Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

Finn

T o say this is a hotel is stretching it. The seedy, rundown inn is more like a roadside motel. Make that the Bates Motel. It's seriously straight out of Hitchcock's Psycho. Even the character at the front desk. A wiry man with big ears, an ill-fitting brown suit, and metal-rimmed glasses that sit low on his beaky nose.

After giving him a credit card, he hands me a key. The old fashioned metal kind, not a keycard. His voice is nasal.

"Room 113. It's at the end of the hall to your right." He shoots me a salacious smile. "Enjoy your evening... together." He eyes Scarlet like she's a whore. And me, like I'm about to score.

"Remember, check out time is eleven a.m."

Trust me, he doesn't need to remind me. I already want to check out of this fricking joint. The stench of mold and stale coffee is nauseating me.

The room we're given is no better. Decorated in the sixties, it's never been updated. Ugly as sin walnut furniture, a Zenith TV set, pea-green carpet, and a double bed with a faded floral bedspread that matches the shabby curtains. In addition to the bed, there's a worn corduroy couch.

"Nice, huh?" I snort with sarcasm.

"Right out of Architectural Digest ," deadpans my companion, taking in our depressing as hell accommodations.

"Are you okay sharing this with me?" I ask, aware of the awkwardness of the situation.

"Seriously, I'd be afraid to stay here alone."

I can't help a little laugh after all we've been through tonight. Maddie's asthma attack totally unraveled me. De-stressing, I feel almost back to myself.

"Hey, do you want to take a shower?"

Scarlet gulps. "Um, uh . . . "

Her shocked expression makes me mentally kick myself. I sound out of line. Like I'm propositioning her. I quickly rephrase my question.

"I—I mean, do you want to take a shower while I turn down the bed?" Upon my clarification, she lightens up.

"I don't think so. Norman Bates may be in there and throw knives at me."

I do my best Norman Bates imitation or maybe it's more like a dagger throwing circus performer. Either way it's hilarious, and we both burst into laughter. Soon, we're both laughing so hard we're crying. And bent over. Tears are cascading down our faces and when we exchange glances, we laugh even harder. My insides hurt.

"Scarlet, I'm sorry about this place," I manage to say.

Still roaring with laughter, my roommate swipes at her tears. "I've seen worse."

Truthfully, I have too. On our road trip to LA, my late wife and I shacked up in hellholes that made this place seem like The Ritz Carlton. Finally, our laughter dies down and I ponder our sleeping arrangement. "You take the bed. I'll take the couch."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

A ghost of a smile plays on her lips. "Okay, I'm going to call it a night then."

She treads toward the bed. Before she takes two steps, I call out to her. She pivots and meets my gaze. The look on her face is wistful. Mine wishful.

"Come here." My voice is soft but commanding.

Silently, she pads toward me. A breath away from me, I haul her into me. She looks up at me, and I stare into her captivating green-brown eyes.

"Hey, I just want to thank you again for being here for me and Maddie." My lips want to touch down on hers, but I refrain.

"It's okay."

"Really, it means a lot to me." My voice grows softer, more emotional. "She scared the crap out of me tonight."

"Me too."

"Maddie is my everything. If I lost her, I couldn't live."

Tears well in her eyes. "I understand."

There's something about the way she says those words that tugs at my heartstrings. Something so heartfelt, so genuine. Drawing her closer to me, I plant a chaste kiss on her head. For the first time, I inhale her hair. The delicious vanilla scent wafts up my nose, obliterating the room's foul odor. I inhale again. Mmm. She smells so good. Feels so good in my arms. Like she belongs there.

Why do I feel so drawn to this woman? So insanely attracted to her?

It's not just the scent of her silky hair, which reminds me of my late wife's.

Or her expressive face. Or the sensuous touch of her curves. Or the warmth of her flesh.

There's something more. Something deeper. Something Kayla and I have never had. An inexplicable connection. An electricity.

Like I've known her forever.