Shit. That was basic survival skills 101. Leave a note when someone is looking for you. “I’m sorry. I meant to call the police but I forgot,” he said.
“It’s not your fault. I should have told my sister about the accident but I was trying to manage this on my own. Now they’re all worried I’m somehow at risk, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid.”
“You’re not at risk. I’ll take care of you.” The words were out there before his brain had even wrapped around them, and he didn’t know where they’d come from. Where any of this was coming from—this urgent need to stake a claim—this drive to protect her. Maybe it was guilt over his mother’s involvement. Maybe it was simple red-blooded lust. But whatever it was, all he knew for certain was that he felt it, and he wanted to follow it.
Her smile was sweet but unconvincing. “Thanks, but I have some stuff back home I have to handle in person. I can’t do it from here, and I can’t do it from Bell Harbor either.”
This was entirely unacceptable. They were just getting started. She couldn’t go back home already. He wanted more time. He hadn’t had enough of her yet. He wanted all of her.
Her damp hair had created wet marks on the shoulders of her shirt. He picked up a tendril and twined it around one finger, staring at it, because looking into her eyes was just too dangerous. He’d scaled mountains and traversed ravines, but nothing had ever made his heart jackhammer inside his chest like this. “I don’t want you to go back to Miami already.”
“You don’t? You could have your house all to yourself.” Her voice was whisper soft.
“I don’t want my house all to myself. I like you in it. I like watching the yoga.”
“You could get cable. They have lots of yoga shows on cable.”
He moved a little closer, and she stretched her legs out in front of her. “It wouldn’t be quite the same as watching it live,” he said.
She moved to readjust the pillow behind her and the tendril fell from his fingertips. She leaned back, resting one hand on his leg. It wasn’t the same maneuver he’d tried at dinner but he was glad she was touching him. Really glad. He wanted her to touch him all over. The thought sent blood rushing to his groin, and in another ten seconds his dick would be tapping at her hand. That might be awkward. Or awesome.
“I think these walls are pretty solid,” he said, looking around. “Pretty . . . soundproof. We could probably make a lot of noise in here without being heard.”
He looked back at her and was only partially teasing.
No, actually, he wasn’t teasing at all.
That door was locked, the walls were real, and this bed was as inviting as the sweet scent emanating from Elaine’s warm skin. He wanted her, badly. And he wanted her bad. In ways too wicked and loud to be contained inside this room. But for tonight, he could keep things on the quieter side. If that was the only option.
The color rose in her cheeks. “You’ve been really good to me, Grant. And I appreciate all you’ve done,” she said.
The rushing of the blood slowed. Those weren’t the words he expected. Gratitude wasn’t what he wanted from her. Gratitude came from people feeling indebted, and he wanted her to know they were on equal footing. She didn’t owe him.
“You’ve been really good to me too, Lane. You could’ve called the cops on my mother, or demanded I leave my own house. And you went to a family wedding as my human shield. That takes real generosity.”
The sound she made was half giggle, half sigh. “OK, I guess we’re even, but maybe what I’m trying to say here is that, just because we’re stuck together in this hotel room, with this incredibly comfortable bed surrounded by everything Elvis, I don’t want you to love me tender just because you think I’m . . . convenient.”
Her words made sense, in theory, but in reality, nothing could be further from the truth, and he chuckled at the irony.
“Nothing about you is convenient for me, Lane. Driving hundreds of miles through a snowstorm to track down your money sure isn’t. Having you live in my house isn’t convenient. Knowing my family has screwed you over six ways to Sunday isn’t convenient either. But honestly, what’s most inconvenient is the way I feel.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “Why? How do you feel?”
His breath caught, and his gut took a big, bold leap. He slid his hands up to cup her face and ran a thumb over her lip, that full, lush bottom lip that left him weak in the knees but courageous in his pursuit.
“How do I feel? Like I need to make you mine. Soon.”