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Not wanting to draw attention to the fact that I was immersed in my own divine torrent, I giggle with a girlie innocence. “Then, a cup of coffee sounds perfect,” I agree, allowing him to guide me out of the restaurant. “My security will need to sweep your room first though.”
“Not a problem,” he says, placing a hand on the small of my back. “You’re wise to have a team.”
On the word team, we stroll through the door Dante is guarding, Rex and Keith sidling up in time with us.
“And here they are,” I say.
After exchanging brief introductions, we all board the elevator on the way to Scott’s suite. Once the guys conduct their inspection of the room, they give me the go-ahead.
Rex holds the door for me, voice low as he asks, “Standard protocol?”
Ordinarily, if I don’t check in after an hour, they come knocking. That affords me the opportunity to make a decision about the evening and alert them to it. I won’t be that long, but in the spirit of keeping things simple, I nod my confirmation and slip inside. They’ll man all the exits on this floor until I emerge.
Scott is true to his word, fixing us both a cup of coffee, setting out the box of cigars for my grandfather, and maintaining a respectable distance in a separate chair while walking me through the old photographs. The first twenty minutes whiz by. Until my gut wrenches with his subject change.
“I think there’s something here between us, Celeste. I’d like to see you again.”
“Scott, I … you’ve been the perfect gentleman, but my life is complicated at the moment—”
“Complicated,” he scoffs. “I was conflicted with my assignment halfway through dinner. You were an unexpected treasure. Gorgeous. Well spoken. Interesting.”
His words are complimentary, but his blue eyes grow colder. Suddenly, I’m soaking in my surroundings with a chill.
My phone is inside my purse on the entryway table—such a rookie mistake. Stupid. The room phone is also near the door. And he sits directly in the path.
I rise from my chair, keeping my voice calm as I inch toward the right, hoping to amble around him nonchalantly. “I found you equally as impressive.”
“Is that why you entertained another man during our date?”
Shit. My chest tightens. Bathroom about twenty feet to my right. Bedroom a bit farther behind me. Door to my left, probably a closet.
“You looked freshly fucked when I returned,” he continues, voice eerily cool as he stands, keeping his stance wide.
Floor lamps and table obstruct my route to the door. Too heavy to lift or throw.
“Looking for an escape so soon, Miss Carver?”
“I think it’s best we call it a night,” I assert, my eyes firmly planted on his, showing no fear. “My security team is waiting.”
“I’ve got my own team,” he snarls.
Sometimes, no matter how many steps ahead you attempt to see, your opponent secures the upper hand, gaining the advantage in a single move and stealing the game.
The backhand strikes my cheek so fast. I never saw it coming. My body folds and crumples to the ground from the force, pain lancing through my jaw and spine and limbs.
“Did you think you could just make a fool of me?” A kick to my ribs. “In a fucking public place?”
I curl myself into a ball, protecting my head as his heavy shoe wallops my hip, a stabbing jolt radiating through me. But I hear the clank. His hands move to his belt.
Two seconds.
No idea how my body unfurls itself and sprints, but it does. My thrashing heart and breaths direct my clumsy steps into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me. I’ve probably got thirty to forty minutes before Rex comes for me. Scott will have this door kicked in long before then. I need a damn plan. Or weapon. Fuck.
I throw open the drawers in a frenzy, no idea what I’m looking for when I see the blow-dryer. It’s not much, but it’s something. Spinning in an aimless circle with it held above my head, my mind snags on the movable showerheads in both the bathtub and shower as the storm outside rages and everything becomes clear.
Flipping on all the water full blast, I aim the heads at the floor and stuff a rolled towel against the door while Scott’s voice filters through. “Showering for me, darling? Good. I’d hate to smell that asshole when I fucked you. Five minutes to come out. Then, I’m coming in to take what’s mine.”
A snapping crack whips the door, probably a promise of what his belt will accomplish.
