Page 7 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

Her chin came up at that, and he knew why. He should have kept his mouth shut. “Be a shame to only go the one night,” was all he could come up with. And with that he turned on his heel and headed back to the elevators, cursing himself every step of the way.

He jabbed the button. Of course, both elevators were sitting up on the top floor. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at the indicator, willing it to descend. He could spend the rest of the afternoon working in his room. And Cash wondered why he avoided unnecessary interactions.

He didn’t turn around, but he knew the footsteps approaching were hers long before she arrived to stand beside him. When she did, he kept his gaze on the numbers—which refused to move from twelve. Either of them.

She pressed the button.

He could have taken offense at that, but he didn’t blame her. He’d already shown himself completely incompetent—why would she trust him to have summoned an elevator without screwing it up?

For a while they performed the silent, charged choreography of two strangers who’d been caught looking at each other one too many times. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and assessed the situation. His reaction to thinking she was leaving had thrown him. But she was still here—and now he knew he’d be disappointed if she left without him ever having… done something.

He straightened his shoulders and turned slightly toward her. “Looks like they’re stuck on twelve.”

Her smile hit him square in the chest. “Oh, they’re not stuck. They’re conspiring.”

Her voice was very English, and warm.

“Conspiring?”

She chuckled, and the sound of it made him stand a little straighter as the awareness prickling at the back of his neck shot straight down his spine.

“That’s my theory, anyway. They do it every time—I’m surprised you haven’t noticed. They both wait up on the top floor until they’ve accumulated a critical mass of human patience, and then they descend together. Just to mock us.”

She sounded dead serious, but her eyes shone. His lips twitched. She wasn’t what he’d expected. She was warmer—and funnier.

He only realized he was still watching her when she said, “Look. Here they come.”

This time, as the indicators counted down, he willed them slower.

When the doors opened and no one stepped out of either elevator, she raised her eyebrows as if her point had been proved.

He gestured for her to go ahead. When he stepped in after her, she nodded at the panel. “Where are you going?”

He felt guilty as hell. He should be going out, seeing London like Cash said. He watched her press twelve and felt foolish all over again.

“Twelve.”

She raised her eyebrows again. He shrugged. “I’m in twelve-eleven.”

She dropped her gaze, a small smile playing at her lips.

Shit. “That wasn’t an invitation. I was telling you I wasn’t following you to your floor. It’s my floor too.”

A small laugh filled the space between them. “I didn’t for one moment think you were following me.”

He stared. He wasn’t going to say a single thing that might get him in trouble.

When she looked up again, she seemed to weigh him for a moment before taking pity. “Don’t worry. I’m glad it occurred to you to reassure me. But then, you’re a man who clearly understands security.”

He didn’t blink; he just watched her. The elevator stopped and the doors opened. “You saw me?”

She stepped out. “You are six and a half feet of American improbability in a London hotel lobby. And you spent three hours standing in the only unlit corner of a country music concert looking like you were bracing for a small siege. You’re terribly difficult not to spot.”

~ ~ ~

When his eyebrows drew together, Bea wanted nothing more than to turn and flee. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a man look so… intimidating. Why on earth had she admitted she’d noticed him?

They were standing between the two lifts. There was nothing left to say. She should go. She tightened her grip on the handle of her new suitcase. “Well, I—”