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“What do you mean, not here?” I call after him. “Where is she?”
No answer.
Great. Well, that is just friggin’ perfect. June isn’t here yet. She isn’t here, and she’s either going to be late or not arrive. This is a nightmare.
“You’re dripping on the floor,” Savage says.
“Oh, now he has a voice,” I mutter, and enter his bedroom.
I stop after a few feet, swallowing nerves.
His bed is huge. King-sized, with white sheets and pillows, and a deep navy throw rug in front of it, a rustic wooden chest that’s probably full of “man stuff”. The bedside table on the right is empty except for a stack of books and a bedside lamp, and there are no pictures on the wall. Not a single one. But there are huge windows on either side of the bed that provide a view of the trees outside, the rain pouring down already flooding the backyard. It’s beautiful.
I am in Carter Savage’s bedroom. I’ve fantasized about being here more times than I remember, in the most pathetic ways, and now that I’m here, I’m woozy. It smells like him, that special brand of smoke and cedar and man.
I walk over to the bedside table and stare down at it. The book he borrowed from the library, the man chest romance, is on the top of the pile, a bookmark poking out from inside.
My curiosity gets the better of me, and I lift it off the table and open it.
“Please, I can’t take it any more, Georgio, I need you now. I must have you.”
“Anything for you, Kitten. I will fulfill your greatest desires.” He ran his hands over her bosoms, licking his lips and?—
“Trouble finding the bathroom?” Savage’s breath is hot on my neck.
I jump and drop the book on the table. The bookmark flutters down to the ground, and I bend to grab it, my ass brushing against Savage.
Oh. Oh, no. What am I doing?
I spin around and hold up my hands and the bookmark. “I am so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to rub, uh, to brush. No. Not those words. I didn’t mean to do that.” I swallow.
He’s still soaked through, and he stares down at me, those dark eyes eating up the distance between us, which is not much. Savage’s body heat is a lot. I bite down on the corner of my lip.
“The bathroom is through there.” He points to the left. “I’m going to need to use it once you’re done.”
“Yeah, of course. Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“Sorry. I mean, yeah. Ha. I’m so wet right now, so I should probably—” I clamp my lips together.
“Just. Shower.”
“Shower.”
His voice is a low, hot rumble. “Stop. Talking. Shower. Now.” And then he turns and walks off, and I’m left clutching the soggy bookmark and what’s left of my dignity. Which is like a shred of it, at this point.
Eleven
HANNAH
Where the hell are you? Are you kidding me with this? I’m sitting in Savage’s living room alone. Like fully alone. You’re not here.
JUNE
Honey, I am so sorry. I was on my way out of the door when Alex started throwing up. She’s come down with a really bad case of the flu. I had to check on her. I was about to call you!
This is a nightmare. I am in a nightmare.
