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We were silent during the ride down to the lobby. I chanced a peek at Boxer who was facing forward, all but ignoring me. It didn’t make any sense. Where was the guy who’d asked the nurses about me?
I couldn’t figure him out.
The doors opened. In my haste to leave, I lost my footing, and my ankle gave out. I would’ve gone down, but Boxer was suddenly there, catching me before I fell.
He grunted.
“Boxer!” I hissed. “Your stitches!”
“I’m fine.” He grimaced.
“You’re not fine. If you start bleeding because—”
“I’d rather start bleeding than ever let a beautiful woman fall to the ground. Besides, you’re a menace to yourself,” he teased, as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “You need me.”
I tried not to notice the strength in the lines of his body that I was nestled up against, or the excitement I felt when his hand slid down to claim my waist.
“I’m okay,” I said, hating that I sounded breathless. “You can let me go.”
“Hmmm. And let you face plant? Nah.”
My skin was alive with want. I could’ve blamed the alcohol. It would’ve been safer to blame the alcohol. But there was something about Boxer. Maybe it was his ease. His charm. His confidence. Maybe it was a combination of all those things.
We walked across the lobby, with Boxer’s arm still around me. The doorman opened the door, and we stepped out into the valet area. Two attendants snapped to attention when they saw us. I reached into my clutch and pulled out a ticket and handed it off. Before I could tip, Boxer had let me go and was pulling a twenty out of his pocket and handing it over.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I protested. “Let me pay you back.”
“Don’t worry about it, Linden.” When I was about to insist, he looked at me and said, “Seriously. I got it.”
“Thanks,” I said, wondering if this was more than just about tipping a valet. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“I forgot to pay my tab in the Whisky Room.” I turned around to head back inside when Boxer’s hand grasping my wrist stopped me. Amanda had gotten the first round of drinks and I’d never given Johnny my credit card.
“I took care of it.”
“How? I didn’t see you pay.”
“Buddies with The Rex manager, remember? Johnny knows me.”
“Well, still,” I protested lamely. “You shouldn’t have.”
He shrugged and then let me go.
I was just about to ask why he’d paid my bill when the valet returned with my black Mercedes AMG edition SUV. The waiting attendant held open the passenger door for me.
“Thank you,” I murmured, setting my clutch on my lap. He closed the door, and then I buckled up.
Boxer eased himself into the driver’s side. I couldn’t help the snigger that escaped. He was too tall for my seat adjustment, and he looked completely wrong in my car.
He peered at me and grinned, and then he maneuvered the seat settings as he got comfortable.
I plugged my address into the GPS, and then he was pulling away from The Rex Hotel.
“How are you getting home?” I asked, needing—wanting—to fill the silence that had descended between us.
“A prospect will come get me.”
