Misguided Vows: Chapter 8

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

It’s like I can’t get away from this man.

I’m receiving my room key from the receptionist at the hotel when Will enters the lobby with his bags.

My jaw clenches as I politely thank the woman behind the desk and beeline for the elevator. My foot is tapping and I’m making it a point to not look his way. Now I’m starting to believe his whole “tracking people” business. Or is this just outright stalking? How did he know Dawson and Honey put me up in this hotel? Did he ask them?

Surely, it’s not a coincidence. Or am I just being conceited? New York has hotels everywhere, so what would be the chances that we both end up at the same one?

The more I stand here waiting, the more furious I become. A part of me wants to turn around and unleash my irritation at him, while the other part is scared that if I do, I’ll let him touch me again. And the worst part about that is I would enjoy it.

This asshole.

When the elevator doors open and an elderly couple walk out, I sigh as I step in. When the doors begin to close, I’m instantly relieved, that is until they open when a hand pushes through to stop them. Mr. Blue Eyes stands there wearing a devilish smirk.

If anyone asked me to describe Will, I would find it easy to do. He’s very charismatic, charming even. But when he was hiking up my skirt in that bathroom, I saw the way those blue eyes turned ice cold and something came over him. He is beautiful—in every sense of the word. Anyone would look at him and think, fuck, that is a gorgeous man. He dresses to impress, his eyes will hypnotize you, and that smirk that he’s trying to charm me with right now would make you drop your panties. But I also sense there’s a darker side to him he doesn’t really let others see. Above all, he’s persistent in his efforts to piss me the fuck off.

I’ve been with the bad boy, and I’ve been with the businessman. Hell, I’ve even been with the funny man. None of those relationships worked at all. I don’t know if it was just me. I mean, it could’ve been. I’m a very picky person. But I haven’t been with anyone as self-assured as this man standing in front of me. And all I want to do is wipe that smug expression off his face.

“Anyone would think you were running away from me,” he says, stepping into the elevator. He stands beside me as the doors close, and the small space feels electrically charged with tension.

“Anyone would think you’re tracking me,” I fire back. “Or maybe you’re a stalker.”

“Oh, I could track you anywhere in the world. I told you, milady, it’s what I do.”

My temple pulses every time he calls me milady.

“Here I thought you were someone with too much time on your hands since you won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“I don’t think you want me to leave you alone,” he purrs, and this time, I look at him. He’s confident, and his gaze dips to my lips. The tension around us becomes heavier, and I remember all the ways his body made me feel on the plane.

I step into his space now, grazing my hand up his stomach. Fuck me if he doesn’t feel divine beneath this shirt, but I smile sweetly as I peer up at him. “Is this what you do to all your sister’s friends? Try to tick them off the list or something?”

He leans in, his lips ever so close to mine. “Is it so bad to find you attractive and want to fuck you?”

I brush my lips against his jaw as I go up on my tiptoes to get closer. “Yes, because you ruin it every time you open your mouth.”

He chuckles. “Do you want to gag me, love?”

My heart is racing because, damn it, though I wanted to tease him, I’m feeling the tension in equal measure. It’d be so easy to thread my fingers through his hair. To kiss him. To fuck him.

Fuck, do I want it.

But then I step back as the doors open. “I want you to play with yourself as you think about me. Because that’s all I’ll be to you—a fantasy.”

He licks his lips and then a slow smile stretches across his expression. “You’re playing with fire, milady.”

I casually shrug and shoot a pointed look to the door. “Don’t you have to be somewhere? Run along.”

He seems almost confused in a pleased way about being rejected as he steps out. Just as the doors go to close, he puts his hand in to stop it. “Room is four ten, in case you’re bored later and need another release.”

I flip him the bird as he removes his hand and the doors close.

When he’s gone, I can’t help but smile. I’d never give him the satisfaction of going to his room.

The problem is, I’m not satisfied at all. My pussy is pounding and my skin feels like it’s dancing with electricity. I don’t know how I pulled any of that off without mounting the man, and it makes no sense considering how much I can’t stand him.

The doors open on the sixth floor, and I’m even more flustered by the time I get to my door. My key isn’t working, and I frustratingly keep swiping it until it unlocks. The room is beautiful, and I can tell they didn’t cut any corners on the budget. But I can’t think of work right now because my mind is focused on a certain Englishman with blue eyes, and the acute awareness of all the things I could do with a man like that.

Fuck, do I need a release, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I throw my stuff on the bed and collapse on the mattress, not even bothering to change as I try to push away a multitude of bombarding memories.

Him kissing down my neck.

His hand up my skirt.

Fuck.

I toss back and forth, wanting and needing more.

But that would be a mistake, and so I let sleep take over, exhausted from the day.

And I dream of that asshole.

Fucking Will.