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A young guy, early twenties, comes out of the back room. His collared shirt is wrinkled, and his hair looks like it hasn’t been washed this week.
“Welcome to the Holiday Inn. Are you checking in?” he asks in a tone that says he’s said this phrase a million times before.
I shift my weight back on my heels and wince. “I actually don’t have a reservation.”
He glances up from his computer screen, giving me the side-eye clear as day. “We’re normally booked up.”
“Can you please check?” I fight back the urge to point out his own word. Normally. Not always.
His fingers fly over the keys, and he says in a bored tone, “You’re in luck. We have a king suite open.”
My fingers tighten on the strap of my purse. I only took out a few hundred cash. “How much is that?”
“One-fifty for the night, plus a hundred dollars for the incidentals fees.” At my raised brows, he adds, “That’s paid back tomorrow, so long as there’s no damage.”
Okay, okay, that’s good. I can cover that. I pull out my purse and start laying my cash on the table.
He takes my ID and looks a little too long at it, his brows pulling together. “Your name sounds familiar. You famous or something?”
Shit. I act as casually as possible. “Would I be staying here if I was famous?”
He shrugs, going back to the computer, seemingly appeased by my answer. Which is funny because the answer is actually, yes, yes I would.
Time’s ticking away as I stand here out in the open.
“One card or two?” the clerk asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“What?” It takes a second for me to process his words. “One, please. There won’t be anyone else.”
I wouldn’t normally offer up that information, but putting one more barrier in front of Damon is worth it.
“Okay, room 505. Wi-Fi password is your last name plus your room number. Have a good stay.” He gives me a bored smile before disappearing again.
By the time I get to my room, my breaths are coming out in shallow pants as my heart pounds its way out of my chest. I’m playing a dangerous game here. On one hand, I can only imagine what he’ll do to me when he finds me. Warmth grows between my thighs, and I sit on the edge of my bed, reaching down to remove my heels. On the other, what if he doesn’t come?
And if I’m being completely honest with myself, that’s the real reason my pulse is racing out of control. I ran, and I want him to chase me. During the Uber ride, I went back and forth on what Bash admitted to me. Damon’s a big fat liar. Or a big ripped liar or whatever. Do not think of his naked body at a time like this…
He’s a manipulative, egotistical stalker…
And I have to admit, after years of never feeling confident enough to show my true self, I love it. I love that he went as far as he could. Love that he knows even the tiniest details about me.
He forced his own grandfather to participate in an intricate ruse, for Christ’s sake.
The cameras, the stalking, the one-freaking-bed rule.
All of them are crossing a line, but I can’t find a single part within me that cares.
I want him crazy. Obsessed. Possessive.
I want to push every one of his controls until he breaks.
I want him to find me.
Unzipping my dress, I inhale deeply as the corset loosens around my ribs. Pretty, but not practical in any sense of the word. I chew on my bottom lip while assessing the situation. Crawling into bed without my dress on is just asking for problems later, but I can’t help the thrill that travels down my spine at what that’ll be. I let the dress hit the floor, and then, after a few seconds of deliberation, I push down my panties and unclip my bra.
He deserves a prize after going through all that work, after all.
The comforter is heavier than I expected, and I tuck myself deeper within. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s been at least forty minutes since I left. There’s an ache growing in my stomach as the minutes tick by.
