“We should probably tell Manager Brian all about this,” she said.
“I have a sneaking suspicion Manager Brian knows,” said Max, and Sloane snorted.
“You think this was him?”
“It was obviously someone, and he was very enthusiastic about the haunting.” Max pushed himself to standing, then picked up the iron again. “A lot of paranormal investigators will go along with obvious fakes and play it up, even if they know it’s not real,” he went on. “I kinda suspect he thought we’d do that. You know, find the tape deck or something in there and claim we found a real ghost. Or try to exorcise the demon in the attic.”
“Bad luck for him that you’re one of those ethical charlatans.”
“I should put that on my business cards,” Max said, padding barefoot to the door of her room and stopping to put the iron back in the closet. “Max Golding, ethical charlatan.”
“Purveyor of cloth goods and fine meats,” Sloane added, grabbing her key, phone, and charger.
“You know it,” Max said as he opened the door, and Sloane had never before rolled her eyes so hard at something she agreed with.
Sloane was nearly asleep when the door to Max’s room opened, and she was still rattled enough that she was up on one elbow, wide awake, before she remembered where she was and what was going on.
“Sorry,” Max whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
“You get the ghosts?”
“Of course.”
She flopped back onto her pillow, burying half her face in it. “Liar.”
He put something down on the table, then walked around the bottom of the king-sized bed. “Why do you keep asking questions like that when you know you’re gonna argue with the answer?”
“I didn’t know that,” Sloane said, only half lying. She’d suspected, sure. “Sometimes you’re reasonable and don’t tell me lies.”
The bed didn’t dip, but she could feel the mattress shift as he got in, the sheet and blanket fluttering over her. When Sloane had gotten in to Max’s bed fifteen minutes ago, she’d considered taking her clothes off first but hadn’t. It was three in the morning, and she was a reasonable woman.
“I’m doing you a favor, you know,” Max said, his voice closer than she’d expected. The mattress moved again, and there was a hand on her hip, slowly stroking up her side. It was warm and heavy, but there was no intent in it. “I’m giving you the chance to argue with me.”
“Wow,” she said, yawning. “Put prince among men on your business card, too.”
“Good lord, are you asleep yet?” he asked, and she couldn’t see him, but she could hear the smile in his voice.
“Almost,” Sloane said, and drifted off with Max’s hand still anchoring her hip.
Chapter Eleven
Max woke up with his hand cupped gently around a breast, warm and soft through Sloane’s T-shirt. It was one of the nicest ways he’d ever woken up, he thought, even as he moved his hand away because, you know. Tit grabbing needed permission.
“’Sfine,” Sloane mumbled, face mostly buried in the pillow. “You can put it back.”
He didn’t think she was sleep talking, but also, that wasn’t the voice of someone who?—
“I’m awake enough to get felt up,” she said, a statement which probably required a certain degree of lucidity, so he put his hand back. Sloane sighed and wriggled back against him, back to front, her ass against his morning wood, which was probably regular wood by now.
“Good morning,” he said, kissing the back of her neck, and she sighed.
Five minutes later, they were both naked from the waist down and Max’s dick was between Sloane’s thighs. She still hadn’t opened her eyes, still all relaxed and loose-limbed. The sound she made whenever he thumbed over a nipple was half sigh and half moan, and this was maybe the greatest way to wake up Max had ever experienced. He’d had morning sex before. Plenty of times, but this was—there was something about it.
The whole brief vacation had been nice. Really, really nice—that was all, and now it was almost time to go back to their respective cities and not see each other again. Well, they could talk. And text. But that wasn’t this, and the thought made something tighten behind his rib cage. So instead of thinking about that, he kissed the back of her shoulder and murmured, “Want me to fuck you?”
Sloane swallowed a breathy little mmm sound, then said, “Yes, please.”
It might have been the fastest Max had ever gotten a condom on, since he’d stashed some in the bedside table the day before. He liked to be prepared was all, and thank god for that. Within seconds he was on his side again, behind her, hand between her legs. They’d already smeared precum and wetness on the inside of her thighs, and it was so easy to slide his hand up, stroke over her pussy, give her clit a little attention. Sloane made an appreciative noise, eyes still closed, pushing back against him. She had one hand on his bare hip, stroking it. He could see her nipples through the thin shirt she was still wearing.
