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Wendy yawned and stretched, the muscles in her back and sides contracted deliciously and pulled a long groan of pleasure from her.  She let her arms fall heavily back to the deep, unbelievably comfortable mattress and wondered if she ever had such a sound, restful night’s sleep.  She couldn’t recall one.

She’d wanted more than anything to slip into JD’s room and … well, if not make love, at least cuddle with him.  She giggled when she thought of his resistance to her.  She’d never been with a guy she had to pursue so hard, who turned her down instead of vice versa.  It was cute, but annoying.  Early in their relationship, it made her feel she’d lost her touch.  Maybe she wasn’t as strong a male draw as she thought.

JD made it clear — well, his body did, anyway — that he wanted her, though.  He was holding out for the wedding vows, and she admired a man with that kind of will power.  But it was hard — for her.  Sometimes her feelings overwhelmed her.  Even now she didn’t fully fathom the depth of her love for him.  It was really, really hard not to want to be one with him, to unite emotionally, spiritually … physically.  She was a sensual person, and it was natural to her, made sense to her, and the need was so strong with JD it was almost painful.  Which was also new to her.

Enough day crept into the room around the blackout curtains so she could see, but not so much she couldn’t go back to sleep if she wanted.  The hotel’s design was perfect, and she admired Hank and Phoebe again for its brilliance in every aspect.  Her own burning ambition envied what they’d built, and longed for something as successful, something she was as empassioned about, to focus on so fully.

Another feline stretch poured blood into her sleepy muscles and she groaned again, even louder.  She considered drifting back off.  The bed was so comfortable … even without her man.  Instead, she sat up and yawned, ruffled her hair with her fingernails and tossed it about before she raked it over her shoulders.

She pondered: room service, or the restaurant?  The blue LEDs on the clock face read 8:49.  She marveled at how much sleep she got.  Despite fatigue from the trip and the late night with the Kileys, the warm, loving embrace of the bed carried her to sleep before she knew it.

A sharp rap on the door punched a tiny yelp out of her and jolted adrenaline into her.  She leaped up, pranced in panties and tank top on tiptoes to the dresser , and pulled out a set of pink pastel and flower-patterned lounging pants.  She hopped to the door while tucking her legs into them.  She picked up an envelope lying just inside the door, and peered through the peep-hole.

Dillon scratched his stubble-crusted beard lazily, then yawned and shuffled on his feet in the hall.  She watched him and grinned.  He was so funny.  No one really knew the real Dilly.  Well, maybe JD, but he took Dillon for granted a lot, underestimated him often, and generally just … missed it.  She knew Dillon was a sweet, loving friend.  He’d do anything for the people he cared about.  She saw him reach to knock again and a devilish idea struck her.

As soon as he knocked — harder this time — she banged the door, a single slap that rattled it in its frame.  She heard him shout, knew he jumped, and burst into wild giggles as she unlocked and opened the door.

He was standing there, his hand over his heart, a pained look on his face, breathing hard.

“Cripes, Wen!  Ya scared th’ crap outta me!  What’s with you doin’ that alla time??”

She was still laughing, unable to speak, and stepped into the hall to throw her arms around his midsection.  She rocked him back and forth, squeezing, but he held his hands away from her in protest.

“Naw!  Naw, man, I ain’t huggin’ ya!  I don’t hug nobody that gets off scarin’a crap outta me like you do!”