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Reg laughed aloud, nudging my elbow as he shifted toward me. “Yum?”

I closed my eyes briefly and pointed at the hotel. “Out. Go. See you later.”

He nodded but he didn’t move. He was staring at me. Or maybe I was staring. It was easier than breathing.

Reg was stealing oxygen, filling space, and making it difficult to think straight. Pun intended.

I wished my name was Jason and that my plans for the evening had involved drinks with a silver-fox daddy who’d had the foresight to get a room for us to fuck the night away. Jason was an idiot. He could have had this.

I licked my lips, unthinking, and swallowed hard.

Reg’s gaze stalled on my mouth…and lingered. If I’d thought it was stifling in here before, I was now on the verge of suffocating.

Damn, he was hot. Like stupid hot.

Distinguished, poised, rugged. Christ, I’d always had a bit of a daddy kink. It was mortifying how easily he read me. He knew I wanted him. Badly.

I cleared my throat, alternately preparing my second good-night or a “Let’s get naked” speech just as Reg grabbed my shirt and crashed his mouth over mine.

Thank fuck.

I cupped his nape and thrust my tongue between Reg’s parted lips, groaning with pleasure. He tasted like beer and forest and bad decisions. My favorite things.

We sucked face with the nuance of teenagers fumbling in the back seat of a borrowed car. If the console hadn’t been in the way, I’d have slithered onto his lap. I was six fucking four so I wasn’t sure that was possible, but I’d do whatever it took to feel his body on mine.

Reg broke the kiss, his nostrils flaring as he eyed me with a cool, steady once-over.

“Want to come upstairs?”

CHAPTER 8

REG

Parking Waylon’s truck, walking through the lobby, and taking an elevator with two businessmen griping about their flight from hell should have put a damper on my libido. It didn’t.

I hadn’t been with a man in five months, if I counted the furtive hand job in the men’s room at a restaurant in Rutland. It had been another swipe-right situation. A beer, small talk about fuck knew what, followed by furtive groping, and eventually…release. It hadn’t been particularly exciting. In fact, the most memorable aspect was Gretchen calling post-handjob to ask if I’d changed the Hulu password.

I’d checked the caller ID and had immediately picked up, rinsing a stranger’s jizz off my fingers while studiously avoiding my reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink. My heart had pounded as I’d said a silent prayer for everything to be okay and for my kids to be safe. Hulu password? No problem. I’d been ridiculously relieved at her request. So much so that I’d smiled at the man standing behind me, tucking his junk in his jeans. Of course, he was out of the loop. He knew nothing about my life. He didn’t belong to my world.

He didn’t know I was a cop and a single dad. And he certainly didn’t know that I supported cable channel rights to three households—mine, my ex-wife’s, and my parents’—and was the only one who kept track of the passwords.

Obviously, I had no intention of sharing anything real with the guy. It was the sobering reality of hearing my daughter’s voice in a dirty bathroom that had gotten to me. Sex was supposed to be fun and life-affirming…not shameful. And I’d felt so fucking gross. If memory served, I’d taken two showers when I got home and vowed to stay away from Rutland.

Now, here I was in Burlington. With Waylon.

I hadn’t given him my number thinking we’d end up here. I swear. It had been an honest-to-God friendly gesture. I’d figured that the kid who’d resorted to decorating my sidewalk with chalk art and told everyone who’d listen how much he loved Wood Hollow might be a little emotional. I had two kids. I’d dealt with my share of tears and tantrums with a calm exterior while my heart had twisted in my chest.

I’d thought Waylon might want to break up the four-hour round trip with an early dinner or a beer or…whatever. And if that gave me a chance to get know him one on one, even better. ’Cause yes, I was very attracted to him.

What can I say? Waylon was nice to look at, and the visual of a tattooed bad boy with a seven-year-old kid skipping behind him was both sexy and incredibly sweet. Sure, I’d caught his stare a few times and read the signals, but this…this was more than I’d dreamed.

My body was buzzing with need. My fingers trembled as I tapped the key card on my hotel room door, overcome with awareness for the man standing next to me. It was gratifying to know Waylon was in the same state.

I felt the weight of his palm on my lower back, his shallow breath in my ear, and the press of his erection on my hip. It was all a fabulous tease, and I wanted so much more.

We stumbled into the room and pounced. I couldn’t tell who made contact first, only that it was a feverish, wanton dance. Our mouths fused and our tongues tangled, we yanked at each other’s clothing. T-shirts flew, shoes and socks were chucked, belts unbuckled and zippers undone.

I splayed my hands on his inked chest and walked him backward till his knees collided with the mattress.