“With some guy named Grant Connelly.” Now she sounded downright suspicious, and maybe she had a right to all of that. The situation was a little unusual.
“Yes. I’m in the Burning Love Suite of the Heartbreak Hotel with a man named Grant Connelly, and I’m asking you to trust me because it’s not quite like it sounds.” No, it wasn’t quite like it sounded, because she hadn’t mentioned the bus full of musicians or the steady stream of Elvis impersonators trying to eavesdrop on her conversation, but given that her sister was poised to commit her to a psychiatric facility, Delaney decided to keep those details to herself. Instead, she simply added, “And I’m having fun.”
Chapter 17
REGGIE STRUTTED FROM THE BATHROOM of the Burning Love Suite with a white hotel towel barely wrapped around his hips and his clothes tucked into the crook of his elbow. Arrogant jackass. It was close to midnight and he was the last one to shower. Took his sweet time about it too, just to make Grant wait for some alone time with Elaine.
She was sitting on the gold satin coverlet of the bed wearing new pink pajama pants and an I love Elvis T-shirt that Grant had bought for her in the hotel gift shop. He’d gotten a shirt for himself too, the same one as hers because there wasn’t much selection. He needed to get to a real store soon, though, because while she might look adorable, he looked like a tool. Real men don’t wear I love Elvis T-shirts.
Reggie chuckled when he saw it and patted Grant’s shoulder as he walked by to go into the other half of the suite.
“Nice shirt, Cameraman,” he murmured.
“Nice towel, dickhead,” Grant murmured back.
Reggie didn’t miss a beat. He just smiled bigger and spoke louder. “All righty then. Good night, Mary Ellen. Good night, John-Boy.”
The bedroom door had nearly shut when Reggie turned around and stuck his face back inside. “FYI, you crazy kids, Fincher and I sleep like the dead. Nothing that goes on in here will wake us up. Unless you invite me back in to pinch hit. Then I’ll totally wake up.”
Grant stepped forward and pushed on the door so hard he nearly caught Reggie’s head. “Seriously, get the fuck out.”
He could hear Reggie chuckling on the other side but that was all good, because he was out there, and Grant was in here—with Elaine. He turned the lock on the door, the click loud and decisive, and Reggie laughed again, but the sound faded as he walked away. Grant turned to see Elaine pull her legs up in front of her and wrap her arms around her knees as she leaned her back against the velvet headboard.
He rubbed his hands together and lightened his tone. “That guy’s annoying.”
She just smiled and tucked a curling lock of damp brown hair behind her ear. All of a sudden he was nervous, which made no sense at all. They’d been together nonstop for days, and now he was nervous? Now, when it was time to be suave and seductive? It was the shirt. It was making him impotent. Elvis was only sexy on Elvis.
“I feel like a doofus in this shirt,” he blurted out. “This is the kind of shirt Carl would wear.”
She burst out laughing and his impotence faded. What a delicious sound, that laugh. It was one of those loud, unladylike bursts that told him he’d hit his mark.
She patted the spot next to her, telling him he just might hit another mark if he played his cards right. Not that this was a game to him. Elaine wasn’t a sporting sort of girl. He’d figured that out within the first five minutes of meeting her. Any woman who covered her eyes at the sight of a penis, and in fact could not even say the word penis without blushing, was not the type looking for a meaningless fling, even if you were spending the night in the Burning Love Suite.
He sat down next to her but turned so he was facing her and the headboard. The lighting in here was dim, making her long-lashed blue eyes dark. “So, how did the conversation go with your sister?” he asked. “You seemed kind of off after that. Or was it something with Sissy?” Elaine had spent time with the band manager’s flighty-headed wife after taking that phone call, and had been quiet ever since.
Still, a smile played across her lips, a hint of her humor remaining. “Sissy was fine. Nosy, but fine. She gave me a few things to wear. They’re not quite my style but it was still very sweet of her. And at home, things are . . . well, there’s some drama.”
“Drama at the soap factory? Like a soap . . . opera?”
She laughed again and it made him feel victorious, but her smile faded too quickly.
“I may have to go home soon. Sooner than I had planned.”
Gut punch. Bad feeling. “Why?”
“Well, for starters, we forgot to tell anyone about the car, so when the police found it, they called my family and my family thought something awful had happened.”