Page 19 of The Sweet Spot

That all changes if I go upstairs.

Which leads me to ask myself, again, what the hell I’m doing here.

Room 210... His husky voice whispers in my ear as if he’s standing right next to me, his hot breath tickling my sensitive skin, instead of being an already distant memory more than twelve hours after leaving him on the beach. No sooner does that thought trickle in and out of my mind than I’m closing the car door behind me with anticipation thrumming through my veins for the first time in a long time. A smile plays on my lips because I know exactly why I drove here.

I did it for myself.

I felt more alive lying in the cold sand next to Deacon than I’d felt in months, and I. Want. More.

More sparks.

More life.

Just. More. Time.

With steadier feet than I’d expect to have, I walk by the front desk and wave at the woman standing behind it, her face familiar from classes I teach at Crucible. I don’t stop to chat, eager to garner as little attention as possible. It’s been months since I was the focus of a Kroydon Kronicles article, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

The fewer people who see me here, the better.

I slip quietly onto the elevator and press the button for the second floor, then wait for an eternity to pass before the doors finally close. No sooner have I exhaled the breath I was unknowingly holding than the doors open once more, and I’m left scanning the hall for prying eyes before taking a few steps toward one of the first doors and raising hesitant knuckles to knock on the door of Room 210.

My hand hangs in the air, fisted and frozen as my emotions go to war.

Can something be equally stupid and out of character and yet completely worth it at the same time?

Guess I’m about to find out.

I’ve barely touched the door when it’s swung open, and I’m met with Deacon standing just inside. A white towel is knotted at his hips as water droplets run down from his jet-black hair. A sexy smirk slides into place when any words I may have prepared die a quick death on my suddenly dry lips.

Ho-ly hell. This man is just so... much.

Broad, beautifully carved shoulders slope down to a chest I’d love to get my hands on, strictly in a professional manner... of course. His pecs are pure perfection, and as a few lucky droplets of water sluice over beautiful, tanned washboard abs—I manage to count eight... Eight.

This man is the epitome of a golden god, and I may have just swallowed my own tongue because I stand here without words, fighting to shake myself out of whatever trance I seem to be frozen in.

“St. James.” My name sounds more like a curse than a greeting from his lips. “Didn’t think you were coming.”

He doesn’t step aside or ask me in, and suddenly I find myself wondering if I read him and the entire situation wrong. The backs of my eyelids burn with embarrassment, and I have no doubt a crimson red wave of heat is washing over my face.

Seriously? The first time I put myself out there in forever, this is what happens?

Screw this and screw him for making me feel this way.

“You know what?” I shake my head, aggravated that I’ve allowed myself to be so vulnerable. “I shouldn’t have come. I’ve had a bad day, and I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s it? Didn’t know you’d give up so easily,” he challenges, and I taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth as I bite down on my bottom lip to keep my smart mouth in check.

I’m going to have to work with this man, if only for the next month.

It’s still a damn month.

“Give up?” I counter, getting ready to go toe-to-toe, but Deacon looks up toward the ceiling for a hot second before bringing his stormy blue gaze back to mine. And when he does, I don’t see a man ready to spar. That I know how to deal with. I’ve been doing it for years in every aspect of my life. No... this man looks wrecked.

“I’m sorry. That’s not what I fucking meant. Guess you’re not the only one who’s had a bad day.” He runs his fingers through his hair, moving it off his face. The action draws me back to that beautiful body and the way it moves. I’d love to study this man’s muscles. Again... in a purely professional way. “I thought you were room service. I’ve got a pizza and beer coming up. Want to share shit-day stories over dinner?” He pushes the door wider and steps aside. “You gonna come in or make me stand here in a towel until somebody snaps a picture they can sell to the tabloids?”

Guess he did see the Kroydon Kronicles article after all.

Better get used to it in this town.

---