Silence inside the car, outside, horns, the chug of engines, the spit of snow, ice and water against the concrete. Finally, “Don’t have a plan, do you?”
“No.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. No plan at all. Only a twenty-eight-year-old high school annual. So how was she going to locate Cameron’s sister in three and a half days?
Chapter Five
The Lines Motor Lodge blazed with lights on the overcast day. The cold, crisp air smelled of pine trees and dampness. The parking lot, cleared of snow, was dry beneath Max’s feet.
“I’ll check us in.”
Two rooms or one? After his touch on the plane, Witt would surely get only one. The idea tumbled around in Max’s stomach. She wanted. She was scared. She needed. Her need terrified her.
She stayed by the car door.
“Coming?”
“I’ll wait here.” It was best to let Witt handle the details without her. She might inadvertently say or do something idiotic, like run screaming from the lobby. She’d had sex with the man. He’d slept in her bed, sometimes for most of the night. It wasn’t the same as sharing a bathroom. Bathrooms were more intimate than bedrooms and beds.
He shrugged, crossed the parking lot, threw open the door to the bright interior, and strode to the desk. Her cheeks stung with the cold, but she wouldn’t follow him even for a Jacuzzi tub filled with deliciously scalding water. His blond buzz cut gleamed under the harsh lighting. With his linebacker shoulders, he towered over the clerk. Witt would look great in a skin-tight football uniform, too. Yanking aside his jacket, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. She liked his hands best. Sometimes at night, she dreamed about those hands.
Max sniffled, her nose starting to run with the frigid air. Her lips seemed stuck in a permanent Witt-watching smile. She must look like a besotted idiot.
Witt signed with a flourish, put away his wallet, turned to her, then stopped. With a twinge in her belly, she wondered how he knew she was looking at him. Due to the clouds darkening the sky, she stood in relative shadow beyond the plate glass door. All he should have been able to see was his own reflection. He saw inside her, recognized the longing of a woman who’d been standing on the outside looking in so long she didn’t know how to do it any other way. He’d be thinking to himself that he had his work cut out for him. He’d be wishing she hadn’t had that dream about Cameron, knowing it only served to remind her of the cost of relationships. He’d be thanking God he had a few days to railroad her in whatever direction he wanted her to go.
He opened the door, and the moment passed. Reaching her in three strides, he extended his hand. “Your key.” He held an identical card key in his other hand.
Two rooms, or one? She was afraid to sound dumb by asking.
After an infinitesimal pause, he said, “You’re two-eighteen. I’m next door.”
She found her voice then. “Separate rooms?”
With raised brow, he said, “Figured you’d prefer that.”
That he assumed without asking miffed her. Okay, okay, so she was being contrary. She was a woman, it was her right. Then again, maybe he didn’t want to share a room. “How do you know what I prefer?” she snapped at him.
A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Know lots of things you prefer.”
Her cheeks flamed, and her mouth went dry. She’d liked every damn thing he’d done to her and everything she’d done to him. “So why... ?” She let the question hang in the air. Dammit, if he was going to get separate rooms, he had to at least explain.
“You’re not ready for anything else.”
They’d done it all! What else was there? Well, there was tying up and... The outside air was cold, but his attitude made her downright hot under the collar. “I beg to differ.”
“In a bed, you’d have to be on top, wouldn’t you?”
Ohmygod, how did he know she felt most comfortable on top? Was it once again something written all over her face? “What’s wrong with being on top? I happen to think it’s a great position.” And she hadn’t been on top every time they’d been together.
That smile again. His eyes twinkled. “One of my favorites.” He shrugged. “But for you it’s not a position, it’s a state of mind.”
“What does that mean?” She knew exactly what it meant.
“Trust. You’re not there yet.”
She wanted to stamp her foot like a child. “What about that talk we had?” She’d vowed she’d trust him. She’d told him that. And she really had been trying. Why couldn’t he tell? She took a step forward, stabbed her finger in the middle of his solid chest. “I called it making love. What more do you want?”
His gaze hardened, the twinkle abruptly winking out.
“You always throw me a bone after a crisis, Max.”
It wasn’t a bone. It was heartfelt, straight from her gut. She opened her mouth.