Page 39 of Playing the Field
A slim warning about the danger to my job wriggles into my brain, but I banish it.
“I want to go to a hotel.” The words are as surprising as if someone else said them.
“Done.”
Hunter stands and takes a firmer hold of my hand. It’s the only place he’s touching me, but my skin flames like he’s holding a match. It’s a world away from the clammy, uncomfortable response I had to Bart’s unwelcome touch.
I want to follow my instinct, to be whisked away without considering any consequences except deep sexual satisfaction, but the good girl in me doesn’t want to leave my date in the lurch. I stop.
“Do I need to say goodbye to Bart, tell him I’m leaving?” I look in the direction of the bar.
In two strides, Hunter is back in the restaurant, never letting go of my hand, and peering over the crowd. He turns back toward me and shakes his head. “He seems to have occupied himself.” He frowns and rolls his eyes. “Send him a text.”
He takes out his phone and fires off his own text. When he gets a reply, he nods. “Bogie’s dog sitter. All set.”
For the first time since we bumped into each other at the airport, I feel free to look at him without being sneaky about it. Turning my face up to his, I take in all the features I’ve pictured as I drifted off to sleep each night, idly wishing I could touch them.
I reach for the side of his face and run a finger from his sculpted cheekbone down to his chin, letting the tip rest on his skin before pulling away. His eyelids droop as he lets in a long, slow breath. I know exactly how he feels.
He reaches for my hand and places my thumb against his lower lip, and I slowly rub it back and forth, feeling the contours until his lips part and he gently sucks my thumb into his mouth. His tongue rolls over it enough to fire up every nerve ending in my body. I feel hot, breathless, dizzy.
Letting my thumb go, he brings my hand between us, holding it in a firm grip. I’m vaguely aware of the restaurant sounds behind me, and I know it’s my last chance to turn around and resume my date like the good girl I’ve always been.
But I don’t want to be that girl right now. I don’t want to think about mixing work and romance. I just want this man.
Hunter guides me toward the back door of the restaurant, and he kicks it open. The damp night air hits my face as we walk outside, and for the moment, I’m not looking back.
CHAPTER 21
Hunter
We barely talkon the drive to the hotel. My mind is dancing with a minefield of thoughts, each one more frantic than the next.I want her. God, do I want her.
But as we roll through town, a newer, more calming realization takes hold—she wants me, maybe as much as I want her. All of those stolen looks and small moments around the house weren’t a product of my wishful thinking.
In the time we’ve shared Kyler’s house, I’ve learned enough to know her choices are deliberate, and my chest tightens at the idea that she’s choosing me.
I don’t want to piss off Kyler, but fuck him. He’s a grown-up, and if he’s my closest friend, he should be happy that I want to do right by his sister. I’m sure there are plenty of vacancies at half the hotels in town, but I want to take her someplace special. I also don’t want to drive very far to get there.
The first place that comes to mind, since we’re in West Hollywood,is Château Marmont. The team has been hosted at some meet and greets there, and there’s enough celebrity clientele that the front desk staff can usher us to a room without a lot of eyes headed our way.
That’s good for me, given that I don’t need any more controversies surrounding my career, and going into a hotel room with a woman definitely would get some media attention. Not to mention that Gracie’s bosses would not like it one bit.
Gracie looks out the passenger window, and I worry she’s losing her nerve. The way her eyes bored into me in the back of the restaurant and her clear instructions left no question about what she wanted, but maybe she’s getting cold feet. I can’t see enough of her face to tell.
I squeeze her knee and leave my hand there. “Hey.” She turns from the window, and I see her bottom lip between her teeth. As I suspected, she’s nervous. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I was trying to get you out of an awkward date, that’s all. If you want to hang out and order room service, that’s great with me.”
She nods, but her expression is complicated—neither a smile nor a frown, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Okay, sounds good.”
I want to ask her to elaborate, but it’s enough to know she wants to be here with me. However it unfolds is okay. The last thing Gracie needs is another caveman making her feel uncomfortable. I want to get her to the hotel so badly that I’m cursing every red light under my breath.
When I pull into the valet area and an attendant opens our doors, all of the frenzied haste I felt moments before fades into the distant buzz of the city below us. It’s so quiet up here in the Sunset hills, and for the first time since my house burned down, I feel grounded. Sure, it’s the warm evening air and the starry black skies, but it’s something else that has nothing to do with my surroundings.
Walking around to Gracie’s side of the car, I hold out my hand, an offer I hope she’ll take. I’m not about to force it. If she’s had enough of handsy men for one night, I’ll follow her inside and make good on my room service offer. I haven’t eaten since lunch, and I wouldn’t mind some comfort food on a tray delivered to an upper floor of the hotel.
The softness of her skin lights up a deep part of my heart, and the feelings I’ve worked to repress spring free and hit me hard. I don’t just want room service with her. I don’t think I only want one night with her.
Easy, Sport.
