She blinked. First of all, no way was she touching this guy. Second of all…Cletus? Really? As in the slack-jawed yokel?
Grace held up her hands. “Oh, sorry,” she said with a nervous chuckle. “I’ve been fighting off a cold. I wouldn’t want to give you my germs.”
His gaze lowered again as he stared at her chest with so much intensity she assumed he was trying to pop her buttons with nothing more than the power of his mind. “I got just the thing to make you feel good again,” he said.
And she’d just bet it wasn’t a cup of herbal tea. Eeewww. It was always times like these Grace wished she would’ve stuck with her Krav Maga class instead of dropping out when she fell and broke her tailbone.
Cletus shoved an old-fashioned register across the desk toward her. “Go ahead and sign in.”
Grace signed her name illegibly while standing as far away from the book as humanly possible. That’s when she noticed the pegboard on the wall. There were two sets of keys for every vacant room. A gnawing dread settled into the pit of her stomach. This meant she’d have one set of keys to her room.
And Cletus the slack-jawed yokel—and potential serial killer—would have the other.
Oh. Hell. No.
“So,” he said, glancing at the register, then back up at her with a frown, “…beautiful, you said you needed two rooms?”
Her mind raced. What would Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds do?
Oddly enough, that calmed her down. Penelope Garcia wouldn’t panic. She’d use her oversized brain and tech savvy to get her out of trouble.
Well, oversized brain she could manage. But tech savvy? Grace could barely figure out how to email someone a picture from her iPhone. Her assistant handled stuff like that for her. What else would Penelope Garcia do?
Inspiration hit like a frying pan upside the head. It was so obvious! Penelope would let one of her hunky FBI cohorts help her.
“Oh, no,” Grace said, calmly. “You must’ve misunderstood. I only need one room.” She gestured across the street to where Nick was pumping gas, glaring at her. “That’s my boyfriend. He’ll be with me.” She paused meaningfully. “All night.”
So if you were thinking of sneaking into my room tonight, killing me, and wearing my head around like a hat, think again.
“He works for the Department of Homeland Security,” she added. Meaning: he’s armed.
Cletus squinted at Nick, then gave a sad little nod. Obviously he knew when he’d been outclassed. He handed her the key to Room #10 and mumbled something about checkout time the next day before disappearing into the back room, presumably to watch internet porn.
Grace sighed with relief, pretty proud of herself for thinking so quickly in a crisis.
Now all she had to do was spend the night with Nick.
Well, hell.
“So,” Nick said, lugging his bag and Grace’s two bags into their room. “Why are we sharing a room exactly?”
Because no way was Grace planning to jump him, or anything. Nick just wasn’t that lucky.
Grace leaned over and lifted a corner of the mattress, probably looking for bedbugs. He couldn’t say he blamed her. He’d slept in some ungodly hell holes in his day, and the thought of those little blood-sucking bastards even gave him a screaming case of the willies.
And he certainly didn’t mind the view. Grace had a fantastic ass.
She straightened and faced him, blowing a lock of hair off her forehead with a quick puff of air out the corner of her mouth. “Because the night manager looks like every serial killer I ever saw on Criminal Minds.
“Is that a show?”
Her eyes widened and she sputtered for a moment before saying, “You’ve never seen Criminal Minds? Do you live under a rock or something?”
He shrugged, tossing the bags on the bed. “I don’t have a television.”
“You don’t have a television,” she repeated, incredulous.
“Don’t need one.”
“What do you do in your spare time?”
“I teach a Brazilian jiu-jitsu class at the YMCA on Tuesdays. I like to run. Read. Go to the movies.” He shrugged again. “Whatever.”
She shook her head. “Wow. That’s unbelievable. I’m not sure what I’d do without Criminal Minds. And Game of Thrones. And The Black List. And The Walking Dead.”
Now he was incredulous. “You watch all those shows?”
“I work a lot.” She lifted a shoulder. “When I’m not working or asleep, I like to watch television. It gives my brain a rest.”
Surely someone as gorgeous, smart and sexy as Grace had plenty of friends to go out with and men chasing her. She could have a date every night of the week if she wanted one. He had to assume staying home and watching television instead of going out was her choice. “How long have you been divorced?”
“About six months.”
Yeah, that explained it. Probably wasn’t ready to date yet. All the more reason he shouldn’t be in a hotel room alone with her. Hell, he’d almost pounced on her in the diner, for God’s sake. He’d been about two seconds and one more of her hitched breaths away from pinning her to the wall and kissing the hell out of her.
And what really disturbed and excited him in equal measure, was that she hadn’t looked like she’d stop him.
He distracted himself by glancing around the room for the first time. “Jesus, it looks like the Partridge Family threw up in here.”
Grace lifted her hands in a what-the-hell gesture. “You know the Partridge Family but haven’t heard of Criminal Minds?”
He raised a brow. “I didn’t say I’d never seen television. I just don’t have one now.”
“Well, let me assure you, programming has improved significantly since the ‘70s.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he murmured, glancing around the room again.
He hadn’t lied about the décor. It was pure ‘70s, from the gold foil wallpaper, to the rust-colored shag carpeting, to the orange bedspread with the brightly colored geometric patterns on it. There was even a lava lamp on one of the two chrome and glass nightstands. And since the bed was a double, he imagined he’d be sleeping in the homely little lime-green wing chair in the corner. He sighed. Good thing he didn’t usually sleep much.
At least the place was clean. The comforting scent of Pine-Sol filled the air. The housekeeping crew definitely earned their money in this place, Nick decided.
Grace grabbed her carry-on bag and toted it into the bathroom. She came out a moment later with a huge smile on her face. “I shit you not, there’s orange vinyl tile in there. It totally reminds me of my Grandma’s rec room when I was a kid. I love this place!”
Nick had guessed the moment he saw Grace that if a real, full-on smile ever graced those pouty lips of hers, the sight would be breathtaking. The kind of smile that lit up a room like sunshine. He now knew he’d been right. Grace was beautiful all the time, but when she smiled…damn.
Something akin to panic grabbed Nick by the balls. In that moment, he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. A complicated woman he’d practically just met. He didn’t do complicated, and even if he did, she wasn’t ready. Not to mention she was way the hell out of his league.
What was the matter with him? First, he’d freaked her out with his intensity, now he was freaking himself out. He wasn’t used to feeling this many, well, feelings.
The smile slowly faded from her eyes. “Nick, are you okay?”
Not even close. “I’m…fine. Just need some air.”
And with that, he fled the room like a complete pansy.
Chapter Seven
By the time Nick came back about twenty minutes later, Grace had devoured her apple pie, which was beyond fabulous, scrubbed the remnants of make-up from her face, tied her hair up in a messy knot, and was pawing through her bag looking for a nightshirt.
He shut the door behind him, still looking tense, but at least his color had returned.
Grace had no idea what had hap
pened to him, but for a moment, he’d looked like he was going to pass out. If anyone had the right to pass out, it was her. She was the one who had to sleep in a room with sex personified and keep her hands to herself.
Nick pointed at her sternly. “OK, if that night manager gets within fifty feet of you, scream and I’ll come running.”
She knew she wasn’t imagining the guy’s creep factor. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. That is the whole point of staying in this room together.”
“Yeah, well, at least I now know you aren’t prone to exaggeration.”
“Did you talk to him?” she asked, still digging through her bag.
He shoved a hand through his hair. “Once he asked me if I was ‘tappin’ that hot ass’ of yours, the conversation was pretty much over.”
“Wow. Complimentary and degrading all at the same time. That’s talent.” She pulled out her pajama pants, but still couldn’t find her shirt. “What did you say to him?”
“Before or after I told him I’d rip his intestines out through his nose if he even thought about you again?”
The intensity of his tone caused a little flutter in her stomach, but she ignored it. “Aw, that’s so sweet.”
His brow furrowed as he watched her systematically destroy the fabulous packing job she’d done in LA. “What are you looking for?”
She threw her hands up in frustration. “I can’t find a shirt to sleep in. I don’t understand. It was on my list and checked off and everything.” She looked back down at her list, where there was clearly a checkmark by nightshirt.
Nick tilted his head to one side like a confused retriever. “You have a checklist? For your luggage?”
Great. Like it wasn’t bad enough he’d seen her drunk and had to carry her off a plane, now he thought she had OCD. “It helps me make sure I have everything I need before I travel.”
He raised that damn annoying brow at her, then glanced at her ransacked luggage. “How’s that working?”
She pursed her lips. “It usually works very well, Dr. Phil. Thanks for asking.”
He shook his head, smiling, even though he clearly had no idea who Dr. Phil was. Then he grabbed something from his own duffel bag and tossed it to her. “Here. It will be huge on you, but it should be good enough to sleep in.”
Grace caught it and unfolded it. It was a V-neck, heather-gray T-shirt that looked like it had been washed hundreds of times. It was so soft and smelled so heavenly—like Tide laundry detergent and Nick—that she barely resisted the urge to rub it against her cheek and sniff it for a while. Yeah, he was never getting this shirt back. “Thanks,” she murmured.
He excused himself to take a shower. Grace waited until she heard the shower curtain flip back before changing into Nick’s T-shirt and her SpongeBob flannel pajama bottoms. She imagined the only way to send a clearer no-sex message would be to wear a sandwich board that said, “No one is getting lucky tonight, pal.”
Which was an entirely different message than the one her body wanted to send.
She sighed. It was going to be a long night.
***
An hour later, Grace tossed from one side of the bed to the other, somehow managing to wrap the blankets around her tightly enough to cut off the circulation in her legs.
Groaning, she sat up and untangled herself. God, what the hell was the matter with her? It was past midnight, she’d had the longest day of her life, and she couldn’t fall asleep.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t force her brain to shut down for the night. A million thoughts raced through her head, each one vying for top billing.
First and foremost on her to-do list, she thought as she gave the pillow a good, solid punch, was buying a new nightshirt. Not that Nick’s shirt wasn’t incredibly comfortable. It just smelled too damn good for her peace of mind.
And then, of course, she had memories of his body against hers as he leaned into her at the restaurant.
God, what had she been thinking? She should have pushed him away. Better yet, she never should have agreed to travel with him in the first place. If she’d just kept a respectable, safe distance she could have gone on pretending she didn’t want a man in her life. That she could go on not having sex.
Brad had been a decent husband—at least until he dumped her for Chesty Cheeto—but their sex life had been less than stellar. He’d always been a wham-bam-roll-over-and-fall-asleep kind of guy. She, on the other hand required quite a bit of warm-up. She tried to talk to Brad about it on a few occasions, and his response was less than satisfying.
“You just need to get out of your head and learn how to relax,” he’d said, irritated that she’d even suggested he might benefit from spending some additional time getting to know her clitoris (or even figuring out where it was, for that matter).
After that, she just gave up. Bought a fantastic vibrator with five speeds, which she used once a week. Other than that, her girl parts just went on hiatus. She hadn’t even thought of sex with someone other than her little battery-operated friend in months.
Until Nick O’Connor.
She groaned out loud and punched the pillow again.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” the object of her sexual frustration grumbled from his position in the chair next to the bed.
Of all the obnoxious… “I’m so sorry if my insomnia is disturbing your beauty sleep.”
He leaned forward. The soft, muted light from the lava lamp caressed his perfect features and tousled hair. Good grief, he looked like a living, breathing wet dream.
“Not much beauty sleep to be had in this chair.”
Thank God, she thought. If he got any more beautiful, she’d burst into spontaneous orgasms every time he walked into the room.
“Are you hungry or something?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.
That’s when it occurred to her that she was arguably the most selfish woman in the world. Here he was, spending the night practically folded in half in an uncomfortable chair, for her, a near-stranger.
Grace cleared her throat and sat up. “It occurs to me that I never thanked you.”
His dark brows lifted. “For what? For not arresting you? For driving you to River Oak? For spending the night in this chair to protect you from Cletus the potential serial killer?”
“Ugh. Okay, I get it. I’m a horrendous bitch.”
“I wouldn’t say horrendous.”
Even with the only light in the room being supplied by a lava lamp, she could see the teasing twinkle in his eyes. “Thank you, Nick,” she whispered.
He blinked slowly and gave her a sleepy smile that would’ve brought her to her knees had she been standing. She felt as though they’d crossed an invisible border in their relationship.
Which almost explained the offer she then extended.
Chapter Eight
Nick had no idea why he’d accepted her offer to share the bed. He could only assume that hearing his name on her lips made him stupid. Okay, stupider.
Grace had fallen asleep almost immediately after he’d gotten settled into bed beside her. Nick, however, remained awake until well after four.
Apparently it was impossible to sleep in a chair next to Grace, and it was impossible to sleep next to her in a bed. At least when he’d been in the chair, he hadn’t been aware that she smelled like sun-ripened coconuts and limes. Hadn’t been able to feel the heat of her skin. Hadn’t itched to brush back the wayward strands of hair that obscured his view of her face.
And for a woman who liked to be in control, Grace didn’t exercise a bit of it while sleeping. He’d already scooted to the edge of the bed to escape her flying elbows and knees.
He had to swallow a laugh when Grace muttered a few curses under her breath and rolled to her side. Not even boring in her sleep, he thought wryly.
But any amusement he might have felt died when she tucked her head into his shoulder and threw an arm over his midriff. His entire body stiffened as he watched her, sure she wou
ld wake up any moment.
Several minutes passed, and she showed no signs of coming to. Nick relaxed as best he could, considering a gorgeous woman was in his arms, all warm and sleepy.
With a frustrated sigh, he tucked her more fully into the crook of his arm. She responded by inhaling deeply and snuggling closer, drawing one leg up over his to rest her knee just below his groin. And as he struggled to keep his breathing steady, Grace did something she hadn’t done all night.
She stayed perfectly still.
Grace sighed as the feel of his warm breath sent tiny shivers of excitement through her entire body. His hand, warm and firm on her breast, had her arching against him, practically begging for more.
In no more than three hot, open-mouthed kisses, he worked her shirt up above her shoulders, giving him full access to her impatient flesh. She felt the heat of his mouth against the hollow at the base of her throat as he cupped her breast, gently tracing his thumb over the distended nipple.
She parted her lips, slowly awakening, yet dreading the moment when he’d slip into the darkness, leaving her with only a hazy dream to cling to. She didn’t want to let him go.
“Nick,” she whispered.
“Grace.”
Wow, best dream ever, she thought hazily. She was almost awake, and yet she could still feel his skin against hers. The scent of soap and laundry detergent and manliness surrounded her. She could feel his rough, strong hands at her waist. Even the shift of the mattress beneath her seemed so very…realistic.
Almost too realistic.
Grace pried one eye open. “Oh,” she squeaked, finding herself nose to nose with—and on top of—Nick. It wasn’t a dream. He was real, underneath her with his hands around her waist.
And her hand was tucked lovingly into the waistband of his loose cut-off sweats.
“This is either a really good dream, or the beginning of a very awkward-yet-interesting conversation,” Nick said, his voice thick with sleep.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, mortified beyond words, yanking her hand out of his pants. “I molested you in your sleep!” She struggled to roll off him, but her legs weren’t cooperating. “I’m a sexual predator. And I’m stuck!”
You Complicate Me Page 4
