Fire Inside (Chaos #2)(41)

“Be back,” he muttered.

I slid my eyeballs up to him sitting on the side of the bed and nodded, then watched him walk to the bathroom.

He disappeared. I studied the fabulous décor of Hotel Monaco, which was just like all the pictures on their website said it was cracked up to be.

I did not think about relaxing with Hop in a hotel room that was supposed to be mine but he made ours.

I did not think about ending up making love with him in the bed in that room.

I didn’t think of anything.

He came out of the bathroom, turned out the lights, and slid in bed beside me.

Only after he arranged me pressed tight to his side and partially draped on his front, his arm tight around me, his other arm crossing his chest to sift through the side of my hair and along the length of my back, did I think about something.

“Hop, will you listen to me?” I whispered to his chest, a chest I was cuddling.

“Yeah, lady.”

“This has to end,” I told him honestly but insanely, considering I was cuddling him after ha**ng s*x with him. “For me.”

His hand in my hair stilled before his body turned into mine, his hand going to the back of my head, cupping me there and pressing my face to his throat as his other arm held me close.

“This has to keep goin’,” he replied, both his hand and arm giving me a squeeze. “For you, lady.”

I closed my eyes tight and felt Hop’s lips come to the top of my hair.

“Got a monster to beat,” he murmured there.

I opened my eyes and admitted, “It lives in me, Hopper. I know it. It can’t be beat.”

His hand moved as his body shifted slightly and I found my cheek pressed to his chest.

In this position, held close to his long, hard, warm frame, I heard him whisper, “We’ll see.”

I closed my eyes again.

Kung pao shrimp.

I sighed.

Tomorrow, I’d plan.

My body, powerless against Hop’s pull, pressed closer.

Tonight…

Whatever.

Chapter Six

Getting to Me

Six days later…

I stood at the end of my bed staring at my packed suitcase that was ready for my trip to Vail. Except for closing it, I was all packed.

Sorted.

I looked to the clock on the nightstand.

I had thirty minutes until the limo arrived.

My parents were up in the air, fast approaching Denver International Airport. Soon, we’d be driving up to Vail, with Mom chattering at the same time fretting about getting to a liquor store.

And me…

Me…

I was screwed.

Suffice it to say that in the last six days, I had not formed a plan.

No, I had not.

Not even close.

* * *

Last Sunday, waking up at Hotel Monaco tangled with my fix, I partook of the high immediately. Or, more accurately, Hop woke up in the mood and wasted no time bringing the mood over me.

First thing in the morning sex led to cuddling, ordering room service, having a shower, watching TV, having more sex, ordering more room service, dozing, watching more TV, ordering more room service, having more sex and then falling asleep.

All with Hop.

I didn’t even protest.

I just went with the flow and essentially gorged myself on the drug that was Hop.

It was fantastic.

Monday morning we woke early, checked out, and Hop drove my car and me home. He kissed me at my front door and walked out, and I watched through the plantation shutters as he swung into the passenger seat of a black van driven by High.

They drove away.

I didn’t allow myself to think of anything but getting to work and taking advantage of being ahead of the game for once.

Mid-afternoon, Hop called me.

“Like I told you, babe, got the kids this week. Thought they had a gig tonight that meant they’d be home later so we could have dinner and do a little business. Their gig’s cancelled so they’ll be home after school. Can’t do dinner or business.”

This, I told myself, was a relief, but even as I told myself this I didn’t believe myself.

“Okay, Hop,” I said.

“I’ll come tomorrow, take you to lunch.”

Oh dear.

I had to come up with a plan to end things. Or, more accurately, buy time to create an elaborate plan that might actually work against the onslaught of all things Hopper Kincaid.

“I can’t,” I told him. “I have a lunch appointment tomorrow.”

This, fortunately, was true.

“Wednesday,” Hop immediately replied.

Damn. I didn’t have a lunch appointment on Wednesday and I needed a lot more time to create a plan that was so elaborate it might actually work.

“I work through lunch,” I informed him. It was lame but it was all I had.

“My old lady doesn’t work through lunch. She gets food in her belly and she does it eating with her old man. See you at noon.”

This was Hop’s response right before he hung up on me.

I stared at my phone for long moments before dialing him back.

Smartly, probably knowing why I was calling, Hop didn’t answer.

Gah!

Half an hour later, I received a call from a potential, huge client. They were having some issues with the creativity of their current agency drying up and they were shopping around for fresh ideas. They were giving a number of agencies a try including my agency as well as my old agency who had half-heartedly made efforts to undercut me at the same time made overtures for us to merge, something that was not going to happen. I liked being my own boss. I liked the freedom to create without someone breathing down my neck. And anyway, my offices were way cooler than their offices.