She heaved in a breath and fought the clogging in her throat. ‘I... Thanks.’ She clenched her unhurt hand, ashamed at how low she felt. ‘I know you probably think I’m pathetic right now, but I’m responsible for my mother. If she sees me like this it’ll destroy her. In many ways I’ve been the adult for a long time. Every choice I make...she’s my number one priority.’
His mouth tightened. ‘Even when the choices you make aren’t sound?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not perfect. I make mistakes like everyone else. That doesn’t mean I should rub her nose in it. She has enough to deal with.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’
‘Let’s not enter another debate, hmm...?’
Her eyes widened when he shoved his door open. She stared around her, not sure when the car had stopped.
‘Where are we?’ she asked.
‘My hotel. Since you don’t want to go home, you can stay here tonight,’ he said.
A different emotion, separate from the ones she was already battling, fizzed through her. ‘I’m not sure—’
‘I’m staying in the presidential suite. Besides the master suite there are two more bedrooms. With locks. You’re invited to use either one of them. If you don’t feel safe enough with that, tell my driver where you’d like to go and he will deliver you to whatever destination you require,’ he stated in implacable tones.
The same instinct that had told her she could trust him enough to get into his limo after the mugging told her she could trust his offer. But suddenly Goldie wasn’t sure she could trust herself.
She’d let herself down spectacularly once tonight. Did she dare trust that she wouldn’t make another mistake on this surreal night?
But what alternative did she have that didn’t involve wandering the streets in an intoxicated state, with a bullseye on her back for every creep out there?
She swallowed hard and accepted that this was the best possible, safest choice on the table.
‘I accept your offer. Thank you.’
Twenty minutes later Goldie was in the most comfortable bed she’d ever slept in, the double doors to the princess suite locked after a solicitous Gael had brought her a glass of water and turned down the bed.
Now, stripped to her underwear, Goldie sighed and drifted off to sleep among the dreamiest of pillows.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE WASN’T SURE what made her jerk awake. Perhaps it was the muted sounds of the city, when she was used to her quieter neighbourhood just outside Trenton, New Jersey. Whatever it was, once her racing heart slowed she became aware of another raging need. Thirst.
The glass Gael had left her with was empty, although she didn’t recall drinking the water. She grimaced at the hazy, alcohol-distorted memories and got out of bed. She hated it that she hadn’t made it home, but after what had happened Goldie knew this option was best. Her mother wouldn’t have been just disappointed, she would also have blamed herself. Didn’t studies show that alcoholism was sometimes hereditary? And Gloria blaming herself would only bring about one result—depression.
For the past few months her mother had been doing well. Goldie couldn’t stomach being the cause of any form of regression in her mother’s wellbeing.
Rising from the bed, she looked down at her scantily clad body. The thought of putting on that clingy dress again just to go and fetch a glass of water brought another grimace. Going to the adjoining bathroom, she shrugged into a dressing gown bearing a distinctive exclusive designer’s monogrammed label, belted it, and left the suite with the empty glass.
Her bare feet moved silently over marbled floors as she walked along the ornately decorated hallway and into the vast living room. Styled in white, gold and royal blue, the presidential suite was the last word in elegance, right down to the hand-scrolled stationery and the monogrammed cushions that graced the brocade sofas and antique claw-footed chairs. Also dotted around the room were gilt and mother-of-pearl framed mirrors, and expensive paintings reflected perfection and elegance at each turn.
On the far side of the living room, set back from a second grouping of blue and gold-striped settees, a black baby grand piano gleamed under the lamps left on to illuminate the space. Next to it was a tiny kitchenette, housing a fridge and a collection of expensive drinks.
It was there that Goldie went to fetch bottled water. And there she remained frozen after, having taken a large gulp, she heard the heated sound of Gael’s voice as he paced the private terrace outside.
She didn’t want to eavesdrop, and really she didn’t understand a word of the bullet-fast Spanish he spoke into the phone, but that didn’t matter. She saw his pacing grow hurried as the conversation gained intensity. His fingers spiked through his hair an
d Goldie’s breath caught as he swore beneath his breath.
She eyed the semi-dark living room.
Leaving the small alcove would reveal her presence. But staying where she was, witnessing what appeared to be an argument—although she wasn’t absolutely certain—would be a worse violation of his privacy.