Page 89 of Intense


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“And so dragging my daughter off to your hotel room is supposed to keep her safe? You sound like a lunatic.”

“Enough,” Mom said loudly. “Roger, enough. Tara, if you want to go stay with Emory, you can do what you want. You’re an adult. And, Roger,” Mom said, speaking loudly so that he couldn’t interrupt her, “if you say one more thing, I swear I won’t cook your food for a month. You’ll starve to death and we both know it.”

He opened his mouth to argue, took a deep breath, and then stopped himself. He sighed, sounding defeated. “Well, you’re an adult, like your mother says,” he said and then walked out of the room.

I glanced at Emory but couldn’t read the expression on his face. It was somewhere between awe and pity, and it made a thrill jump down my spine.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said.

“I can’t say I exactly believe you either,” she said to Emory, “but I do trust my daughter. Now, did you two eat?”

I’d never felt more proud of my mother than in that moment. She wasn’t a weak woman or anything like that, but I loved that she was willing to stand up for me even when it seemed like I was going insane.

And frankly, I just needed someone to believe me. I needed someone to trust that I wasn’t going crazy, because I’d been feeling pretty crazy the last day or two. But if my mother could believe Emory, or at least believe in me, then I could keep moving forward.

Moving forward right to Emory’s hotel room.

“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” I said.

“Because you know it’s the right move,” he said. “Or at least you trust me enough to do it anyway.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Though I would use ‘trust’ loosely here.”

“Maybe you just want to get inside my bedroom again,” he said. “Maybe you’ll take any excuse to get close to me, to let me undress you slowly, let me press my fingers against that nice, wet clit.”

“Maybe not,” I grumbled.

We were standing in the elevator of his hotel, and I had to admit that I was surprised by how nice it was. Apparently, Dayton had a single decent hotel in the area, though I had always assumed it was full of motels and motor lodges.

I was carrying Mason in his little car seat, while Emory carried my bag plus everything we’d need for Mason. He definitely had the heavier load, but he didn’t seem to mind it at all, whereas I was struggling just to keep Mason aloft.

“Want me to take him?” Emory asked as the doors opened and I stepped out into the hall.

“I’ve got it,” I grumbled at him.

He just grinned at me as he walked past, and we headed down toward the end of the hall.

It was a big double door we stopped outside of. There was no number, just the word “SUITE” engraved on a plaque next to the key card reader. Emory swiped a card through it and opened the door.

I stepped inside and took a sharp breath.

The room was huge. It was like the whole downstairs of my parents’ house, plus another room, probably the bedroom. There was a couch, some chairs, a table, a little kitchen area, a big screen TV, and a little desk. Everything was richly furnished in brown and gold, with a leaf and vine motif running around the top edges of the walls.

“Holy crap,” I said, setting Mason down. “Are you serious?”

“Very serious.” Emory placed the bags down on the couch and shut the door, locking it and sliding the chain down along the catch.

“This is the nicest hotel room I’ve ever seen.”

“Working for Uncle Sam has its perks sometimes.”

“The government is paying for this?”

“Not officially,” he said, grinning. “But yeah, they are, in a way.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It would bore you to tears if I explained.” He walked over to a little bar that was built into the desk. “Drink?”

“Yeah, okay,” I said.

I checked my watch. It was pretty late, definitely well past Mason’s bedtime. I needed to get him down soon or else he was going to be very cranky the next day.

I hated leaving my parents. Emory had wanted to get out of the house immediately, but I’d refused, not until his team member or partner or whatever showed up. We had to wait hours, but finally I saw a black van parked across the street, which Emory assured me was his guy Travis.

I didn’t get to meet Travis, because Emory hustled us out of there instantly. I felt better knowing that someone was watching over my parents, though, and it was definitely worth waiting.

“I have to get him down,” I said to Emory.

“Okay,” he answered. “Bedroom is back there. You can stay in there. Need any help?”

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