PEYTON and Raji were eating a plate of doughnuts and pastries in a hotel room in Seattle, Washington the morning after he’d had a show there.
Crumbs littered the white sheets as they munched and drank coffee and laughed, naked, in bed.
Hazy summer sunlight drifted outside the window.
She had arrived at his hotel at nearly midnight the night before, toting a backpack with a change of clothes. Her body had been hunched over, knotted with anger and stress when he’d met her in the hotel’s underground parking garage to avoid any of the other band members seeing her.
He’d thrown her on the bed and screwed her, hard, in every way he could think of until she had raked her nails down his back and nearly ripped the sheets with ecstasy.
Afterward, she was exhausted but grinning at him.
Peyton liked her impish little smile.
They’d slept for a few hours before he’d ordered the coffee and pastries from room service, which they were now chewing through.
The hotel room’s door creaked open.
Shit. All the hotel rooms that Killer Valentine rented every night were identically keyed so that anyone could get into anyone else’s room immediately in case there was an emergency.
And now someone was walking into Peyton’s room.
He shoved Raji’s head down and flipped the sheets over her and his own naked body.
She protested, “Hey!”
He grabbed pillows to camouflage the lump she made in the bed and half-laid on her. “Be still.”
Andy Kumar-Glynn—of all people, Jesus, Dr. Andy—rounded the opening door. Her long, black hair swished down her back, and she fairly danced in her leggings and tunic. No more white coat for the ex-liver transplant surgeon.
Dr. Andy said, “Hey, Peys! Cadell texted me that you didn’t make it to the hotel gym and asked me to check on you. Are you dead?”
He was stuffing an almond scone in his mouth and muttered around it, “Nope. Not dead.”
“Are you going to meet the guys at the gym?”
Peyton could feel Raji breathing under his arm. “Not today. Don’t feel like it.”
Andy walked into the room toward him, letting the door slam behind her. “You’re still in bed at eight o’clock? Are you feeling okay? I have my otoscope. I can look in your ears and down your throat.”
Jesus, Andy could not come any closer. She would see the Raji-lump that he was so carefully hiding was breathing.
And if the short, breathy gasps were any indication, the Raji-lump was giggling.
Something small, gentle, and cool, something like Raji’s fingers, touched his dick.
He held his hand up. “Andy, don’t come any closer. I’m fine. I’ll be back in the gym tomorrow.”
Concern filled Andy’s big eyes. “Did you sprain something? Do you need a scrip for muscle relaxants?”
Raji’s fingers stroked down Peyton’s shaft, and his dick swelled fast. “No, Andy. I’m fine. Please don’t come any closer.”
Andy’s voice rose as her eyes widened, nearing hysteria. “Are you okay?”
Time to pull out the big guns.
Or, really, to threaten to pull out his big gun.
He said, “I didn’t go to the gym because I needed some alone time, some very personal alone time that you’ve caught me in the middle of.”
“I—I beg your pardon?” Andy asked.
Damn it. Cadell’s wife had been too damned innocent when he’d married her.
He said, “You’ve interrupted me in the middle of a very personal activity.”
Peyton glanced down at his midsection, where his dick was.
Andy’s gaze followed his look, and her dark eyes snapped back at his face. “I’m so sorry and I’ll tell Cadell that you’re skipping the gym and to mind his own business. Sorry. Really sorry.”
She fled.
The door slammed behind her.
Raji flipped back the sheets and emerged, laughing her head off. “I can’t believe you told her you were jacking off!”
Peyton fanned himself. “I need to throw the double-lock on these hotel doors. Geez, that was close.”
Raji said, “And now to make sure that you don’t get a case of blue balls after being interrupted in your attempt at self-love—”
Her warm, wet mouth closed on the head of his cock.
Peyton laid back on the pillows and closed his eyes.