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If I can’t get myself off in the privacy of my own room—
I stop, mid-thought as I look around, an uneasy feeling creeping into my stomach. The half full glass of water sitting on the desk. The freaking guitar leaning against the couch that I somehow neglected to notice. The champagne. The note…there was no upgrade.
I’m the one in the wrong room.
And I was seconds from climaxing all over Brix Wilson’s bed.
My heart pounds as a trickle of sweat makes it’s way down the back of my neck. I swat it away, while trying hard to think up an excuse for being in his room that sounds even half plausible.
Who am I kidding? There’s no getting out of this. Not without me looking like a complete fuckwit. Sure, they gave me the wrong key, which makes this whole mess not my fault, but as if he’s going to believe that.
I take a deep breath and reach for my clothes, somehow managing to dress myself while showing minimal skin. Not that he hasn’t seen everything already. I stand up, nearly losing my balance. My legs feel like jelly, so even walking feels like a hard task, but I have to get out of here. And the longer I wait, the harder escaping is going to be.
“I have to go,” I mumble.
“So soon? You went to all this trouble of getting in here and performing for me, and now you’re leaving? Where’s the harm in hanging around for a little longer?” he presses. “I was looking forward to seeing how far you’d go.”
I stalk over to the door, avoiding all physical contact with him. He can’t wipe the smirk off his face, but I can’t let myself think too hard about what just happened, or I’ll lose control. As I close the door behind me, I hear his voice call out after me;
“What, I don’t even get an encore?”I stumble my way through the lobby, the only thing on my mind getting the fuck out of here. I know I’m being paranoid, but I feel like everyone is staring at me. What if he called up to blast the front desk for their lack of security? It wouldn’t take long for them to realize they checked me into the wrong room. I’d go over there and yell at them myself if I wasn’t so fucking embarrassed.
I’m almost at the door, when a split-second distraction causes me to miss the suitcase that’s conveniently parked in my path. I grunt as I tumble over it, landing flat on my ass. I chuckle softy to myself, because if I don’t, the tears will start. And hey, it’s not like I’m at risk of making myself look any more unstable than I already have. All I wanted was to get out of here with as little attention as possible, but I couldn’t even get that right. If people weren’t staring at me before, they sure as hell are now.
“I’m fine. I’m okay,” I mumble to the single person who’s rushed to my aid. Everyone else is probably too afraid to come near me—probably because they recognize me as the dildo girl.
I get up, brush myself off, then I sprint for the door, not letting myself relax until I reach my car. Even when I’m sitting in the front seat, locking my seatbelt in, I can’t relax. I'm a laughing-crying mess. The worst bit is I went through all that and I’m worse off than I was before I got here. So much for my night of uninterrupted pleasure. The way I’m going, I’ll never come again.
I take a deep breath and start the car, reversing out of the parking spot and narrowly missing a group of girls, who are too busy screaming up at the hotel, to notice me. I look up to see what has their attention and immediately wish I hadn’t. Brix leans over his tenth floor balcony, waving down at the crowd. No wonder they were so disappointed when I was out there. I should have figured out then that I was in the wrong room.
At least I’ll never have to face him again.
And it’s not like anyone else will ever find out about it. Hell, he could tell the whole world and it wouldn’t matter, because nobody knows who I am.
I’ll just be the random chick who got her rocks off in his hotel room bed.Chapter 4HannahThe Next DayI still can’t close my eyes. Not without being right back in that hotel room, giving the music world’s hottest new artist a performance worthy of my own Grammy. It’s all I’ve thought about for the last twenty-four hours, and I’m fucking exhausted.
I tilt my head to check the time, but I’m distracted by a knock on the door. I groan and weigh out the pros and cons of ignoring it. One pro would be not disturbing the comfortable position I’ve been lying in for most of the afternoon.
