Page 22 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“You’re such a freak,” she says, huffing out a breath. “Why aren’t you frowning or swearing at me right now?”
“Why should I?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m turning your world upside down and I’m moving in with you for the sole purpose of spying on you and keeping you locked up like a monk.”
“Guess I’m getting used to the idea and making the best of it.” I suppress my smile because I have no right to be looking forward to our situation even a little, and I’m way out of line toying with her. She heaves a big sigh.
“What about you?” I say. “It could be fun living in Boston for a while, right? Nice change from the Big Apple.”
“Could be. I’ll need to sublet my place in New York, but it should work out.” She beams a forced smile with too much fake energy in it, her green eyes not exactly meeting mine.
“Really? What’s up with subletting? It’s only for four months. Can you even manage a sublet for that short a time? By the time you get someone in—”
“You’re kidding, right? Our realtor is plugged in and she knows plenty of companies who need short-term rentals. I could make a good chunk of money—by my standards. In fact this could be a financial boon for me and I should be jumping for joy.” The change in her face to a genuine smile takes my breath away, but it’s short-lived. The way all her emotions show amazes me because she’s been so closed off for the most part. And there it is again, that wall of serious business closing off all that authentic passion.
“Cool.” I blow out a breath and watch the cloud form in front of my face. “Literally. It’s fucking cold.” Luckily the hotel is up ahead. She keeps her head down as we walk fast to the hotel’s front door in the stiff breeze. I follow her through the lobby and we ride up in the elevator standing on opposite sides of the small space, silent until the doors open and she rushes through them.
I have no problem catching up to her, and I slip my key card in the door to our suite before she can, letting us in. She walks past me. At the center of the room, she kicks off her party shoes and drops her bag onto the chair.
“Time to pack up so we can move first thing in the morning.”
“I’m taking a nap. Right after I eat,” I say. She nods and picks up the room’s phone.
“What do you want to eat?” she asks, pretending to be indifferent. She’d fool me into thinking I was about as human as an expensive car she had to take care of, except I see the nerves, hear the small vibration in her voice.
“One of everything. No—make that two.”
“I get the picture.” She struggles to maintain the straight line of her mouth and turns away to talk into the phone, presumably placing a room service order for lunch. Though I’d enjoy staying and pinning her with my gaze until I could make her flinch, that would be selfish. She’s not here for my amusement and I want us to…get along? Guess that’s the best I can hope for under the circumstances—meaning my forced four-month monkhood.
I head to my bedroom and collapse on my bed without taking off my jacket. Exhaustion takes precedence over everything now and I close my eyes. As I let myself doze off, the raised voice in the room beyond my half-open door pulls me back to the awake side of the blurry line.
“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise. Maybe an extra thousand dollars.”
It’s Harper and her voice is filled with anguish more than anger, almost sounds desperate.Does she owe some leg-breakers some money?Does my all-business, straight-as-an arrow Harper have a gambling problem?
“You don’t need to keep calling. I’ll take care of it.” Her words are angrier now.
Fully alert, my body tenses at the distress in her voice and reacts like a fire alarm went off and I need to save all the women and children. No, more like the game is down to thirty seconds and I’m the sixth man on the ice who my teammates are counting on to score the winning goal.
Ripping off my coat because I’m suddenly overheated, I rise from the bed and storm out my half-open door to find her. More importantly, to find out who or what is causing her a problem. Because money problems I can handle. I’ve solved more than a few of those for my family.
But Harper isn’t family. And I’m not exactly as financially secure now as I was a week ago. Shit.
She tosses her phone onto the chair then turns and we come face-to-face. Her color is high, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing, and if I didn’t just overhear her conversation, I would think she’d just finished bringing herself to a pleasant little orgasm. Fuck. I clear my throat, trying to remember she’s a woman in distress.
“What the hell, Maddox. Did you just—were you listening to me?” A combination of embarrassment, fear, and anger rises with her voice.
“I heard… something. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“What? No. And how dare you eavesdrop.” She pushes past me, avoiding my eyes, the pink shade of her cheeks deepening.
There’s a knock on the door. It’s room service with the food, and she takes care of the tip. The food temporarily gets me a reprieve from her scolding about the eavesdropping and I take a seat at the table. She lifts the covers from the plates.
“Pasta Bolognese with meatballs, homemade bread, a Caesar salad, and spumoni for dessert.”
“This came from room service? No way.” I don’t waste time getting a forkful of pasta into my mouth.
“No, I arranged to have it ordered from a local Italian restaurant, Monica’s Trattoria, and sent up.”
