Hotel O
“I should.” His voice is so serious I don’t even know whether he’s for real. Yikes.
“Sorry,” I say. “I just couldn’t stop. I had to see for myself.”
“And?” He cocks his head, lifting a brow.
“I …” God, I don’t think it’s ever been this difficult to find the right words.
Suddenly, he lifts my chin. “Tell me what you saw.”
“People … naked … fucking …”
“And?”
“A woman was screaming while she was being hit.”
“And how did that make you feel?” he asks.
“Strange …”
“In a good way or a bad way?”
I lick my lips and think about it for a second. “I don’t know. I don’t know why she did it.”
“Some people like pain. Others like giving it,” he says. “But they’re all there because they want to be.”
“Okay.” I frown, letting out a sigh.
“What you saw is strictly confidential. Do you understand?” His sudden shift in tone has me on edge.
“You want me to give you my word,” I fill in for him. “But even that won’t be enough.”
He pauses for a moment before answering. “You’re right.”
I fold my arms. “You don’t trust me.”
“You haven’t exactly given me any reason to.”
“Likewise,” I retort. “But I am trying.”
“Maybe you should’ve come to me first before attempting to break into an event.”
“Like I said, I already tried. You blocked me. Again.” My emphasis on the last word makes his lip twitch.
“Because I was busy organizing the event, and I didn’t want you snooping around.”
“So do you pay these people or what?” I ask. Now that we’re back to square one.
“Yes. Some. Not everyone,” he admits.
“The clients pay you for the joy of fucking women. Got it.”
“Women aren’t the only ones subjecting themselves to this. There’s ladies’ nights too.”
“Great,” I say.
“And gay nights. We organize pretty much anything our clients request.”
“Okay. But is it legal?”
“Of course, it is. Our hotel wouldn’t be operating if it wasn’t,” he retorts.
“Then why are you so upset about me finding out?”
His face darkens, and his mouth shuts. I guess I got him there.
“Why are you so into me?”
The question hits me like a truck. Like he just bulldozed over me.
“Why do you have to ask that question?”
The look in his eyes has changed from rage and confusion … to utter defeat.
“I’ve been a dick to you. A straight and utter asshole. I’ve done nothing but be unkind to you. I’ve been pushing you away so hard,” he says, his head tilting down to look me in the eyes. “Why do you keep hanging on?”
“Because I feel like there could be more between us,” I whisper, barely able to breathe with him this close to me.
His lips are so close I could almost taste them. And fuck, do I want to … so badly. Even after all this. All this rage, all this pushing and shoving, all this filth.
I still want him so badly that I swear my heart would stop if he said yes.
But he doesn’t.
No matter how much I lean in with my lips parted and my chest pushing up against his, he doesn’t make the plunge.
Suddenly, the door opens, and the moment is gone.
“Declan?”
He steps back, clearing his throat, pretending we weren’t even close enough to touch.
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” the woman says.
“Maybe,” he answers. Not quite a yes … Dammit.
“Sorry, but Greta called me to ask if I could come and get you. It’s important. Something about a girl wanting out.”
“Fuck,” he growls, running his fingers through his hair. “Why now?”
As he pulls away, my flimsy outfit is exposed, and the woman stares at me. I immediately attempt to cover up using my hands, but it’s not enough to hide my shame that’s probably turning my face red right now.
“She said it was urgent. The client’s objecting. We need you.”
“I’m coming,” he says. “Just … give me a minute to sort out this mess.”
Mess. Right. That’s what I am. A mess.
To him. To my parents. To myself. And everyone else.
“Of course,” the woman says, and she closes the door behind her.
Declan turns around to face me again. “I think we’d better get you home.”
I nod, having lost the energy to fight him on this. For now anyway.
He grabs a long coat from the coat hanger and holds it out to me. “Put this on.”
I do what he says. I don’t protest.
“I’ll call a cab.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I already had one on call.”
It’s not fine, but right now, I don’t want to make things any more awkward than they already are.
“Are you sure?” he asks. His voice strains as though he wants to say more but is holding back.
“Yes,” I say.
I don’t know why he suddenly cares so much. Maybe he still wants to keep tabs on me.
I smile as he frowns. The room feels as if it’s on fire right now. Like we’re both avoiding responsibility for what happened here.