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“Sign here, Mr. Owen.” The inspector, Bill, hands over a clipboard. I jot my name on the line. “I’ll email a copy to your foreman.”
“Actually, I need you to email it to me before you leave.”
He’s taken aback by my request but recovers quickly. “I can do that.”
I give him my private email and check my phone to ensure it arrives before he leaves. I don’t want to deal with lost paperwork. I can’t take the stress, or afford the time setback if I have to destroy another wall. Though I doubt a smart-mouthed, dark-haired woman in high heels is going to strut onto my site to set me straight again. Lightning usually only strikes once.
An hour later I’m in a filthy cab, stuck in traffic, my good mood from yesterday a far-off memory. I’m looking forward to two things. Dinner, since I skipped lunch, and a glass of whiskey. Okay, three things. I want to see Vivian, bury my nose in her hair and breathe in her vanilla scent.
I owe her an apology. I should’ve treated her better this morning.
I’m used to control. Having it. Wielding it. When it’s taken from me, it fucking pisses me off. Lack of control makes me feel unstable. Like I’m free-falling. My parents favored that feeling, but I never did. I only wanted to hold everything together.
Viv was right. I was afraid. When my mother wouldn’t accept my help, I feared for her life. For her future. I don’t know which I hate more, being unable to help my mom or Vivian witnessing me at my weakest.
When I enter our hotel room, I’m momentarily disoriented. Candles flicker from practically every surface in the room. Low flames wink from votive holders on the dresser, the nightstands and the desk. A trail of rose petals leads from the door, to the bed, and off the comforter to the bathroom. I follow the sound of running water to the massive soaking tub in the center of the room. Steam rises, choking the air with mist.
Vivian is perched on the ledge of the tub, her hand testing the temperature of the water.
“Finally,” she says, exasperated. “Do you know how hard it is to keep the water warm when I have no idea when or if you’re coming back?”
“If?” Surely she doesn’t think I’d leave and never come back. “Listen, about this morning—”
“Shh-shh,” she hushes me and then stands and drops the hotel robe.
Beneath it, she’s wearing a black, lacy garment that sends every thought out of my head. Her long hair spills over her shoulders and her breasts are tucked into two cups creating a hell of a lot of cleavage.
“I spent your money,” she informs me with a grin. Her warm caramel-colored eyes sparkle in the candlelight, which also highlights the freckles on the bridge of her nose.
“You spent it well.”
“You deserve to be treated too, Nathaniel Owen. You take care of everyone. Who takes care of you?”
“Odessa,” I answer automatically.
“Wrong. You only let her do so much. You send her home and serve your own dinner.”
“I’m very independent,” I argue as she sashays across the room. I’m given a peek of her ass beneath the short skirt of the slip she’s wearing. A strip of black material separates her ass cheeks and I grind my back teeth together. “A thong.”
She peeks over her shoulder, black lashes fluttering coyly, and then she lifts the back of her nightie to show me the thong in all its glory. “Do you like it?”
“No.” My hands clench and release the air as I cross the room. “I love it.”
“Good. You bought it.” She lifts the phone on the vanity and presses a button. “Well, I bought it for you. But you paid for it.”
“You spoil me.” I can’t wait any longer. I must touch her. Anywhere. Everywhere. I can’t get enough of this woman.
“What do you want for dinner?”
“You,” I answer without hesitating.
She covers the receiver of the hotel phone. “I’m trying to place an order.”
“You,” I move her hand and repeat loud enough to be overheard.
She orders two steaks and potatoes, something else and something after that. I’m not listening anymore, having buried my face in her cleavage. By the time my hand slides past the barrier of her panties, she gasps and finishes her order with, “And champagne.”
“Champagne,” I say against her parted lips, while I part her other lips with my fingers and give her a tender stroke. She’s already wet and the smooth creaminess of her threatens to buckle my knees.
