Page 14 of Sweet Deception

While the progress bar crawls, I pull on my bra and dress. A fresh wave of horror hits as soon as the disheveled state of my cocktail attire registers. “What the…”

I never thought I’d be the girl who slinked out of a stranger’s hotel room looking like a well-used sex doll, yet here we are. I yank at my dress until the fabric correctly settles over my bust and shoulders and the flared skirt no longer twists around itself to reveal way more skin than anyone wants to see this early in the morning.

Then I rummage through the covers, find my panties—praise the heavens—and tug those on.

When I check the countdown, barely any time has passed.

This must be the longest sixty seconds of my entire life.

My brain apparently decides to put the downtime to good use by torturing me with a slideshow of images from last night.

Those talented, scarred hands roaming every inch of my body with firm, rough strokes that stoked the heat inside me even higher.

The way he spun me around, pinning me against the cool glass out on the balcony. That sinful mouth of his burning a silken trail down my throat.

The way he seemed to know exactly how to take me apart, piece by carefully constructed piece.

Sex was never part of the plan, so what the hell happened? One minute, I’m the predator, biding my time until I pounce on his unattended phone. The next, I’m prey, caught by a beast that’s much higher up in the food chain. I expected him to use me. Instead, I felt claimed. Possessed. Seen.

I drag my palms down my face and release a silent groan. I can’t afford to think like that. Not now, with the job almost complete.

Forty seconds.

The bathroom fan hums as I climb off the bed and pace, trading anxious glances between that closed door and the phones.

I never expected someone like him to be so methodical, so calculated in his intensity. Every touch, every kiss felt precisely engineered to break my composure.

Darren Kelly isn’t some lazy boozehound enforcer like I thought. He’s entirely different from my preconceived notions about him…in almost every way.

Twenty seconds.

The water runs.

My heart pounds as I remember ditching my inhibitions to arch and grind against him like a cat in heat, forgetting everything except the pleasure he ignited.

Fifteen seconds.

The water in the bathroom shuts off. Every muscle in my body freezes as I watch the seconds continue to count down.

Ten seconds.

Nine…

Six…

The shower door bangs shut. Blood roars in my ears.

If Darren grabs a towel and strolls right out, I’m absolutely screwed. Or maybe the shower door banged shut…because he’s just getting inside. Perhaps the water I heard a second ago was from the sink.

Three seconds…

Two…

Please, please, please, let him be the kind of guy who’s very serious about his manscaping, beginning with a long steamy shower.

One…

Task Complete.