They stayed locked together, breathing ragged, foreheads pressed together. The casino noise outside the window filtered back in, still distant and unimportant.
After a long minute, she laughed softly against his mouth.
“What?” he asked, voice wrecked.
“I forgot how loud we used to be.”
He huffed a laugh, and then kissed her slow this time, lingering as he held her. “We’ve got all night to remember.”
Her arms tightened around his neck. “Yeah,” she whispered. “We do.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ELVIS WOKE TANGLED IN Delaney, and not metaphorically.
Literally.
Her leg was draped over his thigh, one arm tucked beneath his shoulder, her cheek pressed into his chest like she was anchoring herself there. Her hair spilled across his collarbone, warm and soft, carrying the faint scent of hotel soap and something uniquely hers that hit him straight in the ribs.
For one quiet, suspended moment, he let himself breathe her in.
Last night flickered through his mind in fragments, the feeling of her hands in his hair, the way she’d kissed him like she was afraid he might vanish if she didn’t hold on hard enough, the way she’d finally fallen asleep with her forehead tucked beneath his chin after they spent the night exploring each other’s body.
It had been too long.
Too many years.
Too many ghosts.
His fingers traced slow, absent patterns along her bare arm, savoring the stillness, the fragile sense of normal that had settled over them sometime after midnight. The two of them drifted to sleep, still holding each other, her head against his chest.
Then his phone started ringing, the sound cutting through the room like a blade, jarring him into motion.
He groaned, shifting slightly, trying not to wake her as he reached for the nightstand, glancing at the clock. It was nowhere near morning. Hell, he usually went to bed at this time. His hand brushed the edge of the phone instead of grabbing it, and the device skittered off the table, hitting the carpet with a dull thud.
The phone kept ringing.
“Shit,” he muttered, already scrambling.
Delaney stirred beside him, tightening instinctively around him, her body pressing closer like she was afraid he might slip away.
He rolled, half-falling off the bed, grabbing the phone just as it vibrated itself toward the wall.
Hawk’s name filled the screen, which snapped him fully awake. There was no way the man would call him at such a ridiculous hour unless something was seriously wrong.
“Talk to me,” he mumbled, still sluggish.
“Elvis,” Hawk said the second he answered. No greeting or apology for calling so late. Just a powerful sense of urgency in his voice. “Get to room four-twenty-seven. Now. And keep Delaney with you and keep her close.”
Elvis eased Delaney, who was stirring awake, to the side as he sat up, running his hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Whose room is that? Leon’s?”
A pause. Tight and controlled, but Elvis could hear the man’s heavy breath.
“It’s Delaney’s partner.”
His stomach dropped as he closed his eyes, inwardly cursing. “I’m on my way.”
He ended the call and swung his legs off the bed, already pulling on his jeans. Delaney pushed herself upright, blinking sleep from her eyes.
