It snakes around my waist and yanks me against him, spinning me so my back hits his chest. Then, with a few firm steps, he walks me back until the cold stone wall presses against my chest.
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice brushes my ear, low and rough. “Not again.”
“I wasn’t a virgin,” I snap, trying to shove him off.
It’s like pushing against a wall. He doesn’t budge.
His arm tightens. His chest is firm against my back. I can feel every inch of him, his heat, his size, the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. His scent fills the space around me. Spice and something darker. Something entirely him.
“You’re lying again, trouble. I don’t like being lied to.”
His voice drops lower, threaded with something dangerous.
“I saw the blood, Autumn.”
Shit.
My breath catches. I push again, but he stays rooted, unmoved. I feel pinned. Not just by his body but by his stare. His presence.
“You were rough. It was a tear,” I say quickly, hoping it sounds believable. “Just a little one.”
He steps back.
Finally.
My body betrays me; there’s a flicker of something hollow in the space he leaves behind. I turn to face him.
Flynn is still watching me, eyes dark. His jaw is tight. His breathing slow, controlled. His fists curl at his sides.
“A tear,” he repeats. Then the corner of his mouth lifts; he smirks, turns around, and walks out without another word.
My heart pounds against my ribs, too hard, too fast. I stumble back and drop onto a velvet loveseat near the wall, my hands trembling.
I left blood on him.
My hands are shaking, but I force myself up, pick up the camera, and take pictures of everything I can see. Decorations, the view, the bed, the door. I’m just clicking away. I don’t even care what I’m doing. I just need to get the hell out of here.
The elevator takes way too long this time. Or maybe I’m so on edge it feels like I’ve been standing here for an hour. When the doors finally open, I rush forward and slam straight into someone. Their hands fly up and grab me by the waist.
“Oh—easy there,” he says with a soft chuckle.
“I’m so, so sorry.” I straighten quickly and look up at him. He’s tall, with blond hair, dark eyes, and a tattoo peeking from the collar of his shirt.
“No problem,” he says with a gentle smile.
I clutch my bag to my chest, return the smile, and walk away just as another man passes between us.
“Doyle. Flanaghan needs you upstairs.”
I glance back. He’s watching me.
There’s a hint of something in his expression. The corners of his mouth are lifted, just a little. I find myself smiling again and feel mycheeks heat.
My car isn’t far, but of course, it’s pouring. I cover my bag and make a run for it. The moment I sit inside, I slam the door shut and drop my head against the steering wheel, feeling the sting shoot down my spine.
What the hell is going on in this hotel? Is there some secret meeting for ridiculously attractive men in expensive suits? First that Callum guy, then Flynn, now that Doyle man with the soft voice and sweet smile?
Or maybe it’s me. Maybe now that I’ve had sex, I’m starting to notice men more. Or maybe they canfeelit. Smell it on me or something.
