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His eyes flutter open and a sleepy smile plays on his lips.
“Watching me sleep, huh?”
His just woke-up rasp is heavenly.
“Maybe. Or maybe I was just checking to see if those God-awful snores were really coming from you,” I lie, and he pulls me into his arms.
“Liar. I don’t snore.”
I giggle and pull away in mock disdain but his strong arms make it impossible to get very far. His skin is warm against my own, and it would be a lie to say it didn’t feel pretty damn good to wake up next to him. Snores included. I want to stay here forever.
A faint buzzing sound coming from somewhere in the room interrupts the moment.
My phone.
I let the call go to voicemail. It can wait.
“You do snore. Loudly,” I lie again.
He pulls me on top of him and his hands clasp onto my waist. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Miss Warren, but it seems like you are…” he pauses, the smirk on his lips deliciously mischievous.“Complaining.”
Just as it seems things are starting to get good, the buzzing sounds again.
I snap my head around, trying to remember where I put the damn thing.
It buzzes again.
“Someone must really need to talk to you.” His fingers press harder into my skin, pulling my attention back to him. “Too bad your morning is booked.”
The buzzing is back.
“Jesus.” I lean back and swing my leg over so I can hunt down the stupid annoyance.
Our clothes are scattered across the floor of my hotel room, and so is the comforter. The black clutch I’d taken to the club last night is on the desk. I reach it but the phone is nowhere to be found.
“Can you call it for me?” I ask him.
He laughs and I quirk up a brow. “What’s funny?”
“I don’t have your number.”
How strange is it that a man I’ve been fooling around with in secret doesn’t even have my cell phone number?
“Oh,” I say, mirroring his laughter. “We should probably fix that.”
I watch as he stands from the bed. That white sheet slowly slid off his naked body in the most devastatingly perfect way.
His tight ass walking across the room and bending down to retrieve his own phone from his pants should not be an erotic experience, but this is Ryan Knox we’re talking about. Everything the man does is climax-inducing.
He taps a finger on the screen and brings it to life before typing in his passcode.
I reach for a t-shirt from my bag and pull it over my head, but when I look back at him something is off.
His brows are furrowed, and something that looks like concern or anger mars his face.
“Everything okay?” I ask, but he says nothing. Just continues to swipe through what looks to be multiple messages and attachments.
At first, I just assumed it was band business, but the longer he goes without speaking the more nervous I get.
