Page 9 of Resisting Isaac
I nod and slide my ID over the desk, careful to not reveal my name since we agreed to no names. Then make direct eye contact with the young girl so she can focus for five seconds.
“I came by earlier and already checked in. I’m in town forwork. I’m supposed to be in a suite on the top floor,” I tell her. “But they said they were still cleaning it when I arrived.”
A flicker of something tightens her expression. “Of course. They took your bags up already. I think my manager left a note here with the key somewhere.” She scrambles until she produces a keycard. “Room 633. Looks like it’s a king suite.”
“Perfect,” my cowboy says with a wink at me.
The clerk huffs out a breath and types something into the system. “You’re good to go.” She forces a tight smile at me, then eyes him wistfully, and I’ve never been more certain that someone wanted to murder me and steal my identity than right this moment.
I take the key card and my ID from her, mumbling a thank you she ignores.
We head toward the elevator, and I steal a glance at him. “Come here often?”
“Not really,” he says. “I played high school football with her older brother. Nothing going on there.”
I lift a brow. “She seems to be keeping hope alive.”
He leans closer, voice dropping. “Does it matter?”
My breath catches in my throat. “Um, no?”
He chuckles softly as his gaze dips to my lips. “Good. Because you’re the only woman I’m thinking about at the moment.”
I should stop walking. I should stop this. Tell him this was a dumb, impulsive idea and send him home. I have an early morning tomorrow—it wouldn’t even be a lie.
Instead, I follow him into the elevator like a woman under a spell.
The elevator is one of those old, restored ones—rich mahogany paneling, brass rails, the faint scent of leather and wood polish clinging to the air like history.
And him.
God, the scent of him.
I swear the small space shrinks the second the doors close, like the air gets sucked out by the gravity of his presence. I can feel it between us—thick and hot and crawling over my skin like wildfire.
“Still want this to be anonymous?” he asks once the doors close.
“I think that’s probably best,” I say, unsure as to why I want this to feel so scandalous.
His mouth twitches, like he knows I’m full of shit.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, his knuckles brushing mine as the elevator climbs. “Then I won’t ask your name until morning.”
I don’t tell him there’s a good chance I’ll be gone before he wakes up. I’m supposed to be at Triple Creek Ranch at 7:00 a.m. sharp for breakfast then training. My dad always taught us to be ten minutes early everywhere we went—fifteen if it was for work. Early was on time, he’d say, and on time was late.
But I can’t make myself think about tomorrow yet. I can barely think about anything other than my proximity to this man.
What is it about elevators? My mind conjures a vivid fantasy where this one breaks down and he devours me while we wait for help. I try to shake it away, not wanting to create any false expectations that might lead to a letdown later.
He watches me like he's already undressing me with his eyes, reading my mind while enjoying the look of me squirming under the weight of it.
"Nervous?" he finally asks, his voice pitched low. Rough.
"Not even a little." My voice is steadier than I expected.
One side of his mouth tips up. “Liar.”
I bite my lower lip, fighting off the grin of being called onmy bullshit as the elevator comes to a stop. I swallow hard as he steps closer, deliberately, leaving just enough space that we’re not touching.
