Page 15 of Keep Me Close

There aren’t any cameras, stylists, or expectations.

Without a face full of makeup and the latest couture, I’m just another woman jogging through the city.

Invisible.

There’s no way Dakota will look for me here. No one expects me to be in Chicago. For the first time in weeks, I finally feel like I can suck in a full breath.

Three miles in, my lungs are burning and my thoughts have quieted. Running always does that for me. It’s become my drug of choice. By the fourth mile, my sweatshirt is tied around my waist and the breeze stings my cheeks. My legs ache in that satisfying way that quiets everything in my head. Like if I just keep moving, I can outrun all of it.

The show.

My mother.

Dakota.

My own uncertainties.

As I push through the revolving door of the hotel, sweat dampening the back of my neck, I feel so much lighter. That is until I catch sight of Knox sitting in one of the plush armchairs near the lobby windows, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded across his broad chest. He scowls as his gaze lands on mine.

The harsh expression is almost enough to make me stumble.

All I can say is that the man does not look pleased.

Then again, he’s looking at me, so what else is new?

Still… there’s something about finding him at the hotel that sends an unexpected jolt through me.

I force myself to close the distance between us before pulling out my earbuds. “What are you doing here?”

He rises to his feet, towering over me. “Your location was on the move.”

I blink, wondering if this is a riddle I’m supposed to solve. “And?”

“You were gone for almost an hour.”

“I went for a run.”

“Alone?”

It’s tempting to roll my eyes. “Yes. I went alone.”

His jaw tightens. “You should have let me know.”

Something flickers low in my stomach.

Annoyance, probably.

It’s definitely not anything else.

Like attraction.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that wasn’t part of the rules,” I say lightly as we move through the lobby.

“That can be rectified, Hollywood,” he says, falling into step beside me. “Just say the word.”

I glance at him, expecting to find a teasing light in his eyes or humor in his expression. Instead, he actually looks concerned. As if he’s been sitting here, silently working himself into a lather while waiting for me to show up.

Which is ridiculous.