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“What’s so important about your bags?”
“Oh…nothing,” she murmurs, looking away.
I narrow my eyes as she stops to examine some roses growing near the front doors. Now she has time to stop for flowers? Five minutes ago she couldn’t get to her bags fast enough. Between that, and the way she won’t look at me, I know something is up.
“Grammy…” I speak in the sternest voice I can muster.
“What?” she practically shouts. “You wouldn’t let me take him, so what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t leave him there. That woman hates him.”
That woman? I groan and take her hand, trying to hurry her up, before the poor thing suffocates. I know exactly what she’s done, but I glance at her, still wanting to ask the question, just in case I’m wrong.
“Please tell me you didn’t smuggle Andrew into your luggage,” I beg her. “Grammy?” I press when she doesn’t answer.
“What? You just told me not to tell you,” she snaps.
I groan and race inside—well, as fast as I can, while leading a ninety-six-year-old woman by the hand.
I leave Grammy to continue her hobble to the elevators and race over to the service desk to find out what room we’re in. Then I run back to the elevator, making it just in time, before Grammy shuts the doors on me.
“Sorry,” she says. She smiles at me. Her eyes are vacant, like she doesn’t recognize me. She thinks I’m a stranger. I let it go, because right now, my priority is Andrew.
“This way,” I say, when the doors open.
Startled, she looks up at me, recognition flickering in her eyes. It’s like lightning bolts. One minute, she’s there and the next she isn’t.
“Here we are,” I mutter, panting at the front of the room.
I pound on the hotel room door, until it swings open. Becca stares at me, looking a little shocked as I burst past her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Grammy’s bags. Where are they?” I ask urgently.
“Over there.”
She points to the bed, but I’m already over there, zipping them open. The soft meow brings me more relief than I’ve felt in a long time. My heart races as I dig around in the bag and free a very dazed and angry, Andrew, who had been restrained in a pillow case. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I see that she’d cut a few holes in the pillowcase so he could breathe. Andrew hisses at me and then struggles out of my arms, making a run for the door.
“Shut the door,” I order Becca.
She springs into action and slams it closed just in time, locking Andrew inside.
“Fuck,” she hisses. She winces and glances at Grammy. “Sorry.”
I laugh, because her swearing in front of my grandmother is pretty low on the list of priorities at the moment.
“So what do we do now?” Becca asks.
I shake my head, because I have no idea.
“I guess he stays here tonight and then we take them back to Mom’s in the morning.” I sigh. “So much for not backtracking.”
I narrow my eyes at Grammy, who shrugs innocently.
“When you love someone, you’ll do whatever you have to in order to be with them,” she says, defending her actions. “Wait until you two realize this,” she waves her hands at us, “is more than just sexual tension.”
“Grammy.” I laugh, as poor Becca goes red.
“What? You think I couldn’t see the looks you two kept sneaking each other? It nearly made me sick,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I have no idea how I’m going to put up with the two of you all the way to Jacquie’s. But I guess that won’t be a problem now.”
“Why?” I ask suspiciously.
She crosses her arms defiantly.
“Because if Andrew can’t come, then I’m not going either.”
“Fine.” I sigh, not seeing an alternative. “The cat can stay.”
“Really?” Grammy gasps.
“Really?” Becca echoes, glaring at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I nod. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
Why do I already regret saying that?Chapter TwelveBeccaAfter leaving Liam and Grammy to get settled in, I head up to my own room. I swing open the door and my eyes widen. Oh hell yes. They’ve upgraded me. I take one look at the oversized king bed and nearly die. The other rooms are nice, but this is pure luxury.
I take a running leap and dive onto the bed, sighing as I sink into the soft mattress. I run my hand over the soft, silk like sheets and groan, feeling giddy. This is what I’m talking about. I’m probably the only person in the world who would take a good night’s sleep over the best sex of my life—of course, that could just be because no guy has truly rocked my world yet. I could fall asleep like this. Hell, I could die right now and be happy. It’s too bad we’re only here for one night…
