“Do you know what I’m going to dare you to do?”
She rolls her eyes and sighs before gritting her teeth. “Tyler, will you kiss me?” She couldn’t sound more petulant if she tried.
I grin, feeding her anger. “I was just going to dare you to smile.”
Her frown deepens. “I’m taking a shower. Watch if you want. I don’t care. You’ll do whatever you want anyways.” She twists away from me, shoving at my arm. I move, allowing her space, realizing too late that she’d cracked the door with her half admission and has slammed it shut as she rips her tank top off, the red dirt from the desert, staining the gray fabric. She pulls open the shower door, staring at the multiple levers for several seconds before her shoulders sink.
I step behind her, placing a hand on the bare skin of her waist, and turn the shower on, lowering the heat from the scalding temperature I prefer. “The amenities are under the counter, and there’s a robe on the back of the door,” I tell her. And with a single look, she guts me, her eyes glassy and jaw clenched with pride.
“Chloe,” I begin.
But she shakes her head. “It’s been a really long day. Can you just give me some space?”
I remain in place, wanting to say no, wishing to apologize, needing to know if she’s okay. I think of a thousand things I should have asked her and offered.
“Please?”
I close the bathroom door on my way out and drop my head against it as I pull in a long breath, willing myself not to go back in there and beg for forgiveness because I went too far this time, crossed a barrier when she was her weakest like a selfish fucking bastard.
In the hallway, I run into Vanessa, a towel wrapped around her hair as she dons a pair of pajamas that reveals her sunburn. “Vanessa, I messed up.”
She stops, tilting her chin to the side as though working to process my words and the implications. “I was a dick, I…” I shake my head. “Can you go talk to her? Make sure she’s okay.”
Vanessa glances in the direction of my door and then at me. “Once. I’ll only clean up your mess once.” She disappears into my room, closing the door behind her.
Cooper’s in the living room, his hands gripping both sides of his head. “Man. What a crazy-ass day. Thank you. Thank you for everything. I know you sounded the alarm and had a lot of people and groups going into motion to find them, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I mean, I care about Vanessa, shit, I, well, you know … and Chloe…” He licks his lips and diverts his gaze as the weight of his words become too much. “I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to them. Either of them.”
His appreciation is like a dull knife twisting in my stomach.
“Order room service. Anything you guys want. Order it all. I’ve got to get a little more work done so we can get out of here before noon tomorrow.”
He grins. “Vegas, baby!”
I nod, trying to hide the cynicism in my smile. “I’ll be up late.” I grab my gym bag as I head for the door.
I spend the first two hours at the gym, trying to run from my thoughts, and when that doesn’t work, I aim for physical exhaustion as I hit the weights.
Finally fatigued, I shower and find an empty conference room to hide out in. The Scottsdale location is one of the few we’re staying at that isn’t having any issues. Everything about this location is seamless perfection, so rather than searching for holes, I’m looking for any anomalies between here and the past couple of hotels in an attempt to compare them.
Spreadsheets are burned to the back of my eyelids when I make it back up to the suite, finally checking my phone because I have no doubt my dad heard about my red alert and order to move all hotel security to find Chloe and Vanessa this afternoon. But the first message is from Cooper from two hours ago, sending me a heads up that Chloe’s asleep on the couch.
I toe off my trainers to silence my steps, slip my phone back into my pocket, and move to the couch where Chloe is asleep, hands tucked under her cheek, bare arms exposed.
I slide my hands under her, taking her weight and carrying her toward my room.
She opens her eyes as we pass through my bedroom door, and she startles at the sound of the latch clicking in place. “What are you doing?” she asks.
I have no fucking idea. “I won’t touch you. I swear.”
The lights are set to dim, all on a smart timer so only the ones along the bottom of the bed and beneath the desk stream a faint glow as I lay her on the king-size bed. I send Sid, the general manager back in Austin, a mental fuck off as I thank fuck for turndown service. I leave the throw across her and lift the blankets to cover her up to her shoulders.
“My bedroom’s just down the hall,” she says.
“Did you eat?”
She stares at me, hair curtained around her neck, teasing my pillow. I trace my finger across her temple, gently pushing more of her hair back in an attempt to make an easy excuse to touch her.
“I can’t do this,” she says, rolling to her back. She lifts both hands to cover her face.
I sit on the bed, kicking my legs out over the top of the covers, still wearing my jeans and a T-shirt from my family’s hotel in Athens, Greece that I’d changed into post-workout. “She was no one,” I admit. “I hired her because the GM called my father, accusing me of doing things I wasn’t. So I needed to know who else might rat me out and piss him right off at the same time. It was only kissing, and it meant nothing, and I’ve fucking regretted it every second of every fucking day since it happened because you’ve been looking at me like you hate me ever since.”
“I don’t hate you,” she says. “Sometimes I want to.”
A quick chuckle bursts from my lips because the feeling is mutual. “I want you to hate me.”
She tips her face toward me as the lights fade and turn off. “Why?”
“It would make everything so much simpler.”
I try to read her expression in the darkened room, realizing that although I’ve come a long way, I’m still barely adept at understanding her.
“I’m pretty sure we’re breaking the rules,” she says. “It’s easier to hate you when you avoid me and act like a bitter asshole.”
“I’m a bitter arsehole.”
“Why did you bring me in here?”
“You were supposed to be back at two, three at the latest. We didn’t find you until after nine. I need you to be here so I can breathe—so I can think. Because for the better part of today, I wasn’t able to do either.”
She stares at me, a dozen questions visible in her eyes, but they never make it to her lips. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
I shake my head. “You don’t need to apologize.”
“We should have brought a map, and I should have made sure my phone was with me.”
“I’m not looking for an apology.”
“I know, but I’m still offering one.”
“I don’t want it.”
Her brow creases. “What do you want?”
I stare at her, sick and tired of asking myself that very same question.
Several minutes pass before she looks away. “I’m not the only one who avoids contact,” she says before she rolls over.