And just as she was passing by the shiny twin elevators, one of the two dinged.
She stopped mid-step, swinging her gaze in that direction. The light above the elevator on the left shone bright. Two seconds later, the doors began to open.
Welp, here goes nothing.
Scarlett dropped her bare foot back down to the carpet. She turned her body to face whoever was about to disembark head-on. With her spine held straight and that same lifted chin, she waited…and prayed.
Please, please, please let it be a housekeeper with a key.
Those doors slid open. A man appeared. He stepped out of the cart and looked up from the phone in his hand. Their eyes met, and…
Scarlett lost the ability to breathe.
Definitely not housekeeping.
Standing several inches above her five-six frame, this man was the epitome of tall, dark, and mouthwatering. But there was something else there. Something more.
A hint of danger, perhaps?
Um…helloooo. Does it matter? The guy has a phone!
A phone. Right.
“H-hi.” Scarlett couldn’t look away from his mesmerizing stare. “I…I-I’m sorry to bother you, but I, uh…” A nervous chuckle had her bare shoulders shaking as she stared down at her state of almost-undress. “I seemed to have locked myself out of my room. And as you can see, I don’t have a phone or…or anything but this towel, so…” She pulled in a breath. “Anyway, I was wondering, if you wouldn’t mind…I mean, if it’s not too much trouble, would it be possible for you to maybe…call the front desk? Just to ask them to send someone up here to come let me back into my room?”
Her gaze lowered to the device still clutched in his hand. A tanned, strong, masculine hand that probably knew countless ways to bring pleasure to a?—
“What’s your room number?”
Scarlett’s lungs froze for a second time. Not because the guy sounded like walking, talking sex. Which hetotallydid. But because when he’d asked the question just now, she thought he sounded almost familiar.
Only she rarely forgot a face, and this man was beyond memorable. But there was something about that rumbling timbre of his that, for a split second, almost reminded her of…
Him.
But no, that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. Thomas had shown her a picture of Oliver Garcia. She had the copy he’d given her on the guy in her bag.
He and this man shared the same olive complexion, sure. But the grainy black and white photo—correction, themugshot—of Rose’s friend had shown a very different man.
Thinner. Bearded. Long, unkempt hair that hid his gaze like a semi-sheer curtain.
The man in that picture was worlds away from the one standing before her now. And maybe that was the cause for her overactive nerves. Maybe all the millions of tiny pinpricks she was feeling deep inside had nothing to do withthisman, at all.
That has to be it.
It was the only thing that made sense. Scarlett wasn’t on edge because she was blinded by this stranger’s magnetic good looks. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen a hot guy before.
She was anxious because the man she was hoping to meet with was clearly no upstanding citizen. And since a sit-down with a criminal was new territory for her, it was only natural for her to feel a bit anxious.
“Miss?”
The low, deep voice pulled her from her wandering thoughts. Keeping her expression steady, she lifted her gaze to meet his hazel stare once more.
Scarlett’s chest tightened when she caught sight of the dark, almost black brows arching high above the man’s pointed gaze. He didn’t say anything more. Just stood there, staring back at her with a pointed look of expectancy.
Or maybe it was annoyance. A bit of both, most likely. Probably fifty-fifty. Or maybe sixty-five expectant, forty-five annoyed.
For crying out loud, would you please just say something already?