I step into the hallway, then hear her footsteps approaching the door. Standing directly in front of her room, I wave.
The door flies open.
"What are you doing here?"
She's wearing travel clothes, jeans and a fitting long-sleeved blouse. Her hair is falling straight down her shoulders. She’s wearing no makeup except for a touch of lip gloss that makes me want to kiss it off.
"I arranged it with the concierge." I lean against her doorframe, grinning, and shrug. "I thought you might want a neighbor you actually like."
"Marcus is going to kill you."
"Marcus is three floors down." I lower my voice, saying, "And I don't plan on letting him find out."
Her eyes darken, pupils dilating. "Declan..."
"Let me take you somewhere tonight after team dinner. There's a place I think you'll love."
"What kind of place?"
"Trust me."
She smiles. "Alright."
***
I take her to a bookstore tucked into a side street in Cambridge. The shop is nearly empty at this hour, except for an elderly clerk who barely glances up when we enter. Ivy runs her fingers along book spines as we wander the narrow aisles.
"I used to come here during my undergrad when things got overwhelming," she says.
"What did you read?"
"Fiction, mostly. I read anything that lets me be someone else for a while." She pulls out a worn copy of Jane Eyre. "This was my favorite. Jane was small, plain, and overlooked, but she was fierce. Uncompromising. She refused to settle."
"Like you."
She shakes her head. "I'm not fierce."
"You are. You defended your research fiercely. Do you remember how you challenged me when we met in the therapy room?"
"You were annoying."
"Maybe." I brush away hair tendrils from her face, use the opportunity to trail my fingers down her ear to her neck. "You saw past the bullshit. After, you treated me like a person instead of a brand."
"You're a complicated, infuriating, surprisingly wonderful person."
A warm feeling rumbles in my chest.
"Come back to the hotel with me," I murmur against her ear. "Let me show you how wonderful I can be."
Her breath hitches. "Marcus..."
"He won't know. I promise."
We buy the Jane Eyre. I insist on paying despite her protests. Then we take a taxi back to the hotel. The elevator ride is torture because of the security camera. We maintain careful distance even though all I want is to pin her against the wall and kiss her senseless.
In the hallway outside our rooms, I check both directions before pulling her close.
"Let's go to my room."
