One Wicked Lick from the Drummer (The One Book 3)

and rare.
Grip followed, and when she froze as a person sat up in the bed, saying, “Helen, is that you?” he grabbed her hand and led them around the bed and out another door into the original corridor near where they’d started from.
Another door he opened showed a kitchen, full of steam and the smell of bacon. Another to a laundry room. He’d taken control now and he was rushing them through to the end.
He squeezed her hand. “We missed all the clues.”
Oh, if only he knew where to look, he’d see them all over her.
There were six more doors and no way to know what was behind each of them and the handles were locked.
“There are no spiders, wait here,” he said, and went back the way they’d come.
He wasn’t gone long, and nothing jumped out at her except her conscience, shouting, “What are you doing? Do you want to get found out?”
The resounding answer was yes.
And that was scariest moment yet.

TEN
Grip had to walk away from Mena. Had to take a minute to get himself together. His whole body felt tense, like he was standing on shifting rock, tilting one way towards more kisses and more than kisses and the other towards, fuck, fucked it up, fuck up.
Somehow all the clues went missing and he’d lost his certainty about finding his way. He felt a weird connection with Mena. Her shy and sunshine, her serious and sensuous beats. Had done since she’d tripped into the boardroom at S&Y and they’d crawled under the table together. He wanted her something savage. And she’d taken the lead and gone toe-to-toe with him, nothing held back. But now that they were out of each other’s arms, he didn’t know what that meant.
And it had dude, you’ll screw this up stamped all over it.
There was another hidden key in the room they’d come out of. He could at least get them out of here without too much further messing about. He backtracked, found the key and had the right door opened in under two minutes.
They only knew it was the right door because Mena’s coat was hanging in the open wardrobe and her bags were on the radically unmade bed. The rest was clashing, peeling wallpaper, a broken lamp, a smashed mirror, an overturned chair, scattered crockery, as if this was a real hotel room they’d shared and trashed.
Fuck, if only.
He looked at his watch because he wasn’t certain he could take the tension in Mena’s face any longer. Everything had been hot and happening in the linen press. No one was doing anything they didn’t want. He’d been sure of it then but now his whole head could be crawling with spiders and he wouldn’t know it.
“Fifty minutes. Not terrible,” he said to fill the silence. He had no idea how long they’d been in the linen press; however long it was, they were the most heartfelt fun, fucking fabulous moments of his life.
And that’s all they were going to be because Mena had shut it down. We need to finish it.
He understood, but he couldn’t make himself like it. She’d come on stronger than he’d ever imagined, and it shook him in all the best ways.
She picked up an envelope with their names on it from the bed and read the letter inside. “Thank you for your stay at Gate Five. Come back and see us again or try one of our even more interesting experiences. Coming soon, all Seven Gates of Hell.” She threw her hands up. “It was hell.”
Perspective was a total headfuck. Looks like he had it upside down thinking it was a little slice of paradise. Well shit, mistakes were made. Wasn’t his first rodeo.
The only door out of here was through the wardrobe. It led directly to the street where his car was parked. There’d be cabs around for Mena.
“This way,” he said, sliding the door open.
“Grip, wait. I—”
He turned back. “This is the last stop. We made it through.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
All right, he’d had enough of teetering, time to put his foot down on any solid surface.
She was going to tell him the investment sucked, to bring his accountant next time or that he needed to take a more fucking adult approach to his money, invest in serious things that had the word tech in them. He could feel the low-grade boil of annoyance in his gut. He went a long way to avoid drama in his private life because he got enough of it with the band. He’d just kissed drama all over Mena and he knew better. He had no fucking cool when it came to her and he didn’t understand it.
“What do you mean, Mena?”
“We need to talk about what happened.”
“I get it. Not professional. It was a mistake.”
She put her hand on his forearm. He shifted to break the contact.
“I don’t want to pretend that didn’t happen,” she said. “I don’t want you thinking you coerced me, or I didn’t know what I was doing. I don’t want to turn what we just did into a lie, something to be ashamed of.”
Back-down words if ever he’d heard them. He had plenty of things to be embarrassed about but making out with a hot, willing woman wasn’t one of them.
“I loved touching you, kissing you. It wasn’t a mistake. I wanted it to happen. I’m attracted to you and I don’t want to fight it anymore,” she said.
Bing! Unexpected item in the bagging area.
“What?” He shook his head. Brains had to be leaking out his ears because he thought she said more kisses please, but her body language was called to the principal’s office, months and months of detention. “What are you saying?”
“I want you.”
Jesus Christ. That