Page 46 of Out of the Gold

He waves and exits the trailer, causing me to turn around and walk to where Melody’s closing up her suitcase. “All alone.”

She smiles, and her whole face lights up. For some reason, this “letting her lead” thing makes me feel like a better man. And her next words confirm it. “I like being alone with you, Charles.”

I kiss her. Because I want to. And because I can.

When we separate, she whispers, “I liked our restaurant and all, but would it be okay if we had room service?”

My heart skips a beat. My mind knows better than to think she means what my body desires. I place my hand onto my belt, in an effort to calm my overeager body. “Sounds nice.” Because I can’t help myself, I add, “Your place or mine?”

She pulls the knitting needles out of her hair and shakes. “How about yours? You’ve seen mine.”

And I’d like to see more. When she goes to put the needles back into her hair, I steal them. “Let’s go.”

She looks from my hands with her knitting needles in them and back up to me and smiles. Exiting the trailer, I don’t grab her hand like I want to. When she wants everyone to know about our relationship—like I do—she’ll take it. Until then, we walk toward my hotel side by side.

Helene walks by us. Coughing, she waves. “Something’s in the air.”

Melody replies, “I heard Thomas coughing before. I hope you’re okay.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” She points toward the street that leads to their hotel. “Are you going back?”

I bite back the retort that wants to escape.

Melody says, “Not yet. I, uhm, have to discuss something with Char—Chase. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Oblivious to her word challenges, we part ways with Helene and continue toward my hotel. Soon, we’re in my room. The sight of the woman who’s taking up a big place in my heart standing in here makes me want to bellow from the rooftops. Instead, I pick up the room service menu and pass it to her. “Want to order dinner?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not hungry yet.”

I drop the menu onto the counter. Pointing to the living room area, I ask, “Talk?”

When she agrees, we head over to the couches and sit side by side. Before I can stop myself, the pressing question I’ve been disregarding pops out of my mouth. “May I ask you why?”

She tilts her head. “Why what?”

“You’re beautiful, smart, and funny. Why hasn’t someone snagged your heart yet?” And your body?

She sighs and tucks her leg under her thigh. “It’s not what you think.”

“What do I think?”

“That I’m frigid.”

I chuckle. “Not a shot in hell on that one.”

She grins, probably at the incredulous tone in my voice. “I’ve never told anyone this. Not even Sophia.”

A heavy weight descends on my chest. “If you don’t want to share, you don’t have to.”

Her damn tongue licks her pink lips again, causing me to remind my body to calm the fuck down. She blinks several times. “No. I want to. I want you to know.”

Unable to sit next to her and not hold her when she’s about to spill her guts to me, I bring her into my embrace. I whisper, “Are you sure?”

Her head bangs against my chest as she nods. After a pause, she begins, “I had a serious boyfriend when I was in college. I was a sophomore, and he was a senior. I thought the sun rose and set on Grant—that’s his name. He was a musician, the lead singer and guitarist in a band, and I went to all his shows. He reminded me of my dad, I guess.”

I don’t interrupt, just stroke her hair, reveling in the light vanilla scent that rises to my nose. She goes silent for a little while, then continues, “I thought I was in love with him. His lifestyle was one I knew and understood since birth, and we got along really well. He was a pretty big man on campus, and I was his girlfriend. It felt so . . . right.”

What did this asshole do to her? I want to scream my question from the rooftop but bite my tongue instead.

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