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“Okay then. Goodnight, Blake.”
The way my name rolls out of his mouth, like a tender caress, makes my heart flutter. Every. Single. Time. It sends a tingle down my spine. It makes me want to run away to my cabin and at the same time, beg him to bring me back to his and have his wicked way with me all night. But only one option is safe. And since I’ve no intention of experiencing a repeat of what happened with Justin, I must stay strong. Sex with MGM would be glorious, I’m positive. But it would be both a waste of time and a giant regret on my part once the endorphins dispersed.
Still, part of me yearns to let things go further. But as I’m not willing to risk my sanity on a man again, I can’t let my heart—or lady parts—seize control of me. I can’t give in to my feelings. MGM is too good at making them come alive.
“Yeah, you have a good night too,” I mumble, stepping off the porch and heading down the dirt road in a direction at random.
I’ll have time to reorient—both metaphorically and practically—once the impossible man and his stupid pleasant scent are out of sight.
* * *
It turns out that reorienting myself is not that easy. Ten minutes ago, I took off from the resort almost at a run. Like a criminal fleeing the scene of a crime—that of my attraction to MGM. But even as I trudged through the dark woods trying to escape my feelings, my mind was tormented by the vivid image of MGM’s chiseled jaw and oh-so-tempting, full lips. I was so distracted thinking about him that somewhere along the way, I must’ve taken a wrong turn off the beaten paths of the resort because now, I’m standing in the dark, struggling to find a trace of a trail with the flashlight of my phone and not having any luck.
A twig snaps behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
It was probably a raccoon or some other sort of unthreatening animal. Still, my pulse jumps, and a chill runs down my spine. The only weapon I have with me would be a stiletto, and I’m not sure I could best a woodland creature with a shoe. Note to self: next time don’t come into the woods wearing a skirt. One, because wayward underwear might get stuck to it and fall into the hands of an annoyingly handsome billionaire. And two, because my legs are getting scratched.
To make matters worse, a few droplets of rain start trickling down. For a second, I wonder if I should just call reception and ask for help. But if word reached MGM, or if a search party were to be assembled, I wouldn’t outlive the humiliation. Plus, being the silly woman who got lost in the woods wouldn’t be the best business card to present to the very important men and women gathered at the conference.
The only option is to save myself, same as always.
Black clouds obscure the moonlight, casting a shadow over the forest. But in the heightened darkness, I can at least spot a feeble light flicker in the distance about a hundred feet to my left. It must be the porch light of a cabin. If I can reach it, I can find my way back to the beaten roads and home.
A gust of wind, colder than the night, passes by and I shiver. The rain falls heavier. I’m going to be soaked soon in my clothes. Before despair can take over and I start feeling even sorrier for myself, I trudge through the thicket of vegetation toward the blinking light.
I hurry toward it, almost tripping over tree roots blocking my way.
I finally stumble out of the drenched forest in front of a cabin. The outer light is pointed straight at my face, half-blinding me. A man is comfortably nestled in one of the Adirondack chairs furnishing the patio. I can’t make out his face behind the glare of the light, only take in his dark silhouette.
“Hello.” I step forward. “Sorry, I got—”
The words die on my lips as I finally step out of the circle of light, and the man’s features come into focus.
MGM tilts his head and smiles at me, equally infuriating and irresistible as he finishes the phrase for me. “Lost?”
Of course I tumbled right in front of his cabin.
27
BLAKE
“I’m not lost!”
“Lost or not, come away from under the rain.” He beckons me to the porch.
I go to him only because I know when practical should win over petty. The moment I’m under the pergola, MGM stands up.
“You want to come inside?” he asks.
Me, him, in a cozy cabin with a king-size bed and the sounds of the rain and forest as our soundtrack? Yeah, right! Nuh-uh, not gonna happen.
I snort.
“Okay.” MGM seems to understand my reluctance without a need for explanations. His lips curl in a little satisfied smirk. He knows I’m saying no only because I don’t trust myself to say yes without falling into bed with him. “Let me at least get you a warm towel. You’re soaked.”
“I’m not soaked, it’s barely a drizzle.”
Gabriel stares at my feet. “The pool of water at your feet begs to disagree.”
