The minute Raze walked into his hotel suite, he felt as if the air had thinned. Being alone was rubbing him the wrong way, which was so opposite from his usual desire for as much solitude as he could wrangle. There was too much stimuli in the world to allow him peace-the pounding of heartbeats, the steady surge of blood in veins, the various scents that betrayed mood and train of thought. He avoided crowds when he could, but now it seemed he was stuck in an odd place where being by himself was more miserable than being around others.

Rolling his shoulders back, he pulled the box of condoms out of a shopping bag and set it on the end table by the small loveseat. He left the new bottle of wine on the dinette table and tossed the bag in the trash, wondering what the hell to do with himself.

He ran both hands over his head and down the back of his neck, growling as he struggled with an unusual sense of anxiety. This time lapse from meeting a lover to fucking her was a step he’d been skipping for a few centuries now. He usually laid ‘em where he found ‘em, and that worked for everyone. If he’d hooked up with the bartender, it likely would have gone down right there at the club, in the back somewhere, quick and dirty. Waiting for Kim was excruciating, because it gave her time to have second thoughts. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if she changed her mind. She’d made him want her. Now no one else was going to do.

Raze moved into the bedroom and plugged his iPod into the docking station, his tension easing a little as Hinder drifted out of the speaker. Feeling confined by his clothes, he began pulling them off. His shirt went first, followed by his boots, then his jeans and boxer briefs. He was tossing his clothes over the back of a bedroom chair when he heard the knock out in the living area.