Page 33 of One Night Stand After Another
“I can stall him until then. Keep me updated, and I’ll send the details right now.”
“Perfect—thanks, Roman.”
“We’ll talk soon.”
Zane gave him his email address and they said goodbye. Anticipation coursed through him, making him feel lighter than he had in months. He hadn’t been this excited since he’d landed the loan that had made it possible to open Standing Room. He opened his email. While he waited for Roman’s message to arrive, a reminder popped up on his screen.
Review The Glen Inn.
He navigated to TripAdvisor. It was easy to write a glowing review of the creativity of the chef, the quality of the food, and the charming ambiance. After he submitted it, he scanned the page and noticed a recent review from “Clara Crochets” with a link to a blog.
He clicked.
All The Yarn.She’d used the picture of the Yarn Heaven haul in the back of his truck. It barely fit, and it did look impressive.I’ve recently come into a treasure trove of beautiful yarn, and the inspiration to go with it…
He’d wondered what she’d been doing on her phone in the car today. Mostly they’d talked while she crocheted, but she’d been excited to discover the truck had a wired-in internet hotspot, and she’d spent about a half-hour busily typing. Writing this, apparently.
Best Sex of Your Life Sweater
When you don’t want to brag, but you also don’t want to forget, wrap yourself in this little reminder that heaven does exist. It’s as soft as you are. It will keep you just warm enough. It’s the color you see in your mind’s eye right before your world explodes into pleasure. Yes, ladies, you know what I mean. It isn’t every time, but it does exist. Wear this sweater when you want to remind yourself that you—YOU—contain multitudes of heaven on earth.
*Currently under construction, and I can’t wait to show you when it’s finished!
She’d posted a photo of the garment that had been growing in her lap all morning. Her hands had never stopped moving. Nimble. Delicate. Certain. The yarn held every color of Valentine’s Day fire from deep-cherry to pale-pink.
She already had comments.
Is there a pattern?
I want this.
HOT, girl!
Are you going to sell this? Store, please!
He clicked around her site until he figured out it was a crafting blog that she’d started about eight years ago. Her following was huge, but her site wasn’t monetized that he could see. Her posts were about her projects in progress, finished projects, and sources of inspiration.
Unless he missed his guess, he was her latest source of inspiration.
Warmth spread through him. She might guard her thoughts and want to keep their fling to a week, but she also wanted to remember it. He had a chance. And he was going to leverage that chance until she couldn’t imagine her life without this particular brand of inspiration, which he was more than willing to supply, especially since he might soon have a reason to make frequent visits to Los Angeles.
He was shocked to notice an hour had elapsed while he explored her blog. He clicked back to his email and scanned the document Roman had attached. Jack was right. He needed to move on this. His mind began to spin ideas, and he back-burnered them for now. He came up with his best menus when he let them slow-cook in the back of his mind. Plus, it was almost lunchtime, and he bet Clara was hungry.
He sent her a quick text, and then he headed into town in search of sandwiches. Fulfilling her unspoken desires was his new favorite hobby.
Chapter Eleven
The hotel was glorious. Pure modern, glitzy Chicago. Clara was half thrilled, half horrified that Zane had brought them somewhere so glamorous when her shoes were muddy from the farm, and she had Cheeto dust under her fingernails. She hadn’t been able to resist munching in the car once her lacy wrap was finished. It had turned out beautifully. Rich red marbled with lighter shades of pink toward the hem. She couldn’t wait to post the finished picture on Instagram and her blog.
She stood on the curb as Zane talked to the porter and arranged for their bags to be taken to their room.
“How’s your back?” Zane asked, putting his arm around her and guiding her toward the gorgeous glass doors of the hotel.
“Fine,” she lied. “Maybe a little too much car-crocheting.”
She definitely had sore muscles, but it wasn’t from hunching over her work. It was from clenching them during orgasms. She wasn’t going to tell him that, though. They still had tonight. And tomorrow, she’d already decided. In fact, she was counting the days until Thursday, hoarding them in her mind.
He led her straight to the elevator.
