Page 82 of Cruel Hearts

“Looking at me like I’m a four-course meal and you’re starving to death.”

“But darlin’, you taste so good,” I drawl, hoping to hear her laugh.

She turns away, but not before I catch a smile.

Sleek and elegant, The Crowne sits on the bank of the Renegade River, on the opposite side and in the opposite direction of the industrial park where Stella almost drowned.

Shopping plazas, restaurants, and commercial office buildings surround the hotel, and in the busy area, we should be able to come and go without calling too much attention to ourselves.

In a stroke of luck, a car rental office is located in one of the plazas, and when we need to, we can swap out vehicles.

The Crowne’s kitchen is fully operational, but because of the renovation, there isn’t a chef or staff on site. We’ll have to order our meals from nearby restaurants, and we’ll start tonight when we plan Stella’s death. I can’t think about it without feeling likethere are worms wiggling around inside my stomach and I doubt I’ll want to eat anything, but Ash will never give up and it’s only a matter of time before he tries again and succeeds.

“This is nice,” Stella says, tilting her head to look through the windshield.

I turn the engine off and we sit in the quiet car. The sun beating against the glass will turn the interior into an oven, but I just need a few seconds. “You never cared, did you?”

She knows what I’m asking.

“I never did. I saw you and your sad brown eyes. I just wanted your pain to go away. You could have been the poorest man in the city, and I still would have loved you.” She traces her fingers over my cheek. The grooves her fingernails gouged into my skin have crusted over into thick scabs, and her touch lights my skin on fire. I should find some antibiotic cream. “I’m sorry about this.”

I lightly touch the space over her heart. “I’m sorry about this.” I turn my head, and my lips meet her palm.

She lets my lips linger, but I don’t dare hope.

We get out of the car.

I place a hand to her lower back and lead her into the opulent lobby. The manager, a distinguished older gentleman my father hired, is waiting for me. He shakes my hand and doesn’t mention my cheek or Stella’s rumpled state. I want to pamper her, and I ask him to show us the Honeymoon Suite though I know we won’t be sleeping together. Stella will feel safer sharing a room with someone, but the bathroom is as luxurious as they come, and I want her to enjoy it.

“Who else has arrived?” I ask as Stella explores the suite.

“Monsieur Denton,Monsieur Cook,Mademoiselle Maddoxand her companion, andMademoiselle Sanchez.”

Max is early, but I imagine he’s eager to get started and it’s possible he doesn’t feel comfortable being separated from thegroup. It’s how I’ll feel—antsy, restless. Worried about Stella. But that means everyone’s here but Nathalie.

I spent more time alone with Stella than I should have.

“One more guest should arrive soon. Her name is Nathalie Barton. Please show her to Max’s room. Is he staying in the Presidential Suite?”

“Oui,Monsieur. As you requested.”

He leaves us alone, and it’s tempting to have my way with Stella on the white canopied bed. “Why don’t you stay here, soak in a bath? Nap?” I suggest, tucking her against my chest and splaying my hands across her back. I’m taking too many liberties, too many chances, but I kiss her forehead and she doesn’t stop me. “I’ll tell the others we’re here.”

“No, I want to go with you.”

“Okay.” I’m not going to argue.

The Presidential Suite is located at the opposite end of the hallway, and in silence, Stella and I shuffle down the long, carpeted corridor, cream, muted sconces lighting our way. Someone blocked the door open, and I enter the room without knocking.

Near enormous windows that look over the Renegade, a huge conference table complete with device charging stations and a flat screen TV anchored to the wall create a professional meeting area, and Mel sits at the table, tapping away on her laptop. She doesn’t look up.

Max and Zarah are sitting on a loveseat in the middle of the room, and to say his expression is awestruck would be an understatement. His Adam’s apple bobs and his lips move, but no sound comes out. She looks a bit amused, but unsure. His cat is sleeping in her lap.

Ingrid will be standing by, and I’ll leave it alone for now. I don’t feel Max is dangerous, but whenever a guy thinks with his dick, there’s huge potential he’ll fuck up.

I know that better than anyone.

Denton’s standing at the bar, sipping scotch. I’m not the boss of anyone in this room, and he glares, waiting for me to tell him drinking right now isn’t appropriate, but I keep my mouth shut.

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