“Yes,” I squeak. “You read?”
His face softens into a smile. “Pride and Prejudice was my mom’s favorite book.”
Was? I hear the ache of loss in his voice. Already I feel an affinity with him.
And before I can reply to that, he hitches his duffel back to his shoulder and seems to think about his next words carefully. “I’m on the other side of you. If you need anything, bang on the wall or come over, yeah? I’ll protect you.”
I’ll protect you.
From a deep well inside me, unbidden, emotion rises up.
No one has ever protected me except Gran, and she’s gone.
I’ve been the protector of myself and my siblings ever since the day they came home from the hospital, bundled up in their little blankets. I took on the role of their mom with a ferocity that came from instinct. I kept the three of us safe by doing whatever it took to survive. Sometimes that meant climbing up the rickety steps with two babies and hiding in the attic. We’d sleep there in a cramped storage area surrounded by Christmas decorations and old dresses until the rage had cooled in the house.
“You okay?”
I nod, kicking away those thoughts. “Actually, do you mind if I make some loud noises later, just to show him we’re, you know, having a good time?”
He gives me that ten-thousand-yard stare, the gaze almost tangible, the intensity of it seeming to reach out to me and pull me closer. My body tingles as tension swirls in the room, thickening with possibilities.
I picture him pressing those luscious lips over mine, his hands on my breasts . . .
What? Worst idea ever.
I just broke up with a guy. Get in the game, Emmy. It’s cats from here on out. Meow.
Not that Lambo’s interested. This is probably his regular stare.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m actually being murdered when I start screaming ‘Oh, Darcy, yes, yes, yes!’”
He laughs! The man laughs! His entire face changes, his eyes crinkling as two dimples pop out on his cheeks.
I nearly melt into a puddle.
“Making me sound good, huh?” he says.
“My honey bunny is always good.” Jesus. Why did I say that? “Guess you should go now, so I can scream into a pillow with embarrassment.”
He smirks. “Gotcha. See you later.”
I want to say something clever. I give him a thumbs-up. “Keep it real.”
That wasn’t it.
Without saying anything else, he makes sure the coast is clear, then waves goodbye and steps outside.
I still have my thumb up as I shut the door. I lock the dead bolt and engage the chain.
I bury my face in my hands. What in the world. He thinks I’m a prosecco-drinking, name-game maniac!
I flop back on the bed as my head tumbles through our encounter.
I can’t believe I threw myself at him like that. It just . . . happened.
He was a little hostile at first, completely understandable, but then he offered to fight Fake Clint. I give a one-two punch to the air. Cat hater or not, he’s a good one.
Hours later, I awake and watch from the window as the sun sinks below the horizon. Half the sky is still dark, the other half tinted with pink and red. It’s pretty, but I can’t wait to get back home. I don’t want cacti. I want Central Park, my little family, and the bookstore.
I grab clothes for a shower. I don’t have much to choose from but find clean panties, a pair of gray sweats, and an “Arizona Rocks” shirt I picked up yesterday. I stand under the hot water and contemplate my dinner options, either pizza delivery or Chinese. I’ve picked Chinese by the time I get out and dry off.
As I stand in front of the mirror, my eyes snag on the small scars on either side of my rib cage from the surgery. I trace the raised red surfaces, then put my hand over my heart. Luckily, they didn’t have to do open-heart surgery. Going in through my ribs was the best option for the mini-maze surgery, with a shorter recovery time. I sigh, thankful for normal, steady beats.
I part my hair in the center and brush it out. There’s no motel dryer, so I scrunch the strands. When it dries, I’ll have a riot of loose blonde curls spilling to the middle of my back. If I stretch it out, it’ll reach my lower back. Pulling out my makeup bag, I dab foundation on my face and blend it in. Mascara is next, just enough to take away some of the paleness. Shimmery lip gloss coats my lips.
I laugh when I realize I have nowhere to go.
Maybe I’ll go next door and chat with G. I could buy him dinner, considering what I put him through. Ugh. I wish I had nicer clothes with me.
My phone rings as I come out of the bathroom, and dread fills me when I see it’s Missy. I debate answering but end up plopping down on the bed as I pick up. She’s Kian’s PA, and we’ve had some good times, but in the end, she’s his minion.
Her voice is hushed. “Emmy! Thank God!”
Alarm hits. “What’s wrong?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m not saying.”
She rushes through her words. “I’m in the restroom at a gas station just outside of Tucson. Kian’s in the car. He’s tracked your phone, Emmy. He knows where you are.”
“I turned off his tracker.” Two days ago in Vegas when I found it.
I’d been shopping for a dress to wear to Kian’s friend’s wedding. Back in New York, I’d packed one, a black number with cutouts, but I’d forgotten to try it on. On my flight to Vegas, I realized it would show my surgery scars and perhaps rub against them.
I’d left Kian sleeping and went shopping. I was in a boutique in Vegas when I heard him calling my name; then he barged into the dressing room where I was. When I asked how he knew where I was, he admitted he’d put a tracker on my phone.
You were gone for so long that I was worried, Emmy.
I didn’t buy it. It wasn’t just about being concerned for me. He invaded my privacy and kept up with my movements so he could hide what he was doing.
“He reinstalled and hid it under an app,” Missy says.
My teeth grit. “Do you see a motel outside the gas station?”
“Yeah. I think that’s where he’s going. I keep asking him, but he won’t answer. He’s really pissed because you won’t answer the phone.”
“Doesn’t he have the rehearsal dinner tonight?”
“He told Danny he was sick. His best friend is getting married, and he’s skipping it to look for you. He should be giving a toast right now.”
“It’s not my fault he makes dumb decisions.”
She huffs. “If you want to end this, then leave and turn off your phone. I’m sick of your ‘on again, off again’ thing with him.”
“Yeah, you’d love for us to be over. You’d just slip right in and take my place in a heartbeat.” I pause, my voice thickening. “He hurt me, Missy. Beware of him. Please.”
She huffs. “I don’t know why I’d need to know that. He’s my employer.”