The Resurrection of Wildflowers (Wildflower #2)(75)

“Yep.” He pushes the button to the elevator, trying not to show his amusement.

“Remember that concert? You were so mad you had to share a bed with me.” I giggle at the memory.

“I remember.” He says it in a way that makes me think he’s thought about that night a lot.

“That’s still one of the best nights of my life.”

“That’s only because you think the lead singer dude looked right at you.”

I scoff, stepping onto the elevator. “Think? He very much did look at me. And don’t act like you don’t know his name.”

“Mathias,” he sighs. “I also remember you telling me that night after he looked at you that you were going to marry him.”

“What can I say? I was overcome with lust.” My heart gives a soft lurch, realizing that I was making that statement to my actual future husband. Wow. “Marry me,” I blurt out, his eyes widening in surprise, “right now. We’re in Vegas. That’s what people do, right?”

“It might be, but we’re not.” He leans against the elevator, crossing his arms over the wall of his chest.

“Why not?” I pout, the doors sliding open on his floor. I follow him out and down the hall.

“Because, you’re drunk right now and that’s the only reason I need.”

“I’m tipsy, not drunk.”

“Salem,” he looks at me over his shoulder, “do I need to pull up the string of unintelligible texts you sent me?”

“Okay, okay. Point taken. But I already agreed to marry you and I was perfectly sober then, so obviously I do want to marry you.”

He sighs, coming to a stop in front of a room. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me. “You’re not going to be able to convince me.”

“I can be very persuasive.”

“Sure.” He shuts the door behind us. “What do you want to eat?”

“Something greasy.”

He shakes his head, reaching for the room’s phone to dial for room service.

“I’m going to shower.” I start wiggling out of my dress.

His eyes watch me hungrily as the dress shimmies past my hips and lands on the floor. I’m not wearing a bra, and even though I don’t have a lot going on when it comes to the size of my breasts, you wouldn’t be able to tell that the way he’s looking at me.

With a smirk, I close the bathroom door and lock it.

He really thinks I’m too drunk to know if I want to marry him or not?

I’m pretty sure I would’ve married him at eighteen. At almost twenty-six is no different, if anything the feeling is stronger. I want the world to know that man belongs to me.

I shower, washing away the sweat that has stuck to my body from the night of dancing.

I use the hotel’s shampoo and conditioner to wash my hair. It feels gross and sticky from being in the club. I stay beneath the warm spray longer than necessary, but it feels so nice I don’t want to get out.

When my fingers start to prune, I decide enough is enough. My casted arm aches too from holding it out of the shower. Stepping out, I wrap my body in a fluffy towel. I run my fingers through my hair since I don’t have a hairbrush. It’s the best I can do if I don’t want it to tangle.

There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door. Dropping my towel, I slip it on and step into the room. Thayer lays stretched out on the bed; his feet crossed.

He looks over at me, eyes zeroed in on my robe.

“I set a shirt out for you.” He points at a white cotton shirt on the bed.

“Actually, it was nice meeting you and all, and thanks for letting me use your shower, but I’m going to head back to my room. I have pajamas there.”

Those intense brown eyes narrow on me. “Nice joke, Sunshine. Get in the bed.”

“Okay, but I don’t need your shirt.”

I let the robe drop, his jaw dropping along with it. I love that every time he sees me naked, he looks at me like it’s the first time.

I slip beneath the covers, pulling them up to my chin.

“I don’t think so,” he growls, yanking the covers down to reveal my breasts. He hums in approval, reaching to cup them.

“No funny business. I started my period.”

“I don’t care.” He lowers his head, flicking his tongue over first one nipple then the other.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that I do care, but when he does that it’s impossible to speak.

My eyes close and I moan when he sucks on my breasts, my body arching up to meet his mouth. “Thayer,” I pant his name. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I feel more turned on than ever before.

Unfortunately for me, we’re interrupted when there’s a knock on the door from room service. Thayer groans, his mouth leaving my breast. It’s wet with his saliva and with the AC on it sends a shiver down my spine. He tosses the sheet over my body even though you can’t see the bed from the door. He gets up, not at all bothered by his obvious erection and grabs the food.

I sit up, eager for my meal despite also being desperate for his touch.

He sets the tray of food down on the bed and swipes a bottle of water from the fridge, handing it to me.

“Eat up,” he says lowly, “you’re going to need it.”