Page 37 of The Making of Marnie Jones

“To go.” He pointed to the doors leading outside.

“I planned to take a cab to my hotel and rent a car in the morning.”

He shook his head. “My car is in the lot. The shuttle bus’ll take us over there. I can drive you to your hotel and pick you up tomorrow. No sense wasting money on a cab and a rental.” When the words left his mouth, he must’ve realized the absurdity of his comments because he chuckled.

Laura Derks/Marnie Jones could afford any transportation she chose.

She relented a bit. She was tired, stinky, cranky, and not enamored with the idea of taking a taxi in the middle of the night. “I'll take a ride to the hotel.”

Relief crossed his expression.

“Great.” He strode out to the traffic circle, tugging her luggage with annoying ease.

She followed.

After a few minutes, they were loaded onto a shuttle bus. The rain’d stopped, but the air was still muggy. The shuttle pulled up to the lot, and they got out.

Jake used the remote, disarming the alarm and unlocking the locks.

Somehow, she expected him to have something flashier—something less sedate.

Instead of a red sports car, he owned a nice mid-sized SUV, forest-green, and a hybrid, according to the label.

Practical and environmentally friendly. A bonus in her eyes, because she also drove a little hybrid she loved.

He placed her bag in the back and guided her to the passenger door. He opened it for her.

Although she had to stretch, she managed to get in unaided. The vehicle was not friendly for someone of her stature. She'd always felt petite, but Jake McGrath reinforced her lack of height in spades.

He rounded the hood and hopped in effortlessly.

“How tall are you?” Her tone was churlish, but she didn’t care.

“Six feet. Tallest in my family.” He started the ignition and they drove in silence until he pulled up to the payment kiosk and met her gaze. “Where to?”

His question startled her and sat heavy in the pit of her stomach.

Shoot.

How could you be so stupid?

She’d been so focused on the flight, she hadn’t booked a hotel. “I…well, I'm not sure.” The flight had been much more eventful and stressful than she planned. “Since the city is huge, I planned to get a hotel close to where Olivia is located.”

Please believe me.

“You're not staying at your father’s?”

She chose not to engage in that particular discussion. “I'll meet with Mrs. Grant somewhere low-key for lunch. My father and I have no reason to see each other. I could thank him for the money, but I doubt he’d care.”

“You haven't booked a hotel.” He drove the SUV up to the kiosk and handed over the requisite fortune. He eased out, joining the cars departing the airport as if it were second nature to him—which it probably was—and quickly glanced at her. “How are you planning to deal with that minor problem?”

She tapped her knapsack. “There isn’t a hotel in the city that won't gladly take my platinum AMEX card.”

He fixed his eyes on the road, his index finger drumming to some unheard beat.

“I've never used it, but I figured no time like the present.”

“You can stay with me.” He merged easily into traffic, a steady hand at the wheel. “Nice condo. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, plenty of privacy.”

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