Page 46 of You Make Me Feel
“Are you okay?”
I nod even though my heart is pounding. “I’m fine.” Then a second later, because apparently I have a death wish, I tell him, “I could have handled it myself.”
He lets out a low breath. “Finish that and go home, Sadie. Before you get into trouble.”
I open my mouth to tell him where to shove his advice, but the expression on his face silences me. Without another word, he turns around and walks away. I watch him, my brows pulled together, every muscle in my body taut.
He moves through the crowd like he owns it, his shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt in a way that makes heat crawl up my throat. I can’t see his expression, but I assume it’s still furious, because the crowd parts for him as he walks. More than one woman gives him a longing stare.
I know how they feel.
My heart’s still racing, but it isn’t from fear anymore. It’s from the memory of his hand gripping that man’s shirt, the low command in his voice, the danger in his eyes that shouldn’t make me feel safe, but somehow does.
God that man is aggravating. How can I feel safe and exposed at the same time?
Letting out a sigh, because my whole ruse so obviously failed, I finish my drink and stand up,leaving twenty dollars on the table. I’m going to go home, wash my hair, delete that app, and stick to reading books.
Outside, the night air hits me like a splash of cold water as I cross the parking lot toward my car. It’s so busy tonight I had to park on the far side, and it takes a while to walk across the lot.
The hum of the hotel fades into the low hush of the sea and the soft thud of my heels on the path. I breathe in the lilacs from the flowerbeds, trying to steady myself, but the mix only makes me more aware of how alive I feel.
And how I only ever feel that way when he’s close.
I hate this. The pull. The push. The aching for him and knowing that nobody else is going to make me feel like that. I walk to my car, planning to unlock it, then I shake my head.
Because, no. I’m not slinking home like an idiot. I’m taking control, the way I said I would. I turn on my heel and walk to the graveled path that leads to the side of the hotel, the side where the private apartments are. There’s a row of patio doors. But I know which one is his door. I know that from when I came here the other day. Back then I was seeing it from the other side.
There’s a light glowing through the gaps. It makes my chest thud, because he’s right there, on the other side. Somehow I can feel it.
The same way I can feel the breeze in my hair and the thud of my heart against my ribcage.
Without second guessing myself – for once – I step forward and rap my fingers on the door. There’s a pause for a moment, before I hear a lock mechanism releasing and the door is pulled open.
My throat goes dry when he looks at me, like he knew I’d be the one standing here. Like he feels the pull too.
For a second neither of us says anything. Then he shakes his head, like he’s answering an unasked question.
“Come in,” he says, stepping aside to let me through.
He must have been making himself a drink because there’s a bottle of whiskey and a glass on the coffee table in front of his leather sofa. There are a couple of lamps on, giving the living area of his apartment a soft glow. Music is playing, soft and low.
“Sit down.” He nods at the sofa. “Want a drink?”
I shake my head. I didn’t even finish the vodka. And I’m driving.
“Then whatdoyou want?” he asks. The way he says it isn’t mean. It’s more curious than anything.
And I’m not sure I know the answer to it.
I take a deep breath. “Why were you in the bar?”
He blinks slowly, like he’s considering my words. “Because I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
Oh. The right answer. Or maybe the wrong one. Because now my heart is racing.
“The hotel bar isn’t exactly a haven of indecency,” I murmur. “I don’t think anybody was going to hurt me there.”
He leans back against the sofa, his eyes dipping to my face. “There are a lot of different ways to hurt people.”
