Page 159 of Beat of Love
A deep knowing that this woman was made for him.
Twenty years ago, she had been the forbidden one. His brother’s girlfriend. Since then, life had taken him on a twisted and terrible journey before disgorging him right on her doorstep.
But Brandy-Lyn was his.
Somehow, he had to make this fake engagement a real one, because his feelings for her were as real as they got.
“Red,” he whispered, ready to lay bare his soul, but another yawn stopped him short. And because he was staring intently at her, he caught a glimpse of her tonsils before she slapped her hand over her mouth.
A rueful smile twisted his lips. Now was not the time for his confession.
Two steps later, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. And his spine tingled. He stopped, scanning the area. But the security lighting only did so much. There were too many pockets of deep shadows.
“What’s wrong?” Brandy-Lyn whispered, her hand clasping his bicep as she moved closer.
He didn’t answer. Just steered her inside the hotel with brisk urgency, keeping his body between her and whatever danger had stirred his instincts.
The lobby was quiet. Not a soul in sight.
He kept her close as they climbed the stairs, his senses on high alert. It wasn’t until they reached his room that he exhaled a sharp breath — the thread he’d wedged into the doorjamb was undisturbed.
He unlocked, turned the knob, and pushed the door open, giving the hallway one last glance. Empty. Thank God. “Waithere.” He dropped her bag and did a quick walkthrough. All clear. He beckoned her in, grabbed her bag, locking the door behind them and sliding the chain into place.
The chain wouldn’t stop someone determined, but it’d buy him a few precious seconds to grab the weapon KS had supplied him with.
Brandy-Lyn stumbled across the carpet and face-planted on the bed with a mighty groan.
Rafferty dropped her case on the luggage rack, extracted his cellphone, and found Stas’s number. He spoke as soon as the man answered. “Need a security sweep of the hotel area.”
The man didn’t waste time asking questions. “On it. Brandy with you?”
“Yes.”
“Keep her with you.”
“Won’t let her out of my sight.”
On the drive to the hotel, they had discussed their sleeping arrangement. Considering small-town gossip, not sharing a room was bound to get back to Mrs. Bronson and make her question their engagement.
He’d determined to sleep on the couch.
Looking at the woman draped across the bed, he asked, “What happened to that bath you were harping on earlier?” The mere idea of Brandy-Lyn in the large oval tub had been sweet torture. Almost as much as seeing her on that big bed.
She mumbled something incoherent.
Grinning, he emptied his pockets, placing his cellphone, wallet, and keys on the dresser, and his weapon in the bedside drawer. “How about I fill the tub for you?”
Pushing up on her elbows, she twisted to look at him. “You’ll do that for me?”
The confusion in her voice made him frown. “Brandy-Lyn, you drove twelve hours and packed up half a house. I owe you so much more than filling a tub with water.”
She turned over and moved to the edge of the bed. “Nobody’s ever run a bath for me. Not since childhood, anyway.”
46
Caring
“Not even that dick of an ex of yours?”
