Macy
Water drips and pools at my feet as I get out of the shower. Why didn’t I think to get a towel beforehand?
I look up to make my way toward the towel rack and find myself staring into a pair of chocolate-brown eyes.
Wait. What?
It’s him. The guy from the fucking bar, butt-ass naked…in my bathroom. What the fuck!
I scream. I jump back in terror and, by reflex, place an arm around my breast and a hand in front of my crotch.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I yell. “How did you get in here?”
What’s happening? I don’t think I even gave him my name at the bar, let alone my hotel number or key card.
I quickly unfold a towel and wrap it around my body, hoping he didn’t see much. My arms cradle my waist tightly. I’m naked and soaking wet.
And I’m right in front of him.
This is exactly what he wanted.
With his hands, he reluctantly covers his dick. He looks annoyed that he has to.
At this point, though, he doesn’t even need to. I already got a nice, long look at his prodigious package.
And his hands aren’t helping. The myth isn’t true—his hands are no indication of how big his dick is.
Damn, it’s impressive.
It takes everything in me—every ounce of restraint I can find—to not look down and to only stare at his eyes.
I saw that he was gorgeous at the bar, with model-level looks. He’s hair falls oh-so-charmingly in a messy but groomed way. His jawline is sharply defined, and his lips are full and tempting.
I imagine my tongue tasting it, making my way down to his chiseled abs. Hmm. delicious.
“This is my room,” he says, seemingly unaffected by my terror—or my staring.
I shake my head, trying to focus myself on the real matter at hand—him in my bathroom. Not his nakedness.
Other than my carnal attraction, his presence immediately pisses me off. He’s a bigger prick than I thought.
“Excuse me? Your room? How is it your room when it’s very clearly my room? The person who’s showering and has access to it?”
“I also have access to it, see?” He looks around the bathroom, removing his hands from his dick and waving them around like he’s Vanna White, showing me the obvious clues.
Seriously? Arrogant asshole. I’m not in the mood.
“Are you stalking me? Is that it? I said no to you, and your ego is so wounded that you had to stalk me?”
He puts his hands up, surrendering. “Woah, woah, take it easy. You’re hot, and I’d love to show you a great time, but I’m not that desperate.”
That’s it. Tightening the towel around me, making sure it stays in its place, I move toward the phone on the other side of the bathroom. Yes, this place has a phone in the bathroom.
I never thought I would need to use it. I guessed wrong.
I reach for the phone, ready to call security. This guy needs to fucking leave before there’s a lifetime movie made about a woman who kills her stalker…while on vacation. Or something like that.
I stare at him, lifting the phone up to my ear.
“I’m calling security. You, in my room, naked, is not okay with me.”
Instead of arguing or doing what a half-decent person would do—like, you know, leave—he strolls over to me while plastering on a delicious and dangerous smirk.
Against all my better judgment, I find myself fascinated by his self-assured demeanor. He knows what he wants, and he tells you.
It’s straightforward, it’s direct, and it’s fucking hot.
Anyone can see that he’s attractive, but seeing him naked in my bathroom, wanting me, throws my rational and controlled self off-kilter. . .his stare sparks something in me, heating me in places I’ve ignored for a long time.
Thanks to the time- and soul-sapping grind of grad school.
No, I can’t let myself get taken in. He’s an asshole, and more importantly, he’s a stalker.
He gently takes the phone from my hands and places it back on the receiver.
“Now can’t we figure this out by ourselves?” he asks sensuously.
“And how would you propose we do that?”
“I have things in mind. Talking might not be one of them,” he says, looking at me with that damn smirk and a daring expression.
I back away from him, forcing distance between us. I need room to think clearly.
“You shouldn’t be here. You need to leave. This is my room.”
“Oh, babe, no. This is my suite. Aaron Michaelson. It says so on the reservation. Ask the pretty lady at the front desk.”
Did he just call me babe? What a condescending fucking asshole.
“One, I’m not your babe. Call me Macy, if you have the luxury of calling me anything at all. Second, the reservation clearly says my name. You can go ask the woman at the front desk yourself,” I say, making sure to put his patronizing ass in its place. “Also, can you please cover yourself up?”
He has thoroughly pissed me off at this point, where I don’t even want to his body. Well, kind of.
His name’s starting to sound familiar, but I’m way too fucking pissed off to give the slightest damn about that.
He laughs and reaches over to grab the robe hanging on the back of the door. I watch him with hooded eyelids as each muscle ripples when he puts it on.
“My friend reserved this suite and gave it to me to enjoy some peace and quiet,” he says.
What? That can’t be true.
“No, see, here’s the thing. My friend, who was supposed to be on her honeymoon here, let me have this suite seeing as she broke off the wedding and is no longer in need of it.”
He leans against the counter, crossing his arms, and looks at me smugly.
I’m seriously about to slap this asshole, even if he does look fucking amazing in that robe.
“Now I see what happened. Your friend, the dick charmer, broke off the wedding to my friend. Seeing as they are both idiots—who thought love does exist and marriage is the answer—they gave us both the suite.” He winks at me. “Was her name Cara by any chance?”
Fuck. I sit on the side of the massive tub, mulling over what he just said.
“Regardless, it’s mine, as Cara instructed.” There’s no way I’m giving up this room, or this vacation—not for this jerk, not for anyone. “Your asshole of a best friend fucked up, so I shouldn’t have to deal with the repercussions of his indiscretions.”
I stand up, facing him head on. If he thinks I’m backing down, he’s about to be proven quite fucking wrong. He’ll be the one leaving this room.
“It’s not my fault your friend clearly dove into something she shouldn’t have and stayed blind to the obvious faults in the whole plan for so long. It’s a tough lesson a lot of people subject themselves to, but it doesn’t mean you deserve the suite.”
“What the fuck do you know about my friend? Look, I’m sorry your friend can’t keep his dick in his pants and doesn’t realize he lost the best damn thing he ever had. You two are just the same. Get out. Right fucking now.”
“I will not get out. This is my suite. I should be telling you to leave.”
“I will call security and make sure you’re escorted out of here. Want to dare me?” As the last of my patience starts to wane, I walk toward the phone.
This fucking prick Michaelson walks around thinking he owns the damn world. Fuck that. I won’t bend to his egotistical, self-satisfied ways.
If he’s anything like Cara’s fiancé, he deserves to be dragged out of here by his hair.
“You wouldn’t. I don’t even have clothes on.”
“I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve been in a hotel hallway without any clothes. That is the least of my concerns. Now, get out of here. Do you need me to show you the way out, babe?”
“Oh, I’m getting to you, aren’t I?” He leans casually back against the wall by the door, wearing a smug expression like the arrogant ass he is.
My body contradicts everything my mind is saying. Logic is now fighting against my stupid libido, and my libido is starting to put up a hell of a fight, fueled by his annoyingly magnetic looks and attitude and the cocky confidence that just oozes from him...
But I can’t let that mess up my plans for a relaxing vacation. I’m sure he’s had more than enough vacations in his life. From the looks of it, he has time on his hands.
“Yes, you’re getting to me. You’re pissing me the fuck off. This is my fucking suite, and I need you to stop ruining my fucking vacation! Right, fucking now!”
He looks at me with a sharp expression, exasperation filling his eyes. He goes to say something, but refrains.
He turns away, throwing his hands up. I hear him walking through the bedroom, followed shortly by a loud slam of the door as he leaves the room.
I sit back, reeling from everything that just happened.
Who the fuck is he? And why do I want him so badly?