Page 36 of Demons

“Because I can,” he replied.

Okay, fine, don’t tell me.

I chewed my bottom lip. I wanted both, and I was curious as to if he could actually find both of them in the city. He sure looked smug about it.

“Both.” It sounded like a challenge because it was.

He seemed to be amused by it. I watched him drop his gaze to his phone and text something, then look back up at me.

“Anything else?” he asked.

He was so sure of himself.

“Lemon crinkle cookies,” I added.

He lifted one eyebrow as he held my gaze. “Those have already been delivered to the suite. You’ll have to get more creative, little doll.”

There was that name again. My stomach got all funny, and I tried not to be affected by it. That name was very likely an insult. Having him call me little and doll made me sound childlike. Still, the way his voice got deeper and raspier when he said it got to me.

“You want lemon drops or dirty martinis for your cocktails?”

I raised both my eyebrows. He knew my drink choices too. Should I be concerned? Did these things make it into a background check?

“Plural,” I replied. “You’re assuming I will want more than one.”

“You just won a race. I thought you’d like to celebrate.”

I pressed my lips together. Maybe drinking would ease the tension I felt when I was around him. Especially since Thursday. “Both.”

He smirked then and went back to texting on his phone.

“How do you know my favorite foods and cocktails?” I blurted out, unable to help myself.

“I told you, I’m thorough.”

Thorough in what? Stalking?

I sighed and turned to look back out the window. This man was always going to be hard to understand. Or I wanted it to all mean more when, in reality, this was what they did for their jockeys. I’d never ridden for billionaires. They might be used to jockeys who expected it. I was not a diva.

I kept silent the rest of the way back to the hotel. Replaying every moment today was enough to entertain me and not focus on the awkwardness between Thatcher and me. Who was I kidding? He was never awkward. That was all me.

When the driver opened the limo door once we reached the hotel, I climbed out, not looking back at Thatcher. His presence behind me, however, was impossible to ignore. The desire to turn around and look at him, talk to him, listen to his voice made it difficult to keep walking toward the elevators.

The older man, who wore a suit and stood at the doors to the elevators, smiled at me as I approached. I didn’t understand why they had someone to press the button for you or hold open the doors for you at the elevator. It seemed like a pointless job, but he had a kind smile and seemed to like what he did.

“Good evening, Miss Jewel, Mr. Thatcher,” the man said with a nod of his head as the doors opened for us.

“Good evening,” I replied.

Thatcher’s hand touched my back, making me tense up, and with a nudge, he led me inside.

When I turned around to see the doors closing, I glanced over at him. He was watching me with an amused smirk on his face. He didn’t do that a lot, but when he did, it was mostly directed at me.

“What is it?” I asked, feeling somewhat annoyed.

His right eyebrow lifted ever so slightly as he studied me. Then, the ding, signaling that we’d reached the top floor, went off, and he waved a hand for me to exit first. Demanding any kind of explanation from Thatcher was pointless. I walked out and kept going down the hallway, moving over to the side when I reached the double doors. His addictive scent, along with the warmth of his body standing so close to me, made me lightheaded as he opened the door, then walked inside.

I needed to slap myself and stop getting all messed up in the head around him. I followed him inside the suite, and he made his way over to the bar as my gaze took in the scene in front of me. The dining table had four three-tiered serving trays. The first one was filled with berries and grapes, the next was macarons in an array of colors, the third had lemon crinkle cookies only, and the last had different exotic cheeses and fancy crackers. A bottle of champagne was in a gold bucket of ice at the end with only one flute beside it.

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