Page 96 of The Wrong Promise

I cock an eyebrow at her. “Our dessert is yet to be served.”

A sexy smile slowly grows on her lips. “Wouldn’t you prefer dessert in our room?”

I lift the napkin from my lap and place it on the table. I lift a finger to the waiter and down the rest of my whiskey. “The bill, please, sir.”

I pay for the bill, take Zara’s hand, and don’t let it go as we take the elevator to the fourth floor, and only let go to fetch the key to open our door. I hold it open for her to enter first, and she walks directly to the window, staring toward the view of Edinburgh Castle, situated high on Castle Hill. It is one of the oldest fortified places in Europe, and Zara loved the tour yesterday and hearing about the rich history from royalty to the military and ‘the prison’. It evoked an emotional sadness in her as we walked through the Scottish National War Memorial.

She hasn’t gotten over losing Piper, and now with her life changing again, her tears well in her eyes, and I don’t know if she’s happy or sad. All I want to do is to create happy memories for her. Especially when she visited Piper’s memorial site last weekend and said she didn’t want to leaveLondon as she was leaving Piper. I have made it my mission to turn every day into a positive memory until we leave.

I start the open fire in our hotel suite then go and stand behind Zara by the window. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and pull her close to me.

“There is so much of this country I haven’t explored yet,” she murmurs.

“No. But we can return any time. Plan short vacations during the year. And not just here. We can travel anywhere and even more of the US and Canada,” I tell her. “Places closer to home.”

Zara turns and loops her arms around my neck. Her brown eyes dance with amusement. “Look at Jobe Hendricks planning vacations for fun and not business.”

I kiss her forehead. “I blame you, Ms. Hart. You have changed me.”

“To want to take vacations like normal people do,” she says in jest.

“To want to take a vacation, period. Before you, there was no time for these things. You have given me perspective, and just so you know, I’ll go anywhere with you.”

“You’re so romantic.” She kisses my lips in a peck. Only I keep her there, hold her face, and kiss her deeply. Her hands go to my chest, unbuttoning my shirt. I let go of her cheeks to shrug my jacket off my shoulders. I toss it toward the chair and focus my attention on removing Zara’s tight silk dress. It slides down her body and pools on the carpet at her feet. She carefully steps out of it in her heels.

“Be careful with that…” I toss it toward my coat, “… it’s delicate material,” she mutters.

I grin at my girl. “I’ll buy you another.” Scooping her up in my arms, I lay her on the bed and kiss her soft skin at the back of her neck. “I love you, Zara,” I whisper. “With all my being.”

“And I love you,” she says with the gentleness I love in her.

I kiss her all over, make love to her, and adore every inch of her body. There is nothing I love more than the sound of my name coming from her lips as I bring her to orgasm over and over. After lying in each other’s arms while we simply listen to the other breathe, she heads to the shower and emerges in a robe.

“We should watch the game,” she says, bringing me out of a satisfied daze.

We should. It’s the least I can do to support Byron since I’m not present at the game. He understood my absence when I promised him to be there for the majority of home games once we return to Los Angeles.

The commentators are talking, yet we barely hear them over the music as the atmosphere intensifies while the players are about to run out of the tunnel. The camera flips to our team seats, where Charlotte stands beside Coach. She is clapping in time with the music with her back turned to the opposition. The camera flips back to the tunnel where the lights are flashing. The team runs out, and the crowd cheers, the chanting louder when Byron appears. He bounces up and down on the spot, looking good, then grabs the ball, runs toward the basket, and dunks it. The crowd goes bananas, and it’s only the warm-up.

The fans have missed my brother.

“Can I fix you a drink?” I stand and pour myself a whiskey while the team continues to warm up. The camera angle flicks to the Chicago team.

“No, thank you,” Zara says, invested in watching the television. “I feel for Lottie. It must be hard to watch her ex.”

Charlotte is a survivor and as determined as the rest of us. “BJ is not only Lottie’s ex. He was part of our family formore than six years. He spent more time with us than his Australian family.”

The camera focuses in on Brandon’s face. “He doesn’t have the Hendricks’ poker face,” she muses. “He looks worried.”

“It’s because he’s not a Hendricks,” I retort. “He didn’t learn a damn thing by running away. Everything would have worked out fine if he gave it time. Now he has to face the consequences of being a coward.”

“Time,” Zara repeats in a softer voice. “It takes longer for some to heal.”

Before I respond, we are both confused, watching my brother. He has run up the stands to his girlfriend, Giana.

“What is he doing?” Zara asks.

“She normally wishes him good luck, and he kisses her.” But there is something else happening.

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