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“No, but that’s good thinking.” She slipped on one brown leather sandal, followed by the other. “You’re starting to think like someone on the run. Doesn’t take long.” A somber laugh escaped her throat while she zipped up her duffel. “This bag’s been securely stashed under my desk since I started working for you in case”—she sighed, realizing she sounded like a broken record—“I needed to run.”
He fumed out a breath. “You should’ve told me right away. No one should have to live like that.”
Shrugging, Genevieve stepped out of the car and soaked in the sunlight. Mr. King reached for her duffel, slung it over his shoulder, and walked to the trunk to get the rest of their bags.
“It was hard enough to ask today. I hate that I’ve put you in danger. If they hadn’t kidnapped my mom, I wouldn’t have asked at all.”
Mr. King flashed her a rattled glare. “Genevieve?—”
She held out a palm. “Please, I’m too tired to argue. I can’t even express in words how grateful I am that you’re helping me now. Can we put this to rest? I’m not a big fan of ‘what ifs.’” She puffed out her cheeks, releasing a slow breath. “Believe me, I would never have set foot in The Outlaw for a job interview that led me to Jed Marshall if we’re going to ‘what if’ things.”
He nodded. “I apologize. When you put it like that, I understand. It just pains me to think of you living in fear. I want you to be”—she watched his features soften as he searched for the right word—“content.”
“Me too.” She forced a smile. “But I don’t want to take that away from you in the process.”
Mr. King brushed a hand over what appeared to be an amused grin.
Really, he’s amused about having his life screwed over! He needs his head examined.
“If it eases your worries, when you said that, I wanted to argue that being with you does make me feel content.” His features sobered. “Though I will only ever be fully content if you are, and to do that, we’ve got to get this resolved.” Motioning his head toward the lobby, he added, “Shall we?”
Oh my gosh, swoon! But how long would it take him to realize his life was more important than saving hers?
Genevieve reached out a hand. “Can I help with the bags?”
“You can, but I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Fine,” she grumbled, “if it makes you feel like more of a man.”
“It does, but maybe you secretly like it?”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Maybe I do.”
He chuckled, the sound fluttering her insides.
They entered the motel lobby, sporting out-of-date green carpet, a tacky display of local brochures, and bitter-smelling stale coffee. Still, she almost preferred this setting to a five-star hotel. They could be on a fun road trip together if not for the circumstances.
The front desk clerk’s fake-lash-rimmed eyes widened, her mouth dropping open as she visibly drooled over Mr. King. Like hell! Genevieve’s fist curled, and she sent the woman a clear message when she looked her way… Mine!
“Two rooms for tonight,” Mr. King said, ignoring the woman’s antics. “On the backside of the facility, please.”
The clerk scanned Mr. King’s body unabashed, as if she could see right through his designer suit, before batting her lengthy lashes at him. Apparently, the glasses and floppy hair weren’t even remotely a turn-off for this woman, and Genevieve had to admit, she’d been too distracted these past two years to allow herself a clear mental picture of what stood beside her. Mr. King wasn’t just insanely hot to her—he was insanely hot in general.
“Oh, actually,”—Genevieve glared the woman down—“just one room with two queen beds.” She placed a hand on Mr. King’s arm and met his deliciously curious cocoa-brown eyes, wanting nothing more than to drink him up in front of this other woman. “If that’s okay with you? I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Mr. King nodded. His mouth parted open while he held his glasses in place with his index finger. “Of course.” He quickly masked his surprise and turned back toward the clerk. “One room, please. Two beds.”
The woman tilted her head, her tongue darting out to wet her bright pink lips as her eyes traveled down his chest. She leaned forward as if trying to see what he packed in his stylish slacks.
You tramp! It took everything in her not to say it out loud.
“Sure,” the clerk drawled out, not even tinting a blush while her eyes popped back up to meet Mr. King’s. “Or we could always put you in adjoining rooms if you’d like your own space, sir?”
Genevieve’s nails dug into her palm. What was this woman’s deal? Was she going to come knocking on Mr. King’s door? Genevieve turned an unjustified, heated look toward him. Did he always have women hitting on him? If so, why was he still single? Why ask her out? He’d better have some good answers because she didn’t share.
Mr. King’s expression morphed into unease. “Gloria, what would you like?—”
“Gloria?” she shouted at him. He’d already forgotten her name? She covered her mouth with her hand. He’s using a false name to protect you, Gen. Get a grip. “Sorry, sweetie, I’m just tired. Don’t mind my reaction.” She turned back toward the clerk. “We’ll take one room.”
