"Work," I say vaguely. "Research stuff. Very boring."
"Research?" He looks genuinely interested. "What field?"
"Anthropology, mostly. Some historical documentation."
Ilay's hand lands on the small of my back, possessive and firm. "We should get to our rooms," he says, his voice cold enough to freeze vodka. "Long day tomorrow."
I step away from his touch. "Right. Yes. Rooms."
The innkeeper hands us our keys, and Ilay hands his to his bodyguard who proceeds to go ahead of us taking our things with him.
Once we're in the hallway, Tessa leans close and whispers, "That Roman guy is definitely going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Did you see the way Ilay was looking at him?"
"I know," I mutter. "Let's just... stay out of it."
We part ways, and I follow Ilay to his room to discuss tomorrow's plans. The second the door closes behind us, the temperature in the room drops. I take a brief look around, instinctively mapping the space — the bed neatly made and positioned against one wall, a small writing desk holding only the essentials. His duffel bag is already there and there’s a small window by the corner. Opposite the bed is a door probably leading to the bathroom and there’s a chair by the door. My room is probably just as simple.
He goes to drape his coat over a hanger by the corner when I hear his voice low and controlled, "What the hell was that?" he says.
"What was what?"
"You. Flirting with that man."
I let out a sharp laugh. "Flirting? I was being polite. There's a difference."
"You were smiling at him."
"I smile at everyone!”
"Not like that.”
"Oh my God." I drag my hands down my face. "This is insane. He was just being friendly."
"I don't like the way he looks at you."
I let out a sharp laugh. "Oh my God. You are so fucking childish. You see me talk to a guy, once, and your whole brain short circuits? We're not even dating. Can you imagine the hell I'd live in if I actually said yes to you?"
"Just don't talk to that guy. I don't trust him."
"You don't trust anyone," I hiss, shaking my head. "That's your problem. That's always been your problem."
I turn toward the door. It’s obvious we won’t be discussing the case this evening. Not with his irrationality. "I'm going to my room."
He moves before I can even take a step, his massive frame blocking the exit.
"Why do you even want to stay in another room?" he asks, and I can hear the dangerous edge creeping into his voice. "I can protect you."
"Protect me?" I blink at him. "It's a hotel, Ilay. An inn. What do you think is going to happen here?"
"There's a window in your room," he points out, his eyes dark. "there's no cameras, and you're going to be all alone."
I stare at him, exasperated. "That's called privacy."
I try to push past him again. "If someone is going to come after me, you hovering around won't stop it. You'd probably just escalate it like you always do." He doesn't answer. "Let me go, Ilay." My voice drops, the anger bleeding into exhaustion. I am tired. I don't want to fight anymore.
He doesn't move.
I shove at his chest. Hard. "I said move."
