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I swallowed past the stones lodged in my throat. “I’ll be at the fitting,” I rasped. “I’ll be at the wedding. Go have fun with your friends.”
I turned and walked to the elevators. My sister didn’t follow.
It took me a second to find my room key in my pockets. Then I swung open the door of my hotel room and walked in, already tugging at my shirt.
“It took you long enough,” Finn Wiley said.
I shrieked, and my purse thumped to the floor.
Finn was sitting on my bed. He had made himself at home with his shoes off and his shirt untucked, an open bottle of beer on the nightstand next to him. Open in his hands was the book I was in the middle of reading, which he had presumably taken from my bag.
“What the fuck, Finn?” I shouted.
He didn’t flinch. “I thought you’d be faster getting back here. You looked like you wanted to escape.”
“How did you get into my room?”
In reply, he rolled his eyes, picked up his beer, and took a sip.
I could take an educated guess. He’d sweet-talked someone at the front desk. Bribed them with an autograph and a selfie. Or maybe he’d just used the thousand-watt Finn charm.
I pulled off my jacket and tossed it on the chair. Bent to unlace my boots. I was pissed that he’d broken in here, but not as pissed as I should be. After the evening I’d had and the encounter with Vicki, it felt less lonely with him in the room.
“Are you all right?” he asked me.
“I’m fucking fantastic.” I kicked my boots off with more force than needed. “Go ahead and get it over with.” I motioned to the book. “Make fun of me so we can just move on.”
Finn flipped the book so he could read Emily Henry’s name on the cover. “Why would I make fun of you? Because you’re reading a romance? What do people assume you read—angry feminist essays? Avant-garde poetry? I saw the books you keep in your bedroom.”
I stood without speaking. He had been in my bedroom, sat on my bed. Now he was here. On my bed.
“I like this book so far,” Finn continued. “It seems to be about two writers who write completely different kinds of stories.” He put the book on the nightstand next to his drink. “I hate to spoil the ending, but I think they fall in love.”
I stared at him, my throat aching, my eyes smarting. He was gorgeous. I had worked so hard all night not to look at him, put so much effort into it that my jaw was tight. In response, he’d walked into my room, and now I was looking at him anyway.
He tilted his head at the slightest angle, his blue-gray eyes fixed on me. “What?” he asked.
I should have asked him what he was doing here. Why he’d gone to the trouble. What did Finn Wiley want? Why did he think he could find it here, with me?
He wasn’t going to get it, because I didn’t care what he wanted. I only cared what I wanted.
I climbed onto the bed and straddled his lap. Finn’s lips parted in surprise, and I took advantage. Lowering my weight down onto his thighs, I took his face in my hands and kissed him.
He kissed me back. Instead of bucking me off his thighs or asking me what I thought I was doing, he leaned up and parted his lips, deepening the kiss as my fingers curled in his hair. His tongue licked into my mouth.
Heat flared through my body, catching along my inner thighs, twisting in my lower belly. I melted into the kiss, bracing my hands on the headboard behind him and caging him in, letting my weight fall fully onto his hardening lap. In answer, Finn slid his hands over my belly and cupped my breasts through my shirt, his touch bold and sure.
I gasped into the kiss. My thighs tensed, my knees squeezing as Finn’s thumbs brushed back and forth over my nipples without a hint of urgency. I felt his thighs flex, and for a long second I just enjoyed the sensation of kissing this man, riding his lean body while we were both fully clothed, tasting the last remains of the beer he’d sipped on his tongue, feeling his hands on me with such unhurried pleasure it made me feel like crying.
I tried not to whimper when his hands left my breasts. He gripped my waist, and then we were turning, moving. He flipped me onto my back, and while we kissed again, he settled his hips between my legs without apology, pressing me down in a slow, sensual grind.
I met his movement with my own, grinding up into him and gasping against his mouth. My hands dove down to slide over his lower back, then grip his ass through the back pockets of his jeans. He flooded me, his taste and his scent, the weight of him. There was no insistence, just the solid press of his body on mine, the expert lick of his tongue against the inside of my lip.
Finn broke the kiss. “Say it, Juliet,” he said. “Tell me what you need.”
I squeezed his ass harder. “Get naked and fuck me.”
He shook his head, the slightest movement. “That’s what you want. It isn’t what you need.”
