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Joe pulls Rob aside. He explains something to his boss, and Rob nods a few times. At the end of the conversation, Rob pats his driver on the shoulder.
Looking distressed, Joe approaches me. “I’m sorry, Miss. I hope I’ll have the chance to drive you another night.”
“I’m sure you will,” I say.
The man opens his umbrella and trots to another car.
Rob extends his arm, gesturing for me to go inside. “His kid is sick,” he explains.
“Oh… good thing you sent him home. I can take the train…” I glance at my smartwatch.
“There’s no way on earth I’ll let you do that.”
“I missed the last train anyway.” By a good two hours.
“I’ll call Clay. He can stay with Matty, and I’ll drive you home.”
“No, don’t do that.”
Rob holds his palm up to me and turns around to make a call. He speaks softly, but from what I gather, he sounds like he’s giving up on asking his brother to come.
“Sorry. Clay is with someone.” He throws me a regretful expression, but he’s clearly mulling over something. “Amber-Rose, why don’t you stay the night?”
His offer short-circuits my senses. My brain has never been subjected to so much in a day, and my heart is overflowing with conflicting feelings. I’m filled with enormous gratitude for the care and attention he’s been giving me, but there’s a wave of caution lapping at my center. If a decision has to be made tonight, I don’t want to make it, because I’m far from ready.
For that, my feet tell me to bolt regardless of the rain, but that’s not an option.
Rob shows me to my room, which looks more like a suite at the Waldorf Astoria. “I’m sorry the bed isn’t made. I haven’t had visitors in a while. I’m no good at housekeeping, but I’ll try.” He opens the closet and plucks out a pile of linens that smell like lavender.
“Let me do it.” I take over the linens. “You go and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“What time does your shop open?”
“The shop is closed every Thursday.”
“Well timed, then.”
“Yeah.”
“Good night,” he says.
I leave the door ajar, my eyes following where he goes. He disappears behind the door at the end of the corridor, which I presume is his bedroom. A different kind of tug-of-war is raging within me, and it’s got nothing to do with my silver top.
I clutch the door handle, breathing fast as if someone was chasing me and I need to get out.
“God!” I groan, letting go as I throw myself into the unmade bed.
It can’t happen—not tonight. If I take the plunge now, I will risk myself crumbling right in front of the man I’m starting to fall for. If that happens, it will hit me like a jackhammer, and it will be the end of us before we even begin.
After staring at the ceiling for a few moments, I drag myself out of bed and wander across to a wall of windows. The curtains are held open with drapery ties, and there’s a door that leads to a wide balcony. If it wasn’t for the wind, I would’ve stepped outside. No doubt I would find another beautiful part of his property. Another exotic garden, perhaps?
Even the torrential rain sounds musical from here—hinting that I’m sheltered, and my host is only a few doors away.
Robson Hartley is my kind of gentleman. From what he’s done, what he’s said, how he behaves, I’ve found no sliver of violence or deceit in him. He’s a man of appreciable contradictions—gentleness and muscle, wealth and humbleness, power and consideration.
So my Rob-side instincts tell me. And the Amber-side instincts tell me to listen to them.
Should I trust my instincts to trust my instincts?
