Page 16 of Moonlighter
Somebody grumbles. And then two strong arms lift me right off the bed. There’s cool air where my pillow should be. That’s inconvenient. But then the pillow is replaced by the firm warmth of a man’s chest. I press my cheek against it. He smells like clean shirts and spicy cologne.
“I’m assuming you had shoes on at some point, Engels?” The question rumbles against my face.
Shoes.Man.Rock-solid chest. And nobody calls me Engels, except…
I wake suddenly to find that I’m in Eric Bayer’s arms. And he’s carrying me down the aisle of the jet. And I startle so violently that my head smacks into his unshaven jaw.
“Ow!” he growls.
“Put me down!” I yelp. “What the hell?” I can’t get off the plane like this. CEOs are not carried off jets like children.
Eric sets me on my feet in a hurry. But I’m wobbly from sleep, so I end up grabbing his firm torso with two hands to steady myself. Good lord, the man is like sun-warmed concrete. Hot and unyielding.
He looks down at me, one eyebrow cocked. “You weren’t listening.”
“I couldn’t hear you!” I holler. “I was sleeping! What time is it?”
“Eleven p.m., Hawaii time.”
“Which is…” I do the math. “Four in the morning New York time.” No wonder I’m so out of it. “Sorry, um, about whacking you in the chin. Let’s roll.”
He chuckles, and then rubs his jaw. “Sure, Sleepmonster. Let’s roll.”
“Hey!You’rethe Sleepmonster.” That’s what I used to call him that summer on the Vineyard. I always woke up first. Then I’d pace the second-floor hallway, making noise and generally being a pain in the ass until he finally crawled out of bed.
“Not anymore, apparently.” He turns and exits the plane.
I need a minute to step back into my shoes and grab my carryon. I haven’t thought about that summer in a long time. After he finally got up, I used to instruct him on what we were doing that day. It might be horseback riding, or tennis, or collecting shells on the beach. Or playing board games or asking the Magic 8 Ball stupid questions.
Good lord, I was a bossy little girl. I wonder if he hated it and I didn’t notice.
When I’m ready, I walk carefully down the aisle of the jet, past the seat where Eric slept. I felt a little guilty crawling into the bed while he was snoozing in the chair.
But not guilty enough not to do it.
All our bags have been loaded into the car already, which means Eric took care of everything while I was sleeping.
I wonder if I’ll ever stop embarrassing myself in front of Eric Bayer.
Signs point to no,as my old Magic 8 Ball would have said. Because I pass out in the car, too. I don’t wake up until it stops. And then I discover I’m sleeping with my face propped against Eric’s muscular shoulder.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” I sit up straight, as if that might help him forget. There’s a little spot of drool near the collar of his polo.
Shoot me.
“It’s fine,” he grumbles. “Just another part of the job description nobody ever gave me. Bodyguard, and pillow to the rich and famous.”
He slides out of the car, and I follow, finding myself blinking up at the entrance to one of Hawaii’s chicest spa resorts. I’m too tired to appreciate the asymmetrical stone facade and the carefully lit water features. But it will be promising tomorrow in the daylight.
Eric already has our two suitcases in hand and it’s all I can do to grab my own carry-on bag and follow him inside the lobby. Luckily, there’s no wait at the check in desk, and all I have to do is hand over my credit card and remain vertical while the desk agent makes two key cards and small talk with Eric.
“There are three pools on the property. The dolphin experience is located down in the cove.”
“Great. Can you tell me where to find the gym?” he asks.
“On the lower level, sir. We have personal trainers, as well. Touch two on your in-room phone to schedule an appointment or a spa treatment.”
“Thank you.”
