slipped her feet in and walked across the room, turned, and walked back.
“These’ll work,” she said.
“You ready? We can find somewhere to eat.”
“Let me grab something real quick.” She went into her room and returned wearing a gauzy pink scarf draped around her head and neck.
