“We’re at your car,” he murmurs, leaning over to open the door. “I’m going to put you in the passenger seat.”
The world tilts as he lowers me into the car, his palm steady against my neck until my head finds the rest. The leather is cool against my skin, a contrast to the flush of my body.
When he closes my door, I realize why he told me to leave the keys in the ignition. He planned for this, too. For the drive back, for the part where I’d be too spent to do anything but breathe.
A lump rises in my throat, unexpected and sharp. He thought of everything. I’m not sure why that touches me so deeply.
God, I can’t fall for this man.
The driver’s side opens, and he slides in beside me, hismovements slow and deliberate. The engine hums to life, and he glances over, his face half lit by the dashboard glow. “You okay?” he asks, voice rough.
I nod, trying to find my words.
He watches me for a long moment, then exhales, a quiet breath that feels heavier than it should. “I’m taking you back to my place,” he says. “You need a shower, food, and sleep. I’ll get you home in the morning before you have to open the shop.”
I don’t have the strength to argue, even if I wanted to. And maybe I don’t want to. The idea of being alone tonight feels wrong. I don’t want to overthink or worry that I did something that displeased him.
I just want to curl up and let him do everything. Which pretty much slays the feminist in me.
I’ll revive her in the morning.
Zach shifts the car into gear, his fingers brushing my knee in passing, and the car rolls forward, the night swallowing us whole. It takes less than ten minutes along the empty roads to drive to the hotel. Instead of parking in the main lot, he follows a smaller driveway, around the back, where the door to his ground floor apartment is, pulling into a space next to his sleek, dark car.
“How did you get to the woods?” I ask, finally finding my voice. I have the urge to know everything. How he planned it, how he was feeling.
Does he have the same, insistent tug toward me like I do to him? Like we bonded out there somehow?
His lips curl but he shakes his head. “I could tell you everything, but wouldn’t that ruin it?”
I guess he’s right. I smile softly, too.
Before I can think of any more questions, he climbs out of the car and walks around to my side, helping me out. Justlike at the forest, he lifts me easily in his arms, and I’m struck by just how unafraid he is.
“Won’t people talk if they see us?” I ask. Because I know I look like a mess. Dress torn to pieces, mud and scratches all over my body. Like a prom date gone horribly wrong.
He glances toward the back entrance, his face easy in a quiet way that tells me he’s already thought about this. “No one else uses this side of the hotel,” he says. “And even if they do, let them.”
The air inside his apartment smells faintly of cedar and clean linen, like he’s changed his sheets and cleaned up to have me here. He kicks the door shut behind him, then slides off his muddy shoes and carries me past the low light of the hallway toward his bedroom.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, though the protest sounds weak even to my own ears.
“Yeah,” he says roughly. “I do.” He sets me down on the side of the bed, not caring that I’m probably messing up his thousand thread count sheets, then hunkers down in front of me like a doctor assessing a patient.
His hands trace my hair, pulling out twigs. Then they run over my face, my neck, like he’s making sure I’m not hurt.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Apart from a little dirt.”
And isn’t that the understatement? Dust and earth clings to my skin.
“Then let’s get you cleaned up.”
Before I can ask what he’s doing, he slides his hands under my knees and lifts me again. The motion is effortless, the heat of his body seeping into mine. He carries me through another doorway, into a bathroom filled with soft light and marble tiles. The scent of cedar is stronger here, mixed with soap and clean cotton.
“Zach—”
“Shh.” His voice is rough but calm. He sets me down on the floor, his hands steady as he reaches for the straps of my ruined dress. “Let me take care of you.”
He slides the torn silk down slowly, like he’s worried he’s going to hurt me. The fabric pools at my waist, cool against overheated skin, before falling to the floor.
