A sexy rock
star walking into your hotel room?
It sounds
like a dream come true.
When you’re
in the middle of some serious self-pleasure like I was
It’s a
freaking nightmare.
It gets
worse.
What I
thought was my hotel room…was actually his.
I’d just
given last year’s hottest new talent a performance worthy of my own Grammy.
Now
everyone is talking about the girl who got her rocks off in Brix Wilson’s hotel
room.
Nobody
knows I’m that girl and it’s going to stay that way.
It’s not
like I’m going to run into him again, right?
Wrong.
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Panicked, I
sit up, gaping in disbelief at the person standing in the doorway. I grasp at
the sheet, I frantically try to cover the most crucial bits of me, while
feeling completely mortified. He, on the other hand, can’t wipe that damn smirk
off his face.
What the fuck?
His head
cocks sideways and his lips twitch into an even bigger grin that I’d probably
find sexy—if I wasn’t two knuckles deep and showing him more of me than any guy
has seen of me in a long time.
“Well, I
have to say,” he drawls in a low, husky voice, “women do a lot of shit to try
to get my attention, but this is definitely up there as the most original.”
I can’t
even comprehend what he’s saying, because I’m frozen on the spot and trying to
work out what the hell he’s doing in my room. Is this some kind of sick joke?
Is he planning on attacking me? My eyes dart to the phone on the wall, but they
switch back to him when he walks closer.
Fuck.
He steps
out of the shadows, giving me a better look at his face and—
Double fuck.
What the
heck is the lead singer of The Vision doing in my hotel room?
I don’t
know whether to laugh or cry, so my body decides to do both. I can’t think
straight, but I’m doing my best to stop freaking the fuck out so I can try to
figure a way out of this mess. I’m so unbelievably embarrassed. And naked,
apart from this flimsy sheet. I should probably get dressed. The problem is,
doing anything at this point feels impossible.
“So, do you
speak?” he asks, jolting me out of my thoughts. “I mean, we’ve established that
you can moan quite well.”
Oh God.
“I had a
friend once, who was mute,” he muses, “we drifted apart because our
conversations were always very one-sided.”
“I am not mute,” I snap, glaring at him.
“Great,
then you can start by telling me what you’re doing.” He laughs and rubs his
jaw. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious what you were doing, I’m just not sure why. Not that I didn’t appreciate the
show,” he quickly adds. “Trust me, I did.” His dark eyes flash with amusement.
“It’s refreshing to meet a girl who doesn’t mind opening herself up.”
What the ever loving fuck…?
How can he
casually crack jokes like he isn’t the slightest bit embarrassed about walking
in on me? I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just glare at him.
“Can I get
you anything, like a drink?” he offers. “Or maybe offer you a hand…?”
“You could offer me some privacy?” I suggest, my
body shaking with rage.
“Privacy,
huh?” He grins at me. “Sure. I’ll turn around.”
He’ll turn around?
“Or you
could leave, the same way you came in?” I retort.
“You seem pretty agitated over there. I’m
guessing I interrupted the finale? Have you thought about trying some
relaxation breathing?” he suggests, “it’s supposed to be great for relieving
tension.”
“Are you
done?” I growl.
“Are you?”
he asks. “Maybe you should be the one leaving?”
A surge of
anger hits me. Why the hell should I be the one to leave when he’s the one in
my room? I wrestle myself up so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, my knuckles
white from clinging onto the sheet so tightly. While I’m at it, why am I the
one who’s embarrassed?
If I can’t
get myself off in the privacy of my own room—
I stop,
mid-thought as I look around, an uneasy feeling creeping into my stomach. The
clothes scattered outside the bathroom. The freaking guitar leaning against the
couch that I somehow neglected to notice. The champagne. The note…there was no
upgrade.
I’m the one in the wrong room.
And I was
seconds from climaxing all over Brix Wilson’s bed.
My heart
pounds as a trickle of sweat makes it’s way down the back of my neck. I swat it
away, while trying hard to think up an excuse for being in his room that
sounds even half plausible.
Who am I
kidding? There’s no getting out of this. Not without me looking like a complete
fuckwit. Sure, they gave me the wrong key, which makes this whole mess not my
fault, but as if he’s going to believe that.
I take a
deep breath and reach for my clothes, somehow managing to dress myself while
showing minimal skin. Not that he hasn’t seen everything already.
God, he’s seen more of my than I have.
I stand up,
nearly losing my balance. My legs feel like jelly, so even walking feels like a
hard task, but I have to get out of here. And the longer I wait, the harder
escaping is going to be.
“I have to
go,” I mumble.
“So soon?
You went to all this trouble of getting in here and performing for me, and now
you’re leaving? Where’s the harm in hanging around for a little longer?” he
presses. “I was looking forward to seeing how far you’d go.”
I stalk
over to the door, avoiding all physical contact with him. He can’t wipe the
smirk off his face, but I can’t let myself think too hard about what just
happened, or I’ll lose control. As I close the door behind me, I hear his voice
call out after me;
“What, I
don’t even get an encore?”
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Author Bio
Missy lives in central Victoria with her husband,
three-year-old daughter, two cats, two dogs and turtle. When she's not writing, she can usually be
found …oh wait. She’s always writing.
Author Links
He is the one that never looks her way.
He is handsome and strong.
He is rough around the edges and mean.
He is everything she’s ever wanted.
He doesn’t even know she exists.
Her life is a joke.
***
She doesn’t step on cracks in the sidewalk.
She laughs at inappropriate times.
She talks when she shouldn’t.
She is clumsy and trips on air.
She is finally on his radar.
God help her now.
Lani Lynn Vale is a USA Today Bestselling Author of over thirty titles. She is married with three children, two dogs, two cats, a donkey, and a couple (a couple also meaning over twenty) chickens.
When she’s not writing, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair reading.
Lani is married with three children and lives in the Great State of Texas.
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