Page 21 of Run

But I had no other choice. Vincent was already making me imagine things, things that were impossible. If I fed that feeling, let myself be swayed by his words without mounting a defense, I’d be lost. And I couldn’t be lost because I knew that would cost me my hard-fought freedom.

I waited for Vincent’s response, prepared myself for the argument that would ensue. An argument would put us on familiar ground, would be a welcome respite from the feelings that threatened to overtake me.

Instead of arguing, lashing out at me as I had him, Vincent stood, and quickly dressed. I instantly missed the lazy sprawl of his body, the easy smile that had covered his face despite the fact that his smile had been at my expense.

I regretted my words, and even more, I regretted all I had missed. I’d let myself be lulled, comforted by what I remembered of the Vincent I used to know, but this moment only served to remind me that I knew nothing. A lifetime had passed in these years, and I couldn’t rely on what I’d known of him then when dealing with the man he was now.

Which left me at a complete disadvantage, one even deeper than I had realized before. How should I handle this new man, one so familiar yet such a stranger to me?

I didn’t know, so instead of trying to figure it out, I went with the mundane.

“How did you get in here?” I asked.

He’d been looking at me intently, not speaking, and I realized that for one of the only times since I’d known him, I had no idea what he was thinking.

“Easy. I told them I was waiting for my wife and I’d forgotten my key.”

“And they let you in?” I asked, appalled it had been so simple. I didn’t doubt Vincent’s charm, but still…

“Yeah,” he said. “Guess I had the look of a man in love.”

His words were brimming with scorn, but my heart warmed nonetheless. I ignored that, though, and said, “That took finesse. Not what I usually think of with you.”

“Well, Kelly, some things change,” he said.

“And some things don’t,” I replied, glaring at him, my anger again stoked by his calm use of my now-useless fake identity.

I could have kicked myself when he smiled. Yeah, Vincent had changed, had grown up, but maybe I hadn’t. He still knew how to push my buttons, and I still fell for it every time.

There was no way to win this battle, so I focused on the here and now. “So how did you know I was in this hotel? Did you follow me?”

“No,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, a move that drew my gaze to his corded forearms, my hands tingling at the thought of feeling his strong muscle under my palms. “Process of elimination.”

Vincent’s voice pulled me out of my vivid fantasy and back to the present.

“Meaning?” I asked, hoping he mistook the huskiness in my voice for sleepiness and not desire.

The glint in his eye told me he hadn’t, but he continued on. “You told me once that your mother always said if you were in trouble, you should go to the nicest hotel you could find, hunker down, and regroup. You’re working in that shitty bar, which told me you didn’t have the money for a five-star, so this seemed like the next best possibility,” he said.

I glanced at him, unwilling to be baited by his smug grin, but impressed nonetheless, far more hopeful than I would confess that I still meant something to him.

“So you listened to me then?” I whispered.

“I always listened to you, Giovanna,” he replied, his voice edging with something almost like tenderness.

I couldn’t refute his words, but I was still surprised. While I knew he’d loved me, I’d never thought he’d listened so intently, that all these years later he’d remember such a small anecdote from my mother. But he had, and realizing that only intensified the emotions I was fighting so hard to push away.

“You’re an asshole, but that’s smart,” I said.

That was another thing between us that hadn’t changed. We always gave credit to each other when it was due, and in this case I couldn’t deny that it was. “So what now, Vincent?” I said, squaring to face him fully, finished with allowing the anticipation of knowing why he’d tracked me down to continue to eat at me.

“Now you go home.”

He said it like it was a forgone conclusion, like no other possibility could even be considered. Like I was still the girl who did as she was told. The anger that rushed through me was near explosive.

“I’m not going,” I said, the icy steel in my voice in no way reflecting the intensity of what I felt.

“Giovanna, that wasn’t a question,” he said.

---