Satisfied I was not in fact letting down my dance troupe, I cued my playlist.
Halfway through the first song, the one that reminded me of him, he showed at the window. A few paces back, the same as the night before.
I paused and made a motion to ask if he wanted me to come out.
His black eyes withdrew, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Weird.
I restarted the music and began again.
Far from being distracting, his presence invigorated me.
I didn’t dance despite him.
I danced for him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the moment he moved closer. Noted the way his palms wrapped around the window frame. How his outstretched arms supported his weight as he leaned closer, his eyes following me across the floor.
My breath came faster either from the increase in effort or the thrill of him watching. I could not tell, but by the end of the fourth song, I was done.
I stood with my chest heaving from exertion and rolled out my neck and shoulders before reaching for my water bottle.
He stood at the window, arms crossed over his chest, mouth relaxed.
My heart pounded in my chest. This I could not blame on the exercise.
Gathering my things, I crossed the threshold.
He slanted a glance down at me, and his lips twisted sardonically.
“Exhibitionist.”
What? My chest expanded with my calming breath. I allowed my eyes to trail up his body, only briefly distracted by the subtle bulge in his pants. Tipping my nose up in the air, I met his eyes. “Voyeur.”
His beautiful mouth split into a grin, stole the rest of my breath and half of my resolve.
Without conscience thought, my body leaned toward him.
Quickly schooling his features, he stepped back, and all warmth seeped from his face. “I’ll see you upstairs in an hour.” Turning, he swung open the door to the stairwell.
I watched him jog up the stairs until the door closing on his back cut him off from my sight.
What in the ever-loving hell was happening?
Ares
“Pull it together, man,” I grumbled. “This is not the girl for you. You’ll chew her up and leave her in pieces.”
Jogging up fourteen flights of stairs worked wonders on my raging libido. The cold shower took care of the rest.
I rubbed the towel roughly over my body and pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. As soon as we wrapped up for the day, I purged the pictures of Hope from my camera, separating them into the file on my hard drive I’d aptly labeled, ‘Bad Idea’.
Noting I had fifteen minutes to spare, I called down to room service and ordered a charcuterie board and a few bottles of water. Not wine. Wine suggested it was a date. It wasn’t a date. It was a snack. I had to eat. Eating in front of her would be rude. It was simply good manners.
My suite did not have rooms so much as distinct areas separated by a half wall supporting both a two-way fireplace and a television set that spun to face either side of the suite.
I’d already connected it to my laptop which sat on the table beside a notepad so I could take note of anything she didn’t like.