Page 28 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

“You owe me two. Maybe three.” Colt snorted. “I wanna meet this lady at some point. You’ve never jumped through this many hoops for a woman before. Not since Alexa.”

Dash ignored the jab about his ex-girlfriend. “Let’s shoot for brunch at your hotel tomorrow morning. Where’d you end up?”

"I'm kicked back in a swanky suite at The Savoy. And I’ll be sending you the bill.”

Dash laughed. “It’s one I’m happy to pay.”

He ended the call and finished his remaining tasks, his ears pricked and listening for the sound of the elevator. He didn’t know her exact departure time or destination, only that she had a late afternoon flight. He’d checked every direct flight to the States and landed on the most logical: a Delta flight to Atlanta at 5:50.

With every fiber of his being, he hoped she wouldn’t be on it.

He parked on the couch, his gaze drifting to the Thames. His mind settled into the warm spot she’d created, starting with the drive back to his place. The silence. The seductive finger rubbing. The anticipation humming between them. He'd shared nights with other women, but never had one captured him so completely.

The image of her wrapped in his robe after the hottest sex of his life jumped to the front of the line. But it went way beyond sex. Something in her autumn-hued eyes had hooked him. Her wit. Her laugh. Her tenderness. All things Amelia Earhart, from A to Z.

One night with her and he'd fallen. Hard. So hard that his mind wandered along paths it hadn’t touched since Alexa. Back when proposals, marriage, and children were on the horizon, or so he’d thought.

Thanks a lot, Colt.

Dash crossed to the bar cart and poured half a glass of Scotch. He took a sip, recalling the moment she’d down his drink at the club and the prideful smirk that followed—one that couldn’t hide the burn in her throat. It made him smile.

He reached into the ice bucket, but found a pool of water instead. Wiping his hand on his pant leg, he headed to the kitchen. He dumped the water from the bucket in the sink, then opened the freezer. What he found on the second shelf stopped his body cold.

His note … sitting atop a pint of coffee-flavored ice cream.

His insides turned to steel, one hand still holding fast to the freezer door handle.

Sonofabitch! She was here!

Amelia was here… and I missed her!

Dash snatched the note and read her words, hearing her voice in every beautiful, heartbreaking line.

My dearest Mr. Crown,

From the boot repair, to my hotel bill, to chauffeur service, and the gorgeous gardenias—you’ve gone above and beyond to make me feel special. You are a true southern gentleman in every sense.

I’m sorry we missed having one final in-person goodbye. You made my last night in London magical, and for that I’m forever grateful.

I hope life gives you everything you want, including plenty of this. You deserve it.

Always,

Amelia Earhart

“Fuck.”

His mind spun into crisis mode.

Call the chauffeur service. Ask if she signed anything. Have her paged at the airport. Say it’s an emergency.

The alarm on the freezer beeped, pulling him back to more coherent thoughts.

Right. Like Heathrow’s going to page Amelia Earhart. Might as well ask if they have Prince Albert in a can.

Dash shut the freezer door and shuffled back into the living room, his quest for fresh ice forgotten. He topped off his glass, grabbed the stereo remote, and flopped back down on the sofa. He queued up a string of classic country drinking songs. Waylon. Merle. Some Gary Stewart, just for good measure.

Why the hell didn’t I take a photo of her?