Page 29 of True Abandon

“It’s in the system,” he answers looking down at a leather binder he has in his hands.

I cross my arms. “Olivia Benson?”

He looks back at me as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.

I wave off my question and continue, “Do they need anything? Any special requests? I’ve never had a guest check in same day. Usually, I call in advance, set up an itinerary, pre-order food, set the room up with rose petals, or champagne or fruit. I am completely unprepared—”

“Call and introduce yourself.” Again, he answers with his eyes buried in his notes. “Or knock on the door. You are capable of doing that, no?” The condescending tone in his voice does not go unnoticed. It’s not that Raf is a dick…he’s just…yeah, he’s a dick.

I was really hoping to go home early tonight. What if Olivia Benson wants dinner on the beach? Is there a Mr. Benson? Do they have a dog? Kids? Travel companions? Raf isn’t forthcoming with information, and from the looks of it, won’t be anytime soon. I turn around and walk back toward the hotel lobby.

My plan is to go to the front desk and call, but on my way, I pass the private elevator leading to the suits. Deciding this will be easier, I push the call button and ride the elevator up to the top floor. The doors slide open, so I step into the foyer and walk up to the bamboo double doors of the Pele suite.

Knocking three times and wait.

No one answers, so I knock again.

“Come in,” A deep voice echoes from the other side.

“Hello?” I open the door and head, tentatively, into the living room, leaving the door open behind me. To the left is the master bedroom. To the right is the dining room, which has the lights set to dim.

And straight ahead, in front of the floor to ceiling windows with the vibrant reds, pinks, and yellows of the setting Hawaiian sun, is Jackson Davis.

chapter SIX

“Hello, Triciana.”

I fall back a step and blink a few times.

Jax is standing with his shoulders back and his hands in his pockets. His jean-clad legs are spread wide. The long-sleeve, black shirt he’s wearing is rolled up three-quarters, showcasing the tattoos I only had the minor privilege of viewing many months ago. Where they were bruised and covered by bandages, they are now on display showcasing strong, lean muscles. His biceps bulged with every flex of his arms.

And his face.

Still the same gorgeous face I encountered in the hospital. Except, this time he’s tanned. That silken skin radiates against the backdrop of the setting Hawaiian sun behind him.

“You dyed your hair,” is the first thing I say.

He raises a hand over his light-brown hair that’s combed back and to the side. He raises one brow, the pierced one, and his eyes glisten with a dare. “Yeah, someone told me I looked ridiculous.”

His smile is unnerving. I don’t understand why he’s here. Part of me wonders if he’s really here at all or if I’ve officially gone crazy and my mind is playing tricks on me.

I dig my nail into my palm to make sure I’m not hallucinating. I flinch at the pain.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my hands clutched in front of my body.

His broad shoulders remain strong as he raises his chin. “I came to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because we weren’t finished.”

I swallow a breath and look down. The white marble floor is tinted pink as the red hues of the sunset shine through the window.

“You left,” he says, forcing me to look back at him.

For a second, I swear I see a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, but like lightning, it’s gone. “Come again?”

“I went in for surgery. You said you’d be there when I got back.”