“Can I come in?”
I nod and step aside and he walks in, his long muscled legs striding across the room until he finds the bed, where he plants his ass down and stares at me. I stare back at him. I’m not exactly sure what he wants me to say or do. I never thought he’d show up, but here he is, bleeding and angry.
“I’ll get some ice,” I say, eyeing his swollen hands.
I rush to the small fridge and pull it open, reaching into the top and pulling out the ice in the little cooler above the fridge section. I wrap it in a towel and walk over, handing it to him. He takes it and presses it against his knuckles while I study his eye. It’s swelling, and a small cut beneath it is what’s causing the bleeding. “I’ll get another towel for your eye.”
I rush into the bathroom, soaking a towel, then I bring it out, kneeling in front of him and pressing it to his face. He hisses and my eyes meet his, holding them, and suddenly the air in the room thickens. He’s here. He’s really here.
“Ah,” I whisper. “Are you okay?”
He studies my face, his eyes dropping to my mouth, and then his jaw tics. “You’re messing with my head.”
“So you got beaten up?”
He shakes his head. “I got into a fight with my fucking brother; it had nothing to do with you.”
“Okay then,” I say softly.
“You’re just messing with my head in general.”
I look away. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make your life difficult.”
“I’m giving you one night, Lucy. I’ll stay here; you can ask me what you want and I’ll tell you what I can. I’ll talk with you, but there is one condition . . .”
“Name it,” I rasp.
“You gotta stop looking for me, and you’ve gotta stop asking about me.”
“So when you walk out tomorrow, I’ll never see you again.”
His eyes flash. “For now, that’s how it has to be. Go fix things with your husband, find your life—make yourself happy. Trust me when I say you can’t have that from me.”
That hurts, but I try not to let it show. “My husband wants a divorce, and so do I.”
His eyes flash again. “He can’t know about me.”
“You want me to keep letting them think I’m crazy.”
“No, you can tell them you were wrong and I wasn’t real, and nobody will think you’re crazy.”
“That would be a lie.”
“Life is a lie, Lucy girl. Deal with it.”
I flinch and lean back. “I don’t like your conditions.”
“They’re the only ones you’re going to get.”
I sigh. If he’ll give me a night with him, then so be it, I’ll take it. Maybe one night will give me the answers I need. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not sleeping with you.”
He grins, and it absolutely transforms his face. “Clear, honey.”
“Stop grinning at me like that,” I mumble, standing and taking the towel back into the bathroom where I rinse it off.
I return a few minutes later and he’s standing, staring down at my laptop.
“Next condition,” he growls pointing to the page on the screen detailing the history of cults, “stop looking this shit up. It’s dangerous.”
“Sorry, you’ve already made your conditions. And it’s free information; I can look at it if I like.”
He glares at me. I raise my brows and hold his glare.
Neither of us break.
“This place got room service?” he finally grumbles. “I’m thinking it’s going to be a long night.”
I smile.
His eyes drop to my mouth and he mutters, “Christ, thought you were beautiful before, then you go ahead and smile.”
My heart flutters.
I get the room service menu.
***
“So why were you there that night?” I ask, watching him chow down on his steak. I just had Chinese, so I’m letting him eat his heart out. Even eating, he is perfection. Slightly skewed perfection, but that’s what makes him unique. He isn’t what you’d expect—he’s so much more.
“I can’t tell you much about that,” he says, his gaze locking with mine. “All I can say is that we had an idea that it was going to happen.”
“And you didn’t think to cancel the game?” I gasp, crossing my legs and leaning against my headboard.
He watches me from the table, shoving more steak into his mouth and chewing before answering, “There have been quite a few threats made on the place before, and we had to answer to every one—nothing happened. They were threats more than anything. We can’t cancel every game; people would start questioning it, and the second something like that becomes public knowledge, all hell breaks loose.”
“So why do you think they picked that night?”
“We had a police conference. Most of the officers were in meetings, and they must have figured they had a good chance of pulling it off. They were right.”
“So you are a cop.”
He looks at me, narrowing his eyes, still chewing. “I was. I’m not anymore, but I am . . . helping with this.”
“Why?”