Page 10 of Tempting Irish
He chuckles. “At least, not tosleep.”
I can’t help butsnort.
Arching a brow, I cross my arms over my chest, but the movement only makes his gaze drift down to my cleavage. I drop myarms.
“And if I come up with you, that’s all you want to do?Sleep?”
“I didn’t say that’sallI wanted to do. But I promise to keep my hands to myself. Plus, I’ve got ahuge—” he accentuates the word, “—room, and no one to share itwith.”
Don’t do it, Bree, my rational brain screams. But my sleep and sex-deprived body has otherideas.
He shrugs. “If ye’d rather stay down here in thelobby-”
“No.” Again, the word comes out forced. So much for staying cool and collected. The man already has my head spinning. “I mean, yes, thank you. I’d appreciateit.”
“Good choice.” He takes my other bag and tosses it over his shoulder, then starts to walk towards theelevators.
I catch the concierge’s knowing, judgmental grin. Red-hot embarrassment creeps up my neck, warming mycheeks.
What am Idoing?
Eyes trained on Owen’s back, I try to stop my gaze from drifting down, from noticing the way his jeans hug his perfect ass and thick, muscularthighs.
At eighteen, Owen was good-looking, tall, and corded with muscles, but the man in front of me isbreathtaking.
I should tell him who I am. I don’t know what stops me, other than that I like the way his gaze keeps drifting to mine. The hunger that lurks in the gray depths, promising a night of toe-curlingpleasure.
All I have to do isask.
Damn, if I don’t want to. Wanthim. To taste his lips, feel the heat of his skin, to hear my name roll off his tongue as he buries himself inside of me. To finally experience the fantasy that all my past sexual encounters had been measuredagainst.
But what if even he doesn’t live up to the hype my overactive libido has imagined? Then, maybe,finally, I’d get the man out of myhead.
Notlikely.
I chew on my bottom lip, following him, and watching him from the corner of my eyes as we ride the elevator up the top floor. Watch as he saunters down the hall with the swagger of the rock god heis.
My breath comes out in shaky little puffs as he uses his keycard to open thedoor.
I’m really doingthis.
Spending the night with OwenGallagher.
Sleep, my brain reminds me.That’s all heoffered.
Verbally, yes. But the offer of so much more is clear in hisgaze.
He holds the door open for me, one brow arched, and I wonder how long I was standing there gawking athim.
“Having secondthoughts?”
Yes.Second thoughts about allowing him to seduce the seven-month sexual drought right out ofme.
I give a small shake of my head, then walk into thesuite.
“Ye can have the bedroom. I’ll take the couch.” Owen opens the double doors that lead to the bedroom, and places my luggage beside thebed.
“I don’t know how to thankyou.”
