“My place is frigid,” she says. “The heat doesn’t work very well. It’s fine if I’m in bed buried under blankets, but…”
“Hotel it is,” I say. “But since it’s so late, will you stay until morning? I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
“You don’t have to promise me that,” she says as our driver pulls up. “I know you will.”
14
SARAH
Carter’s hotelroom is lovely. Mostly because it’swarm.Considering how much the temperature has dropped in the last few hours, I think I would have been miserable back at the Bainbridge. Either that or sleeping on the studio floor downstairs. Pretty sure it’s just my apartment that’s stuck in the Arctic zone.
Still, I’m not sure I fully thought this through. Because now…I’m in Carter’s hotel room.And I agreed to stay until morning.
All the more reason to figure out our rules and make sure we’re both committed to them.
After spending the last two hours close to him, touching him, feeling the reassuring weight of his arms around me—I need all the help I can get.
Not to mention that kiss.
On the grand scale of kisses, it shouldn’t have seemed like much. It only lasted a matter of seconds. But it still triggered something bone-deep, even visceral. I am very,veryattracted to this man.
“Here,” Carter says from where he’s rummaging in his bag. He holds out some clothes. “They’re going to swallow you, but it’ll be better than nothing.”
Of course, my brain immediately thinks of wearingnothingwith Carter, and a flush climbs up my neck.
Behave, brain. Behave, behave, behave.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice a little too breathy. “I’ll just…change in the bathroom.”
I step out of my heels and hurry that way, not fully taking a breath until I’ve clicked the door closed behind me.
I lift Carter’s clothes to my nose. They smell like him, warm and woodsy and so delicious. I have no idea how I’m supposed to put them on my body and not lose my ever-loving mind.
I look at my reflection in the mirror, clothes tucked against my chest. I’m always a little surprised when I catch a glimpse of myself without my glasses. My contacts are fine, but for whatever reason, my glasses make me feel most like me—the me I’m most comfortable being.
Wait.I’m wearing contacts. Which means I’m going to have to sleep in contacts because I don’t have any of my stuff with me. No lens solution. No case. I groan inwardly, but what choice do I have? Hopefully, since I didn’t put them on until late in the day, I’ll make it till morning without being too miserable.
I put down Carter’s clothes and reach for the zipper of my dress. I manage to get it halfway down, but then it snags. I shouldn’t be surprised—it was a struggle to get it on because it kept catching in the same place. I eventually got it to work, but not without significant strain.
Now, I can’t get the zipper to move in either direction.Up or down.
I try reaching around my waist and up. Then I try reaching over my shoulder and down.
No luck. I am officially trapped.
I’m either sleeping in my dress, or I’m asking Carter for help.
I sigh, hands propped on my hips as I study my reflection. Then I turn and open the bathroom door.
Carter is just hanging up the hotel phone when I step into the room. He turns to look at me, and my throat immediately goes dry.
He’s taken off his shoes and his coat, and his dress shirt is untucked and unbuttoned, hanging open to reveal his torso. His very muscled, very beautiful, incrediblysexytorso.
I saw Carter shirtless over FaceTime, but only for a split second. My memory of that moment does not compare to this.
I’m struck with a sudden impulse to cross the room to him, lift my hands to all that glorious skin…
“Are you okay?” Carter asks, and I snap my eyes upward to meet his. The look on his face makes me feel like a kid caught stealing Oreos from the pantry.
