“Your friends are hilarious.”
We’re headed down the hallway after leaving Corbin and Teagan to themselves. Apparently, Trey can only take so much good-natured teasing before becoming a grumpy-butt. Plus, the place was packed and it took forever to get a drink, so instead he requested a bottle of wine be sent to his room so we could enjoy it there.
“In peace and quiet,” he’d said to Corbin before we left. Corbin threw his head back and laughed.
“My friends are the best people I know who tend to show their worst sides at the wrong moments.”
He’s grinning so I know he doesn’t mean it. I also know he’s not really grumpy but I think he wanted to end the conversation and stories that sounded like episodes of a show titled How big of a loser can we make Trey look like? before it went too far.
Which is a shame. I spent so much of my life trying to cater to Scott that I don’t have friendships like the ones Corbin and Trey have. I can’t think of a friend I’m still in touch with from college or high school even though I’ve always lived in Portland. It’s depressing if I think too much about it, and only a stark reminder of how much I changed for a man.
Stupid. I just have to keep reminding myself that a mistake made is a lesson learned and I have definitely learned a lesson. There will be no more changing myself to fit into another man’s view of who I should be.
There are four doors on this floor. Only four. And it seems incredibly strange that they’re so far apart. It takes me a moment to realize what he’s done.
“Holy crap, you got us a suite?”
He said he’d take care of room arrangements, and I know I’ll have a separate room, but I suppose he didn’t specify if we’d be sharing a suite.
“Calm down,” Trey teases, stopping at the first door. “You have your own.”
My head whips to the door and back to him. He’s pulling a hotel-issued white envelope out of his pocket, and inside are three keys. Why three?
He hands the envelope to me. “Two keys for each room. These are yours. Bottom one is mine.”
“Oh.” I finger the keys, debating. Do I give him access to my room?
“And the rooms are adjoining. I’m telling you right now, mine will be opened and unlocked. Anytime you want me, I’m there.”
Oh dear…
I fumble with the keys, one of them dropping to the floor. Trey bends down to get it before I can, and he holds the strip of plastic in his thick fingers, waves it over the reader. The light turns green, but I’m firmly stuck on mine will be opened and unlocked so it takes me a moment to realize he’s opened the door and is standing there, one arm pressed against it, holding it open for me.
“Want a look around? I’ve got that wine in my room if you want more ocean-view relaxation on the deck out back.”
“I would like another glass,” I say. Might as well enjoy myself. Maybe some liquid courage will help me figure out how this night is going to go. Do I take him up on his offer? I’m not ready to make that decision yet. “Meet you on the deck?”
A flicker of disappointment slides through his gaze, gone as quickly as it appears. “Of course.”
My hand presses to the door until he lets go, but for a brief moment, it feels like he leans in. I love his height. The width of his shoulders. The muscles and veins on his forearms. And I catch a hint of sandalwood and…mint?
His head dips and his mouth is near my ear. My cheek. Far enough away that if I turned my head we still couldn’t kiss, but close enough to send shivers of delight racing down my neck. “See you soon, then.”
Oh. The evil man. He’s letting me know exactly what he wants from me. He wasn’t kidding earlier.
He might not expect me to touch him this weekend, but he really, really wants it.
I swallow a thick ball of nerves mixed with something that tastes like desire in my throat and turn toward the door. It’s the only thing I can do to put space between us.
Because the smartest thing is not to curl my fingers into his shirt and yank him until we’re pressed together.
He steps back, laughing softly in that way it tells me he knows he affects me. Which is bad.
Really bad, right?
Or is it absolutely perfect?
My mind is too rattled, my nerves too frazzled—and my stomach and lower? Well, that’s heating out of control.
He walks away, smirking and sliding his hands into his pockets before he turns, and I can’t help myself, watching him stroll down the hallway, whistling, like it hasn’t rattled him at all to almost knock me to my knees.
I quickly enter my room before he reaches his. The door slams shut behind me, the sound almost as loud as the thundering in my ears from my racing pulse.
Oh dear.
Trey Kollins is a wicked, wicked man.
And for the weekend…he’s all mine.
My suite is the most beautiful hotel room I’ve ever seen, decorated with light-blue furniture and gray walls. There’s a dining table to my right with chairs to seat six and what looks like a white marble tabletop. To my right, in the direction of what I assume is Trey’s room, is a door, and before I second-guess myself, I flip the latch so it’s unlocked. There. Maybe I won’t tell him he has access to my room. Maybe I will.
We’ll see how the night goes.
Grabbing the handle of my overnight bag, I drag it behind me toward the short hallway that reveals several opened doors. Two bedrooms. A hall bath. I take the farthest room away, assuming it’s the larger bedroom, and I’m absolutely blown away by the view. Cream, silk curtains billow gently above the air-conditioner unit, and there’s a wall of windows with sliding glass doors.
Holy cow. Just outside is the deck, and if Trey’s correct, this deck will wrap all the way around to his room down the length of the building. In the distance is the ocean. Inky black meeting sandy beach visible only in the resort’s flickering lights. White pillows of waves push against each other, falling to the sand before disappearing. It’s mesmerizing, and while I came into the room to freshen up, use the restroom, and change into something more comfortable, even though I’ll be sliding into pajamas soon, I go to the door first and unlock it, sliding it open.
Wow. My breath falls from my lips. From so high, the ocean is a muted roar, the perfect background noise for sleeping.
I can’t believe I’m here.
I can’t believe I’m here with a guy like Trey Kollins.
Both are unbelievable, and both leave a trail of excitement gliding down my arms to my fingertips. Like if I’m bold enough to reach out, I might actually grasp onto something good for me.
I toss my suitcase onto the bed, dig through it until everything I’ve meticulously packed has exploded all over the enormous bed. At the bottom, I find the lightweight hoodie sweatshirt along with a pair of leggings, and I hurry to the bathroom where I freshen up and slide into comfortable clothes. I don’t bother heading back through the suite, but step out onto the large deck from my bedroom and pad toward where the light is coming from.
My hands ball into fists and I force my breathing to steady.
Trey is already sprawled out on a lounge chair looking more Greek god in command of his kingdom than a tech mogul. He’s changed, too, into a pair of dark, athletic-looking pants and a long-sleeve shirt that could have been sewn for him and him alone. I can see every ripple and curve of his chest and abs, while he has one foot propped on the chair, one planted firmly on the deck next to him.
He has his hand wrapped around a wineglass, and on the table next to him is the bottle with another glass. He’s pushed another chair next to that and I assume it’s for me.
“Hey,” I say softly, like speaking loudly would interrupt his thoughts. He turns to me then, and I don’t miss the way his eyes scan my body, or how his lips part. “The room is incredible.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He pushes himself to sitting on the chair so both feet are planted on the deck and reaches for the bottle. “Drink?”
“Please.” A gazillion of them.
Being around Trey is like being thrust out of orbit, spinning madly.
I’ve been able to successfully avoid him for months, and twelve hours around him has thrown me completely off-kilter.
Will he be the kind of jerk most of the men in my life have turned out to be? Or can I trust that he really is the nice guy he seems to be?
I shake my head, fruitlessly trying to unscramble my runaway train filled with thoughts and doubts, and slide into the chair while he pours me a glass.
“It’s so beautiful here.”
“None of it holds a candle to you.”