37. Weston

It’s been a long day. I’m ending it with dinner alone at McHale’s, a steakhouse downtown. I could’ve called Orion or Hunter or one of the other guys to join, but tonight, I just wanted some peace. Some space.

Which is kind of ironic, because space is really the heart of the issue. Being so close to Renee and not being able to touch her—or not being willing to touch her, because I don’t trust myself—is its own kind of torture.

Dinner alone is just what the doctor ordered. I eat my filet mignon and drink my whiskey in silence. I let my mind go blissfully blank. It’s like how cavemen meditate—with a big hunk of bloody red meat.

By the time I’m done, that gnawing anger I get whenever Molly and I brush up against the subject of her past is back in its cage. The way I feel about Renee, which doesn’t even have a name yet, isn’t quite caged. But it’s no longer on the prowl so actively.

Good timing, too, because when I get back to The Palais, she’s waiting at the elevator bank. I sigh. I could wait for the next one, but then she glances in my direction and I decide I don’t want to look like a coward.

I’m man enough to share an elevator with the woman, for fuck’s sake.

Although that’s a conundrum in its own right. Man. Woman. Weston. Renee. Small, enclosed space with no one watching. The situation is screaming at me to manhandle her against the wall, to rip that sundress off of her and taste her lips and thighs again. I want to hear that moan, just one more time.

When the chime rings and the doors swoosh open, I motion for her to step into the car in front of me. “After you.”

She doesn’t speak, just nods stiffly. She gets in and stands against the back wall, as far away from me as she can get.

But it’s not far enough. I can still smell her shampoo, can still see the pulse point in her neck. I don’t want to be the one who speaks first, but if I don’t say something, I’m going to do something. More specifically, I’m going to lean in slow, brush her hair back, and lick that curve in her throat until one or both of us starts begging for more.

“Renee, I?—”

SCREEEEECH.

Something metallic in the gears and cables conveying us upward dies an ugly death. The lights flicker. The car lurches to a halt.

In the half-darkness, her smell stands out even clearer. Cherries. It’s a fucking tease from the universe.

Her breaths come in harsh gasps. I hear her try to swallow once, twice. She’s knee-deep in panic and sinking fast.

Acting on pure instinct, I move to stand in front of her and put my hands on her shoulders. “Hey, listen to me, Renee. We’re okay. George or Paolo are going to tell someone we’re in here and they’ll get us out in no time, okay?”

She’s still breathing like a madwoman. Her heart is pounding hard enough for both of us to hear. I can taste her fear.

So I brush her hair back and tilt her chin up. “Come on, P. It’s okay.” She’s still not responding, so I pull her a little closer. “Talk to me. Say something. Anything. Tell me a story.”

She nods in the gloom, lip wobbling. “Wh…when I was a k-kid, my parents didn’t really care about being parents. They were more focused on their business, their friends, their social circle. One w-weekend, we went to the beach house, but there was some emergency at the office. Some middle-of-the-night, like, tragedy. I have no idea what happened. But they packed up and left.”

I shake my head. “They left you behind? You can’t be serious.”

She nods again. Her eyes are clouded and distant. They’re not seeing me or this elevator—they’re seeing a memory she left behind a long time ago. “And a storm swept in from the coast. Power went out. I was trapped there all night. No electricity. No lights. No one to tell me it was going to be okay.” I see her try to smile, but it turns into more of a grimace.

My chest twists with anger. How could anyone look at this woman and see mere baggage to be left behind? Her own fucking parents, no less. It makes me want to break something.

But she doesn’t need my violence right now; she needs my presence.

“I’m here now to tell you that we’re going to be fine. This happens all the time. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

She laughs humorlessly. “You going to hitch this thing onto your back? Shield me with your body if the elevator goes crashing into the basement?” The panic makes her voice crack.

“Yes. I will shield you with my body.”

“Thanks a lot, hero.” She pauses, but her breaths are almost back to normal. “Figures that this would happen now. Just when I’ve finally decided for sure that you’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, you do something like this.”

“Something like what?”

“I don’t know if you know this, but you’re charming. It’s hidden—I mean well-hidden, deeply-hidden, hasn’t-seen-the-light-of-day-because-of-the-thousand-feet-of-cobwebs-it’s-buried-under kind of hidden—but it’s there. So it figures that now would be the time you let it out and make me feel better so I don’t lose my shit.”

I smile at her. Maybe we could both use a little bit of truth. I can tell her that the reason I am comforting her is because I want her to feel better. Because I don’t like that she’s upset. Because I feel something for her way more powerful than indifference and annoyance, even if those are the only emotions I choose to show.

Well, except when I ate her on the washing machine like she was my last meal.

And also except for when I stood at the edge of her hotel bed, watching her come, listening to her call out my name.

Those were different kinds of feelings.

Dammit. Now is a horrible time for a hard-on. I force my thoughts back to neutral. “When I was a kid and the power went out, my old man used to make us hot chocolate. We’d get blankets, lie in front of the fireplace, and tell ghost stories. It was like a campout.”

Renee smiles softly. “That’s a nice memory.” She sounds almost wistful and for a second, I regret saying anything, rubbing my happy childhood in her face. I don’t bother telling her that it was only happy for a little while.

Then Dad died, and it wasn’t so happy after that.

Before I can fuck up further, thankfully, the lights surge back on and the elevator starts moving again.

I step away, back to my corner, my gut twisting with that odd, unnamed emotion. When the elevator arrives at the penthouse level, Renee sneaks a glance at me. I only know that because I’m sneaking one at her when she does. I smile but she’s already staring at the floor again.

And in the instant just before the doors open, I feel something. Just a moment, but it lights me up. It’s like two frayed cords making contact. Electricity sparks.

There’s something here between us. We fight it like hell, both of us, but it’s there, it’s fucking there, and try as we might, we can’t deny that.

I just wish I knew what the hell to do about it.