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Outside, my sleek red rental sits parked on the curb in front of the house. The lights flicker as I click the button on the keyless fob unlocking it. As much as I want to ignore that Samantha is here, and that I’m irritated at being around her—I can’t.
My eyes linger on her from behind my darkly tinted windows as I watch her say goodbye to Kylie and Knox before finally making her way over to the blue rental car, sitting only a few spaces down from where I parked.
“Shit!” I call out, angry at my dick’s inability to control itself. My reaction caused me to smack the steering wheel, accidentally blowing the horn.
Samantha jumps at the sound, her hand over her heart as she lets out what I could only assume was a disgruntled curse. The sight of her discomfort makes me grin as a feeling of satisfaction flows over me.
Shaking my head, I put the car into gear and drive slowly past her. And just to make sure I can prove a point, I blow the horn again for good measure.
Chapter Three
SAMANTHA
God, I’m tired.
I didn’t sleep much last night, and I didn’t have any luck on the flight over either. I close my eyes and try to work out the kink in my neck by rolling it.
I jump when a horn goes off.
I narrow my eyes at the flashy red BMW parked a few feet away. It’s Asher’s. I watched him getting into it earlier, but the dark tints are making it impossible to see into the car from here.
Why is he honking at me? It pisses me off. I’m tired and now my heart is racing from the fright he just gave me, simply because he wants to be childish. He’s so annoying!
“Asshole,” I grumble.
Choosing to ignore his games, I close my eyes and try to lower my blood pressure. I hear his car pulling away from the curb, but still, I pay him no mind.
He presses the horn again as he passes me by, completely shattering any composure I have.
“Son of a bitch!” I cry out as he speeds away.
Forget calm and collected right now—Asher Stoll just brings out the worst in me.
Shaking with fury, I thrust the key into the ignition a bit too roughly, start the car, and pull away from the curb in my rented Ford Edge, wheels spinning.
I grew up not too far from here. But I’m giving that place a wide berth as my dad still lives there. I check in on the hotel app and receive a virtual key in no time, making the process so much faster.
Upon entering the hotel, I show my reservation to the front desk attendant and roll my small carry-on suitcase to the elevator. No one’s inside with me as I take the lift to the third floor, and I thank God I don’t have to make awkward small talk with anyone.
As I enter my room, I let out a tired sigh. Seeing Asher again today, and dealing with the whole situation with Mrs. Kendall, has me mentally drained.
The bed looks inviting, but I can’t get in it without freshening up after traveling. I roll my carry-on to the low suitcase bench, and place it there before opening it up.
I take my towel out and head straight for the shower, feeling a need to relax and melt away the tension from my body—most of which was caused by Asher Stoll.
Why am I letting him get to me? I have my life set out exactly as I want it to be. I don’t need any complications; especially not in the form of that six-foot-five, brown-haired, green-eyed, thick-muscled walking wet dream.
God, I don’t need this right now!
Seeing him today woke up a need I thought I had under control. I need this shower to not only clean my body, but to hopefully clear my mind as well.
Stripping off my clothes and stepping into the steamy shower, I let the warm water run over me and instantly felt the tension in my neck begin to ease. At the same time, the feel of the water sliding over my body exacerbates another source of tension.
When Madison pushed me into his arms, and I drew in the scent of him, I had to back up away from him as quickly as possible. If I stayed near him for a second longer, I wouldn’t have been able to move at all. The warm and earthy scent he radiated made me crave him, feeling the need to reach out and lick him.
I lather my body and rinse off quickly, but the feel of the hot water and my own hands on my skin are turning out to be a dangerous combination. With every brush of my fingers over my body, instead of relaxing, I find that I’m being wound tighter and tighter.
Grabbing the towel and wrapping myself up in it, I rush out of the bathroom with an entirely different mounting level of frustration. I throw my damp body on the bed without care and grab a pillow.
