I picked up the washcloth and twisted it in my hands. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah? Well I am," he said. He unzipped his sweatshirt to reveal his hard and bare chest. Then, he yanked a t-shirt out of his back pocket and pulled it over his head. He could not hide the grimace of pain as he raised his arms. There was a wicked bruise forming over his ribs.
"You're hurt; you need to rest. I'll leave. I'll get out of your way. Just stay here and give yourself a break," I told him. "You can't go out there. A sea of paparazzi is waiting for you."
Fenton tugged the black hat back on his head. "I'll be fine. And, I'm not about to let you leave. You'd probably end up in some back room betting on a cockfight."
"Only if that's where you're going," I stood up and marched in front of him.
He shook his head and the ghost of smile brushed past his mouth. "I'm just going to that expensive private gym of mine. I left all my stuff there." He pulled a card out of his pocket and checked the address.
"You don't need any of it tonight." I moved to block his way.
"I need my phone. I'm expecting a call," Fenton said.
I dodged in front of him again. He put his wide hands on my waist and went to lift me out of the way. As soon as he flexed, he grimaced again. Fenton's hands dropped from my waist and one pressed over his ribs.
"You're not going anywhere," I cried.
"It's just a bruise." He swayed on his feet. "But maybe I should lie down for a few more minutes."
He made it back to the couch and smiled when I came back with another cool washcloth, a blanket, and pitcher of juice. "Please tell me you’re going to mix some tequila in that for me. You know, for the pain," he said.
"Oh, so now you'll admit you're in pain?" I asked. I slipped onto the couch next to him and laid the cool washcloth on his forehead. I retrieved the ice and placed it under his sweatshirt where his ribs hurt. Then, I poured him a glass of juice, tequila, and pulled a few aspirin from my pocket. "What was the last thing you ate?"
"Please, no, I can't stand the angry chef slamming his pots around all jealous over you," he said.
I laughed. "Then it’s a good thing we've got leftovers. I'll make you a steak sandwich."
Fenton reached for the remote, dimmed the lights, and turned on the fireplace. "To help me recover," he said with a devilish glint in his eyes.
I came back with the sandwich and sat down next to him again. "That's all I want, you know. I don't really care about the endorsement deal or whether or not you sign. I just want you to be okay."
"Is that all?" He propped himself up on one arm and ran his other hand over my hair. "I'm not interested in doing business with you. I want more."
His hand guided me closer and I met his lips willingly. The kiss was light and gentle. I did not want to hurt him, and he seemed to be testing something. Our lips brushed gently, and I felt a warm glow of tenderness wrap around me. This was more – not just attraction or passion, but something more precious. The kiss was fierce and delicate. I felt his pulse pounding in his neck, but it was nothing compared to the wash of longing that flowed between us.
"I was jealous," I said. "I couldn't stand to see you with those other women, rival agents or not. I wanted to make you jealous, too."
"I wanted to protect you, keep you safe. I need you safe. I need to know nothing bad will happen to you," he said. His soft kisses seared me more than our other passionate entanglements.
"I am safe. We're both safe. Just stay here tonight, please," I said.
Fenton leaned back onto the couch cushions again and pulled me alongside him. I happily tucked myself against his body, careful not to lay my arm over his sore ribs. I nestled my face into the crook of his neck and felt his body relax. We dozed in the flickering firelight, wrapped up together.
I woke up a half an hour later to Fenton muttering in his sleep. I sat up, worried that I was hurting him, but his dream continued.
"It's not like that, sis. I can do it. I can take care of us this time. Don't hang up, please don't hang up," he mumbled.
"Fenton?" I laid a hand on his shoulder, but he did not wake up.
"Don't hang up, sis," his hands fluttered in his sleep.
I slipped off the couch and found the card he had looked at earlier. The address of the private gym was printed on the plain white card stock. No wonder he wanted to get his things; he was expecting a phone call from his sister. I remembered that was what I had overheard him discussing with the private investigator. He had tried to make contact with his sister.
The address was not far away from the Tropicana. I could get there and back before he woke up. I looked at Fenton. He was more actions than words, and I had to find some way to show him he meant more to me than a business deal. It would be easy to bring him his phone and clean change of clothes.
I sneaked out the suite door and headed out into the Vegas night with a smile on my face.