Page 21 of Sharing Shane

“Shane,” she said, and hearing his name on her lips in that throaty, sexy voice did nothing to stifle the party trying to break out in his pants. “You won’t possibly be comfortable on that thing. What if you fall off?”

He rolled his eyes. “Then I hit the floor. I’ll survive.”

She shook her head, making her dark hair swing. “I insist you take the bed.”

“No.”

He bent to retrieve his duffle and, ignoring the way her mouth had dropped open, carried it to the sofa and plunked it down on a soft cushion. “There.”

She only blinked at him, her mouth still hanging open, so he shrugged and stepped into the powder room. He didn’t bother trying to piss through his half hard-on, just splashed cold water on his face until he felt almost human again. He was tempted to take down his pants and run cold water over his dick, but he knew if he took it out, he wouldn’t be able to resist giving it a stroke. He’d save it for the shower later, hopefully when Veronica was fast asleep and unlikely to hear him groaning his way toward orgasm.

He wondered if he could convince her to wear earplugs if he told her he snored.

He mopped his face with the pretty pink towel, adjusted the front of his jeans, opened the door, and nearly walked right into her.

“Jesus.” He took a quick step back, slamming his shoulder into the doorjamb, and scowled at her. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest and a mutinous expression on her face. “What?”

“You’re taking the bed,” she announced.

He snorted and stepped around her, careful not to brush against her. If he got any more of that sex-and-peaches smell on him, he was going to jump out of his skin.

“I mean it,” she said, trailing behind him as he walked toward his duffle bag.

“Uh-huh.” He dug out a fresh T-shirt and whipped the one he was wearing over his head. He’d have liked to get out of the traveling clothes completely, but his pants weren’t coming off until she was either gone or asleep. “I’m going to go get some dinner. Want to come?”

“No, thank you.” Her voice sounded strangled. “I want to talk about the sleeping arrangements.”

He tugged the clean shirt over his head and left it untucked. Maybe it would help cover his dick, which unfortunately had perked up again. Veronica in a snit was pretty fucking sexy.

“Sleeping arrangements are handled,” he said, digging out his phone to turn it on and check the battery. He’d left it off all day, so it was still fully charged. He tucked it back into his pocket and looked at her. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide, and she was biting her lower lip so hard he was surprised it wasn’t bleeding. “You, bed. Me, couch. Dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

He shrugged. That was probably a lie since he hadn’t seen her eat all day, but she was a grownup. She could feed herself. “I’m going to take the key card. I’ll get another on my way back, once the check -n crowd has died down.”

She blinked, clearly thrown off by the change in topic. “Oh. Good idea.”

He nodded and scooped it off the kitchen counter. “See you later.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” she called after him.

“No, you’re not,” he grunted, and let the door slam shut behind him.

He headed up the path, the lights of the hotel gleaming in the distance. He’d check in with Wyatt and Seth, see if they had dinner plans. They’d already been here a full day, so maybe they could tell him where he could get a steak. He wanted red meat, a beer, and to not smell peaches and sex long enough for his dick to go down. If he was lucky, he could stay away long enough for Veronica to go to bed. Then he could get his shower, handle his unruly penis, and catch some sleep.

By the time he made it back to the cottage, he was all but dead on his feet. Though it was barely midnight, the long day of travel had caught up with him, and he was more than ready to crash. He noticed the room service cart on the side of the small front porch and surmised that Veronica had ordered dinner in. No doubt some invisible staff member would whisk it away before morning.

He shook his head as he shoved the key card into the slot. This place was fancy with a capital F, something that had been made very clear to him at dinner. He’d texted Wyatt, but he and Seth had been at a firm function and unavailable. After making plans to get together the next morning for breakfast, Shane had wandered into the hotel restaurant in search of a steak.

The maître d hadn’t exactly sneered at his untucked T-shirt and worn jeans, but Shane could tell he’d wanted to. After scanning his keycard to make sure he hadn’t just walked in off the street, he’d suggested a seat at the bar. Shane had been tempted to demand a table in the center of the room just to fuck with the guy, but he’d been too tired and too hungry to care. He’d taken the seat at the bar, ordered a ribeye, and flirted shamelessly with the bartender.

The buxom redhead with the bold pink lipstick had made it more than clear that he was welcome back at her place for dessert when her shift ended at two. He’d been half tempted to take her up on it, except his dick, which had been at half-mast for most of the damn day, had chosen that precise moment to finally clock out.

He’d passed on the redhead and walked the long way back to the cottage. He’d thought about detouring to the beach to watch the moon over the water but knew he’d be shaking sand out of his boots for the next week. So here he was, creeping into the cottage at midnight, hoping Veronica and her luscious tits were already asleep.

He shut the door quietly behind him and toed off his boots, leaving them at the front door, and crept forward on stocking feet. He left the lights off since the open curtains let in plenty of ambient light, and he had no trouble making his way across the room. He glanced toward the bed, saw it was empty, and took two steps forward to peer over the back of the couch.

She’d made herself a little nest with one of the extra pillows from the bed and a spare sheet and was curled up in the corner of the sectional, sound asleep.

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