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“Doubt it. It’s been building for days.” The man’s eyes moved from Beau and settled on Betty who stood just behind him. Beau turned around and had to swallow the groan that sat in the back of his throat at the sight of her.
Her white tank top was soaked, the black bra she wore underneath not hiding much because the tops of her breasts spilled over. He could see her hard, rose colored nipples, her bellybutton and those long, sexy rain-slicked legs that no woman had a right to own.
The desk clerk cleared his throat and Beau turned back to him.
“We’ll need a room to wait out the storm.”
“Yep.”
The desk clerk’s eyes kept moving from the paperwork Beau filled out to Betty, who now stood shivering beside Beau, arms crossed over her chest and teeth chattering. Beau reached into his pocket, pulled out his wet wallet, fingered his credit card, and then grabbed cash instead. He’d used an alias as a sign in and didn’t want to ding any bells with his personal credit card
The clerk made a ‘hmph’ sort of sound as he counted out the damp bills. And damn if Beau didn’t feel like his seventeen-year-old self, back when he and Jenny Blake would spend illicit evenings at an out of the way motel.
Once he’d paid up for the night, grabbed the keys from the desk clerk, he turned around and spied Betty a few feet away on her cell.
“Everything alright?” he asked when she was done.
Betty nodded. “I just wanted to let Bobbi know I wasn’t coming home. You know, someone should be there with Gramps and Dad.”
They ran back outside, though they kept close to the building under the overhang, which provided a bit of shelter from the rain.
Their room was the last one on the left. It was dated but clean, with the bare necessities. Bathroom. Bed.
A big bed.
The air conditioner was running full blast and the room was cool. With his wet clothes, wet hair and skin, he should have been shivering. He should have been fucking freezing.
But he wasn’t.
Betty watched him, her eyes large, glittering strangely. It did something to him. That look in her eyes. It was a look filled with promise. A look filled with heat.
“Hopefully the television works,” he said.
Really? That’s all he had?
“You don’t want to watch television.”
No. Hell-the-fuck-no. He didn’t want to watch television.
He shrugged, tried to play it cool. Hoped she couldn’t see how much he was affected by her. By the events of the past few days. By the fire in her eyes.
By the way she looked, earlier in his arms, so relaxed and…so right.
“There’s really not much else to do.” Goddamn, but he was tight. His throat. His skin. Every muscle in his goddamn body.
And he was hard. Christ, was he hard.
Her eyes dropped to his crotch and that tongue that was enough to drive a saint to sin, darted out and licked at a mouth made for pleasure. It was a combination that would sink any man like a stone.
For several heartbeats, the two of them stared at each other and then a wicked smile curved her lips.
He was going down. Fuck.
Slowly she peeled off her tank top, her breathing slow and measured, which pissed him off, because everything inside him was going off like rockets on parade day.
“We shouldn’t do this, Betty.” His voice was rough. Christ, less than an hour ago he was singing a different tune, but now...complicated didn’t even cover it.
“I know,” she replied as her hands curved around to her back, pushing out her breasts even more, before her bra loosened and fell to the floor.
