I nodded. I knew the feeling.
“It’s taken me a long time to cut loose from all those threads. But that has nothing to do with you and nothing to do with this room.” He took an appreciative look around. “It really is over the top, isn’t it?”
“Just a bit.”
He gestured toward a pristine white sofa that I realized was upholstered in silk. “Would you believe me if I told you that a prince really did live here once?”
I let my gaze linger on the various small treasures. Vases. Paintings. Fancy bric-a-brac. “I think he left behind some of the royal treasure. Wait, you’re serious?” I added, seeing the smug expression on his face.
“Cross my heart. A prince and a princess. They had a long-term lease, but decided not to renew when it came due about a year ago. The rumor is they’re going to spend a few years in a similar property in Paris.”
“So you decided that you needed to crash here after the engagement party? Soak up a little of that regal buzz?”
“Oh, it’s much worse than that,” he said. “I live here.”
I gaped at him. “Come again?”
“I needed a place to stay. And this was available. I love the convenience of living in a hotel. I love The Drake. And you have to admit, it’s got a stunning view.”
I glanced toward the window where Michigan Avenue’s lights twinkled like Peter Ustinov’s diamonds. “Yeah. It does.”
“Besides,” he added with a boyish grin, “it was too fucking cool to pass up.”
I laughed. “Can’t argue with that. But I thought you ran more contemporary. You don’t strike me as the kind of man who compromises on what he wants.”
“No,” he said, looking at me so intently I wasn’t sure if we were still talking about the room. Then his face cleared and he smiled. “But I’m only leasing the place for another six months.”
“And then?”
“Then I’ll see where the wind blows.”
“Away from Chicago?”
“No. I love it here. I grew up here.”
“Then surely you already have a house?” From my research, I knew he owned several properties across the city, and his current residence was listed in Old Irving Park. I was curious, though, what he was going to say.
“I did,” he said. “An awesome Victorian that I refurbished.”
“Did?” I repeated. “You sold it? Like a flip?”
“I still own it. But I won’t be moving back in.”
“No?” I moved to the couch and sat down. I leaned back, feeling more comfortable and at ease than I’d anticipated, all things considered.
“Sounds like there’s a story there. Care to share?”
“Let’s just say that I’m a sucker for a woman in need.”
“I’m intrigued. Tell me the rest.”
For a moment, I thought he would. Then he slowly shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. I rather enjoy being the dark and brooding man of mystery.”
“You don’t seem dark to me,” I said, and I meant it. Oh, I had no doubt he had his hands in a number of illicit pies. And he definitely had an edge. I’d seen it myself when he’d rescued me from Reggie. But Tyler Sharp was a charmer at the core. Sophisticated. Smart. A hustler, not a thug.
“Everyone has a dark side,” he said. “Some people just hide it better than others.”
“That’s a rather pessimistic view of the world,” I countered.
“You disagree?”
I thought of my own dark side and the things that I kept hidden. I thought of my stepfather, and how the world had seen a hero when I had seen a monster.
“No,” I admitted. “I don’t.”
“And that sounds like a story as well. Don’t worry,” he added. “I’m not going to ask you to reveal your secrets.” His mouth curved up in the faintest of smiles. “Not yet, anyway. But I am going to ask you to do something else for me.”
He’d taken a step toward me as he spoke, and his voice took on a low, commanding quality. “Stand up, Sloane. Stand up, and take off your clothes.”
Chapter Eight