Nothing to Hide

EIGHTEEN

EIGHTEEN

“Okay, thank you,” Roxie said at the door of the hotel suite. “Goodnight.”

Finally, after like twenty minutes of saying goodbye, Greg and his colleagues made it to the elevator. Every time they took a step that way, one of them would say something else and they’d go through the whole palaver all over again.

Closing the suite door, she made a point of locking it before dropping back against it, exhaling her exhaustion.

“I’d have closed the door in their faces nineteen and a half minutes ago.”

She peeked at Zairn out of one eye, then pushed away from the door to head in his direction. “That’s the difference between me and you,” Roxie said as she passed. “I’m nice.”

The bedroom designated hers offered hope in the form of a bed. Ah, the prospect of rejuvenation. Last she’d looked at a clock was around two a.m. Despite the hour, none of the guests had been in any hurry to leave the club. VIPs liked to get the most out of their time at Crimson.

The immersing intimacy of darkness was her natural habitat. Being out and social, switched on, gave her a buzz. Even alone, working at home, she chose the night over any other time. But, man, was she tired. The previous day had started earlier and was busier than her regular life. Burning the candle at both ends was going to take some getting used to. In her college days, no problem. She was out of practice.

Shoes away. Dress unzipped and… ah. She paused. Her Lola pajamas went out with the laundry. What else could she wear? Nothing? An option. Not one she should embrace with no idea what might happen in the morning. There was nothing in the closet that… Twisting around, she sought the door. Not in her closet anyway.

Traipsing to Zairn’s room opposite hers, she didn’t ask permission to go in or to continue to his closet. He’d been standing by the bed on his phone anyway, so it was doubtful he even registered her.

At least that’s what she thought until he appeared at the threshold. “Scavenging?”

“For a shirt,” she replied, selecting one from a hanger. Pushing the straps of her dress and b*a from her arms, she managed to put the shirt on and shimmy out of her clothes without flaunting too much flesh. A perplexed frown formed on his face, so she explained. “I’m not cruel… or stupid.” She used her toe to flick the dress up from the floor to toss it at him, though it didn’t get that far. “You have a thing for women in their underwear.”

“Do I?” he asked, sauntering deeper into the room to scoop up her dress.

“Yes. That’s why you asked me to wear lingerie for you.”

One side of his mouth tipped higher. “We remember that moment differently.”

“Sure, because you skew everything to your advantage,” she teased, her chin rising to maintain eye contact when he invited himself into her personal space. “A woman remembers when a man makes predatory advances.”

“I seem to have missed that too.”

Yet, still wearing the semi-smirk, he lifted her discarded dress to breathe in her scent.

Oh, mocking him for that would be easy and so much fun, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Because his body heat was mingling with hers in the private closet where they stood alone? Maybe. Probably. Or it could just be that the move was predatory and he owned it. Being the prey never felt so nice.

“We’re doing really good at the distance thing.”

“Mm hmm,” he said, dropping her dress. He scooped a hand under her hair to cradle the side of her head. “You and Kes spent a lot of time together tonight.”

“I like her,” Roxie said, undoing another couple of buttons on his shirt. “I didn’t think I would.”

“Because you’re jealous of her.”

Stating it like a fact didn’t make it true. “Jealous that you dumped her? No, if you were ever lucky enough to be with me, you’d never want to end it… You’d give up every cent and all your credibility to pursue me.”

“Why would I be pursuing you? You wouldn’t go anywhere. I’d just keep providing the high life.”

“Oh, you would?”

“Mm hmm,” he said, pulling her higher. “You look good in Crimson.”

“There should be more dancing in the VIP areas… I don’t think I’m cut out to be a VIP if there’s no dancing.”

He took her arms from her sides to drape them against his chest, drawing her into his embrace to begin dancing. “You can dance anywhere, Lola.”

“This is not the kind of dancing I meant,” she said. Envisioning them doing the same thing in Crimson roused her smile. “Can you imagine if we did this at one of your clubs?”

“I can dance with women at work. It’s allowed. Guaranteeing you a good time is my job.”

“I am not your job, Casanova,” she said, shaking her hair away from her cheeks. “You better be careful, you’re falling for me.”

“Think maybe I should come to that conclusion myself?”

“You need me, Lomond,” Roxie said, sliding her hands higher to tuck them beneath the fabric of his shirt onto the warmth of his chest. “You can’t stay away.”

“You’re in my closet, in my suite. I’m not the pursuer here.”

“Oh, I know you bribed Hatfield to set this up for you,” she said, showing him a glimpse of humor. “You think you’re so suave, Casanova. In the long term, you’ll thank me for being the strong one.”

Exhaling, Roxie wrapped her arms around him to rest her head on his chest. He felt so damn good. Hot and hard, steady and stable, there was safety there in his arms.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You’re a real stalwart.”

She did smile, even though he couldn’t see her face. His hands wandered up and down her back, reminding her of what Kesley had said earlier in the night. The actress asserted that Zairn was a stickler for never acting in a way that could be misconstrued as interest. Apparently, he was happy, eager even, to convey that message to her.

The security that Kesley mentioned circled Roxie. Relaxing her, soothing her, he definitely had a knack for looking after people.

“What do you want, Z?” she asked, thinking of another comment from the club.

“Right now?” he asked, crouching lower to hold her tighter.

The innuendo was forgiven; it was their norm. He didn’t know where her head was at… neither did she. Flirting back would be the safest path. Without trust, there could never be a this. Weren’t those her words to him? Except they’d be spending the next few months together. Forging a friendship was necessary, especially while living in such close quarters.

“In life,” she said. “Do you know what you want?”

His next comment was laced with confusion. “There are always developing plans in the business for—”

“Not business, in your personal life.” Getting no reply, she looked up at him. “You don’t have a clue, do you?” His blank affect said it all. He had no words. “That’s okay…” Sighing, she tucked herself against him again. “Neither do I.”

In silence, they kept on dancing. Breathing together. Peace and calm. Until the contest experience, she’d never considered herself a creature of habit. Usual routines were out the window. Workwise, she’d complete the contracts already on her books but wouldn’t set up anything new. Rouge was taking care of her typical overheads anyway, which took the pressure off.

“Where did that question come from?” he asked, tangling his fingers in her hair.

“Just something me and Kesley were talking about.”

Confusion reigned in him. “About what I want?”

Having opened that particular vein, it was her duty to seal it again. Flirtation came in handy.

“Yeah, we thought about hijacking your bedroom and slathering each other’s n***d bodies in something edible to tempt you,” she said. “But we couldn’t decide which you’d like better, whipped cream or chocolate body paint.”

“We’ll get both. You and me we’ll figure out the answer together. I don’t want you to lose sleep wondering.”

Tightening her hold, Roxie breathed him in. “Shame I don’t have either whipped cream or chocolate body paint with me.”

“Want to see how fast I can get both here?”

Roxie peeked up. “Show off.”

“Just facilitating your fantasy, baby. Your good time is my vocation.”

Dancing with him was a comfort she could sink into. For a minute anyway. With the prospect of the documentary hanging over them, alone time wasn’t guaranteed. Bearing that in mind, while she had the chance, she had to ask…

“Were you and Dayah Lynn together?” He stopped. “Kesley was talking about her. She didn’t know if—”

When he took her shoulders to part their bodies, Roxie stopped talking to look into him. What was he thinking? What was in his head? Interpreting what could be any of a dozen emotions in his expression was impossible.

“Are you asking me that?”

Confidence came easy. Whether or not the question would put an end to their friendship before it began was another matter.

“Yes,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m curious.”

Zairn let her go to back up a few steps. “Babe, that’s a complicated question.”

“Because you weren’t together and you wanted to be, or because you were and you didn’t want to be?”

“Neither,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated because talking about it… It causes problems.”

From her vantage point, she got a clear view of his shutters going down. There was no trust. It didn’t matter how many times she reminded herself that his lack of trust came from a lifetime of conditioning, the confirmation was still a blow. It was his right to refuse answering. His right to keep his private matters private.

She shook her head. “I completely understand why you don’t want to talk about it… Whatever your relationship, you knew each other. Her passing can’t have been easy… especially with everything that followed.”

Okay, so she couldn’t remember many details of Dayah’s death. Her hazy interest at the time had been absorbent enough to notice Zairn’s frequent appearance in the press. Every time his name was mentioned, her girls would wave around newspapers, phones, tablets, whatever. The headlines were always related to stories about police and investigations.

His gaze left hers. He moistened his lips and took a steadying breath. “I can’t involve you in that.”

“It was a simple question. The answer wouldn’t involve me in anything.”

“Yes, it would,” he said, his patience fraying. “Because the more people I talk to, the more people there are to talk to the media, the more people the cops will want to talk to.”

“And if I repeat what you say to me, it could be bad for you.”

“Dayah’s family have been through enough. They don’t need everything churned up in the media again.”

And he obviously believed that discussing it would lead to her recounting his words to the press. Maybe not now, but at the end of the tour, there would undoubtedly be a book deal in it for her to share any salacious details that weren’t shown on film.

It hurt. Of course it hurt. But, damn, she couldn’t put that on him. He couldn’t trust her. He couldn’t trust anyone new in his life. Just because that truth was manifesting itself now didn’t mean she should suddenly be bowled over by it.

“Okay,” Roxie said, accepting his position.

“Babe,” he said as she began to walk away. “Lola.” He bounded over to snag her wrist, stalling her. “Stay. Lie down with me.”

“No.”

“We don’t have to talk about that, about the drama and the spectacle. We have fun, can’t we just have fun?”

“We can have fun,” she said, showing a smile. “I’m not mad. But I’m not sharing a bed with you either.”

He dropped her wrist. “Because I won’t talk about Dayah? You’re using s*x to manipulate me.”

“First,” she said, raising a forefinger. “You said ‘lie down’ not ‘sleep’ with. You and I both know that we can sleep in the same space just fine. It gets complicated when we wake up together. Distance was the agreement. If we don’t stick to that while they’ve got us locked up together, it will come back to bite both of us on the a*s. You’re the one who said experience told you it would never stay a secret.”

“It’s different now.”

“It’s different for you because I’m here and convenient,” she said. “We can be friends, but you know it can’t go any further than that while we’re doing this PR exercise.”

Casual s*x wasn’t a problem in itself. Casual s*x with the guy she’d be living with for three months would be insane. If the world got wind of it, as they eventually would, the bad publicity Crimson were trying to combat would go from grenade to global nuclear strike.

From the conflict apparent in his stance, it was like he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or apologize. Giving him a break, she went over to curve a hand around his neck to pull him down and kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight,” she said, wearing a simple smile.

Conflict joined her on the walk back to her room. Being a prop was what she’d signed up for. The journey, with a friend, could be fun. If Zairn kept reminding her that she was, and always would be, an outsider, it could turn out to be a long three months.