Page 27 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)

Chapter Nineteen

LOGAN

“What do you mean? Out of every room in this massive hotel, there are no more double beds? How? That doesn’t seem right,” Tia argues with the poor front desk employee, who’s about two seconds away from shitting her pants.

Rolling my lips under my teeth, I raise my hand to cover my mouth and the smile creeping underneath it.

I feel bad for the waif-like receptionist, her eyes bulging and limbs visibly shaking as Tia rips her a new one. I squint at her name tag. ‘Sadie’ nervously types on her keyboard, clicking and clacking around, all while Tia burns a hole into her face.

The entire interaction is kind of turning me on. Seeing the spitfire come out of Tia when she doesn’t get her way gets me hard. Now, I’ve got a semi.

If confrontation were a person, it’d hate to see Tia coming.

One night, in our early years of working at Corrigan Design, the entire team went out to a honky tonk bar after a project completion.

Beers were flowing, shots were thrown back, and suddenly Tia and I were two-step champions, moving across the dance floor like we owned the place.

Some guy wearing boat shoes and pastel shorts had the courage—or the stupidity—to interrupt our dance, grabbing Tia in places a man should never grab a woman without asking. If this were any other woman, I would’ve gotten in their face, probably even thrown down and gotten kicked out of the bar.

As soon as this wasp-y motherfucker laid hands on her, I knew better not to get in the way when her claws came out.

I took a step back, smiling in anticipation as Tia got in this dude’s face, yelling expletives and roasting his mother.

Classic. It ended with her knee shoved straight into his baby maker.

I should’ve known then—this fiery, crazy as fuck woman belonged to me.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Young. Our hotel is hosting a marketing traffic and conversion conference this weekend, and rooms with double beds have been booked out for months.

The only room I have with two beds are handicap rooms—which I’m not at liberty to put you in considering you’re not …

” She looks Tia up and down with wary eyes, and it takes everything in me to hold in my laughter when Tia’s eyes literally twitch.

“Sadie?” I cut in, earning a saccharine smile and the look of relief covering her features. “The king size suite will be just fine.” I slide my credit card across the black marble counter as Tia gives me an incredulous look on her face.

“Uh, sir. The room is already paid for,” Sadie states nervously, unable to connect her gaze with Tia.

“I know. But I want my card on file so m’lady can spoil herself with room service. Plus, I’m happy to cover the damages she and I will make once we’re done with our stay.”

It’s half a joke. Even Sadie the receptionist found it funny, huffing a laugh under her breath.

Tia, however. The look on her face deserves a mental picture I’m snapping a million times. I want to remember her face at this moment. Flustered, embarrassed, definitely turned on.

Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, and all I want to do is see what else I can do this weekend to keep making her blush like this.

Sadie swipes my card, then presents us with our room keys. “Thank you, Sadie. We appreciate your help. Don’t we, T?”

I lightly pinch her ass, doing what I can to lighten her mood and retract her claws. She squeals under my touch, bumping me with her hip before muttering a terse ‘thank you’ at Sadie.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Shut up.”

“Careful, T. I’ll have you know it only turns me on when you get all angry and shit.”

Pink cheeks and an annoyed eye roll just may be my favorite combination.

Excitement spreads throughout my entire body as we approach the elevator doors.

I get an entire weekend alone with Tia, and after last night’s revelation, I’m ready to show her just how worthy I can be of her heart.

I swallow down the guilt sitting at the base of my throat the size of a baseball, determined to not let it get the best of me while I’m here with her.

Tia remains quiet on the walk over, but her thoughts are loud enough for me to hear. I’ve known her long enough to see when she’s overthinking. Her jaw clenches, her lips slightly purse, and her eyes go off in the distance somewhere.

Stepping into the elevator, my eyes track her, tracing the worried features on her face. As soon as the doors close, it’s like the forced proximity heightens the crackle of electricity surging in the air. It zaps my skin, reverberates through my bones, and raises every hair on my body.

The elevator is a box of mirrors, from the four walls surrounding us to the ceiling. There’s something more intimate about being exposed at every angle—more vulnerable. I can see every breath and every movement between us.

She bites her lip, and her hands grip the handle of her suitcase so tight I see her knuckles turn white. She’s not uncomfortable—she’s turned on.

“Everything alright over there?” I ask her through our reflection directly across from us.

When her gaze lifts, her eyes molt into pools of black. The worry melts from her face, turning into pure desire. I take my time to catalog her as the elevator goes up to the thirty-third floor.

She’s dressed for comfort, no doubt for travel.

Tia is never one to be flashy until it matters.

She’s always intentional and calculated, something I love about her.

I love when she wears those leggings clad to her toned thighs.

Her legs are one of my favorite features about her, long and lean.

The loose University of Texas sweatshirt slumps off her shoulder slightly, exposing a tan patch of skin I want to explore with my lips.

What is it about a woman’s collarbone I find so sexy?

Not just any woman’s now, but Tia’s. Her everything.

I see everything now, and it’s as if I’ve just discovered fucking gold.

“Mhmm,” is all she manages to say, chest heaving as I indulge myself by looking over every inch of her.

“Nervous to share a bed with me? It’s not like we haven’t done it before.” I’m well aware I’m goading her. If she wanted to wipe the smirk off my face with her mouth, I wouldn’t be opposed.

In true Tia fashion, she glares at me through the mirror. I can still see the lust swirling in those beautiful eyes of hers.

“It’s different and you know it,” she mutters under her breath.

Her answer excites me. I didn’t think a woman could make my stomach feel like it’s in a free fall, but damn—I like it. A lot.

The ding of the elevator and the whoosh of the doors opening stuns us both out of a lustful stupor.

Tia steps out first. Great for me because now I can take in her backside which is now my favorite physical part about her.

A round, perfect peach ass that sways when she walks.

Fuck, I want to palm each one of her cheeks and squeeze, spank, and bite them.

Get a hold of yourself.

I’ve been hard for thirty-three floors. I’m not sure I’ll make it once we cross the threshold of our room.

Our room.

Just us.

With one. Fucking. Bed.

This has to be a trick question. Apparently, laughing was the wrong reaction. Now, panic pricks my skin, the back of my neck flushes with heat when I’m met with the same burning glare Tia gave poor Sadie, the receptionist.

“Logan, I’m fucking serious. Which one?”

I gave her my answer when she’d asked the first time.

“They look the same.”

I didn’t know I’d be signing my death wish.

She thrusts two black dresses in my face as if I could fucking tell the difference between the two. Both are short, both are black, and both are going to look so sexy on her either way. Win-win for me.

My ass sinks lower into the couch of our hotel room, and I’m wishing right now the cushion would swallow me whole.

She has to be testing me to see if I’m even worthy of her time.

Maybe I’m not cut out for being a boyfriend.

I should know this, but of course I don’t, because I’m a serial playboy with some serious commitment issues.

And how did I respond? I laughed like a fucking dumbass.

“Um,” I stutter, scratching the back of my neck where hives have broken out. Pathetic.

I made this grand gesture by showing up in Vegas unannounced, ready to dive headfirst into the unknown with my best friend.

It takes courage to do that—at least that’s what I’m telling myself to keep the simmering guilt from my Krista debacle from eating me alive.

So, I find my balls that were hiding up in my sack somewhere, and on a wing and a prayer, I give her an answer.

“That one,” I say with feigned confidence.

Fake it ’ til you make it, right?

Tia eyes my decision thoughtfully, looking at the black dress I pointed to that she’s holding on her left.

Then she looks at the one on her right. She goes back and forth between the two for what seems like ten minutes, but it’s more like ten seconds.

I’d never been more afraid to be wrong in my life.

“You think?”

Oh, for the love of god. Send help. Someone. Anyone.

“Yes, T. That one.” Again, throwing caution to the wind, pointing at the dress on the left.

She stares at me. Then at the dress. Then back at me.

Shaking her head, she tosses the dress I chose on the bed like it’s chopped liver. “No. I think the other one looks better.”

Fucking hell.

“You could wear a trash bag and I’d still have a hard time controlling myself. You realize you’re a fucking ten, right? I’m already gonna have to restrain myself from going to jail tonight if a man so much as breathes near you.”

She gapes at me with the most adorable expression. I’ve got her tongue-tied, and it’s cute as hell. “You’re beautiful, T. Wear what makes you feel confident. You don’t need me to tell you that, though. Your confidence is sexier than any dress you could put on.”

Tia’s eyes soften. A small smile tugs at her lips, and her cheeks bloom that rosy pink I love so damn much. Complimenting her has never been hard. What surprises me is how easy the words flow out of me, and how true every single one of them is.

She leans in and plants a sweet kiss at the corner of my mouth, so close I damn near stop breathing.

“Thank you. You’re sweet, Lo. I’ll be right back.”

She bites her lip before disappearing into the bathroom, and the breath I finally let out has my head falling back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

There I go again—grinning like a love-struck idiot.

Maybe I am cut out for this boyfriend thing after all.