But although the bathroom door had been open, it wasn’t unoccupied. Rogan was standing there, drying his hands on a paper towel. I ran smack into his body, which was functionally the same thing as running head-first into a brick wall.
“Oof,” I grunted, staggering as I hit him. My vision flashed white and I began to fall. Rogan dropped the paper towel and his arms wrapped around me, keeping me from hitting the ground.
I was rarely at a loss for words—Maurice would attest to that—but as I gazed into Rogan’s dark eyes, I struggled to think of what to say. I knew he was strong based on the way he looked, but it was different to actually feel him holding me with that strength. He handled me as easily as he had handled the sheet of paper towel that was now resting on the floor between us.
And hisscent. Rogan’s cologne was pungent in all the right ways, filling my nostrils with the intoxicating smell of smoke and spice and sweetness. Our faces were close together, and his lips were pursed together in a small smile. They looked kissable. Iwantedto kiss them, I realized. Who wouldn’t? Especially while he was holding me in his arms…
“Woah there,” he said. “You okay, Amirah?”
Hearing the other woman’s name shook me out of my daze. “Sorry. I didn’t think anyone was in here. The door was open…”
“I just came in here to wash my hands. I’ll leave you to it.” He nodded, and started to move past me. Back into the suite.
Where therealAmirah was.
Before I tell you about the stupid thing I did next, you have to understand the situation I was in. I was panicking. I had snuck into a suite owned by a bunch of beefy security guys, pretending to be someone I wasn’t. And the person I was pretending to be had just arrived. I was about to get caught. I felt like an animal backed into a corner. And animals backed into corners did desperate things.
What desperate thing did I do? I kissed Rogan Holt.
I had to stand on my tip-toes to crush my lips against his. He was stiff at first, but having my breasts pressed against his chest made his body come alive. His arms enveloped me again and he leaned into me, churning his warm lips against mine. I surged upward with need as he squeezed me tighter. One of his strong hands slid down to my lower back, pulling me into him while his knee pushed between my legs. I leaned into it, grinding against his hard-as-stone leg, the thin fabric of my dressswishingwith every scintillating jolt.
For a few seconds, we surrendered to the sexual urges driving us on. Two near-strangers enjoying one-another away from the rest of the group.
Rogan pried his lips away from mine long enough to ask in a husky voice, “Does this mean you want to hire us?”
“I do,” I replied, leaning into him with need. I could feel his hard length in his dress pants, radiating heat against my thigh. “But not for security.”
He grin lustily, but before he could kiss me again, a Boston accent cut through the air in the suite behind us.
“Wait a fucken minute. You can’t be Amirah Pratt. She’s already here.”
Rogan’s eyes widened, then fixated on me with a new type of intensity. One of alarm rather than desire.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I said.
“Really?” Rogan said dryly. “Because it looks like you pretended to be someone else in order to sneak into our suite.”
I winced. “Okay, so it’sexactlywhat it looks like.”