Page 20 of The Arrogant One
Amazingly sexy, even when he slept.
Cat
CALL ME. I’m losing my shit. 6:30 a.m. road rage is a real thing, ya know.
Do I leave the suite without saying goodbye to him? Do I go into the hallway to call my sister and try to finda way back into the room? Do I wake him up and tell him I’m going out for privacy and that I’ll be right back?
So many options.
And even though I didn’t know what was right or what to do, I knew that this was the morning after, and that part felt kind of strange. Lockhart and I had only discussed one night. Breakfast—unknown. How I was going to get back to my car since I’d left it at the restaurant—unknown. The whereabouts of a room key that I could use to go to the hallway or lobby and back—also unknown. I wasn’t on the reservation. Waking him up was the only possibility.
As I stood here, debating the different scenarios, I couldn’t drag my stare away from that bed or stop thinking about the woman who had helped ruffle up those sheets and toss that comforter to the floor, along with most of the pillows.
He had turned me into one bad girl.
Or maybe I was just a good girl who had turned bad for one night.
One long, naughty night.
My teeth found my lip as the first scene started to rewind and replay in my head—the feel of his leather seat under my bare ass, the coldness of the window as I’d pressed my back against it.
The sensation of screaming in his front seat.
God, last night was the best sex I’d ever had in my life.
Cat
SADIE!
My teeth released my lip, and my cheeks puffed out with air as I could hear my sister screaming through text.
She needed me.
And it didn’t matter how tempted I was to wake him—hehad emphasized how long things would last between us, and I’d heard him loud and clear.
I turned around to let myself out, and as I took a step toward the door, I felt it.
The soreness between my legs.
If I wasn’t trying to keep quiet, I would have laughed.
Damn that man.
THREE
Hart
The door to the suite slammed behind me as I rolled my small suitcase down the hallway toward the elevator, taking it to the first floor and stopping by the front desk to hand back the key.
“Thank you, Mr. Weston,” the front-desk clerk said, taking the thin piece of plastic I had slid toward her. “Checking out, I see.”
The personal greeting was always noticed and appreciated whenever I stayed at a Cole and Spade Hotel. My face was known at these establishments since we’d built Charred into a majority of their lobbies.
“I am.”
“How was your stay?”
I tapped my finger on the counter. “Too short.”
