Page 30 of Keep Me

“No talking to anyone. No approaching anyone—”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re just surveilling,” Reggie says, clasping her hands together in her lap to keep them still despite the fact that she can’t stop bouncing her knee eagerly as we drive to the Chariot Hotel.

Heading into a situation with a half-cocked plan isn’t something I like to do. But after thirty minutes of her constant badgering, I relented, agreeing that we only had so much time before the man realized his room key was missing and checked out. Plus, my ability to stop myself from doing something reckless is hanging on by a thread ever since she licked my fingers clean earlier in the day at the strawberry field.

Fuck, even now blood rushes to my cock remembering the wanton, heady look in her eyes as she peered up at me through her lashes. I could easily replace my fingers with my cock in my head and know exactly how she’d look, compliant and lustful on her knees.

So, yeah, the idea of blowing off some steam by doing something stupid was a hell of a lot harder to turn down. Plus, she gets this childlike excitement when she’s fixated on an idea that I can’t help but want to feed. And I’ll keep her safe while doing it.

The Chariot is a ritzy hotel with gaudy, Vegas Grecian–inspired decor. Everything is marble or gilded, and structurally irrelevant columns are everywhere. It’s the exact place I’d expect a kingpin to stay. I don’t voice my concern because I’m sure it’s crossed her mind too, but out of all the hotels our man could be staying at…it doesn’t look good for her father.

As planned, I enter the lobby a few seconds behind her and sit in one of the lounge chairs while she goes straight to the front desk. She talks animatedly to the desk attendant, hands waving and propping her chin on her hand, elbow on the desk. My lip curls at seeing her pretend to flirt and get all flustered around another man. The sour taste of unjustified jealousy slides down my throat. I grip the armrest tighter and tell myself to get it fucking together.

Cash got himself lured to an empty warehouse, stabbed in the fucking leg, and then arrested as the June Harbor Slayer because he let a woman get in his head. Finn saw a similar fate when he nearly started a war over a woman. I’m heading down a dangerous road if I’m ready to tear off some mid-level hotel employee’s head after feeding her a goddamn strawberry. The leather creaks under my fist as my nails dig into the chair.

She starts walking toward the elevators, and I stand to follow her. I relax my jaw after having it clenched since our arrival. She looks lethal and fucking divine in high heels and a tight, black dress, and I can’t help but take a moment to appreciate the sight. She spots me, and I let my eyes continue their journey down her body and toned, golden legs. She inhales pointedly like she’s peeved and rolls her eyes to the ceiling, but I catch the way she crosses her legs, pressing her thighs together.

She ignores me as I stand behind her, like two strangers waiting for the elevator. A shudder rolls down her back as I take a step closer. “Nervous?” I whisper with a blank face, watching her reaction in the shiny metal elevator doors. Her first instinct is to pull her bottom lip between her teeth, but then she catches herself and purses her lips with a cocky tilt of her head.

The ding of the arriving elevator rings, and she smirks like she got away with something as the doors slide open. Saved by the bell. As soon as the doors close with us inside, she’s asking, “What do you know about Diablo Entertainment?”

“Haven’t heard of them. Why?”

She picks at her nails, brows pinched. “They’ve rented the room.” She holds up the key card. “I feel like I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t place it.”

She taps her foot as the elevator rises, then whips her head to me. “What if we run into my father or Ángel?”

I shrug, pushing up my sleeves. “Then we say we came to see them.” She visibly exhales with such an easy explanation.

We reach our floor and she whispers, “Room 1604. He said it should be to the left.”

Rounding the corner of the elevator bank, I read the room numbers. 1600, 1602, 1604—

The calm, collected focus I always have going into jobs frays into kinetic action. I grab Reggie around the waist, one hand clamping over her mouth, and yank us back behind the small wall. “Someone’s at the door,” I whisper into her ear. Her breath quickens against the palm of my hand, and her stomach contracts where I hold her tightly. There’s the sharp rap of a knock, and she stiffens.

Now that the initial adrenaline rush has passed, all I can think about is the feel of her body against mine. She’s pressed against my chest, and I try to control my breathing so she doesn’t feel my increasingly heavy breaths.

Another quick succession of knocks sound, and she quietly and tediously pulls her phone from her purse. Turning on the selfie camera, she holds it out in front of her to get a visual on the man behind us around the corner. His gray hair is styled neatly, like his designer suit and Italian leather loafers. He looks obnoxiously wealthy like every other guest. He glances nervously from side to side, then checks his Rolex.

The longer he waits, the more he shifts from foot to foot and the redder his pale cheeks turn. He’s clearly anxious and doesn’t want to be seen in front of this room. He checks his watch twice in the span of thirty seconds. He tries knocking once more, then shakes his head with a loud sigh.

Instead of walking back the way he came, he starts toward us. Reggie yanks her phone back toward her body, and I can feel her take a shocked inhale. There’s only one thing I can think to do. It’s still for her safety.

I spin us and push her against the wall, one hand digging into her hip. I readjust my hand on her mouth to grip her chin. She buries her fists in my chest, and I genuinely can’t tell if it’s to keep me back or go along with the act.

“You're gonna quit playing and come to my room, right?” I groan with a convincing roll of my hips into hers as the gray-haired man enters the elevator bank. I hear him scoff at us, and I can admit I probably would too if I stumbled upon a couple groping each other in a hotel hallway. Reggie’s eyes drift over to him, and I pull her chin back to me forcefully. They narrow in offense. My hand leaves her hip, and a small gasp falls from her parted lips as I brush aside a strand of hair that had fallen out of place when I spun us. “Come on, baby, you know we’d have some fun together.”

She arches her back off the wall. Her chest presses into mine on shallow breaths. Our hearts beat in tandem. “I know. That’s the problem.” Her voice is low and husky, believable—too believable. “We’d have too much fun.”

I can hear the man tap his foot behind us and the gears of the elevator whirring to life, but it all feels petty and irrelevant with this woman caged between my arms. All of it. Especially all the reasons this is a bad idea. My eyes fix on her lips when her pink tongue swipes across her bottom lip. “What if we pretend we hate each other?” My nose lowers to brush against hers, and her breath feathers against my face. “Bet you’d like to fuck me like you hate me, huh?”

She waits until the man is safely inside the elevator and it starts descending to push me off her. “I do hate you.” She crosses her arms protectively across her chest.

“Funny way of showing it…” I taunt. She opens her mouth, but then shakes her head with a roll of her eyes as if I’m not worth the effort. “Mentirosa.”

1. Put It on Me—Matt Maeson

Chapter 15

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