We stop in the middle of the empty hallway and he scans the series of doors, each of them painted in a different neon color. “Is this your way of balancing my chakras?”
I give him an impish grin. “It’s a start.”
Clearly still dubious, he tips his chin at the orange door. “That one, I guess.”
“Don’t sound so nervous,” I laugh, towing him in that direction. “It’s perfectly safe. They discontinued the interactive piranha exhibit.”
He does a double take. “What?”
“Only kidding.” I smirk at him as I pry open the door and pull him inside—and we come to a halt underneath the thousands of black lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. They pulse in a slow rhythm, the low sounds of a heartbeat pumping from an unseen source. “What do you think? I’ve been here a couple of times, but they change the installations monthly.”
When he doesn’t answer, I glance upward to find him looking down at me. “You’re all lit up,” he murmurs thickly, tugging on my hand and positioning me in front of him, one of those thick forearms wrapping around the front of my hips, his steady breath on the crown of my head. And I am, indeed, all lit up, the blacklights making the material of my T-shirt glow. “I was thinking about what you said before. About talking a big game, but not having to deliver.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah?”
“Is that how it's always been?”
My head drops back against his chest and we sway beneath the lightbulbs. “Yes, actually,” I say slowly, considering the question. “The night before my first day of kindergarten, I was so nervous. I couldn’t sleep, my stomach was tied up in knots. Back then, my grandmother was living with us. She used to be a movie star—did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” he says warmly. “You must have her genes.”
“I like to think so,” I murmur, tilting my head to one side so he can kiss my temple, my cheek. “She told me the secret to success is faking it until you make it. Walk in like you own the place, kiddo, and everyone will believe it. That’s what she told me and I’ve never forgotten.” I turn in Gunner’s arms, locking my wrists behind his neck. “That method has always worked for me. Until tonight. You make me feel…exposed. And I can’t hide that.”
“I don’t want you to.” His big hand slides down my back, his thumb digging into the base of my spine, dragging upward until I moan, pressing against him on my tiptoes. “You’re supposed to expose yourself to me. I’m supposed to make you feel safe enough to do that. I don’t know how I’m so aware of…these roles we need to play for each other, but they feel…”
“Natural,” I supply, breathless.
“Yes,” he says hoarsely, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth. Clearly wanting to devour me, but holding himself back. Waiting for me to be ready. “You pick the next room.”
Barely stopping myself from wrapping my legs around his hips and demanding to be taken back to the hotel, I kiss Gunner’s stubbled chin softly and guide him out of the room, pulling him down the hallway to a door painted white. Gunner opens the door for me and I gasp at the beauty before me. Cherry trees bloom everywhere. Of course, they’re not real, but they look entirely genuine. Giant fans are mounted to the ceiling, blowing the branches, giving the effect of standing on a hillside in Japan in the springtime. Pink and white petals blow off the trees and circle the air, landing in my hair, on Gunner’s shoulders.
“I bet you’re not thinking about work right now,” I whisper out of deference to the peaceful atmosphere, finding my spot in Gunner’s arms so I can witness his appreciation for the exhibit up close.
“You’re right,” he says, a groove forming between his brows as he observes the blowing trees, then looks down at me, his gaze running a lap around my face. “Work is the furthest thing from my mind right now.”
A triumphant smile spreads across my face and he curses.
“Jesus Christ, you are so damn beautiful,” he grunts, shaking his head and laughing without humor. “I’m glad no one else is here. They’d wonder what the hell you’re doing with me.”
My smile fades as rapidly as it appeared, the walls of my throat constricting. “What? No they wouldn’t. Why would you say that?”
“Come on, Josie.” He slides his hand up beneath my long T-shirt, gripping my backside roughly. “The only way a man like me gets to tap this is if he’s paying for it.”
“A man like you? What does that mean?”
With an impatient sound, Gunner leads me out of the room. I jog along behind him feeling numb, anxious for an explanation. In the hallway, we stop outside of a red door. But instead of entering, he turns to look down at me, clearly trying to find the right words. Impatient with himself. “You don’t need to hear my shit.”