Page 142 of Pucking Around

I glance over my shoulder to see he’s standing two steps closer, his expression hungry. “Mars, did you send our bags up to your room?”

“It seemed prudent,” he replies with a shrug. “You may have valuables.”

Of course.I let out another breath, turning back to the desk clerk. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” she says. “If you get up to your room, and they’re not there, call down, okay?” Her cheeriness is so at odds with our mutual, slow-burning heat.

“Great,” I say, pushing off the counter and stomping towards the elevators. Ilmari follows close behind me. Once we have distance between us and the desk clerk, I turn. “Will you go get my bag while I call another Uber?”

Ilmari’s gaze drops away from my face to trace my body. The man is undressing me with his eyes, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I hold still, heart in my throat. I don’t want him to see that I’m nervous. His gaze levels on me again as he smolders. “No.”

I gasp. “What? You’re seriously going to hoard my bag? You need contact solution and a pair of fuzzy panda sleep socks?”

“No.”

I cross my arms, giving him my best glare. “Don’t one-word-answer me, Mars. I’m not in the mood. Is this a manners thing?Pleasego get my bag.”

Stepping into my space, he raises his hand and brushes his thumb over my parted lips. “If you want it…come and get it.” Not waiting for me to respond, he turns on his heel and stalks off towards the elevators.

65

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Mars steps inside, not looking back to see if I’m following. Of course, I am. He steps to the back of the elevator and turns, folding his arms across his chest, watching me stand at the threshold with an unreadable look on his face.

Heart in my throat, I step inside and turn quickly around. “What floor?”

“Three.”

I press the number three with my thumb, and it glows white. The car instantly starts moving. I close my eyes counting my heartbeats as Mars steps in behind me, his presence overwhelming me. He doesn’t touch me, but he leans in, his breath warm against my skin.

I feel him everywhere, my every sense prickling. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to lean back against him. The elevator dings and the doors open. I all but stumble out, breaking the connection between us. He shifts past me and moves off down the carpeted hall. I hurry after him, taking in the cut of his athletic body in his grey fitted t-shirt and slim black dress pants rolled up at the cuff.

His hand is in his pocket, fishing out his key, and then he’s opening the door to his room. I follow behind, watching as he walks right past our pair of bags on the floor by the closet. He walks all the way to the back of the room and slowly turns, holding to the edges of the desk as he leans against it, watching me, waiting.

I step inside the doorway, one hand holding the door open, the other curled around the strap of my purse on my shoulder. It’s a comfortable room with a king-sized bed along one wall, minibar under the large, flat-screen TV. My weekender bag is far enough inside the room that I’ll have to take another step to reach it. And unless I want to look like a total idiot holding onto the door and stretching my body out, I’ll have to let the door shut behind me.

Mars watches me, his expression totally unreadable. He’s not going to help me out here. This is my choice. If this door shuts behind me, we both know what will happen. God, I want it. I want him. I’ve wanted him for weeks.

Sudden death, Rachel. Take this shot and live with the consequences.

And I know what the consequences will be. If I reach out my hand, he’s taking it. Decision made, I take another step inside and drop my right hand away from the door. It swings shut behind me, settling into the latch with an ominous click.

The room is dark and moody, lit only by a single lamp in the corner. Ilmari leans against the edge of the desk with all the casual calm of a leopard on the hunt. As I watch him, he slips his hand in his pocket and pulls something out. Then both his hands are raising as he sweeps his hair back and up into a high knot on top of his head. His biceps bulge as he bends his arms, his fingers flexing around the elastic as he secures his hair. The move shows off the deep fade he has going up both sides of his head to his crown. The shave continues around the nape of his neck.

All the while, he watches me, his blue eyes blown black with desire. His eyes are the only thing giving him away. That and the tension in the room that now sits so thick you could cut it with a knife.

My pulse hammers as I take in the strength and elegance of his powerful form. “How are you feeling?” I murmur. “No pain from the cortisone shot?”

“No pain,” he mutters. Then he’s kicking off his shoes.

“You might have some stiffness in the hip for a day or two,” I stammer. “Some…umm…swelling. But that’s normal.”

“I don’t want to talk about my hip.” His hands drop to the hem of his shirt.

“Ilmari…” I say on a breath. There’s nothing else to be said.

We hold each other’s gaze. The only sound is the gentle hum of the AC unit. The heat of his gaze is going to burn me to ash.

“Tell me to stop,” he says.

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