“Proud of you, Clover,” Chief says when we’re standing side by side at our rooms. “You did good today. Your girls are gonna be proud of you too.”
Her throat works. “Thanks, Chief.”
“Get some sleep. Both of you.” He winks with a wide, irritating grin. “Though, if the walls are rocking?—”
“Chief!” Clover shrieks, her entire face flushing crimson.
He cackles and disappears into his room, leaving us standing in front of room thirteen.
The one-bed room.
“So,” she says.
“So,” I agree. Was I this awkward when we were teenagers?
“We should?—”
“Yeah.”
But neither of us moves.
“I’ll take the floor,” I offer as I reach around her to unlock the door, even though the thought makes me want to throw things.
“We already discussed this,” she huffs when I open the door. “You’ll get a disease. Just look at this carpet. It’s brown shag. Do you know how long ago brown shag carpeting was popular?”
A laugh escapes before I can suppress it. I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her. It’s just this…situation. “Clover.”
“We’re adults who kissed in a dark parking lot.” She’s aiming for nonchalant and failing spectacularly. “I think we can handle sharing a bed.”
Reaching out, I rest my hands on her biceps and feel her shiver under my touch. Not from cold, from want, and my blood heats while need coils in my spine. “That’s—fair.”
“I’ll just change. Quickly.” She’s back to being a church mouse. Skittering around in near silence.
“Okay.”
Giving me a wide berth, she grabs clothes and disappears into the bathroom while I stand in the center of the room, tryingto remember how to remain professional. How to maintain boundaries.
How to not kick down that door and?—
No.
Get control of yourself, Stone.
The water turns on, and I picture her brushing her teeth…then I pace.
Three steps to the window. Three steps back. My body’s still humming from our kiss. From holding her. From the way she tasted like honey and everything I didn’t know I needed.
Waters sloshes against tile, and I try very hard not to picture her naked.
I fail spectacularly.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
I’m using her coping mechanisms now. That’s how far gone I am.
Finally, she emerges in pajama pants and a T-shirt that falls off one shoulder. Her hair is down, her cheeks flushed, and I forget every single rule I’ve ever made about client relations.
“Your turn,” she says softly.
