She laughed at his stories. He laughed at hers. And somewhere in the warm tropical night, with the wine loosening edges and the pool casting strange, beautiful shadows, Dakota let himself forget—just for a moment—that he was supposed to be investigating her.
Maybe she was exactly what she seemed. A beautiful woman he’d met on a plane, with whiskey eyes and a magnetic laugh and magic in her smile.
He paid the bill before she could argue about splitting it.
They walked back toward the lobby slowly. Maybe she hated for the evening to end too.
Dakota held the door for her—automatic, ingrained—and his hand found the small of her back as she passed. Just a brush. Just guidance.
She didn’t pull away.
The lobby was quiet, the green armchairs empty, the reception desk staffed by a single night attendant. Dakota paused there, Jayden beside him.
“Any word on the bag situation?” he asked.
The attendant—different from Avery, a young man with an earnest expression—checked his computer. “Nothing reported yet, sir. But it’s only been a few hours. These things usually sort themselves out by morning.”
“Right.” Dakota nodded. “Thanks.”
They took the elevator to seven in comfortable silence. The doors opened onto a carpeted hallway.
Their rooms were at the end. 714 and 716. Adjoining.
Jayden stopped at her door, key card in hand. Turned to face him.
“This was nice,” she said. “The dinner. The company.” A pause. “Unexpected.”
“Unexpected good or unexpected bad?”
“Unexpected . . . unexpected.” She smiled. “I don’t usually enjoy travel disasters this much.”
“Neither do I.”
They stood there, half a step apart, her eyes on his.
Oh. Dakota’s heart decided to betray him, hammering so loud it filled his ears. How easy it would be to reach out, tilt her chin toward him, pull her to himself. To close that distance and find out if she tasted like Queensland wine and tropical air and something he’d been missing without knowing it.
She was watching him. Waiting. Her lips slightly parted, her eyes searching his face for—what? Permission? Intention? Some sign he was feeling this too?
Oh, he longed to kiss her, the urge rushing up through him. What?
And then, she took a breath and smiled. “Thanks for dinner, Bugsy.”
Again? “Why Bugsy?”
“I don’t know. There was this musical I liked as a kid—Bugsy Malone. He’s this charming gangster.”
“I’m not a gangster.”
“Yeah, well I definitely think there’s more to you than I can see. Trouble under that Boy Scout exterior.” But she smiled, and it didn’t sound like she hated the idea.
He swallowed, and his gaze dropped to her lips.
Don’t. Because if he kissed her now and she turned out to be something other than what she seemed, he’d never forgive himself for being that stupid.
He stepped back. “Good night, Jayden.”
Something flickered across her face. Disappointment? Relief? Both? Then, a smile. “Good night, Dakota.”
