Page 16 of Requiem of Sin

Or, y’know…blind…

“Hello?” He tips my gaze up to meet his with a finger under my chin. “What are you doing here?”

My trembling fingers hold up the keycard I have yet to put away. “Complimentary… suite…”

He eyes the black and gold card, then backs off. Only a little, though. At the very least, he’s recognized that yes, I did get in here by legitimate means. It’s not like anyone can just pick the lock and sneak in.

Wait…

“What areyoudoing here?”

Now, I want answers from the guy who’s made himself at home in what’s supposed to bemysuite.

He waves a hand over himself with a look like the explanation is exceedingly obvious. “Taking a shower.”

I palm my face with a groan. “No, I mean…”

Honestly, I’m too mortified to clarify.

He takes the liberty to do it for me. “Clearly, there’s been a mix-up with the room listing in the system. I’ll talk with my people to see where the glitch is. Now,” he sweeps an arm toward the door, “kindly get the fuck out.”

I narrow my eyes at him. This is supposed to bemyroom. But any and all bluster I would have had in a situation like this was completely drained from my body during the ordeal with Martin earlier tonight.

GoodLord, does that feel like centuries ago.

I rub the side of my face with a groan, then sigh. “Fine. You win. Whatever. Enjoy your palace.”

Exhaustion suddenly settles into my bones. I sling my heels over my shoulder along with my bag and limp my way to the door.

I’ve been ignoring the soreness in my ankle this entire time, mainly because I had enough adrenaline pumping through my veins to numb it down. Between running from Martin, then doing something crazy and going into the casino, thenexperiencingsomething crazy by becoming an instant millionaire, that same adrenaline just kept pumping and pumping and pumping.

But now, I’m all tapped out, and I am feeling the painful twist that must have happened when I lunged at Martin to save Willow.

“What’s wrong?”

I freeze at the door. He’s right behind me, his voice low in my ear.

“I’m leaving. The room’s yours.”

His hands gently wrap around my waist. “No,” he says, “I mean with your foot. You’re limping.”

The adrenaline is back. Centered solely on those strong, nimble fingers very faintly flexing against the sequins of my dress.

“Oh. I, uh, twisted my ankle. That’s all.”

I reach for the door, but those hands press just enough to stop me.

Just enough to want a bit more.

“How?”

I’m glad he’s behind me so he can’t see my eyes widen or my cheeks pinken. “Oh, um, I was just… running.”

He lets out a soft snort. “From what?”

“Who.”

The correction escapes me before I even realize I’m saying it. I don’t even know this guy, and I’m already spilling my life’s story to him. I need to shut up and leave. I’m sure I can find something nice somewhere else, like… a motel.

---