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Michael started for the door, but after a couple steps, the colonel called out to him.
“Major?”
He turned. “Yes, sir?”
“Chloe’s a keeper. Make sure she knows. Don’t just mouth the words to her. Marines are men of action. Show her.”
“Right, sir.”
“And don’t fuck up.”
Chapter Twenty
Chloe, you fucked up. The thought settled on her as she pulled her rental car into a parking space as the Santa Fe Extended Stay Suites and stared off at the purple-streaked horizon. Sure, outwardly, her life looked back on track. Her new temporary home boasted an open layout, a comfy bed, and a convenient commute to work, and her first day on the job had gone well. The high-end resort spa with its wealthy clientele promised the kind of tips that would plump her emaciated bank account back up in record time. Not a bad way to celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday. She should have been happy.
Instead, she was miserable, she admitted as she walked through the lobby to the elevator. She missed San Clemente. She missed chatting with Mrs. Waverly and working at Veronica’s Oasis. Mostly though, she missed Michael.
The elevator opened. She stepped inside, pushed the button for her floor, and leaned back for the solo ride up three flights. You’re letting fear keep you drifting from place to place like an itinerate laborer. Do you seriously plan to be a free bird forever? Sounds more like a chicken to me. Michael’s words floated through her mind and shame burned up her chest and into her face. She’d been a complete chickenshit. She’d clung to the pain in her past and used it as an excuse not to risk her heart again. Not with friends or a job or anything resembling a commitment—certainly not with a man. The chickenshit strategy had worked great. Until Michael.
All he’d asked her to do was wait for him and listen to what he had to say. But she’d run scared under the guise of sticking to her goals, and now she regretted it. Deeply.
The elevator stopped at her floor. She exited, turned left, and started the long walk to her room at the very end of the hall.
She needed to talk to him, see him. Explain. Hopefully he’d give her a chance, but indications weren’t so good, because she’d called him half-a-dozen times today, all of which had gone straight to voice mail, none of which had yielded a return call.
At the end of the hall, she noticed the door to the room directly opposite her hung open. Interesting. When she’d arrived yesterday evening, the room had been empty. She knew this because the desk clerk had given her the choice of the pool-facing suite or the mountain-facing suite. She’d chosen to see the mountains. She hoped her new neighbor enjoyed a view of the pool, but leaving one’s door ajar probably wasn’t a good idea. Should she shut it?
What if the occupant had stepped away to get ice or hunt down a housekeeping cart for fresh towels? Her good intentions might leave someone locked out of their room. But if they were inside, maybe they didn’t even realize the door wasn’t completely closed.
She hesitated, peeked inside, but saw nothing but a darkened room illuminated by groups of candles. Oh Lord, what if someone had booked the unit for a rendezvous? Surely for their romantic evening they’d want the privacy afforded by a closed door? She knocked and called out, “Hello?”
“Back here. I need help.”
Oh, my God. The voice. She pushed through the door at warp speed. The man sounded exactly like…
“Michael!”
He lay in the bed, in nothing but a pair of white, knit boxers, with one wrist handcuffed to the bed frame. Over his head hung a banner that read, “Happy Birthday, Scarlett.”
She put a hand over her mouth and took several deep breaths through her nose before she trusted herself to speak. Even so, her voice came out as a whisper. “You crazy man. What are you doing?”
“Wishing you a happy birthday. What? Did I leave something out?” He made a show of taking inventory. “I’ve got the candles. The sexy underwear. The handcuff. I even got this…” He rolled onto his side and tugged his boxers down on over one hip. “Check it.”
Stunned beyond words, she approached the bed and sat next to him. “What am I checking?”
He grinned. “Under the bandage.”
Bandage? “Jesus, Michael…are you hurt?” Her hand shook as she carefully peeled back the adhesive, and stared at…
“It’s a little hard to tell right now, because I only got the thing done last night, but it’s a tattoo…the Chinese symbol for home.”
What had he done? He hated needles. “Home?” she repeated lamely.
“Right. Not a cage or a trap. A home, where a certain hummingbird can fly in and stay as long as she pleases.”
Her heart raced. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she knew damn well despite the manufacturer’s waterproof claims, half her mascara rolled down with them, but she really didn’t care. “What if she wants to stay forever? What if she’s in love with you?”
His grin disappeared. “Then I think you should have this.” He lifted something from the nightstand and placed it in her open palm. The handcuff key, dangling from a loop threaded through his grandmother’s engagement ring. “Unlock me, and I’ll do this thing right this time.”
