“No. He’s not worth it.” I don’t know how to explain it.
“If you don’t go back to him, then it was worth finding out what kind of man he really is.” His eyes flutter. “Was this the first time?”
I nod.
“What can I do?” he asks, getting closer to me.
This stranger with stormy green eyes is the only thing I want to think about right now. Like he’s the only thing in the world, and I don’t have a Mt. Everest-size mountain to climb in order to get my life back on track.
“I just need someone.” I swallow. “Close. Maybe, so I don’t think any of that was real. I can’t face what happened yet.”
Cormac’s expression visibly rearranges at my confession. Low and manly, he says, “I don’t make a habit of this. But I can’t walk away now. Come on.”
Chapter 4
Scarlett
Cormac steers me further past the lobby and to the elevators. One is open and waiting. Inside, the car is snug, dark wood-paneled, and creates an intimacy I should be cautious about. But I’m not.
I hit the button for the sixth floor, and the door closes. Tension is a third person in this car. When we stop at the sixth floor, Cormac reaches for the keycard to see the room number.
Taking my bag from me again, he says, “It’s this way.”
We amble down a thick carpeted corridor and stop at Room 604. Cormac swipes the card through the lock pad. It beeps, and he pushes the door open.
Holding it for me, he says, “After you.”
I step ahead of him, feeling heat come off his tall frame. Immediately, I notice the room is narrow, but warm. The bed is neatly made, and raindrops dot the windows.
Feeling the city glow from the streetlights on my face, I say, “Looks like the rain stopped.”
Cormac steps inside and closes the door. The sealing-shut noise makes all of this a lot more real.
I try to smile, but my skin feels stretched thin across my muscles and bones. Tremors rise to the surface, but I force them away. I feel safe with him. There’s a vibe I’m connecting to, but I don’t know why.
After dropping my bag on the low dresser, Cormac stays on the other side of the room with his arms folded. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute. You hit your head.”
I look for a place to sit, given the drenched state of my clothes. A metal and vinyl chair tuckedunder a desk is the best choice.
“This is a nice hotel,” I say, struggling to take off my coat. “Have you stayed here before?”
“No,” he says and crosses the room to help me out of the wet jacket.
Then he unzips his wet coat and takes both to the bathroom. He comes back, and I get a better look at him. He’s around six-one, six- two. But it’s his breadth that makes him seem taller.
“You look a little dehydrated.” He walks to the minibar and opens a bottle of Evian sitting on top.
As he pours the expensive water into a cup, I gaze at the interesting tattoos etched on the tops of his hands. Without his coat, I see more dark ink on his forearms and even his neck. Calligraphy letters scroll across his collarbone and above the neckline of that threadbare T-shirt tucked into ass-hugging cargo pants.
Whoa. There’s something about him that stirs my blood.
He turns back to me and hands me the water. “Here.”
“Thank you.” I take the cup, and it nearly slips from my hands. I hadn’t even realized they were shaking.
“Hey,” he says softly and covers his hand in mine, steadying me.
“I’m okay,” I say, thinking my clothes are already wet. And with him near, I’m getting wet in other places, too.