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My muscles protest when I climb out of the bed, but I manage to ignore the throb between my legs. I’m sore, but my body is begging me to find him and have him inside of me all over again. I throw on the robe I was wearing last night, barely cinching it at the waist before seeking him out.
When I hear movement in the other room, I speed up my pace, only to find hotel staff rolling in a cart.
“Good morning,” I whisper to a member of the hotel staff as they situate breakfast trays on the table, a meal Flynn must’ve ordered as my eyes dart around the room looking for him.
The staff member returns my greeting before exiting the room. I sit, refusing to acknowledge that sinking feeling in my gut. I spend the next twenty minutes nibbling on the gourmet meal, waiting for him to show back up. I’ve convinced myself he went out for a run, something he always does in the morning—usually on the treadmill at the house—but an hour later and with no sign of him that conviction dies a slow death.
I have thick skin. It became that way at an early age at the demands of my mother. Even as a child, crying when upset was not tolerated. Only smiling faces were allowed in Carla’s world. The public had to believe we were perfect regardless of the emotions pulling us down. So that’s how I leave the hotel, head up, face emotionless—in the same dress I celebrated my birthday in last night.
I text him, letting him know I had to check out of the room, but the messages come back undeliverable. We’ve never texted before although I’ve had his number since he arrived, a safety precaution demanded by Blackbridge’s contract with my parents. I want to convince myself it was entered incorrectly, but my head knows the truth.
Tonight is the only special night.
Those words eat at my soul, and I should’ve known then what to expect, but the night was amazing. He said sweet things, praised me, made me feel like the only woman on the planet.
And yet, he vanished before I could even open my eyes.
My throat is thick, making it hard to swallow as the cab driver pulls up to the gate of our house. His truck isn’t parked to the side, but it’s not unheard of for him to use one of the spots in the garage. The limo outside tells me that my parents are still home. Charles hates random vehicles parked outside, so his truck has to be stashed away.
Either that, or he’s avoiding me after such a magical night. As I pass cash to the cab driver and step out into the mid-morning sun, I pray he isn’t here. Facing him after his disappearing act in front of my parents would be brutal, trying to keep my mouth clamped closed, unable to hiss all the things I plan to tell him. No, him coming back after they leave again is best.
Tears threaten as I climb the steps to go inside, but I straighten my spine as my hand turns the knob to enter. Planning on going straight to my room, I freeze in the foyer, my eyes darting between my mother and a stoic man I’ve never seen before in my life.
His eyes dart toward me, but then he looks to my mother for guidance.
“Who are you?” I snap, those emotions I’ve been trying to keep a handle on floating to the surface at an alarming rate.
He doesn’t answer me, can’t be bothered to even look back in my direction.
“Mother, what’s going on?”
“Reginald is your new security detail. He’s married, so flashing him isn’t going to work.”
That’s all she says before she walks away, disappearing down the hall as if she can’t be bothered to waste another breath on me.
With tears burning my eyes, I focus on Reginald. If I thought Flynn was tight-lipped and unyielding, he’s nothing compared to this guy. Serious eyes stay focused across the room as I take him in fully. Gray is sprinkled at his temples, but it’s not a clear indication of his age because his skin is smooth around his eyes and mouth, probably from never smiling or enjoying himself.
“Who are you?”
“Reginald,” he answers, eyes not looking in my direction.
“And who do you work for?”
“Security Plus.”
That explains more than he can possibly realize.
Flynn is gone. Blackbridge is no longer the agency working for my family.
He just walked away.
After spending the night with me, holding me, and whispering beautiful things, he’s just gone.
Racing through the house as if I don’t know what I’m going to find, I throw open the door to the garage, the motion-activated lights revealing an unfamiliar car—more than likely Reginald’s—in the last spot of the huge room.
