My forehead crinkles. “Is it Miss Gibson’s?”
Sherrie sighs. “I shouldn’t divulge that kind of information. But, yes. Gibson is the name printed on the card.”
My body feels like I went a couple of rounds with Boone in the boxing ring as my feet hit the floor. I stretch my free hand over my head and try to work some life back into my limbs.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason. May I put you on hold for one moment, please?”
“Sure.”
I switch the phone to my other hand and walk around the suite. There’s no sign of Blaire anywhere … except on my back. I stop in front of a mirror and spot scratches from her nails etched in my shoulders.
My gaze sweeps through the room again as my brain deciphers my current situation. She’s gone. That’s clear. And while my ego is a little bruised, it’s a total boss move on her part, and I can’t be pissed about it.
I run my hand over my jaw and fight a grin.
“I apologize for making you wait,” Sherrie says. “Is Miss Gibson available to pick up her card?”
I turn—mouth open to speak—when something catches my attention. It takes all of three steps to reach the piece of red lace illuminated in the sunlight. I lift the piece of paper beside the panties to find her goodbye written beautifully in black ink.
I want to laugh at her choice of words.Thank you for a wonderful evening.
First of all, I should be thanking her. Men don’t often get the pleasure of being with a woman of her caliber without jumping through a lot of hoops. And, second, who uses the wordwonderfulto describe what happened last night?
Blaire. That’s who.
My chuckle comes out before I can stop it.
“Excuse me?” Sherrie asks.
“I apologize. Miss Gibson is my guest,” I say, picking up the lace. “If you leave the card with the front desk, I’ll pick it up before I leave today. As I said.”
She starts to object but reconsiders—probably in part due to the rather large tab my family spends at Picante every month. Her sigh is quick but present. “Yes, sir. Have a good day.”
“You, too. Thanks.”
I toss my phone onto the bed. As soon as it hits the mattress, it rings again.
“Fucking hell,” I say, picking it right back up. “Hello?”
“What’s up your ass?” Oliver asks.
“You right now.”
He chuckles. “Well, let me worm my way up there a little farther. Just got off the phone with Graham Landry.”
I bunch the lace up in my hand and hold it at my side. The fabric is soft and stretchy, and I wish I could’ve seen it on Blaire’s skin.
The thought makes me hard.
Pushing the image out of my mind, I try to focus on my brother.
“Do either of you two sleep?” I ask.
“Landry called me at one in the morning. While I do appreciate a good night’s rest, I’m thinking he doesn’t.”
“What did he want?”
I sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips with my weight and instantly brings back memories of laying Blaire in this very spot just hours ago. The way she smiled with a vulnerable confidence. How her body molded into my hands. The feeling of her handing over control … and then taking it back this morning by leaving with only a note.
