Fall Into You

18

“Once upon a time…” she prompts.

“Right.” After a rough throat clearing, I continue. “Once upon a time, a bird of prey at rest on a tree branch saw a beautiful dove in a clearing far below.”

“This clearing was in a hotel bar, I take it.”

“Who’s telling this story, me or you?”

I feel her smile against my chest, the curve of her cheek pressing against my heart. “You.”

“Then be quiet.”

“You would have made a good dictator.”

When I sigh, she whispers, “Sorry.”

“Where was I?”

“Two birds in a bar. I mean clearing.”

“Yes. So the bird of prey sees the beautiful dove—”

“Wait, you were supposed to be telling a story of how we met as people in another life, not birds in this one.”

“Are you kidding me with this?”

She pounds a fist on my shoulder. “I want my story! Tell it right!”

I’m laughing again, because apparently that’s my new thing.

It’s good we’re only spending one night together. If we started dating, my reputation as a cold-blooded, ruthless bastard would be ruined within a week.

“All right, my stubborn little dove,” I murmur, kissing her temple. “Here’s your story. Once upon a time, the most perfect angel God ever created—”

“Now you’ve got a Biblical theme going?” she interrupts, exasperated. “First it’s birds, then it’s the Bible. I hate to tell you this, but you’re a terrible story teller.”

I roll her to her back and kiss her roughly, only coming up for air when she’s trembling beneath me, sinking her nails into my back and whimpering with need.

“That’s a relief, because I’m done talking. Time to get f****d again, sweetheart.”

“Thank goodness. I was about to fall asleep.”

We grin at each other. Then I reach for another condom, thinking the dozens she has in her handbag won’t be enough.

We f**k. We eat. We f**k again, repeatedly. We talk and laugh until the morning sun creeps through the window shades. When she’s yawning, her lids heavy and her beautiful eyes glazed with fatigue, I tuck her under the bedcovers and hold her until her breathing is deep and even.

Then I lie there struggling with how badly I want to stay until she’s awake again.

I want to know her. Everything about her. All her secrets and fears, all the things that make her who she is. But that would mean she’d have to get to know me too…and that would be a disaster.

I’m the last thing this incredible woman needs in her life.

But because I’m selfish, I stay longer than I should, breathing in her scent, feeling the warmth of her soft body, memorizing the exact color of her hair.

Then I rise and watch her lying peacefully on the bed as I silently dress. At the bedroom door, I turn back for one final, lingering look.

Goodbye, beautiful Shayna. It was my privilege.

Maybe in another life.

My heart aching, I walk out.

Shay

I

awaken to the sound of someone knocking on the hotel room door. I don’t know how long they’ve been doing that, but I suspect it’s been a while, because each succeeding knock grows louder. I sit up in bed, groan at the soreness in my body, and look around.

Cole’s gone.

Even before I opened my eyes, I knew he wasn’t here. I fell asleep to the sound of his steady breathing and his solid, comforting warmth at my back, and his absence is jarring. I know we agreed to one night only, but part of me was secretly hoping he’d change his mind.

Like I have.

Obviously, he didn’t.

Pushing down the disappointment, I rise from bed, grab the white terrycloth robe hanging on a hook outside the bathroom, and tie the sash around my waist. I hurry through the living room. When I peer through the peep hole of the front door, I see an unfamiliar man in a black suit standing outside in the hallway. He’s holding a white garment bag in one hand.

He appears to be in his late thirties. His dark hair is shorn close to his head. He’s fit and broad-shouldered, with a piercing stare that could give Cole a run for his money.

On the left side of his neck, a tattoo of something I can’t identify peeks out from under the starched collar of his white dress shirt.

Through the door, I say, “Yes?”

“Hullo, miss. This is for you.”

His voice is deep and has a British accent. He holds out the bag. I look at it suspiciously.

“What is it?”

“A blouse, miss.”

My breath catches.

“Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one.”

Remembering Cole’s words from last night after he savagely ripped my shirt off my body, my face grows hot and my heart starts pounding. Meanwhile, the man in the black suit stands there smiling patiently as if he’s got all the time in the world.

“Cole sent you?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Are you with the hotel?”

“No, miss.”

“Are you…with a delivery service?”

“No, miss.”

He extends his arm, giving the bag a little shake. Deciding he’s not dangerous—though there’s something about him that suggests he would be under the right circumstances—I open the door. “Hi there.”

“Good morning, miss.”

I take the bag, then stand in the doorway frowning and confused. “So you work for Cole, is that it?”

His smile grows wider, as if he’s enjoying some private thought. Whatever it is, he doesn’t share it. He simply says, “Have a lovely day, miss,” then turns around and walks away.

Leaning out the door, I watch him go until he disappears into the elevators. Then I step back inside and unzip the garment bag. Within is an exquisite black silk blouse.