I struggle to keep the waver from my voice. “You move pretty fast, soldier. First it was one night you wanted, then one week, and now it’s bullet-taking trust?” My soft laugh sounds choked. “I think you’ve got the wrong girl.”
“No, I don’t.” He takes my face in both his hands, forces me to meet his eyes. “You can trust me, Tabby. I’m not him. I’ll never lie to you. I’ll never let you down when you need me. I might irritate the shit out of you and say or do something stupid once in a while because I’m a guy and sometimes we’re clueless, but if you want me to, I’ll give you one thousand percent and have your back one thousand percent and be one thousand percent on your team.”
His eyes shine so bright, they look unreal. “I want to be on your team.”
I can’t breathe. My throat has closed. There’s water in my eyes—fucking tears! I want to slap myself.
“You’re just trying to get laid.”
He smiles. “Can you blame me? Look at yourself, baby.”
“I’m not your baby!”
His smile deepens. “I stand corrected. Sugar? Sunshine? Angel?”
I shake my head to clear it and give his chest a push. He steps back, releasing me. He makes no move to come closer again, just keeps watching me with those warm, beautiful eyes.
Eyes that, if I’m not careful, I’ll fall so far into, I’ll never be able to crawl back out.
“Let’s go.” I cross my arms over my chest and stare at the sliding doors.
After a moment of silence, Connor says, “All right.” He pushes the Stop button again, and the car lurches into motion. We stand unspeaking as my heart thunders. When the elevator stops on my floor and the doors open, Connor adds ominously, “But this conversation isn’t over. And remember, I’m not him.”
He steps out of the elevator and strides down the hall.
Nineteen
Tabby
When I wake up, it’s dark outside and I have no idea where I am.
I bolt upright in bed. It takes a moment for me to recognize the unfamiliar room and for my heart to slow from a gallop to a trot. I drag my hands through my hair, rub my eyes, get up, and use the toilet, brush my teeth. When my stomach starts to make angry growling noises I realize I’m ravenous. I think I had only one or two bites of the sandwich at the commissary at the studio before what Harry was saying made my stomach turn sour and my appetite flee.
I order room service and then take a shower, wondering where Connor is. He left me at my door with a promise that if I tried to run away, he’d find me, and then I slammed the door in his face. According to my watch, that was six hours ago.
Six hours of tossing and sweating and nightmares I thought I’d outgrown.
But no. Once horror sinks its claws into you, it never lets go. I should have known better.
The hotel’s robe is one of those poufy white terry cloth affairs that are totally impractical but highly comfortable. I put it on, turn on the TV, and wait for room service to arrive.
When I hear a noise outside my door, I cross the room and open it.
And find Connor asleep on the floor.
He’s sitting upright, back against the wall, arms hanging over his bent knees, dark head bowed, breathing evenly. I don’t know whether to knock him over or go back inside and call hotel security. It might be fun to see him try to explain himself.
Unmoving, he says, “If you kick me I’ll take you over my knees, woman.”
His voice is scratchy with sleep, low and impossibly sexy.
Irritatingly sexy.
“It’s princess,” I say impulsively.
Connor looks up at me. He blinks slowly several times.
“Not woman or baby or sugar or any of that other stuff. And especially not sweet cheeks.” My face is red, I can feel it. “I like princess, because it’s ironic. Okay?”
A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He nods. He needs a shave and to run a comb through that dark mop on his head, but he still looks so goddamn handsome, I feel sorry for the rest of the men on earth.
Then I feel sorry for myself. I’m beginning to realize just how much it’s going to hurt when all this is over.
At the end of the hall, the elevator opens. A uniformed waiter gets off, pushing a rolling cart. I lift my hand and wave.
“Down here!”
The guy—grinning and tanned, has the look of an aspiring actor—waves back. In the blink of an eye, Connor is on his feet. He stretches with his arms over his head. His black T-shirt is so tight, I can see every ridged outline of abdominal muscle through it.
I can see his nipples through it.
I find myself wondering if it’s only the thought of food that’s making my mouth suddenly water.
“Got a lot for you here, miss,” says the waiter cheerfully. He glances at Connor and comes to an abrupt stop. “Should I set it up inside?”
I notice Connor staring hungrily at the cart. From beneath the domed silver plates, delicious scents waft up: cheeseburger and fries, chicken wings, mac and cheese, nachos with the works. I couldn’t decide what I wanted so I ordered everything that looked good.