Page 33 of Hauling Ashe

If Saturday has been a good look on him, fun pushes him from handsome to stunning.

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When we arrive at the hotel, there’s a problem.

“What do you mean you only have one room? I made the reservation for two.”

“Yes, two people in one room,” the clerk tells me.

“No. Two people. One in each room,” I clarify. My potted geranium sits on the counter. Tucker dropped me at the door and said he’d bring in our bags once he parked. Glancing over my shoulder, I see him walking up behind me. After he paid for my room last night, I figured I’d cover his accommodation tonight although these rooms are much more than what he spent yesterday. With this mix up, it’s half the predicted cost, but going to be double the trouble.

“What’s wrong?” Tucker asks, stopping behind me.

“They only have one room,” I say, huffing in frustration.

“You only reserved one room,” the clerk clarifies again. “And it’s the only room we have left.”

Tucker stands so close behind me I feel his exhale against my neck. I cannot share a room with this man. His scent has been intoxicating. His change of attitude a wicked shot. I’m drunk on him today and need to sleep off a potential hangover.

“Tell me there are two beds.” I’m practically begging the young clerk who isn’t at fault for my inability to read a freaking reservation tab.

“It’s a king.”

Of course it is.

“Just give us the room,” Tucker groans as my shoulders sag. His arm reaches around mine and a card is presented to the clerk.

“No, I got it tonight,” I say, wielding my credit card before the hotel clerk. However, Tucker is quick to pluck the plastic from my fingers and tuck it into the front pocket of his jeans. There’s no way I’m digging in there like he reached into my shirt earlier, so I guess I lose again.

Once we enter the room, we both stare at the single king-sized bed.

“I think I’ll shower. Wash off the road,” Tucker says, still studying the bed. Those silver eyes of his narrow, and if he thinks this is awkward, he has no idea how I feel. I can’t imagine lying next to him in my heightened state of arousal. I’ll never sleep.

“I’m going to step outside and call home.”

Tucker peers at me, his brows pinching. “Don’t go far, okay?” Outside is dark but the time is not extremely late. I need a minute to wrap my head around this sleeping arrangement and I want to check in with my boys. However, neither answers their phone when I call, and I return quicker than expected to the room. Uncertain what to do with myself, I sit on the edge of the bed fighting images of Tucker naked and wet in the shower. My imagination does nothing compared to the sight I get when the bathroom door opens and a rush of steam releases around the towel-clad man.

Beads of water still cascade down his bare chest, which hosts a smattering of hair near his pecs and a darker trail leading beneath the thin, white terry cloth hanging low on his hips. His abs are a washboard I want to scrub my undies against, but they won’t come away clean. His short-cropped hair is darker when wet, making him look only slightly younger than he is but giving him an edgy appearance, dangerous even.

Yeah, dangerous for my libido which has been absent for years and decided to show up unannounced for a visit.

Scrubbing his hand over his hair, flicking water here and there, he dips his head and lowers his eyes. I notice the leather strap around his neck. A medallion of some sort lays against his chest.

“How are your boys?” he asks, but I swear he said breasts as mine tingle and ache, and I choke in response.

“What?” Then I realize what he said. “Oh, they didn’t answer.”

Tucker nods and a painfully awkward silence falls between us. His hand lowers to his chest and his fingers tug at the medallion. I can’t look away from him. I’m trying. It’s embarrassing, but I cannot force my eyes to move.

“You mentioned a bath last night. You can take one, if you want.”

My lids finally close. I cannot sit in a tub, naked, and knowing all of that is outside the door. Standing in the shower will be difficult enough, and I immediately know what’s going to happen to me. My body can’t take all the stimulus of him dripping wet, in a low-slung towel, his hand dropping lower to rest on his hip. How is it possible to have that V-dip at his age? My mouth waters. I’ve never seen a man up close with this kind of body. I assumed men like him were touched up in images, placing their heads over younger bodies, but this is reality and Tucker is—

“Mae?”

“Yeah.” I blink. “I mean. Yes. No. I don’t need a bath. I’m not dirty. You’re dirty. I mean, I’m going to shower.” I stand quickly from the bed, tripping on feet that don’t want to hold me up and stumble forward. Tucker reaches out for me but stops short and I’m grateful we don’t connect because my entire body hums. I’ve never been so turned on without contact and I’m afraid I’ll combust if he touches me.

“I’m. Shower. Yeah.” I snort. I actually snort, and if I wasn’t already mortified, that just killed me. I fumble through my suitcase, grabbing an assortment of I don’t even know what and my shower bag. On shaking legs, I enter the bathroom and close the door a little harder than necessary. Within seconds the shower is on, and I strip off my clothes, finding his piled on the floor. I can’t take anymore.