But now I need a shower.
And a bed. It’s not mine, but it’ll have to do. I have no doubt it’ll be comfortable. Luxury is pumped into this hotel.
“Hollywood,” he growls, “what do you think is about to happen here?”
The valet inches closer to us. “Uh, sir?” He practically squeaks the question at Hawkins who arches an eyebrow without looking away from me.
He’s looking at me like he’s expecting me to take off running. I already know I wouldn’t get far and I’m not too keen on exerting myself at this time.
Hawkins tosses his keys to the guy whose mouth drops open as shock flashes across his features before he gets himself together. “Roll it into a spot. Don’t start it; you’re not riding it.”
“Got it,” the valet sounds far too excited.
But my biker doesn’t even look his way. He doesn’t look back at his bike either. The way he tucks his ticket into the inside pocket of his cut shouldn’t make him hotter. Somehow, he manages it just fine.
Hecloses the distance between us completely, the toes of his boots skimming my heels. “Did you really think I was going to let you climb off the back of my bike and walk away from me?”
My teeth catch on my lower lip and I’m at a loss for words. It’s not something that happens often after so many years finding my footing in front of cameras and doing countless interviews. But with the light hitting his face and the intensity in his eyes, I’m at a complete loss.
“Let me make this easy for you,” his words are like liquid heat, each one brushes against my skin and makes my fingers itch to reach for him, “I’m coming up to your room. I’m not nearly done with you.”
I look up at him and study his face. The set of his jaw tells me he’s not giving up on this any time soon. He’s dug his heels in. Even though we don’t make sense in so many ways and none of this should be happening in the first place.
He’s not dissuaded. He’s standing tall.
“I’ll never be done with you, Quincy Wells,” his voice drops an octave and turns rough. “You can bet on that.”
Before I can think too much about it, I grab his hand and start walking. He keeps pace with me, and something flutters in my gut when I look at him to find him grinning from ear to ear. I’m reminded that he’s so much younger than me.
Honestly, right now I don’t even care.
I don’t allow anything to filter in beyond the feeling of having his much larger frame following behind me like a puppy. It’s intoxicating.
While walking, I do notice a few people giving him nods of acknowledgement and respect. It makes me wonder about the place he mentioned earlier, Elysium. He said his club owns it. My curiosity has been piqued. The way people look at him while moving out of our path, even though I’m the one leading the way, has me wondering if I’m not giving my biker enough credit.
It feels like it takes forever to get up to my suite. The welcome basket is still right where I left it. Everything looks the same, but nothingfeelsthe same. Nothing.
Suddenly, I’m being lifted by strong arms. I wrap my arms around Hawkins’ neck while squawking, “What are you doing?”
“Shower,” he grunts.
I narrow my eyes at him, but he simply strides toward the large bathroom. “I’m not just going to accept one-word grunts from you, Hawkins,” I bite out the words.
His steps stop and his eyes find mine and bore straight into my fucking soul. “I’m pissed right now, Hollywood. Don’t push me,” he husks out the words like they cost him something.
“You’re pissed?” I can’t help the incredulousness in my voice and I’m not even trying to hide it. “At me?” He nods and I scoff, “Why the hell are you pissed at me?”
“You were just going to climb off the back of my bike with my cum still dripping from your sweet cunt and leave me out there on the curb?” His nostrils flare and the cute biker who blurted out that I’m pretty, is nowhere to be seen.
It’s sexy as fuck.
I throw my hands into the air in exasperation. “I’m going to let you in on something, Hawkins,” I try not to sneer the words, but I fall a little short, “I’m not adept at the whole wham-bam-thank you ma’am thing. I had no idea how this was going to work, and it felt safest to give you an easy out.”
He presses his lips together while his eyes search mine. I have no idea what he sees on my face, but his anger disappears. “You’re scared,” he says it like it’s a fact and adds a little nod. Before I can tell him where he can shove his psychoanalysis, he keeps going. “You don’t believe my words; not yet. And that’s fair. I’ll just have to keep showing you.”
Iblink up at him a few times while he grins down at me and I swear his tail would be wagging if he had one. Then he’s striding toward the bathroom again, his mission back on track.
“I don’t think that’s what I said at all,” I say the words, but they come out far more questioning than they should. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about when you say I’m scared.”
