“Ready?” I jump, holding my chest as I glance over my shoulder at Pierce.
“You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.” He smiles, swiping his thumb across my cheek. “We’re on the thirty-fourth floor.”
A million thoughts flash through my mind. He wouldn’t have booked us for the same room, would he? My gut reaction is to offer to get my own, but there’s no way in hell I can afford this place.
“Do you need help up with your bags, sir?” a bellman asks.
Pierce glances at the two small suitcases being swallowed by the oversized cart. “I think I can handle it, but thank you.” He hands the guy some cash and picks up our bags like they weigh nothing. “After you,” he says, nodding toward the elevator.
I walk on shaky knees, my mind still taken with possibilities and how I’m going to react to each one. When the door opens, I step inside, with Pierce following me close behind. To my dismay, the elevator closes with only the two of us within its four walls.
“Did someone steal your voice?” he asks.
“Are we both on the thirty-fourth floor?” I blurt, looking up just long enough to see his bewildered expression. I’ll stick to memorizing every inch of the limestone floors.
“Of course” he answers, matter of fact.
Shit. For the rest of the ride up, I fidget with the strap on my purse. I hate being pushed into uncomfortable situations.
I concentrate on the climbing floor number lit above the door. The elevator moves faster than normal—too fast—then it jerks, coming to a stop with a bright thirty-four blinking up high.
“Are you going to get out?” I’m standing like a roadblock in the center of the elevator, caging Pierce and our bags in the corner.
One foot in front of the other, Lila.
“It’s room 3410,” he announces from behind me.
I look up to make sure I’m going in the right direction then get lost in my own inner madness again. It’s a crazy place where I seem to spend a lot of my time lately.
3406
Shit.
3408
Double shit.
“Here we are,” he says. I stand like a woman of stone as he sets the luggage down and grabs a key card from his pocket. The door opens to a light, airy room, accented by oversized windows and beige and white fabrics. It has a spacious living area on one side and a king bed on the other. My panic hits a high . . . there’s only one bed.
“Will this room do?” Pierce asks, opening the curtain a little wider.
I swallow. I’m not good at this—the games and the lies. Crossing my arms over my chest, I carry my heavy feet to stand in front of the window that looks over the hustle and bustle of the city. “No,” I finally answer, my voice just above a whisper.
I sense his presence behind me. His warmth. His strong masculine scent. And when I’m about to turn and face him, his fingers curve around my upper arms then slowly slide down. “Are you cold?”
I shake my head, but his hands stay on me, continuing to cover the chill that doesn’t exist.
“Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to order you a bottle of red wine?”
Tempting, but I shake my head again. Being alone with a guy like Pierce with alcohol flowing through my veins would have consequences—especially with one bed. “I think I’m just tired.”
He squeezes my arms one last time then releases me. “I’ll leave you alone to get some rest. Meet me at the hotel steakhouse at eight. Reservation is under my name.”
I spin around, confused. “Umm . . . where are you going?”
He looks at me with narrowed eyes. “To my room.”
“To your room?”
“Yes, to my room. I’m in 3411.”
“So you’re not sleeping here?”
He grins wide, showing his perfect white teeth. “Not unless you want me to.”
“I think I’ll be okay.”
He shrugs.
My eyes fixate on him as he makes his way across the room, picking up his suitcase along the way. “Oh, before I forget, do you have something to wear tonight? It’s black tie.”
“I got it covered.”
Before exiting the room, he winks. “I’m sure you do.”
As soon as the door clicks, I fall back onto the pillowtop bed, every muscle in my body relaxing.
PACKING THE COCKTAIL DRESS was a good call, I think to myself as I slowly walk into the eloquent dining room. It’s the type of place where even the wait staff looks ready to attend a fancy event, dressed in black linen.
“Are you waiting for someone?” a man with a slight British accent asks. I’m guessing he works here by the way he’s dressed.
“I’m dining with Pierce Stanley. I’ll wait here for him if that’s okay.”
He smiles warmly. “Actually, he’s waiting for you. Follow me.”
My eyes wander the room looking for Pierce as I follow behind the host. I don’t see him. When we reach the far corner, the reason is obvious—he’s tucked away in a small booth surrounded by three half walls. He picks up his glass of whiskey from the table, but the second he lays eyes on me he sets it back down. The power of his stare forces me to shift in my heels. Sometimes, he’s too much.
His lips part as he stands to greet me. “You’re stunning,” he says, lifting my arms to get a better look. I blush, looking down at my dress. It’s black, form fitting, and hemmed right above my knees with long sleeves and a deep V-neck. I’d bought it to wear to the rehearsal dinner Derek and I never had.
“Thank you,” I reply quietly. He doesn’t look bad himself, dressed in a tux similar to what he wore to the benefit. I’d bet he wears a tux more in one week than most men do in their lifetime.
He pulls a chair out for me. “I hope you’re hungry. I went ahead and ordered a couple appetizers.”
“I’m starving.” I sit in the chair he offered, unfolding my white napkin onto my lap. His fingers trail along my neck on his way back to his seat, giving me goose bumps.
“Can I offer you some wine?” Looking up, I see the host is still standing there watching our exchange.
I blush, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yes, red please.”
“I’d like the lady to try a glass of your best,” Pierce instructs.
The host nods, disappearing around the corner, leaving Pierce nowhere to look but me. I pick up the small water glass, sipping it only to avoid conversation. It won’t last forever. All the flirtatious words, all the little touches throughout the day lead to this.
“Your water glass is empty.”
I choke on the little bit I still hold in my mouth, my eyes watering.
“Do you like filet?” he asks out of the blue.
“What’s that?”
The corners of his mouth turn up. “Filet mignon, or in English, a tender, lean steak.”
“Oh yeah, sorry. I guess I’m a little out of it tonight.”
The waiter comes to fill my wine glass, and Pierce places our order, kindly asking the waiter to leave us until our dinner is done unless a wine glass needs to be filled.
“I’m introducing a rule for the night,” Pierce announces as soon as the waiter is out of earshot.
“What’s that?”
“We’re not to talk about work.”
“Okay, what do you want to talk about? We covered quite a bit the other night,” I answer, bringing my wine glass to my lips. It’s rich and delicious, one taste leading to another.
“Tell me about where you grew up.”
Just thinking about it makes me happy. I grew up with something as close to a sitcom family as you can get. “My dad farmed, and my mom worked part-time as a receptionist in the doctor’s office. After they had me, they found out they couldn’t have any more children, so I was it, but it all worked out. I ended up a spoiled child.”