“I’m being suffocated is what’s going on.” He strides past me in the small space and yanks a black v-neck T-shirt from a hanger before pulling it over his head. “We’ve more than done our job for the night. I’m tired of being watched and told where to go and what to do,” he rages on as he shoves his slacks down and grabs a pair of dark blue jeans. “We’re allowed to go and relax. We’re allowed to step the fuck away from this prison on wheels . . . besides, I’m your boss so what I say goes.”
“You may be my boss and you can definitely say whatever the hell you want, but that doesn’t mean I have to go along with it.”
I yelp when he spins around and pounds the wall on either side of my head with his fists so that his body frames mine. There’s anger in his emerald eyes, frustration, but it’s the desire that has me opening my mouth and then closing it just as quickly.
“Do you want to stay cooped up in this coach again or would you rather get away from the prying eyes of all of these people . . . and Robert. Just go and have some fun,” he says, his voice low and grated.
“You know how to have fun?”
For the slightest of seconds I think he is going to lean forward and kiss me. My lips part just a fraction and my hands fist in anticipation.
But his lips slide into a cocky grin and his eyes darken. “You’re getting sassy, Harlow.” There’s something about the way he says my name that makes every nerve I have stand on end.
“I’m always sassy.”
We stare at each other in that suspended state of uncertainty. Where I want him to kiss me but I’m not sure if he wants the same thing. It’s seconds but feels like it lasts forever.
“Get changed,” he says before dipping even closer for a moment and then pushing off the wall to grab his belt on the bed.
“Where are we going?” I ask again.
“We need to do things outside of the events.”
“Okay.” I draw the word out as I look in the closet and grab a short and flirty sundress to pair with the cowboy boots I brought. When in Texas . . .
“I’m a pretty public guy. People see me. They’ll start to recognize you with the ad campaign. Maybe they’ll take pictures. Maybe they won’t. Then bam, Robert has his proof that we’re okay.”
“Dare I ask you what you did that has you suddenly worried about what Robert thinks?” I ask as I pull my dress over my head and then look over my shoulder when he doesn’t respond. I’m standing in the bedroom with my bra on and boy shorts—way more than any bathing suit I’d put on would cover, but it’s obviously caught his attention. He takes his time—eyes roaming over my bare back, my ass, my legs, before he clears his throat and meets my eyes again. “Are you trying to get away from him or appease him?”
“Both, really.” His lips turn down. “Forget Robert. He means nothing. Everything is fine.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you?” The dress slides on over my head and when my face peeks out, his attention is still on me.
“Believe me. Don’t believe me. It’s no skin off my back.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Zane.” And then the thought hits me like a battering ram. The sudden attention from Robert. The immediate bristling of Zane to it. My stomach churns all the sudden when I’m looking at a man I have no claim to. “You slept with someone else and got caught, didn’t you?”
“No.”
My chest constricts at the thought and I hate that the mere thought has me glancing toward the bed, while imagining the door I opened for him last night when I went to the hotel. The door I opened so that I could gain some space and distance so I wouldn’t want him and obviously failed at miserably.
Because of course I want him. Haven’t I in some way or another since he brought me the shoes?
Holy shit.
Did I really just admit that?
My revelation hits me full force as I stare at him. Blinking. Rejecting the idea with a subtle shake of my head that I know isn’t going to do shit to get these sudden feelings from going away.
It’s this whole situation. It has to be. The road trip. The sleeping together on the coach. The being in each other’s hair twenty-four-seven.
But my irritation has given way to want, my resistance to desire, both of which I’m finding a hard time grasping when for the past few weeks all I’ve told myself is that there can be nothing between us.
He stands before me hair mussed, eyes intense, and tension set in his shoulders and all I can focus on is what triggered this whole revelation. Because more important than realizing I really like Zane Phillips, is the fear that he might have actually slept with someone last night.
“Zane . . .” His name is a sigh on my lips. A warning. A plea for my train of thought to be wrong . . . but when I stare at him, he doesn’t back down in his resolve. He’s either one hell of a liar or he’s telling the truth.
“Robert saw a woman walking away from the coach this morning who was definitely trying her hardest to be you.”
“Me?” I laugh and he just nods.
“He thinks I cheated on you. Among other things. I told him he was crazy and that our life outside of this promotion is none of his goddamn business.” Zane shoves his wallet in his back pocket as if the accusation is no big deal and his eyes flicker down to my boots before roaming back up. “So are we going or what?”