Page 72 of Simon Says

That sounded reasonable enough to agree. “Not a bad idea.”

“This place isn’t the best. You know that.”

“It’s a dive—but it’s cheap.”

“Is money an issue for you?”

She grinned. “Not yet.” But it would be soon.

“All right, then. Cheap or not, after what happened tonight, don’t you think it’d be a good idea to move out of here?”

If the push down the stairs hadn’t rattled her so badly, she’d have thought of it herself. “Yeah, I do.” She started to open her door, but Simon told her to wait.

Like a true gentleman, he came around and opened the door for her, then stayed close, holding her hand while they went inside to gather her few belongings.

When Dakota flipped on the light, Simon looked at her room with curiosity. Her satchel, overflowing with snacks, rested on the dresser. The empty shopping bag, evidence of her impromptu trip to the mall for a party dress and shoes, lay crumpled on the bed next to her open suitcase. Her thermos stood on the nightstand, her boots on the floor.

“You didn’t bring much with you, did you?”

“I didn’t expect to be here long.”

Hands on his hips, Simon stared at her. “I disappointed you by not agreeing right away to see Barnaby.”

She’d disappointed herself more by asking. “Forget it. Far as I’m concerned, Barnaby is one topic we should kill, bury, and never mention again.”

Her vehemence had Simon frowning, but after a few moments, he nodded his agreement. “Do you need to check your phone for messages before we get out of here?”

“No.” She was a cautious sort by nature, but especially when dealing with Barnaby. “I didn’t tell anyone where I’d be staying. Anyone who might need to reach me has my cell number.”

He picked up her thermos, which was empty, and replaced the lid. “Do you want to change before we leave?”

She hadn’t thought about it, but one look at her ruined dress and hose, and it seemed like one hell of an idea. “Yeah. Thanks.” Going to her suitcase, Dakota withdrew a worn pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and warm socks.

As she ducked into the bathroom, Simon busied himself by strolling restlessly around the small room.

The mirror provided something of a shock for Dakota—she looked hideous. Worse than hideous. No wonder Simon hadn’t mentioned sex. Why would he want to?

After changing, Dakota made a face at herself and took a few more minutes to remove her destroyed makeup and the traces of blood from her cut, which, once cleaned, looked to be no more than a deep scratch with discoloration around it.

Every movement caused an ache. Her muscles were stiff, her flesh black and blue. Her stomach still roiled and her head pounded. Before gathering up her few toiletries, she brushed her hair and pulled it into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she said to Simon, “I hope you have a coffeemaker.”

“I do.” He scowled at her sweatshirt, which was another gift from Barber. “But you drink too much of that stuff.”

“Right.” She offered up a sneer. “I’ll start a twelve-step program soon, I swear. But not tonight.”

Simon drew her to him and examined her injured cheek. “Not too bad, but you might end up with a small scar.”

That struck Dakota as so ironic that she said without thinking, “Won’t be the first.” The words had no sooner left her mouth than she caught her breath.Idiot!

She tried to ease away from Simon, but he didn’t let her go, and she didn’t want to make an issue of it.

“You have other scars?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“How?”

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