Delaney James seems to have it all-a successful husband, a stylish Manhattan townhouse, and a thriving career in fashion journalism-until it all falls apart. Her husband leaves her, shattering the perfect life she once knew. Heartbroken and desperat...
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"Delaney," I hear a deep, masculine voice say. "Wake up."
"Five more minutes," I mumble.
I feel a hand on my back and my whole body begins to gently sway back and forth. Someone is shaking me awake and whoever it is better have a very good excuse for disturbing me.
"Wake up, Laney bug."
"Why?"
He leans forward, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. "We're here."
My eyelids are so heavy I have to force myself to open them, but when I do, I see Greyson hovering over me, a soft smile on his face. When I'm finally awake enough to focus, I'm in a position I don't remember being in. I'm on my side with my legs resting comfortably on my seat, and my head is on a pillow on Greyson's lap.
"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I hope you weren't too uncomfortable."
"I was perfectly fine." He stands up and pulls the cover to the overhead compartment open, lifting out our suitcases. "But I am gonna have to find a way to cover the wet, drool mark you left on the front of my pants."
All the color drains from my face. If I was in such a deep sleep that I drooled on him, what other mortifying bodily functions did he witness?
His pants are light, so if there is a wet spot on them, I'll notice right away, but when I look down at his lap – more specifically his crotch – his pants are dry. As our eyes meet, I see his lips are pressed into a thin line as he tries his best to fight a smile.
"Seriously?" I ask, though I'm far from annoyed.
"Got you to look, didn't I?" A smirk breaks through his façade, and he nods his head toward the exit door of the plane. "Come on."
Once we're off the plane, we grab our other suitcases from baggage claim and head outside to catch an Uber. The sky is completely blue. There's not a cloud in sight, and the air is fresh and dry as it blows past me, whipping the ends of my ponytail across my face. It's a cool seventy-five degrees, which is a welcome change from the balmy temperatures of North Carolina.
"The hotel isn't far from here," Greyson says as he stares down at his phone. "Although if all of this red is any indication, it might take a while."
We've been sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for almost forty-five minutes. Horns honk loudly. People on bicycles whoosh by and there is an incessant drilling from a jack hammer on the sidewalk next to us. I peek at the driver's phone and according to his navigation, we're only halfway there, and I really have to pee. I'm also starving.
My stomach growls loudly and Greyson's head turns in my direction. "Hungry?"
"I could eat you right now."
"Excuse me, sir?" Greyson leans forward, placing himself between the driver and passenger seat. "There's a parking lot about two blocks up. Can you pull into it?" It's another twenty minutes before we reach the lot, but once we do, Greyson pulls out his wallet and hands the driver a handful of bills. "Wait for us?"
