“I won’t press charges if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He blinks, tiny lines forming between his eyebrows. “Is that what you think this is?”
“Isn’t it?” I often speak without engaging my brain first, and tonight is no exception.
I should go home, get some sleep, and get embarrassed all over again tomorrow when I wake up and recall this moment.
“Remy, if you want to press charges, I’ll be your witness.”
My breathing speeds up. “But… he’s a guest.” An obviously wealthy guest with connections in all the right places.
“Not anymore. He crossed a line that doesn’t sit well with me.”
“But…” I replay the moment in my head. Maybe I overreacted, but the asshole saw that I was feeling vulnerable, and he took advantage of it. Which means that he’s totally capable of far worse behavior. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me for doing the right thing.” The frown lines are gone and the smile is back. “Clothes.”
He doesn’t wait around. I follow him along the hallway and stop when he opens the door to a room on the right and the flush ceiling lamps are activated. “You’ll find a walk-in closet on the other side of the room.”
I peer inside at the huge sleigh bed with a neat mauve comforter, and violet and silver cushions propped up against the pillows, hotel-style. The walls are pale gray. Silver curtains are open toreveal more of the city skyline. Even the thick-pile carpet is silver.
“I-I can’t…”
“This is the guest room. So, be my guest.”
I step inside the room and breathe in the smell of luxury. I feel like a little girl again going on vacation with my parents, standing in a hotel foyer and turning three-sixty until I’m dizzy to soak up the atmosphere.
I catch sight of the walk-in closet door and cross the room, squealing when I open it and the lights come on to reveal racks of clothes and shoes and accessories.
“Is this for real?” I glance at him standing in the doorway before returning my attention to the clothes. “I can’t take these clothes, but holy fucking cow. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You can take whatever you want.”
His voice is closer, so close that when I turn around to face him, I can see his enlarged pupils again. I’m not imagining it… this… spark. Desire. Lust.
“Whatever I want?”
My voice is thick with want now that I’ve stopped trying to deny it. I never learned to flirt. When I was old enough to date, I met George, and that was it for me. I’ve avoided men ever since, focusing on my career instead.
Until now.
“Aon rud. Anything.”
“Was that… Gaelic?” My heart feels as though it’s being squeezed inside a gigantic metal fist.
He reaches behind my head, frees my hair from the band holding it in place, and tugs it forward over my shoulder. “Go halainn. You’re so beautiful.”
I chuckle and look away. It’s my go-to reaction whenever I’m embarrassed, even though it always adds to my mortification. Every. Single. Time. When I face him again, his eyes are so intense I feel the heat rising up my neck and into my face.
“You don’t believe me.” His knuckles caress my cheek and send shivers down my spine. “But you should, Remy.” His lips move closer, and I notice a tiny scar in his right eyebrow, a fine silver line, almost invisible. I’m frozen. Burning up. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. “You should know that I can’t let you turn around and walk out of my life.”
“But I don’t have a job to come back to.”
He smiles and tilts my chin so that I’m peering directly into his eyes. I instantly feel the damp between my legs. I don’t even care that I’m getting ahead of myself or that I swore to put my career first or that I’m standing in my boss’s guest room wearing clothes stained with two-hundred-dollar champagne.
“I’m not talking about work, Remy.”
“I… I can’t stay here. I have a dorm room at college. A roommate. I?—”
