Charity Case - The Complete Series - Piper Rayne Page 0,234

hand lands on the doorknob again.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” I shrug while I close the closet door. “Two separate beds.”

“Okay, I’ll grab my bags.” He exits the hotel room.

I breathe again once the door is shut. I’m totally setting myself up for failure but having the safety of him in this room outweighs my Missing picture being posted on every telephone pole from here to Chicago.

There’s not time to process my doubt because Roarke returns. He shuts the door, flips the bar over, and secures the deadbolt. Wasn’t he the one who said no crime happens in Woods Parlor?

“Can I sweet talk my way into your bed, too?” he asks, hanging up a garment bag in the closet.

“You never know when to stop.”

I go easy on him after his comment because I appreciate the way he’s letting me off the hook in this scenario. The first time I showed this man any kind of vulnerability and he didn’t throw it in my face.

“When it comes to you, no, I don’t.”

For the first time, it dawns on me that maybe my odds of landing in Roarke’s bed are significantly higher than my odds of being murdered tonight. That thought would have been handy about five minutes ago.

Chapter Fifteen

The pressures of perfection are something I’m familiar with. You’re not raised under a microscope without being trained on how to stay calm and collected under scrutiny or high-pressure situations.

With perfection comes willpower.

Willpower to cut carbs.

Willpower to work out.

Willpower to bite my tongue when necessary.

A piece of cake can sit in front of me for hours as I continue a conversation with someone who is devouring theirs. That’s not to say I don’t stop on the way home for a milkshake. That’s the thing with being a Crowley. You only have to worry while in front of others. In the comfort of a room all by yourself with triple locks to keep prying eyes out, you can indulge in a whole cake if you want. As long as you don’t go up a dress size. What would your personal shopper at Neiman Marcus think if nothing fit you when you arrive?

Regardless, I tend to believe I’m a strong woman who can look unfazed when her body heat is rising to dangerous temperatures.

When Roarke walks out of the bathroom in pajama pants and no shirt on, I almost lose my cool. He has to be in his early forties, but his pecs and biceps bulge as he rounds the edge of the bed and slides in under the covers. He doesn’t say a word as he makes his trip across the room. He doesn’t have to. I’m sure his stealthy eyes caught me peeking up at him over my Kindle.

He passes out quickly after a short goodnight in his usual deep timbre which seems to be an aphrodisiac for my lower region. I would’ve settled for some teenage dry humping. That’s how low I was willing to go.

I put my Kindle down and laid on my right side as I usually do when I fall asleep. The problem was Roarke was in my line of sight. His bare, muscled chest rising and falling. One hand positioned under his head, one leg sneaking out from the sheet a bit. He truly was a male Adonis.

He’d volunteered to take the bed closest to the door. Once again proving he knows I’m not feeling completely safe here, but not calling me out on my bullshit excuse for offering him the other bed. The fact he keeps doing that is starting to piss me off and I have no explanation for why it angers me.

Rolling over to my left, I face the wall and will my eyes shut with the hopes that this weekend goes by fast because my willpower crumbles a little more every second I’m around him.

A light permeates my eyelids and I blink my eyes open.

I’m sprawled in the middle of the bed, literally in an X, taking up the entire space. I can’t remember the last time I slept that soundly. Usually Lucy’s taking up half the bed and pushing one of her paws into me.

A tall figure blocks the light and I turn my head to see Roarke place something on the bedside table. “You snore.”

I sit up, wiping the guck from my eyes.

Why did I let him sleep here again? I should’ve set my alarm so I could get up first and do my hair and makeup.

“I do not,” I say with