“You're staring again,” I accuse without turning around, but I'm smiling.
“Can't help it.” His voice is closer now. “You're fucking gorgeous, especially first thing in the morning.”
I turn to find him stepping into the shower with me, and the hot water cascades over both of us. His hands are immediately on my waist, pulling me close, and I slide my arms around his neck.
“Good morning,” I murmur against his lips.
“Bestmorning,” he corrects softly before kissing me.
It starts slow and sweet, but quickly turns heated. Our bodies are slippery with water and soap, our hands sliding over one another’s wet skin. He backs me against the tiles, and I gasp at the cool contrast against my heated skin.
“You feel so good,” he groans against my mouth, his hands roaming over my body—my waist, my hips, higher to cup my breasts.
I arch into his touch, my own hands exploring the hard planes of his inked chest and shoulders, sliding lower. When my fingers wrap around his length, he makes a sound that's half-groan, half-laugh.
“Rory—”
His phone rings, loud and insistent from the bedroom.
We both freeze.
“It might be your mum,” I say, even though every part of me wants him to stay right here. “About Hollie.”
The phone stops, then immediately starts again.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I'm sorry, I have to—”
“Go.” I step back, ushering him out as I assure him. “It's okay.”
He presses a quick, hard kiss to my lips before stepping out of the shower. I hear him moving around in the bedroom, his voice muffled as he answers the call.
I finish washing quickly, trying not to worry. After I turn off the water and dry myself, I wrap myself in the fluffy hotel robe. Then I find him in the bedroom already dressed in last night's clothes, phone pressed to his ear.
“Yes, Mum. I'm on my way now.” He catches sight of me, and his eyes soften even as worry creases his brow. “Twenty minutes. I'll be there in twenty minutes.”
He ends the call and runs a hand through his damp hair. “Hollie's spiked a temperature. Mum says she's been sick through the night. I need to get her to the doctor.”
“Of course.” I cross to him immediately. “Is she okay?”
“Mum thinks it's just a bug, but with her being so young...” he trails off, already reaching for his shoes. “I'm sorry. This isn't how I wanted this morning to go.”
“Cole, don't apologise. She needs you. She needs her dad.” I help him find his jacket. “Go.”
He pulls me close, cupping my face. “Thank you for understanding. Yesterday was...” He kisses me, slow and sweet despite his obvious urgency. “I don't want you to think this was just—”
“I don't,” I assure him. “Go take care of your daughter.”
At the door, he pauses, turning back. “I'll text you once I've got Hollie settled. I can't wait to see you again.”
“Text me when you can. Let me know she's okay.”
“I will.” One more shared smile, then he's gone, and I'm standing in my hotel room in a bathrobe, my lips still tingling and my heart doing complicated things in my chest.
After a beat, I check my phone and find it’s nearly nine. Three hours until my interview. Plenty of time, but I prefer to be early, so I lay out my interview outfit on the bed: smart black trousers, a cream blouse, and my fitted blazer.
Professional but approachable.
Then I spend far too long on my hair and makeup, trying to look polished rather than like someone who spent most of yesterday kissing a man she barely knows.
