Page 35 of Fragile Kiss (Fragile 2)
Grunting again, Katharina stared at the SUV. “Pity,” she mumbled. “I did like Oliver. He’ll be hard to replace.”
Before she could go off on another tangent, Cayden started hopping down her steps three at a time. “Thank you,” he called behind him, just in time to see her front door slam. Wincing, he jogged up to his ride and climbed in. Oliver greeted him and made no effort to say anything else, probably used to rich people who preferred to be making calls and not socializing with a lowly driver.
But Cayden didn’t pick up his phone and scroll mindlessly, or call someone or check his emails. He stared out the window, counting down the minutes until he would be in the same room with Lillian.
He could almost feel her smooth skin and smell the sweet-scented body spray she used after every shower. He wondered if she brought it with her to Los Angeles.
Maybe he would get a chance to actually see her, with his own two eyes, spray it on her body. That would make him feel alive again.
HE WAS ALWAYS SO CHILLED out; she had never seen him this surprised. And seeing him that shocked made her anxious. He told her about me in the first place, she thought, trying to figure it out for herself. He should’ve known I was coming. I guess. Maybe. It was kinda quick.
Scratching her chin, she stared into space for a little while. If Cayden and Katharina were seeing each other, certainly she would have told him that Lillian was coming. If they weren’t seeing each other, it seemed less likely.
None of it fits together like I want it to. She wondered why she even had to know what was going on between Cayden and his sexy, famous client, and she couldn’t come up with a good reason. She just wanted to know. There wasn’t anything wrong with being so simple, was there?
Because I still want him. It sounded like a voice that wasn’t hers speaking up suddenly from inside her heart, and it sounded so loud she jumped.
“I don’t still want him,” she muttered to herself and to whatever spirits were in the room pestering her, but she heard it again.
Yes, I do.
“Don’t argue with yourself, Lillian,” she grumbled, gingerly lowering her body flat on the bed. If she was being honest with herself, she hadn’t expected to see Cayden while she was here. Especially so soon after arriving. She had assumed that Katharina’s workout life and her home life were separated, but obviously she liked to overlap the two—for obvious reasons. She was clearly into Cayden, not
even bothering to hide her flirting.
Damn, that was awkward. In the moment it happened as well as right now just remembering it, she wished she could melt and disappear from the world. It’s getting cold in this hotel room, she realized, squinting her eyes to see what the thermostat on the wall was set to. Blinking hard, she rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and looked again.
It shouldn’t have been as cold as she felt; in fact, it should have been hot. But she was shivering and felt drops of freezing-cold sweat squeeze out of her skin and drip down the side of her neck.
What’s going on? she thought, discounting anything serious. I flew today, and got up much earlier than I usually do. It must be the routine change and wiping down all of Katharina’s furniture and trinkets and dishes.
Lillian shut her eyes, pretending the world wasn’t spinning, but of course pretending didn’t help her feel any more stable. She pulled the covers over her head, trying to trap her body heat and force her temperature to rise again. In the dark and warm space, her energy was completely sapped. She dozed off, enjoying the total lack of sound in the room.
These walls must be soundproof, was the last thing she thought before falling asleep. Immediately she began to dream of unpacking boxes and arranging furniture and Katharina’s kitchen, seeing herself standing there with a pile of fragile dishes in her arms.
Where would these fit the best? she asked out loud in the dream, and suddenly the situation swapped to being in a car with Cayden. He looked over at her and smiled, nodding at his open hand there on the seat between them. She smiled back, feeling warm, and took it. His fingers closed over hers, and the sun shone hot through the window.
Very hot. Oddly hot. Her smile gradually faded as she felt her skin begin to burn. Cayden kept driving, unaware that anything was happening. Lillian looked down at her dream skin and saw red patches of sunburn.
Suddenly her eyes opened, and she tore the covers off her head, gasping for air. The cold sweat had turned to burning drops of water rolling down her skin. Her throat was so dry it hurt to breathe.
Is this all because I saw him? she thought desperately, fumbling around for the glass of water she swore she had poured. Is this because seeing him makes me sick?
Her vision was blurry, and she felt something hard on her eyelid. She rubbed her eyes and felt it tear away like a scab, leaving a painful patch behind. The room seemed to warp and bend in every possible direction, and she was beginning to have a panic attack about her water. She couldn’t decide if she was confusing her water cup at home with the one she had here in the hotel room.
“Where’s the glass?” she moaned, any train of thought totally forgotten. The scratch of her throat brought tears to her eyes as she slumped on the edge of the bed, grabbing her abdomen. Everything inside her felt sore, like she had been punched in the gut.
She found her phone in her hand, and for a split-second was so confused and lightheaded she tried to dial the glass of water’s number. Instead, as she was getting frustrated with her brain fog, she heard a familiar ding sound.
Cayden’s name was on the screen, that much she could tell. Instantly she opened the message and held the phone close to her face, wondering where her glasses were.
What room are you in?
“Cayden,” she whispered, but even the whisper got caught on the roughness of her throat. Her confusion caused her to forget any of the negative feelings she had earlier; Katharina and the day’s events were far from her mind right now. It took a few times before she typed the number right. 428.
The phone slipped from her hand, and she looked at it on the floor. Water. Her eyes flitted to the little table by the door, where a fancy silver bucket sat with an ornate scoop.
Ice. Her memory cleared enough for her to remember there was a machine near her door—or was there? If there’s a bucket, there must be an ice machine. All hotels have ice machines. That’s what a hotel is for: having ice machines for people. In her delirium, she inched forward and took the bucket by the handle, falling back against the wall. Switching the bucket to the hand that was still grasping her stomach, she battled with the door handle until it opened a hair’s breadth.
