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His roguish gaze snags mine in the rearview mirror. “I’m staying in Venice Beach, and when you called, I was in bed.”
There isn’t a smidge of contrition to his tone and though I should care—want to feed this fight, release all this pent-up frustration and disappointment—I don’t.
“I was in bed” runs circles around my head, and flashes of Tom, torso naked and cut, the sheet falling dangerously low across his tapered hips, chase the same loop.
My cheeks burn and fingers prickle with a desire to touch him. I could have touched him when I was in his arms. When he kissed me.
What?No, no, no.
I shake away those naughty thoughts, squeezing my eyes shut, and try to ignore how my core heats. Instead, I focus on the dull throb at my temples, and the promise of a headache springs to the forefront.
Head against the headrest, I focus on the smooth drive, and eventually, it lulls me into relaxation.
When we arrive at the Chateau Marmont, Tom opens my car door, and wordlessly, I slide out, avoiding eye contact. “Good night.”
“Wait, Leighton.” He jogs the few steps to me, and the sudden proximity causes my knees to weaken.
“Leighton?” I stab him with a glare if only to hide my physical reaction to him. “Look, you helped me out tonight and I appreciate it. I really do. But this doesn’t make us friends.”
Before I can say anymore, he cuts me off. “Right. Sorry. Ms. Price.” He scratches at the back of his neck, and I wish he’d scratch my eyes out for my snooty response. What is my problem?
It isn’t his fault I’ve had a shitty night and an even shittier month. It isn’t his fault that my life isn’t mine.
Instead, he smiles softly. “Let me walk you to your room. It’s late.”
A burgeoning knot of guilt pricks at my chest. I dragged him out of bed, have been nothing but irritable and nasty, and he’s being kind to me. Why?
For the first time since he picked me up from the party, I notice the tiny lines of fatigue around his eyes and mouth, and something inside me softens.
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” I turn to walk away but stop and force myself to grab his arm.
My fingers curl around his solid forearm. This was a mistake. My cheeks instantly heat at our connection. His skin on mine causes tingles in the palm of my hand, the sensation growing as it spreads through my body. Hot and buzzing.
It’s embarrassing and unwanted, but still, I can’t flee. “Tom, thank you for everything. Taking us to the party, picking me up. Mitchell.” I shake my head, not wanting to give that disgusting man any more brain power. “Have a good night and see you in the morning.”
I reluctantly drop my arm and force my steps to stay at a slow and steady pace even if I want to run as fast as I can just in case he comes to his senses and tells me where to go.
Once again, he surprises me. “Ms. Price, it was my pleasure.”
4
LEIGHTON
Aheavy banging drills into my skull and I groan, flipping my eye mask onto my forehead. What the hell is that racket? The knocking starts again. Someone’s at the door to my suite.
Dazedly, I trudge from the bed to the door, only stopping to grab my robe. Half asleep but with it enough, I check the peephole. Damn.
I yank open the door and glower at a freshly shaved and showered Tom. “What?”
His sparkly blue eyes deepen a shade as he peruses me from head to toe. I can only imagine what he must think of my appearance. Linen robe open, barely hiding my silk camisole and lace panties. Eye mask like a bandanna around my head and my face a canvas of last night’s makeup, easily replicating a Pollock. Hastily securing my robe with the sash, I finger comb my unruly hair.
“Good morning, Ms. Price. I know we agreed on ten, but I gave you a little more time since you got in late last night. It’s almost ten thirty.”
“What? I—” My mounting protest fades when he hands me a large coffee.
Our fingers brush, and a blaze of heat and hunger spark within me. Abruptly, I spin on my heel, needing the space, and he follows me into the room. “Just how you like it. Black, right?”
How does he know how I like my coffee?
