Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(9)
She didn’t just pee. She showered, brushed her teeth, flossed—okay, maybe stared at herself in the steamy mirror, but not for a minute, only a second or two, wondering what in the hell had come over her.
She’d taken plenty of lovers. Enough that she sometimes wondered what the hell she was looking for. But living on the road made it so easy to walk away when she didn’t find it. Now there was one in her bedroom.
Maybe. Unless he’d gotten bored and left.
Wrapped in the plush hotel robe, she cracked open the bathroom door soundlessly and peered out.
He was still there. Lying on her bed, one arm crooked behind his head, his other hand idly stroking his cock.
He was hard.
Oh god, she’d just showered, but that wasn’t why she was wet again. How could she want someone this much when she knew nothing more than his name?
It was just the stress of the end of the show, the need to come up with a whole album’s worth of amazing material before their next studio session. It was making her crazy.
He was watching her. “C’mere,” he said huskily. “I’m not going to eat you. Oh wait, yeah I am.”
The low rumble of his voice drew her like a song she half heard and needed to capture. She drifted across the room and put one knee on the mattress. He hadn’t pulled back the covers—no matter how much she tipped housekeeping, she couldn’t convince them to leave the bed messy the way she liked it—so the spread felt crisp and cool and virginal as the f*cking moon.
Well, she’d have to do something about that.
His eyes glinted at whatever he saw on her face, and he reached out to snag the belt of her robe.
“You look so wicked in that white robe, Red. Good thing I stayed.”
“Looks like you were halfway to finishing yourself off without me.” She stared down at his engorged cock, but her gaze lingered on the tattoo around his navel. A half circle of some sort that sparked a distant memory…
He wrapped the belt around his fist, snaking it free from the belt loops. “I was thinking of all the ways I want to put my hands and mouth on you tonight.” In one quick move, too fast for her to figure out how he’d done it, he had her spread-eagled on her back in the center of the bed, the robe flayed open, every part of her on display.
He took both her wrists in one hand and let the soft white belt dangle. “I think we’ll start with this.”
She closed her eyes, arched her back, and let the night take her.
Chapter 4
Diesel let the suite door click quietly closed behind him, shutting out the first rays of morning light as he stepped into the hallway.
If he looked back, would he have seen the ghostly outline of their bodies against the glass?
He didn’t want to know. In his pocket, the keycard burned, as did the knowledge he had to meet LT and Malachi soon.
How had he let the night get away from him?
Well, he hadn’t let it. It had been taken from him, along with his common sense and self control, stolen by the red-haired siren he’d left sleeping in her thoroughly destroyed white bed.
See, it was practically only fair that he got to steal her keycard.
Would she notice it was missing when she woke up? Hell, would she even notice he was missing? Would she shower again to wash him away and order room service at the little kitchenette counter while housekeeping made the bed? Or would she stare out the window and wonder where he’d gone?
He strode down the hall to the service elevator. Triggered by the card in his pocket, the pad came alive, and he selected the top floor.
He held his breath a moment but the elevator started up. Little surprising that the same card that allowed access to the suites—nice as they were—included the penthouses, but he’d seen worse security. When the light winked out, indicating he’d reached his destination, but the door didn’t open, he frowned. Maybe there was another code to enter.
Or maybe he’d been had.
He stood relaxed while his wolf was on alert, every muscle ready to move as needed. The door finally whooshed open to leave him facing a blackened void. There was no ray of light for even his beast-sharp eyes to make use of, only the small pool of illumination from the elevator itself that failed to penetrate the shadows beyond. But the metallic clink of the opening door echoed back to him with the impression of vast space and emptiness.
He stepped into the doorway, preventing it from closing. A whisper of air brought him the scents of water and earth, odd for the penthouse of a high-rise hotel in the middle of a neon desert. And another scent, something more odd.
Shifter.
“So I guess you already knew your security could use some work,” he said.
“Are you hoping to sell me your services?”
The masculine voice was low, mocking, but Diesel was used to dealing with alphas, warlords with rocket launchers, drill sergeants, and angry ex-girlfriends with itchy texting fingers, so he didn’t rattle easily.
“Nah, I’m not for sale. But you can have my advice for free.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the elevator door that kept trying to shove him out of the way. “If you knew I was coming, why didn’t you just accept my very polite request for an appointment?”
“Because I did not wish to meet with you,” came the very polite response. “And this way, should I decide to make you disappear, you will already have done the annoying part of making sure your tracks were covered on your way here.”