Page 40 of Out of the Gold

“Just like your father, right?”

I bark a laugh picturing my dad in the kitchen doing dishes, with a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder. “Not a bunny to be seen.”

He throws his head back and joins me with laughter. This time, it’s uninhibited. And real. “Thanks, Goldie. I needed that.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” We take a few more steps, and his unusual statement back in the restaurant bubbles to the surface. “Can I ask you a question?”

“As long as it doesn’t have to do with naked bunnies, sure.”

I draw a cross over my heart. We’re now in a secluded spot, so it’s safe to broach the subject. I hope. “What did you mean when you said that as a kid, you weren’t ‘someone you wanted to be’?”

He stops and takes my free hand in his so we’re connected by both our hands. “When I was growing up, I was into strange stuff.”

What does he mean?

My face must betray my confusion, because he tucks my hair behind my ear. “Like bees.”

Bees? “Oh.”

Without smiling, he nods. “I was fascinated by them, and my father bought me a beehive. I had the whole suit and everything. Kids can be mean, though, and they picked on me for my hobby. That Halloween, I dressed up as a beekeeper and my costume was the talk of the town. That’s when I learned it was better to play a character rather than be one.”

His words make me sad for the little boy he was. For the person who had to escape from his interests to gain acceptance, back in the judgmental schooldays of Chicago. Where the mean girls—led by his sister—terrorized me and Sophia. Guess he wasn’t immune back then, either. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

“It was a long time ago.”

Wanting to lighten the mood I had caused, I quip, “Well, it looks like the little beekeeper has stung the world.”

His lips tilt. “I try. Recently, though, all the stinging is coming from the needle of my wicked costume designer.” He brings one of my hands up and kisses the back of my hand, then we resume walking toward my hotel, accompanied by a buzzing throughout my body.

We take the stairs. When we reach the reception landing, I turn to him. “Thank you so much for the escort. And dinner. And for a great time in Positano.”

“I had the best time with you.” His gaze strays to the elevator. “But I don’t want it to end. Would you mind if I see you to your room?”

My mind blanks. He wants to walk me to my room? No way would he want me for . . . or does he? He’s older and sexy and probably gets some at the drop of a hat. Yet I’m just me, not one of his playthings. No, he’s being a gentleman—nothing more. Realizing he’s awaiting my response, I shove these nonsense thoughts to the side and mutter, “Uhm, sure.”

Despite all my concentrated efforts, my legs become more wobbly with each passing step to my room. Sophia’s accurate teasing plays on repeat, as I haven’t had a man anywhere near my room, condo—or anywhere close to my person—since Grant. By the time we arrive at my door, the hairs on my arms are standing straight up. In a shaky voice, I announce, “We’re here.”

He holds his hand out. When I don’t move, he prompts, “The key?”

“Oh!” I remain still.

He wiggles his fingers.

Charles’s childhood bees have taken up residence in my stomach. “Right.” I fumble in my purse and retrieve my keycard, which he uses to open my door.

“After you.” He sweeps his arm and bows.

As I stumble inside the room, my breathing comes in faster pants. What does he want from me in here? Besides my body. Oh God, will he kiss me? I close my eyes. No way. He can get sex anywhere, from a multitude of super-hot women. I drop my purse onto the bed as the door clicks shut.

Bracing myself, I turn to face the man in my room. He seems to have grown larger over the past minute. Yet, he looks as if he belongs here. He holds up my packages. “Okay if I put them here?” He motions to the table.

My head bobs. “Sure.” I wish I could catch my breath. The items on the bedside table are messy, so I head over there to straighten them.

He frowns. “Hey, are you all right?”

I place a knickknack down. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He looks around the room, his eyes landing on the chair. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

---