Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
I stand straighter, walking beside Loch as we’re led to a private desk to check in. Circling the room, I run my fingers along the backs of overstuffed velvet chairs and a bookcase full of dusty spines. The old books with worn covers tempt me. I want to take them down and smell the musty pages. Is anything so soothing as an old book full of adventures?
The transaction is fast. As deals probably are when you have money of Loch’s magnitude. He comes to me and gives me the keys. The attendant moves back to the main lobby and then turns back to us. “I’ll have your bags placed in the room.” Then he looks around. “Do you have luggage?”
“Some packages will be delivered shortly,” Loch says. I catch his gaze on me, but as if he’s being forced to look away, he pulls his attention back to the manager.
“Very well. I’ll have them delivered to Ms. Westcott’s room as soon as they arrive.” Westcott?
“Thank you,” he adds, his voice as stiff as his shoulders.
I grin ruthlessly, taking pleasure in this. “Care to explain?”
It’s hard to be upset when I look into his eyes, but then he says, “He thought you were a call girl.”
That’ll do it.
“What?” My head jerks back. I glance back over my shoulder at the hotel clerk. Speaking of jerks . . . But for real, I’m in a hospital gown that ties at the back. When I turn back to Loch, I ask, “What in Hades would make him think that?”
He runs his hand over his hair, looking down briefly. “He asked me your last name. When I hesitated, I saw the look on his face. I was caught in the heat of the moment, so I went with Westcott.”
“Your last name? Because that makes sense,” I snark and roll my eyes.
“Would you have preferred Smith or Dawson? Maybe Johnson or Johnston?” Annoyance has his gaze hardening as he stares across the palatial lobby. When he eyes me, he adds, “Or maybe her highness suits you better.”
I try it on for size, but I get nothing, not a vibe or any inkling from it. “Okay. Okay. I get it. Trust me, I get it. Westcott isn’t so bad.”
“Wow, thanks.” I almost get an eye roll out of him, but he stops himself.
“No, I didn’t mean it that way. I know he put you on the spot, but please understand how embarrassing it is not to know your own name.”
“I should go.” He says his words clipped as if he’s already wasted too much time.
I’m not sure what happened when I wasn’t listening, but his whole demeanor has changed.
Checking his watch, I can tell he’s ready to leave. Not just from that gesture but the air has even altered under his commanding presence.
It takes me a hot second, but then I realize what’s different about him compared to the man who showed up for me. He’s back to business. I don’t know how I know this, but he’s the first thing that’s felt familiar to me.
The shirt buttoned up to his neck with his tie twisted into a perfect Windsor knot.
The glare as he covers the distance of the room.
The stern tone heard just seconds prior.
Even the aura he’s now projecting makes me wonder if the nice knight in shining armor was just an illusion.
When he hands me the key card, I’m starting to feel more like the transaction he spoke of earlier in a wrong assumption. I say, “Okay.” Is there anything else to say?
Taking me in as if he’ll never have another chance to see me again, he turns abruptly and walks away with such purpose that hurt has the nerve to seep into my chest.
“Loch?” Stopping, he turns back, his gaze meeting mine. “This is goodbye?”
The hard lines embroiling themselves into his brow loosen the grip, and a kinder expression reshapes his face. “You have my number if you need it.” He turns back, not in such a hurry this time.
“Hey!” I rush to him before he reaches the door.
He stops and looks at me. “What is it?” The shortness of his words from earlier is absent.
“What made you stop when you could have carried on with your day, lived your life no differently than you normally do?” I ask as if the third time is a charm.
His gaze lengthens over my head. He exhales as if I’ve asked too much of him. Maybe I finally have. Then he says, “You were unfinished business, and I don’t like loose ends. Good day.”
Unfinished business . . . Bottom line: This is not a fairy tale.
This is nothing more than the current predicament I’m stuck in. I’m sure I’ll be cozy at home by tonight with . . . I glance at my ringless finger.
No tan lines.