Every rejection he shouted bludgeoned her. He was still larger than life. So handsome. So powerful. So … livid. Daggers flew from his eyes.
Brighton staggered beneath his rebuke. Humiliated at the way he yelled for her to leave. A jolt of heat hit her, then bottomed out, and sent a chill through the foyer. Her stomach roiled, tossing the empty contents of her stomach up into her throat. She stumbled and bumped into Lowell.
“Get her out of here!”
She flinched at the roar of his voice.
His gaze slammed into her and his lips thinned. Those blue eyes turned thunderous. “Son of a?—” He stabbed a finger to the host at the desk. “No rooms! They’re leaving. And if they don’t, call the sheriff!” With that, he stormed away.
Stricken by his utter rejection, Brighton gnawed the inside of her lip, biting back the tears. It wasn’t a surprise the way he reacted. Yet his vitriol pierced her heart. Unable to move, unable to process, she watched him go, drowning in his seething hatred. His rage had been so raw. Vicious.
Chin bouncing as she fought the burning tears, she noticed the stunned curiosity of the hotel guests. Noticed the way forks and glasses in the dining hall stopped clinking. The way the host behind the desk stared at her, gap-jawed. With a dart of pain a metallic taste glanced across her tongue as she bit too hard on her lower lip. She deserved his fury, his hatred. That and so much more.
Something cold and wet nudged her fingers. She pulled her hand away and glanced down, startled to find a huge black dog sniffing her.
“Grief, come!” Stone commanded as he stalked toward a large fireplace.
The dog whimpered and bumped his shoulder against her thigh, demanding attention.
“Grief!” Stone yelled as he waited at a juncture to another hall. “Come!”
Big Black Beast whined but fell into a lope after his owner.
“Metcalfe!” Cord started after the bigger-than-life man, but spun to Lowell. “Get her checked in.”
She was too paralyzed to shriek at him, too stunned to believe this was where he’d brought her. Never in all her life would she have let him bring her here, if she’d known.
Lowell drew her toward the desk with him. “Two rooms?—”
“No, I?—”
“Sorry.” The clerk shrugged, lifting his hands. “The boss said no room.” He eyed Brighton as if she had the plague. “Sorry, I do what he says. That includes calling the authorities.” He reached toward the phone docked nearby. “If necessary …”
Lowell’s meaty paw rested on the worker’s. “Don’t.”
She caught Lowell’s log-thick bicep. “Please.” Her words were quieter than she meant them to be, her courage nonexistent. “Let’s just leave.”
But Big Guy wasn’t paying attention. “Two rooms. Now!”
“I do not answer to?—”
“Please. L?et’s just go,” Brighton pleaded. “I don’t want to stay h?—”
“Do it!”
“I will not! He said???—”
“Give her a room,” intruded an authoritative, feminine voice that belonged to a dark-haired woman. She strode across the lobby in smart navy slacks, a white silk blouse, and confidence like armor.
Red colored the host’s face. “Ms. Holloway. But … Mr. Stone—”
“I will deal with him,” she asserted. “Let’s stop making a spectacle and get her into a room.”
“I could lose my job?—”
“Not at all.” She handed him a credit card. “Here. A room.”
“They wanted two.”
