Page 87 of It Happened on a Sunday
Jaime, one of my two night guards, stands up in a rush. “Everything okay, Sloane?”
“Yeah, of course.” I start blushing as I realize what I’m about to say—and what it’s sure to look like to him and the other night guard, Johnny.
Not that it matters, I remind myself. I’m a grown woman. I can have a man in my hotel room anytime I want. Just because I haven’t wanted one anywhere near me for the last five years doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me wanting Sly now. Especially since everything inside me says he really is as good a guy as he seems.
I clear my throat. “I just wanted to let you and Johnny know that Sly is on his way over. Please let him through when he gets here.”
Jaime nods. “Of course. What time should we expect him?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe about fifteen minutes or so?”
“Gotcha.” He smiles as he reaches for his phone. “We’ll take care of him.”
“Thanks.” I return his smile, then duck back into my suite. I race for the bathroom to brush my teeth, splash some water on my face, and try to tame the mess that is my hair.
Even after I do all that, I still have several minutes to kill, so I pour myself a glass of wine to calm my nerves. Then proceed notto drink it as I pace back and forth in front of the huge bank of windows that lines one whole wall of the sitting area.
From the top floor of the hotel, Los Angeles looks small and surprisingly calm. I want to watch at the window for Sly’s Uber to pull up, but I’m sixteen stories up, on the opposite side of the hotel from the street, and I have no idea what kind of car he’ll be pulling up in. Anxious much?
I give up my vigil and start pacing the entire room. As I walk, I can’t help wondering if I’m doing the right thing.
The truth is, I don’t know whatI’m doing. I just know that I want to see him so badly that I’m shaking. And that’s never happened to me before. Which is why I’m pacing. And wondering. And worrying. And—
A knock on the door stops the thoughts running in obsessive circles through my mind, and I whirl around just in time to see Sly blow through the doorway like he owns the place.
His eyes sweep the room until they meet mine, and then he locks in. For several seconds, neither of us moves. We just stare at each other as tension thickens the air between us until it’s almost impossible for me to draw a breath.
My whole body is vibrating now, every cell inside me yearning toward him until I no longer care if I can breathe.
Until I no longer care if I can stand.
Until I no longer care about anything but getting to him.
Sly must see the surrender in my eyes, because the moment I reach for him, he kicks the door shut behind him.
And then he’s striding across the room, pulling me up and into his arms before I can so much as take a step toward him.
The second he touches me, my worries—and the last of my inhibitions—drain away.
“Took you long enough,” I tell him as my arms wind around his neck, my legs wrap around his waist, and my fingers tangle in his hair. I yank his mouth down to mine.
“Fuck,” he groans against my lips, and then he’s kissing me back, his mouth devouring me whole as I do the same to him.
It’s nothing and everything like the kiss at the observatory. The emotions are all there—the trembling need to connect, to hold, to be together. But with an overlay of full-on desperation.
Lips meet, teeth nip, tongues tangle in a riotous cacophony of need and want and can’t-get-enough. The kiss goes on and on and on.
He tastes like lime, smells like sandalwood and clean water, and feels like everything I’ve ever imagined. Everything I’ve ever wanted. And all I can think is that I want it to last forever. More, I wantthisto last forever.
I pull Sly closer, hold him tighter, and he does the same to me even as he spins us around and starts moving.
One second we’re standing in the middle of the room, and the next my back is up against the window while Sly’s hands slide up and down my sides—all without lifting his mouth from mine for even a moment.
I arch against him in response. “Please,” I gasp against his mouth as need plows through me. “Sly, please.”
He pulls back, his eyes boiling with the same craving currently tearing through me. But he still takes the time to lift a hand to my cheek, to brush my hair back from my face. “You okay?” he whispers.
“Not yet,” I whisper in return, my hands sliding under his hoodie, my nails scratching at his back. “But I will be as soon as you’re inside me.”
