Page 7 of The Hotel Room

And this? This wasn’t about love.

It was about closing a door he should have never left cracked open.

One night.

Then he could finally come home whole.

CHAPTER THREE

Kate

The zipper rasped open on James’s suitcase, the sound sharp and final in the quiet morning light.

Kate leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over her chest, watching as he folded crisp button-down shirts into perfect squares, smoothing each one like he was preparing for battle instead of a three-day work trip.

Something felt…off.

James hadn’t been quite himself lately. Distracted. Shorter with the kids, quieter with her.

But this morning? It was worse.

He hadn’t kissed her when he got out of bed. Not really. Just a peck, more like a habit than intention, and then he’d disappeared into the shower before she could even wish him good luck on his presentation.

“Do you have enough socks?” she asked, trying for lightness.

His hands stilled for half a beat, then he nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Packed them last night.”

Packed them last night.

Which was…unlike him. He usually threw everything together last-minute, rushing through the morning chaos. But there he was, neatly folding each item with mechanical precision.

Kate stepped closer, leaning into the bedpost, trying to read his mood. “You okay? You seem...tense.”

James shook his head. “I’m fine. Just thinking about the meetings.”

Liar.

She knew him too well. There was something deeper, something he wasn’t saying.

Kate let the silence stretch, then exhaled softly, pushing off the bedpost. She reached for the hem of her shirt, tugging it over her head in one fluid motion and letting it drop onto the edge of the bed.

James stilled.

For a heartbeat, his gaze flicked up. Met hers.

Kate offered a slow, hopeful smile. “Maybe I can help with that tension?”

She moved closer and pressed her palm lightly against his chest. His expression steady but…distant. Guarded.

When his eyes dropped—just briefly—to the lace of her bra, Kate felt a flicker of relief.

She stretched up, brushing a kiss along his jaw, lingering just long enough to feel the roughness of his stubble. She let her other hand drift lower, resting over his waistband with unmistakable intent.

James didn’t lean into her. He didn’t relax the way he normally did when she touched him like this.

Instead, his body tensed.

He stepped back—back—just enough to break contact, his gaze dropping as if he couldn’t quite meet hers.

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