My Kinda Night (Summer Sisters Book 2) Read online

  Silence fills the car as it starts to ascend upward. The scent of his cologne permeates my entire being as he steps up behind me, the heat of his body felt through my clothes and coat. “I have to warn you, I only have one bed,” he says softly, his breath fanning across my neck, causing me to shiver.

  Air lodges in my throat and my eyes widen in a very un-lovely way. I’m sure I resemble a blow-up doll with her eyes wide and mouth gaping open. Not exactly the best look for someone who isn’t staring in a smut film. “You only have one bed?” I whisper, turning slightly to face him.

  “I’ll sleep on the pullout couch.”

  “No,” I beg. “I’m the one crashing your room. I’ll take the couch.”

  “I could never let a lady sleep on the couch while I sleep in a bed, Payton.”

  “Or, Dean can join me in my room since I have two queen sized beds. This way, Payton can have her own room. You won’t have to bother her with all of the coming and going we’ll be doing for the convention. We’ll be on the same schedule, so it seems like the most logical solution.” Althea smiles sweetly at Dean, clearly offering more than just the extra bed in her hotel room.

  “That’s nice of you to offer, but I’m not leaving Payton. She’s here and I can’t think of anything better than sharing a room with her.” His eyes never leave mine and the temperature rises a thousand degrees. The meaning is clear. Even Althea must understand that her efforts are fruitless because she finally zips her lips and turns to face forward.

  From this point on, Dean and I will be sharing a room. A hotel room.

  And from the look in his eyes, I don’t think there’ll be much sleeping going on.

  Chapter Ten

  Dean

  My dick is already hard when I slip the key card into the door. Apparently the wayward appendage doesn’t care that I shouldn’t touch her. I’m helping out a friend, but the little guy trying to claw out of my trousers to get to Payton doesn’t seem to care about that. He wants one thing, and one thing only.

  Payton. Naked.

  I push open the door and wait for her to enter. She glances around, her gaze landing firmly on the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. The awkward silence quickly becomes sexually charged as we both stare at the mass of pillows and blankets. I can picture her body splayed out, as if on display, while I feast on every curve she has. And, damn, does she have them in spades. Beautiful, delicate, sexy-as-sin curves.

  My focus right now needs to be on getting my friend settled, not settling myself between her thighs. There’s a reason a relationship with her isn’t in the cards, and that won’t change tonight, tomorrow, or even next week. The fact still remains that she’s my client, and I won’t risk damaging the work relationship we’ve built just because the sex is fantastic. My dick twitches in my pants at the memories.

  “There’s a few open drawers in the dresser. Feel free to put your stuff in there and in the closet,” I say, scanning the room for anything left out of place. Of course, I wasn’t in here long enough to do anything but put stuff away, so everything’s where it’s supposed to be; not one pair of dirty underwear in sight.

  Payton stands in the middle of the room and gives a slow turn before her eyes come to rest on mine. “Are you sure about this?” Her voice is laced with apprehension and concern. I completely understand where she’s coming from. It’s not like we’re buddies who are sharing a room. We know each other intimately, in a way that only lovers do.

  “It’ll be fine, Pay. I can be on my best behavior,” I say with a chuckle. “I can be man enough not to maul you when we’re staying in a hotel room together.”

  My plan was to sound relaxed and casual, but for some reason, my brain only focuses on two words in my statement: hotel and together. The air becomes stuffy, making it hard to breathe. I pull at my tie, loosening it, along with the top button. There’s no missing that she watches my motions, swallowing hard when I pull at the collar.

  “I’m sure this will be fine,” she says, still staring at my throat.

  “Easy.”

  “Piece of cake.”

  “No big deal.”

  But it is a big deal. She knows it and I know it. The greatest challenge of my life may not have been raising a daughter, practically from birth, completely on my own. My greatest challenge may be facing me in this moment: sharing a room with Payton and not touching her. Friends without the benefits.

  And because I’m playing the martyr, there’s only one thing to do.

  Accept the challenge.

  Payton puts away all of her stuff in the drawers beside mine. I’m sitting at the round table, sending off a few emails, but my mind isn’t focused on work. I’m struck by how easy it is to share the space with her, and how right it feels to have her belongings in the same place as mine.

  It’s almost eleven when she lets me know that she’s going to take a quick shower. Listening to the water, knowing that she’s naked and wet just on the other side of that closed door is torturous. We’re talking pulling off all of your fingernails just to get you to talk cruelty. And, honestly, as I listen to her move around as the water cascades over her lush body, I’d almost prefer the fingernail treatment right now. It’s sure to be just as painful but without the raging boner in my pants.

  I’ve been staring at the same email for ten minutes when I hear the water shut off. My mind instantly imagines what she’d look like fresh from the shower. Her hair slicked back and her face free of makeup, a towel knotted between her full breasts, that barely covers her ass.

  Jesus, what is wrong with me? Why in the hell am I tormenting myself so damn much? There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight with the Louisville Slugger in my pants wanting to come out for batting practice. The only relief I’m going to get tonight, the only way I’ll be able to sleep a wink, is a shower of my own; one that has me taking my throbbing dick in my hand while I mentally picture her on her knees with my cock in her warm mouth. I audibly groan as that delicious little image starts to play out in my mind.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, standing in front of me. I didn’t even hear her come into the room.

  “I’m fine,” I reply quickly, clearing my throat as I glance back down at my laptop. Then something catches my attention and my eyes fly back up to Payton. She’s walking towards the bed, her hair wetting the top of her pajamas. Only these aren’t pajamas. She’s wearing a shirt. A big, white, collared, button-down shirt. One that looks awfully fucking familiar.

  “What are you wearing?” I ask, my voice sounding foreign and husky, even to my own ears.

  She turns around and I swear to God I’m having a heart attack. My dress shirt hits mid-thigh and is buttoned up to the top of her breasts. It covers all of the pertinent areas, except those mile-long legs, but the fact that it’s my shirt she’s wearing is like an aphrodisiac in and of itself.

  Payton glances down. Her face flushes as she gives me a slight, shy smile. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting to be sharing a room with anyone.”

  “You sleep in my shirt?” I think about that morning so many months ago that I woke up to find her sleeping in it. I’d gladly leave my entire wardrobe if it meant seeing her in them every night.

  No. Wait.

  Not every night.

  That can’t happen.

  Friends. We’re friends.

  “Not all the time, but, I guess, sometimes. It’s super comfortable and it’s long sleeved so it keeps me warm without getting hot.” She says it so matter-of-factly, like it’s completely logical for her to be sleeping in the shirt I left. But the fact still remains: she sleeps in my shirt.

  “Sure, I can see that.” I decide to let her off the hook with her sorry excuse, but I can’t help but smile as I force my attention back to my computer. It’s futile, though, trying to work. Instead, I’m picturing those smooth legs as they disappear beneath the starch-white material. My hard-on is steel and reaching epic levels.

  Shutting down the laptop, I grab a pair of running shorts f
rom the dresser. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want the bed?” she asks, drawing the covers back. “I’d happily take the pullout.”

  “No, it’s fine. I like sleeping on carpet-thin mattresses with a bar running across my back.” I throw her a big smile so that she knows I’m kidding.

  “Just for that, I’m only giving you one pillow,” she says as she tosses an extra pillow from the bed straight into my face. Her laughter follows me all the way into the bathroom.

  The hot water beats down on my neck as I stand beneath the water. It ebbs away the tightness in my muscles, except the one between my legs. My cock still throbs with need, and seeing Payton in my shirt hasn’t helped the situation in the slightest. Instead of taking my problem in hand, I turn the hot water almost completely off. The frigid temperature helps alleviate the ache, but doesn’t remedy it completely. There’s only one thing that’ll fix that problem, and she’s sleeping on the other side of the bathroom wall.

  The lights are off when I step into the room. There’s a glow from the television bouncing off the walls, and it helps illuminate the woman lying on her side, watching an episode of Friends. I throw my wet towel over the bar in the closet and make my way to the couch, which is already pulled out.

  My shorts are comfortable, even though the pullout isn’t. I was right that the mattress is paper-thin, and I’m rewarded with not just one, but two metals bars under my body. Looks like Payton’s presence isn’t going to be the only thing keeping me from getting any sleep tonight.

  It’s quiet for a while, but through the glow of the TV, I can see the contours of her face. She’s propping her head up on her hand, her soft brown hair falling in waves around her face. She’s, without a doubt, the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. Brooke was beautiful, but has nothing on Payton.

  I roll to my side and watch her for several minutes, inundated with a fierce longing that it almost causes physical pain. She smiles at the television, the episode where Monica wears the turkey on her head and dances for Chandler. He answers by telling her he loves her. I’ve been in love before, but not the way you’d expect. I love my mom and daughter fiercely, I loved Staci Jordan in high school the way you always treasure a first love, and I loved Brooke as much as I could. She was difficult, though, and loving her wasn’t easy.

  “Payton?” I ask when I notice her eyes starting to droop. She glances over at me, those gorgeous green eyes focusing on me. “I wasn’t going to sleep with her.”

  She stares straight at me as if trying to get a read on the conversation. “It’s not any of my business, really,” she says as if trying to brush it all off.

  “I know, but I want you to know.”

  “Okay,” she whispers. One word but it’s laced with understanding and longing.

  “Good night,” I tell her, desperation starting to take over. Not only does my body want to climb in bed with her, but so does my head. And don’t get me started on my heart. That pesky organ is beating wildly, ready to jump off the cliff without even giving a glance to the dangers down below.

  “Good night, Dean,” she mumbles as her eyes close.

  I watch for several more minutes, like the creepy stalker I apparently am. Her eyes flutter softly and her mouth opens faintly, the slightest little moan slipping from her lush lips. I realize I could watch her sleep every night if given the chance. In fact, I did watch her for a long time that night I stayed at her place. I watched until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer and finally succumbed to sleep.

  Which is what’s happening now. My own eyelids start to droop and my body relaxes. Even Jennifer Aniston and Courteney Cox can’t keep me awake any longer. As exhaustion sweeps through my body, my last conscious thought is of the breathtaking brunette sleeping across from me. We’re not even in the same bed, but I feel joy and a calmness I haven’t experienced in I don’t even know how long. Just being in the same room with her brings me peace.

  I should run from that.

  But I can’t.

  I won’t.

  * * *

  Coffee is great. Coffee is my best friend. I’m pretty sure I lived on coffee and toast when Brielle was an infant. And now it’s just a regular part of my morning routine. When Payton was in the shower, I slipped from the room to retrieve us both a coffee. Sure, there’s a tiny coffee pot in our room, but that little thing isn’t enough to make one large cup of joe, let alone two. And listening to the sweet sounds of her working through her morning routine was doing a number on my mind and my groin. So here I am, carrying two large coffees back up to our room. I wasn’t sure how she took hers so I snatched packets of cream and sugar from the restaurant, just in case.

  When I enter the room, the bathroom door is wide open. She’s standing before the mirror in a pair of black slacks and a purple top that flows beautifully around her curvy body, putting on makeup. Her hair is already dry. She brushes one color across her eyelids, followed quickly by a second. She has always worn natural colors. When our eyes connect, I realize I’ve been standing there watching her getting ready for her day as if I’m witnessing the behind the scenes secrets of NASA. I feel elated to be able to see this part of her, a concealed part of her day that no one gets to see.

  Except me.

  We’ve been staring for several moments when the warmth of the coffee cups starts to permeate the palm of my hand. “I grabbed you a coffee,” I say casually, stepping inside the bathroom and setting it down on the counter.

  Big mistake.

  Her scent is everywhere. It’s floral with a hint of fruitiness. I’ve dreamed about this particular smell for months, and now it’s standing in my bathroom, putting on makeup. Her eyes are sparkling emeralds under the harsh florescent lighting of the small bathroom. She’s so close, close enough to touch. I crave her and almost groan aloud in need.

  “Thank you,” she replies, husky and low.

  “I didn’t know how you took it so I grabbed sugar and cream.” I notice a slight tremble to my hand as I set the small bag of coffee fixings on the counter beside the cup.

  “Sweet and not at all tasting like coffee,” she quips with the hint of a smile.

  “What?”

  “I have to add a bunch of crap to my coffee. I need it to get my day started, but I don’t like the actual taste of black coffee.”

  “Good to know.”

  That invisible electrical current sparks to life in the confines of that small bathroom. We’re lost in a mixture of newness and familiarity. Newness as we learn to navigate a shared space with someone we’ve spent mere hours with, and a familiarity because even though we don’t really know each other, the other person is comfortable and right.

  “I should get ready to head down. There’s a breakfast meeting to kick things off at eight.” As difficult as it is, I break eye contact and take a step backwards.

  “Yeah, I need to register by nine A.M. and I want to spend as much times as I can browsing the booths.”

  Grabbing my tie from the hanger in the closet, I get to work on creating the little knot. My fingers fumble the silky material twice, though, proving just how out of sorts I am with Payton’s presence.

  “Let me,” she says behind me, startling me. I could tie a necktie in my sleep, so when I look up in the mirror, I’m surprised to find her standing right behind me again, gazing at me in the reflection over my shoulder.

  I drop the two ends of the tie and turn towards her. She’s not that much shorter than I am, so it’s comfortable to stand before her. I’m not short, but not tall either. I’ve always been average at five eleven. Payton’s on the tall side for a female, standing only about 2 or three inches shorter than me.

  She works quickly at creating the perfect knot. I’m able to watch her face as she concentrates on each flip, pull, and tug of the material. When she smiles that brilliant smile, pride swells up in my chest. Why? I have no clue, but for some reason, knowing that she can tie a tie and is smiling happily at the re
sult makes me grin widely back.

  I turn to the mirror and only need to push the knot up slightly to cover the top of the button. It’s the perfect knot. “Where’d you learn to do that?” I ask, smiling at her through the mirror.

  “My dad. He’s a pilot, and when I was younger, I used to love watching him get ready for work. He taught me how when I was probably eight. I used to always tie his necktie before he left.” She smiles fondly as if she’s lost in the joy of the memory.

  “Most men don’t know how to tie a tie, so to see a woman do it is pretty cool.”

  “I haven’t done it in a long time, but when I saw you, my fingers twitched to get a hold of that satiny material.”

  Speaking of twitches, my dick jumps in my pants. Just another reminder of the tremendous amount of sexual desire I feel for her. Payton Summer could easily become an addiction I can’t quit.

  “Well,” I start, clearing my throat, “you did a great job.”

  I watch, mesmerized, as she reaches around my shoulders and runs warm hands over my shoulders and chest, as if brushing off wrinkles. My skin tingles under her touch, my eyes locked on those nimble fingers with the orange nails as they move in contrast to my white shirt. Suddenly, I picture those fingers sliding over other parts of my body, her nails raking over my sensitive skin.

  “Have dinner with me tonight.” The words are out of my mouth before I can consider the ramification. Her green eyes jump to mine, wide and full of wonder.

  “What?” she whispers, the tip of her cherry red tongue slipping out and wetting her lips.

  “I want to take you to dinner tonight.”

  Silence fills the void for several moments before she finally responds. “I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.”

  “It’s a wonderful idea.”

  “Like a date?” The words are almost inaudible.

  “Yes.” My words, however, are clear, calm, and direct. “I want to take you to dinner tonight. Not as a client or as a friend. I’m having a very hard time staying away from you and I think we both owe it to ourselves to see what could happen.”