Page 42 of Mr. Dangerous

16

Rob

The next morning,I woke up in Naomi’s bed. Alone. I sat up, listening for her sounds somewhere in the suite. Instead I heard only the low hum of the air conditioner. There was a faint creak in the hallway outside, and then a high-pitched child’s voice, laughter, a parent’s answer, all moving away downthehall.

I threw aside the duvet and did a quick circuit of the suite, making sure she wasn’t there. Then I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand. Where the hell was Naomi? She’d fallen asleep the night before in the crook of my arm. I’d been happy to think I could make her feel safe again after all she’d been through, and I’d been happy to have her warm body moldedagainstmine.

Now I was worried for her all over again, and under that all, the constant throb of guilt that I was dragging Naomi into my lifeatall.

Naomi picked up, soundingsleepy. “What?”

“Whereareyou?”

She yawned. “Your room. I took yourkeycard.”

“Why the hell would youdothat?”

Her tone changed, became irritated. “I can’t sleep in the same bed as you. Your resting temperature is like one-hundred-tendegrees.”

“I’ll be right there,” I said gruffly, because I wouldn’t relax–not really–until I saw her safe and sound. I tossed the phone on the bed, hurriedly dragged on my jeans, and went down the hall to the next room. I knocked on the door andwaited.

What was wrong withthatgirl?

What was wrong with me, for that matter? She made me feel crazy. Made me long. Made me ache. Even after last night, I didn’t feel satisfied; I wanted her just as badly as I’d wanted herbefore.

She swung the door open, rubbing dark-smeared eyes with the back of her hand. As she stared at me, her raccoon eyes widened inhorror.

"I need to take a shower," she said, rushing back into the room. I caught the door with my hand and stood in the doorway, waiting to be invited into my own damn room. "When are we meeting your dad? Ten? I overslept. Or do you want to just go on your own? Since you have to call a cabanyway..."

"I want you there," I said, surprised by the sudden heat and emphasis in my voice. "We can be late. You shower. I'll go get us some lattes, see if we can get some spring inyourstep."

"Extra sugar," sheremindedme.

"I get it,"Isaid.

She tossed me thekeycard.

There was something attractively domestic about going down to the hotel lobby and getting us both coffees. I tapped on the hotel door and then swung it open, expecting to still hear the shower running. Instead, I found Naomi dressed, clean-scrubbed and fresh-faced, combing wet hair in front of themirror.

"It's nice to see there's one way you're low maintenance,"Isaid.

"Oh please," she said. "I iron your family's boxers. Don't talk to me about lowmaintenance."

"Why would youdothat?"

"Because it's my job. Look at thecontract.”

"But that'sstupid."

"I know," she said. "I didn't write the contract. Your father did. Or rather, his lawyer, but I assume your family lawyers are well-versed in your underwearpreferences."

I perched on the edge of the white duvet-covered bed. "No wonder you don't want todateme."

She made a silly face in return. "All right. I'm readytogo."

"You don't need more time?" Iasked.

She threw her hairbrush into her bag and zipped it up. "Sorry,I--"

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