Page 52 of Worth the Wait

His hand slides down my stomach, fingers teasing the waistband of my shorts. "These need to go," he murmurs against my skin, already tugging them down my hips.

I lift to help him, suddenly desperate to feel him against me with nothing between us. He stands to shove his sweatpants down, revealing his impressive cock that makes my mouth water with anticipation. His body is even more magnificent than I remembered—defined muscles shifting beneath tanned skin as he kneels between my spread thighs.

"Beautiful," he whispers, hands sliding up my legs in a reverent caress. "Absolutely perfect."

Three sharp knocks at the door freeze us both.

"Tarryn?" Christine's voice, precise and penetrating, cuts through our passion-induced haze like ice water. "Are you awake?"

"Shit," I hiss, panic replacing desire in an instant. Jackson's eyes widen, mirroring my alarm as I shove him away, scrambling for clothing.

"One moment!" I call, grabbing my discarded shorts and yanking them up while gesturing frantically toward the connecting door. Jackson doesn't move, seemingly torn between amusement and frustration.

"Go!" I mouth silently, pulling my camisole down as I reach for the hotel robe hanging on the bathroom door.

Another knock. "I thought perhaps you'd like to join me for a nightcap. Strategy discussion for tomorrow's presentation."

Jackson finally moves, but instead of retreating to his room, he slides silently into the bathroom, closing the door with barely a click. I wrap the robe tightly around myself, take a deep breath, and compose my features into what I hope resembles sleepy confusion rather than interrupted arousal.

When I open the door, Christine stands in perfectly pressed evening wear, not a hair out of place despite the late hour. Her eyes immediately scan the room behind me, cataloging details with predatory efficiency.

"Christine," I say, forcing a yawn that's only partly fake—though exhaustion isn't what had me breathless moments ago. "Is everything alright?"

"Perfect," she replies. "I thought we might discuss tomorrow's client approach over drinks. The bar is still open."

I tighten the robe's belt, hyperaware of Jackson hiding just feet away. "I was actually about to turn in. Long day, and tomorrow's presentation needs my full attention."

Her eyes narrow slightly, gaze drifting to the two whiskey glasses on the nightstand. I see the exact moment she registers them, something calculating flickering across her features.

"Having company?" she asks, head tilting with false casualness.

"Just a nightcap to help me sleep," I reply smoothly. "Room service brought two by mistake."

She doesn't believe me—that much is clear from her expression—but she lacks concrete evidence to press further. "Have you seen Hayes this evening? I stopped by his room, but there was no answer."

I shrug with carefully practiced nonchalance. "No idea. Probably in the hotel bar?"

Christine's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Perhaps. Well, don't let me keep you from your… rest."

The meaningful pause speaks volumes. She knows something's happening but can't prove it. Yet.

"Good night, Christine," I say firmly, already closing the door. "See you at breakfast."

I wait until her footsteps fade down the hallway before I exhale, shoulders slumping with relief. The bathroom door opens, revealing Jackson with an expression caught between amusement and lingering desire.

"That was close," he says, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Think she bought it?"

"Not for a second," I reply, leaning against the closed door. "But she can't prove anything."

He crosses to me in two long strides, hands framing my face with startling tenderness. "Does it matter if she suspects? We're both adults. We can?—"

"It matters," I interrupt, though my body betrays me by leaning into his touch. "You know it does. The promotion, our careers?—"

"I know." He sighs, pressing his forehead against mine. "You're right. We should be more careful."

The regret in his voice mirrors the ache building in my chest. We stand there for a long moment, breathing the same air, neither willing to pull away first.

"I should go," he finally says, though his hands still cup my face like I'm something infinitely precious. "Before she comes back with reinforcements."

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