Page 35 of Free to Run
The outer door of the suite was the first of three to be slammed shut with such force, I swore the windows rattled. When the hair dryer turned on, I exhaled slowly. Alison hasn’t said another word, but she’s made her feelings clear with regard to my presence.
Pulling out my phone, I scroll through my contacts and push my sister’s number. Before it even has a chance to ring, I hear a frantic “Where are you?”
Damnit. As I’m explaining to Cassidy that both Alison and I are safe for the evening, I hear a knock at the door. I open it to accept a bag full of sleepwear, as Alison was obviously not expecting to be in the city tonight. Cassidy is talking in my ear, worried about Alison. I’m half listening as I walk around, holding the smallish bag.
I’m about to place the bag on the table when I hear the hair dryer cut off. I interrupt Cassidy mid-sentence to say, “Hold on.” I walk to the double doors protecting the master bedroom suite. I knock loudly and wait.
Within seconds, the door flies open to reveal the Alison I’ve been searching for.
Her hair is untamed, and her face is flushed from the heat, leaving her cheeks rosy.
“What?” she snaps. Her temper hasn’t abated much in the few moments we’ve been apart.
I hold up the bag between us. “Dropped off by the bellman.”
She glares and then mutters, “Thanks,” right before she slams the door in my face.
Again.
Pulling the phone back up to my ear, I hear my sister laughing on the other end. “Is there something funny?” I growl into the phone.
“I’m just hoping your room is soundproof because when Ali lets go of her temper, which it sounds like she is, it can get pretty loud.” Now she’s cackling. While a part of me is pleased the worry has left her voice, I still have the rest of the evening to get through.
“Cass—” I begin, before my sister interrupts. What is it with these Freeman women not letting a man get a word in edgewise?
“Keene, just deal with the part of her that has to do with you. Don’t try to fix anything having to do with us.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out.
The door opens behind me, and my brain stops functioning. That’s the only way I can explain my lungs seizing at the sight of Alison in an electric-blue satin sleep shirt, carrying a glass of wine.
Muttering, “Gotta go,” I disconnect the call and focus my attention on the woman making her way over to the table, perusing the pitiful remnants of her meal. She tops off her wine before moving away.
The silence between us is broken only by the thunder and lightning outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the suite. Alison watches the storm, each flicker illuminating her golden hair as she sips her wine, pretending to ignore me.
I wait. I’m good at this game, better than her. I’ll wait for her to break, to ask me what I want, why I’m there, what I’m thinking.
Her.
It’s been Alison I’ve wanted, craved, and needed since that first night at the Plaza too damned long ago. It was the wrong time with what could have been. And I ran to protect us both from what was sure to be a self-destructive failure of a relationship. Then I found my sister and realized who Alison was. To Cassidy. To me. And the chasm between us seemed to widen because, unlike me, Alison doesn’t play games. With her body, heart, or her mind.
Instead, she closed down. She stepped back. She escaped.
I feel her doing it now.
I step closer to her, studying her for any kind of change in her body, her face, her movement. Had I not been trained to watch people as closely as I had for years, I might have missed the minuscule tightening of her hand on the stem of her glass. Her face remains blank when she turns to me.
“Why are you here?” Her voice is flat, and that’s disturbing. Disturbing because Alison is electrifying. Energy. Being around her is what I imagine orbiting the sun is like; you’re drawn in despite knowing its danger. “You have what I assume to be a lovely condo. Why were you sitting outside my hotel room?”
“We weren’t done with our conversation,” I declare, shrugging out of my suit coat. My tie follows. Both land on the back of the sofa as I make my way toward her.
She snorts derisively. “What conversation? The one where you want to use me to get off when you’re bored? Nope. What else do we have to talk about?” She’s glaring at me.
I’ll take that any day over the blank mask I’ve recently been privy to.
Moving closer to her, I see her hand tighten even further on the stem. She shores up her mask before turning to look at me. It’s in her eyes though. I see it. The weariness, the pain, the fatigue. The desperation she can’t quite hide anymore. At least not from me.
And it makes me feel like the biggest asshole, knowing I’m the reason she feels this way.
I clear my throat. “I meant our conversation around copyright protection and fine arts that we began discussing at the Plaza, Alison. I still want to hear the impact that case has on Emily’s work.”
