Page 127 of That One Touch

“She’s staying at a hotel near here. I just need to find somewhere to park.”

“Where?” Delilah asked. “Where do you park?”

That was a good question.

“I’ll try the hotel lot,” he told her. That’s where he’d parked last time. And it had been a squeeze because parking spaces in Manhattan weren’t built for trucks like the Beast.

Luckily, there was a space. He ignored the large signs telling him he’d be paying fifty dollars for the luxury of having to wriggle his damn body through the smallest gap in his door because he had to park against a Porsche.

By the time he’d managed to get Delilah out, he’d broken a sweat. He caught a glimpse of himself in the side mirror and winced. Damn, he needed a shower. And a good night’s sleep.

Cassie would probably take one look at him and run away.

He clicked the lock on his keys and reached for Delilah’s hand.

“You don’t let go, okay? It’s real busy here and there are a lot of people. We stick together.”

“Like glue.” She nodded.

“Exactly.” Even walking across the lot was a lesson in dodging injury. They narrowly avoided being flattened by a Toyota, then had to jump out of the way of a motorcycle that looked like it was trying to break the land speed record.

Pres sighed and lifted Delilah into his arms. He could be quicker this way. They walked through the rotating door into the hotel lobby, and Delilah was twisting in his arms to try to take everything in. In the end he put her back down on the floor as holding her was too much like trying to wrangle a wet alligator.

“Is she here?” Delilah asked, pulling at his hand. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask at the desk.” He swallowed hard. “Listen, she’s not expecting us, so I’ll need to explain a few things.”

“Like what?”

Like what an idiot I’ve been. “I don’t know. She might be surprised is all.”

“But she’ll be happy too, right?”

“Yeah. I hope so.” Fuck, he really hoped so. Was he making another mistake? He had a feeling that only time would tell him the answer to that.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked when they’d finally made it to the front of a long line of guests trying to check out.

“Uh yeah. I’m looking for Cassie Simons. Room seven eight one. Could you call up and let her know I’m here?” He’d thought about calling her himself, but he wanted to give her time to compose herself.

“Sure. One moment.” The receptionist lifted the phone receiver to her ear and pressed some buttons. A minute later she gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid she’s not there.”

“Do you know where she is?” What a stupid fucking question. This hotel had at least five hundred guests. They didn’t exactly put trackers on people.

“I’m afraid not. Would you like to leave a message?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll call her. Thank you.”

“Where is she?” Delilah asked, as they walked away from the desk.

“I don’t know. Maybe she already left for the day.”

“To where? A dance school?”

“She’s not at a dance school, remember?” he told her. “She’s singing.”

“But not with you.”

“No.” He gave her a tight smile.

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