She didn’t know what. But it was something.
Not in the mood to deal with it, and blaming it on the fact that she was in a small, gross motel without any clean clothes in the middle of a snowstorm, she reached for the TV remote.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” she said ten seconds later.
Every single channel was doing the staticky thing.
She pushed all the standard “fix it” buttons on the remote. Nothing. Got up and fiddled with a few things on the TV set itself.
Still nothing.
A call to the front desk confirmed her worst nightmare.
“Our fix-it guy could normally be here in a half hour, but in this snow…”
“I can take another room,” Jill said. It’s not like she had any heavy luggage that had to be moved.
“Well… I think 219 is clean, and 201 is supposed to be…”
Jill pulled at her ponytail in irritation. “Never mind,” she muttered. “Do you guys have any books? You know, a shelf of books left behind?”
Maybe she could read. A nice mystery or romance would do just the trick…
“Books?” the receptionist said.
Jill closed her eyes. “Forget it. Thanks anyway.”
She hung up the phone and gently banged her head against the wall behind her. She could probably just go to bed early… get caught up on some sleep.
Jill glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It wasn’t even seven o’clock.
Standing, Jill pulled her sweater and boots back on, grabbed her gun and purse.
Ten seconds later she was knocking on Vincent’s door.
“I came to save you—” she started to say the second the door opened.
And then she broke off.
And stared.
And stared some more.
Vincent Moretti was shirtless.
Jill didn’t trust herself to speak.
Because the only word her dazed mind seemed to be able to come up with was mouthwatering.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He hadn’t meant to open the door without a shirt.
But taking in Jill’s stunned expression, he was glad that he had.
Call it payback for her raunchy sex comment at Elena’s party that had kept him up for more nights than he cared to admit.
Jill still hadn’t lifted her eyes from his torso, and he put his hand on the doorjamb, leaning just slightly.
When her eyes finally met his, he was wearing an all-out grin.
“Why are you… panting?” she asked.
Why are you? he wanted to ask back.
Instead he shrugged. “Doing some push-ups.”
“You do those every night?” she asked.
“And every morning.”
Actually, his twice-daily workouts were usually a good deal more than push-ups, but he was in a tiny-ass motel room. He did what he could.
“Huh.” Her eyes drifted lower again.
He smirked. “Can I help you with something, Henley?”
“Um…”
There was a very satisfying pause, and Vincent felt his grin grow wider.
She pointed to her room. “My TV’s not working.”
Damn. Not what he was hoping she’d say.
“Ah. What room are they moving you to?” he asked, assuming she was stopping by to tell him of her relocation.
“They’re not.”
And then she ducked, slipping under the barricade his arm had made across the doorway and entering his hotel room.
“Um, okay.” He shut the door and turned to face her.
She’d already found the remote on the nightstand and wiggled it at him. “You mind?”
“You’re watching TV here?”
“Why not? If you need to finish your push-ups, I’ll promise not to watch.”
“Really,” he said dryly.
“Nope.” She grinned. “Not really. Seriously, Moretti, that’s an impressive upper body you’ve been hiding from me all this time.”
“I’d be happy to implement shirtless Saturdays if you are.”
“Eh, you’re getting the bad end of the bargain there, my friend. The only exercise I do on a daily basis is lifting beverages to my face. Coffee in the morning, wine in the evenings—”
Vin tuned out her rambling. He was too busy picturing shirtless Jill, and somehow he didn’t think he’d be disappointed.
Jill was slim, yes, and her small breasts were not exactly the type to land the Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover, but Vincent had never been a boobs guy.
He liked his women on the smaller end of the spectrum, liked when he could lift them, hold their tight, perfect ass in his hands as he…
The TV turned on and his dirty thoughts scattered.
“I guess you’re staying then,” he muttered.
“It wasn’t really ever up for negotiation,” she said, her mouth full of M&M’s as she flipped through the stations.
“Thought you ‘couldn’t possibly eat’?” he said.
She shot him a patient look before patting the mattress next to her. “Come watch this stupid movie with me. It’ll help ease your bad mood.”
He glanced at the TV. “Isn’t this Transformers, or something equally awful?”
She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “You know you want to.”
And in spite of himself, he did.