Page 99 of The Parent Trap

I stomp my feet and shake my hands and my head and let out a little scream of…well, everythingness. Nerves, fear, excitement, eagerness. Pure, raw, somewhat unstable horniness.

I’m not tired, all of a sudden. I’m wired. I mean, yeah, behind the adrenaline of excitement is the fact of exhaustion, but…it’s faint, right now.

I shut off the motor, collect my purse from the passenger seat and then my suitcase and carry-on from the trunk. Lock my Bronco, and head for the entrance. I already have his key in my hand.

Top floor, last one on the left.

The building is newer—McKenna was in the running to build these but lost out at the last second. They’re nice, though—Tyler lives in a different building of this same complex. God, I’m glad that’s over, honestly. He was soboring.

Strangely, it’s only since meeting Thai all over again that I’ve realized exactly how boring Tyler really is.

The elevator is thankfully quick, and I’m dragging my suitcase at a power walk toward his door. There it is. My heart thumps loudly in my chest.

My hand is shaking.

Unlock the deadbolt, then the knob, and push it open.

I’m so tired, wired, and nervous that I almost trip over it: a box on the floor in front of his door. I figure it’s a delivery for him or something, so I pick it up and tuck it under my arm—or, at least, that’s the intention. It’s heavy, though, so I have to use both hands to carry it inside with me.

I expect it to be dark, or maybe a light in the kitchen left on for me to see by.

I let the door close behind me and absently toss the key into my purse.

There are no lights on at all, but it’s not dark.

Because he’s lit candles.

Dozens of them, little tea lights in a parallel line, leading across the open-plan main area to his room. My heart, already in my throat, now threatens to completely clog my airway. Leaving my bags by the door, I float, weightless, along the candle-lit path. I hear music—low, percussive jazz, a bass, a piano, a trumpet. I hear water running—and then shut off.

His room is lit with candles as well, more tea lights. This is someBachelorkind of thing he’s got going on, and my heart is melting even as it hammers in my throat like a tribal drum.

Wide king-size bed, neatly made, gray comforter, navy pillows. I honestly don’t register the rest, other than the usual dresser, TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed. Balcony.

The path leads to the bathroom.

The door is open, more tea lights flickering.

Barely able to breathe, even less able to contain my tumultuous admixture of feelings, I hurry the last few steps into the bathroom.

He’s standing in the center, wreathed in candle-lit steam. A huge claw-foot soaking tub is filled with steaming water and bubbles. Candles ring the tub, line every surface.

I told him to be sleeping naked, but he’s done me one better—waybetter.

He’s wrapped in a towel.

His golden hair is loose around his jawline, brushed and clean and beautiful. The towel is white, hangs to his knees. Tucked tight at the waist, low. His abs ripple, glisten in the moonlight. His body, god…this man’s body is sculpted by Heaven for my viewing pleasure.

He’s holding a single red rose.

And he’s on the other side of a massage table.

I stop on this side of the table, blinking hard. “Thai?”

“You didn’t really think I’d be asleep, did you?”

I laugh, sniffle. “A little, yeah. It’s after one.”

He snorts. “I’d wait up all night for you, Delia.”