He straightens and stares down at me. “One way or another, you’re coming with me.”
I ignore his sudden caveman mentality. “I’ll come to work, but I’m staying here.”
“No, you’re not. And you’re smarter than that. You’re clearly tight on money. Every day the hotel pays for your housing is a day you keep money in your pocket.”
He’s right, but I am not fully swayed. “What will the staff think? I’m not going to be looked at like some bimbo.”
“We have sixty staff members living on site, including me, and all their stays are included in their compensation packages. You’ll be in the same room you were in today, on the executive floor. On that level the camera feed is seen by only Terrance and me. Your life is completely private. Your bills are paid. This is a smart thing to do.”
“What about …”
“I made a mistake. I know that. I’m man enough to fix it.”
Man enough to fix “it.” I’m not fully sure what he means. I’m not even sure I want him to fix “it.” But he’s right. What he’s offering is a smart move for me. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Approval washes over his handsome face. “What can I do to help you pack?”
“The stuff in the fridge. I want to take it. The food, that is. The plates and things belong to the hotel.”
“Where are the rest of your belongings?”
“The moving company will hold all of it for a month with no extra fees. That gives me time to figure some things out.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I have a sense he wants to tell me he will figure it out for me but knows I won’t be pleased. “I’ll get the kitchen stuff,” he finally says, and turns away.
A few minutes later, he loads my car with my items and then glances from his BMW to my compact rental, grimacing as he holds the driver’s side open for me. “This car—”
“Is all I need.” And somehow I have rested my hand on his chest. I start to pull it back when his hand comes over mine and holds it over his thundering heart.
“You aren’t alone in a strange city anymore.”
I should remind him we barely know each other. Tell him I am not his responsibility. But I don’t. I let myself live in the fairy-tale moment. “Thank you.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and for some reason I think he does not approve of my reply. His hand releases mine and he backs away, almost as if he’s just pulled down a curtain. “We should go.”
I slide into the vehicle and, without hesitation, he shuts me inside, with him on the outside.
* * *
There is a subtle band of tension humming around us as we exit our vehicles in the private tenants’ area and head to the elevator. Once we are inside the lift, Damion gives me an awkward tour-guide recounting of the amenities I have at my disposal, and I want to scream at him to stop halfway through his speech.
Nerves flutter in my stomach the instant we arrive on my floor, and once we are at my door, he hands me a key, and I do not miss the way he avoids touching me. I wonder if he sees the irony of telling me I am not alone and now acting as if I am the plague.
I swipe the card in the door and hold it open as he maneuvers my bags inside. He’s back in the hall before I can blink, leaning a hand on the doorjamb by my head, shadows swimming in his eyes. “I’m not going to roll your bags inside or I won’t leave.”
The tormented confession punches me in the gut and I reach for his face, only to have him capture my wrist. “I’ve spent hours on end, it feels like, wanting you today,” he confesses. “I almost had you, too. I’m on the edge, and if you touch me, I will not do what’s right tonight and walk away.” He motions to his left. “I’m in the suite at the very end of the hall if you need anything—30011 by phone.”
We crossed lines, I’d told him. I’m man enough to fix it, he’d said. He’s giving me what I asked for. Why does that bother me?
He drops my wrist, setting me free. “Good night, Kali.” And then he turns and walks down the hall. Holding my breath, my nails curled into my palms, I watch him go. I don’t move. When he’s at his door, he pauses, and I will him to turn and come back. He doesn’t. We both go into our rooms alone.
Part Seven
The contract…
I lie in bed, aching to be with Damion and thinking of every instant before and after our being here in this room. I replay every touch, every comment, every look. But of all the things my mind could fixate on, it does not go to those delicious and wonderful erotic moments but to his generic claim that I’m running from something. I am not running. I am choosing to be happy. I have decided that moving away from a veil casting unhappiness is smart.
Unable to stop myself, I grab my cell from the nightstand and type: I am not running from anything.