Page 56 of Desperate Actions

And I’m nervous.

Because I know what he said, the things he promised—whispered into my skin, groaned into my mouth, gritted out against my ear as he wrecked me—those are the things I’ve always wanted to hear spilling from his perfect lips.

But I also know the truth.

This isn’t forever.

I’m not foolish enough to think a man like him would want a girl like me for keeps.

But I don’t want anyone to give Sammy a hard time.

He’s been beautiful to me.

Took care of me like I knew only he could.

And for that? I am grateful.

But now? Now, I need to start worrying about what happens next.

I shower quickly, washing my hair with the premium hotel toiletries, scrubbing every inch of my sore, well-loved body.

The scent of him still lingers on my skin, deep in my hair, and for some stupid, ridiculous reason, I don’t want to wash it away.

But I do.

Because this? This was a one time thing.

I brush my teeth with the fresh toothbrush wrapped in plastic, my heart a little too heavy, my pulse a little too quick.

And then—I wrap the soft terrycloth robe around my body, tucking it tight.

It closes all the way.

Good.

Because no, they don’t always do that.

I inhale deep, steel myself, and open the door.

I’m ready to face him.

At least, I think I am.

Then, I see him.

Sitting at the table by the window, sipping coffee, broad and impossibly gorgeous in the morning light.

His hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends even though he brushed it away from his chiseled face. God, he is so handsome.

The short beard only highlights how good looking he is. He is bare-chested and his tanned, tattooed skin is on display. Even his forearms are hot as fuck.

Is that normal? For a woman to think a guy’s forearms are sexy?

Well, his are. They flex as he lifts the cup to his lips.

He’s focused on the view outside until he hears me step in.

Then—his eyes find me.

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