Mr. Dark and Sexy had his wide, muscular back to me. He wore a white T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats. The cotton of his shirt formed against all that hard, male flesh. God, he was toned. I assumed he was going to work out with his ensemble and the fact that he wore running shoes, and because I clearly had no control over my body or thoughts where he was concerned, I pictured him all sweaty, his muscles straining, his most likely impressive dick pressing against those gray pants.
My room was the last one down the hall, so I took a step back until the wall greeted me, not wanting to be seen, because I already started feeling my face getting red with embarrassment. All I could picture was us moving on the dance floor together, the touch sexual, enticing. But then that was bombarded with the remembrance of hearing him screwing some woman in the hotel room next to us.
My stomach clenched in distaste. He turned around then, and our eyes locked, our gazes clashing. For a moment, I saw surprise filter across his face before a slow smile crept across his sinfully sensual mouth. He had a little bit of scruff on his cheeks and jaw, a five o’clock shadow that told me he hadn’t shaved this morning. God, I found that so attractive. And his hair, slightly mussed around his head, had my fingers itching to touch the strands, to see if they were soft.
I curled my hands into tight fists, my heart racing, pounding so hard I wondered if he could see it through my clothes. We said nothing as we stared at each other, his very presence a little bit intimidating. He seemed bigger in the daylight, his shoulders broad, his muscles pronounced.
“You know…” he started in that deep, husky voice of his that instantly had a shiver racing up my spine.
He took a step toward me, and I inhaled deeply on instinct, taking in the spicy, woodsy scent of whatever cologne he wore. Or maybe it wasn’t cologne. Maybe it was his natural aroma, an all-male scent that had my thighs clenching together involuntarily.
“I’ve never been one to believe in fate or destiny,” he said in a low voice then dipped his gaze to my mouth before snapping his eyes back up to look into mine. “But after last night, and now running into you this morning—” He looked over at the door to his right—my hotel room door—and then looked back at me. “—and you’re in the room right next to mine?” He smiled slowly, and I felt my mouth dry, my throat tightening. “I’m starting to become a fast believer.”
I opened my mouth but promptly shut it, unsure what I was going to say. But the memory of that woman moaning played through my head like a broken record, and I narrowed my eyes. I was jealous, annoyed. He was talking about destiny and fate and all that bullshit, when he just fucked some woman the night before?
I straightened my shoulders and pushed away from the wall, taking a step toward him, crowding him the way he thought he was going to do to me. He lifted one dark eyebrow, his smirk growing. But he said nothing, clearly waiting for me to say whatever it was I was going to spew forth.
“I’m not really one for destiny, but what I am one for is reality.” I crossed my arms over my chest and lifted an eyebrow, doing the same as he did. I pushed past the pounding in my head and body, my hangover and arousal taking a backseat as annoyance filled me. “And that reality was listening to you have sex last night.” His eyes widened a bit, but he didn’t respond. Good. “And just for the record, me and my friend could hear you guys clear as day.” I took a step closer and rose up on my toes, trying to be eye-level with him, but he was too damn tall. “She was faking it,” I whispered conspiratorially. I had no idea why I was being so catty right now. Maybe it was the fact that I’d felt something pretty profound in his touches last night, that I hadn’t been able to get him out of my head, and then came to the reality that clearly it had all been one-sided.
But I did feel pride that I had the balls to blurt that out.
I took a step back, needing to breathe, needing some room. He still said nothing, and I figured maybe I caught him off guard. But just as he opened his mouth to presumably speak, maybe deny it, or maybe boast about it, his hotel room door opened again and out walked the blond guy I’d seen him with last night, and a woman who was clearly doing the walk of shame. Her miniskirt was crooked, her shirt haphazardly pushed up her stomach. Her hair was a wreck around her face, and when she glanced over at me, I could see her mascara was smeared along her temple.