Page 87 of Love In Hiding

“He probably doesn’t feel he has to. You’re a big girl. Go knock on his door. Take your suitcase just in case.”

“So don’t come back? That’s being a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“He’d expect no different from you.”

Since she made sure she packed a box of condoms just in case, her sister wasn’t wrong.

“Wish me luck,” she said, grabbing her carry-on and pulling it out the door.

Her heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her palms as she waited at the elevator. The soft ding made her jump, and she slipped inside, jabbing the button for one floor up like it might steady her nerves.

It didn’t.

By the time she reached his hallway, she had to remind herself to breathe. She slowed her steps, lifted her hand full of confidence she absolutely did not feel and knocked twice.

The door swung open almost immediately as if he was just waiting for her to appear.

And there he was.

Spencer.

Bare legs in his shorts, damp hair dripping onto the collar of a soft T-shirt. Fresh from the shower, looking relaxed in a way she absolutely wasn’t and wished she was.

But it gave her the boost she needed. And almost calmed her at the same time.

She should have showered. Or at least stopped pacing like someone rehearsing a speech and made herself more presentable until her sister kicked her out.

“It took you long enough,” he said, his voice low, his eyes steady on hers.

“You could have said something and I would have been here sooner,” she tossed out, then marched past him and into the room because confidence was easier if she didn’t think too hard.

And the fact that she even had to make sure she was strutting in as if she owned the world was bad enough when it had felt natural to do that her entire life.

“You know how I feel about this,” he said, closing the door with a click that echoed in the room. “It has to be your decision.”

“I’d like to think it’s a joint one,” she shot back.

He was working her up like it was second nature. Even the urge to argue turned her on and gave her the last nudge to be who she always was. To stop second-guessing herself.

She didn’t wait for his reply. Instead, she planted her hands on his chest and gave a firm, deliberate shove, pinning him lightly against the wall. His breath caught, but he didn’t move away.

Perfect.

She rose to her toes, her mouth slanting over his in a kiss that wasn’t shy, and it sure the hell wasn’t tentative. It was full of every pent-up thought, frustration, and want since the day she met him. Her hips pressed into his, grinding deliberately, telling him exactly what decision she’d made.

And why she was here.

His hands came up instantly, gripping her hips like he’d been waiting for her to make the first move.

A low sound escaped him. Half groan, half surrender. It vibrated against her mouth in a way that shot straight down her spine and tingled right at her core.

He pulled her tighter, his fingers sliding under the hem of her shirt, his warm palms skimming her waist. The contact stole her breath. God, she’d forgotten how big his hands were, how easily he could hold her exactly where he wanted her.

How he could make her surrender so easily.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against her lips, though the tension in his body said he was barely holding on. Glad to know she wasn’t alone.

“Shut up,” she whispered, kissing him harder. “I’ve thought about nothing else in weeks.”