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The back of my neck warms and the start of a tension headache slithers around my temples. The gall at finding his maleness still pleasing after all he has put me through makes my tone terse. “You’re not riding in the same car as me.”
He sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on the heels of his shoes. “I can do whatever I damn well please.” His narrowed eyes tell me he won’t budge on the matter.
I’m beyond caring at this point. I’m hungry and I’m tired and I’ve missed the best part of a good girly evening because of this prick.
I shrug and give him my back.
The elevator doors open and he follows me inside, his hands still firmly in his pockets. The doors close and the car moves…
He shoves me against the wall. My eyes widen in surprise. His lips singe my neck, burning it with sensations that travel straight to my dripping center. His powerful hands grip my hips and goosebumps erupt on my skin. He grinds his bulge, no longer slight, but full and thick, into my center.
His hands move upward, latching onto my breasts.
My nipples strain for his touch. I pull him towards me and hitch my leg around his waist. He lets out a growl of satisfaction, his breath hot against my ear...
The elevator dings, dissipating my illicit daydream with the opening of the doors.
What is wrong with me?
One look from Mr. RoycefuckingGrayson and I forgot that he’d never searched for me. I forgot that he’s treated me like crap from the moment I saw him in Mr. Brown’s office. I forgot I was a quick hook-up and nothing more.
Royce, unaware of my sexual fantasy of which he was the star, holds the elevator door open. A member of the cleaning crew joins us with his cleaning cart. The man nods his head in greeting. Royce and I nod back.
We travel to the first floor with the car steeped in tense silence. Royce steps off first, holding the doors open with one big hand. The man rattles through with his cart and Royce lifts an eyebrow when I don’t move.
“My bike is in the parking garage,” I say, a little defensively. Well, more like a lot.
Royce swivels his neck. “You ride a motorcycle?”
I shake my head. “No. I have a bicycle.”
He steps back on, towering over me.
“You. Have. A. What?”
I reach around him and press the button for the garage floor. “I have a bike.” It’s not uncommon in Austin with its large student population.
His disbelieving grin, so damn boyish, softens his face and makes him look ten years younger. “You’re joking. Right, Sin?”
“Stop calling me that.And yes, I do.”
“You’re not really going to bike, are you?”
I jerk my chin up and meet his eyes. “Watch me.”
His gaze never leaves me as I unlock my bike and throw the chain in my bike bag. The split in his face grows when I strap my helmet under my chin.
I swing a leg over and pedal away.
And damn if I don’t want him to stop me. He doesn’t, but...
Is it just wistful thinking, or does my ass burn because his eyes are on it?
Retracing the Steps
Royce
Atthehotel,Ipace back and forth, grinding the carpet underneath my size fourteen dress shoes while a million questions run through my mind.
