I sway on my feet and reach out to put my hand on the wall. The elevator leaves for another floor, and I decide that I’m being ridiculous. See—this is why I shouldn’t drink. And why I shouldn’t take a muscle relaxer after ingesting alcohol. What was I thinking? Oh, right. I wasn’t.
Annoyed with myself, I head toward my room, my steps slow but steady. When I get to my door, I hear the faint sound of music. It’s the song. The same one I can’t place. I’m about to search it out when the music disappears entirely. “At least I’m not the only person on this floor,” I murmur with a bit of relief, and slide my key into the door.
Chapter 8
I’m jolted awake by the shrill ring of the phone. I sit up, and the room tilts one way and then the other. I’m still in my clothes, the lights on. I don’t remember lying down. I vaguely remember talking to the concierge, asking for an invite, but everything goes blurry after that. The bottle of muscle relaxers is on my nightstand, and I groan at how stupid I was to take one. The phone rings again, and I move quickly to answer it.
“Hello?” I say, clearing the sleep from my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” a voice says. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” At first I don’t recognize it, but then Elias laughs. “Hello?” he asks, like I might have fallen back asleep.
I smile instinctively, that goofy sort of smile that I’m glad he can’t see. “I’m here,” I respond. “How was your party?”
He hums out his discontent, sounding tired—which makes me imagine him lying in bed just a few floors from where I am now. “Same party every night. But I’d rather not talk about my evening,” he says. “How did you enjoy the rooftop?” His mouth must be close to the receiver; his voice is muffled and scratchy. So damn sexy.
“It was fun,” I say. “Although it got a little weird toward the end.”
“That sounds about right.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, and I wonder if he’s changed his mind about meeting up. Sure, it’s probably 4 a.m., but it’s not like I have anywhere to be in the morning. “Elias—” I start to say, but he cuts me off.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “We can raid the kitchen. Hang out for a while.” I think I hear him smile. “See the sunrise.”
“I’m starving,” I say, unable to hide how thrilled I am. “But will I end up getting kicked out? It seems like every time I see you, one of us is being asked to leave.”
“Not tonight. I’ll sneak you around, completely undetected. We’ll grab what we want and then go eat it in the garden. Avoid the lobby altogether.” I glance toward the window, remembering how dark it was outside. Remembering the memorial.
“It’s dark out there,” I say.
“Then we’ll eat in my room.” He laughs. “And I promise that’s not meant to sound at all lecherous. I’ll be a complete gentleman.”
“Your room, huh?” I hope he realizes how attracted I am to him. And I hope his idea of being a gentleman includes a good-night kiss. I reach to grab my cell phone to check the time, but the screen is blank. Dead. Did I check it earlier? “What time is it?” I ask Elias.
“Not sure,” he says. “But if you’d rather, we can do this another night.” His tone softens to an apology, but there’s no way I can sleep now.
“I’m not tired anymore,” I say. “Actually, I wasn’t tired at all. But Lourdes gave me a muscle relaxer earlier and I—”
“Wait, what?” Elias asks, sounding concerned. “Why would she do that? Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m . . . fine.” I rotate my shoulder, testing my arm, and the pain is completely gone. Like it was never there at all. I swing my legs off the bed. I get up and straighten my clothes, heading toward the bathroom to clean up a bit. I check my reflection; my cheeks are rosy with sleep, my hair tamed and smooth. I smile. “Now,” I say, hoping he hasn’t changed his mind, “what floor is the kitchen on?”
Elias lives on the seventh floor, facing the gardens. The minute he holds open the door of his suite, I can see the breathtaking view out the oversize leaded windows. The trees and shrubs are silhouettes against the dark blue sky, light blue on the horizon. I think it’s almost morning.
If we shut off all the lamps, we could watch the sunrise together. I glance back at Elias as he balances a plate on his glass, closing the door slowly so it won’t slam shut. We have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, glasses of milk. Who needs champagne and caviar? This is much more romantic to me.
“Your place is nicer than mine,” I say, setting my dish and glass on his dresser. I take a bite of my sandwich, nodding my appreciation at his fantastic suggestion involving food. I start to wander the suite, admiring all of the finer details. Elias sits on the sofa and immediately takes two bites of his sandwich.
“You didn’t eat at the party?” I ask, trying to remember if I’d seen a buffet table the night before.